Nosferatu was there.

In the streets. Mongrels howled it. Babies cried it. Crooked branches traced its letters in the earth. The wind swept the word and carried it away, and dead leaves from the trees read “Nosferatu”. It invaded everything. One could see it along walls, above street lamps, in the eyes of those late to bed. It clamoured. It uttered cries like rats in a coffin. Maidens whispered it in their sleep. Above them in the darkness it formed, livid and ghastly pale, leaden and yellow, full of sulphur and fatal breath.

And you?

Do you still feel nothing?