I’m standing in a graveyard on a cliff edge. Away to my right, a murky mist hides a thousand ships sliding through the dusk. To my left, between rows of centuries-old, moss-licked gravestones, is St Mary’s Church. An icy wind batters its stocky Norman tower.

Two men – a camp Uncle Fester-alike and his pal in black thigh-high, thick-heeled boots and flashing disco jacket – are taking selfies.

A line from Bram Stoker’s Dracula, set in this very graveyard, comes into my head. Van Helsing has seen something dark gradually appear.

“What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell.”

We’re 199 steps up from the cluster of medieval buildings in The Shambles in England’s most haunted town, Whitby, for the winter Goth Weekend.

Behind us, stealing the view for miles around, is the romantic ruin of the Benedictine abbey, founded in AD 657 but destroyed during the Dissolution of the Monasteries under Henry VIII’s orders.

I bumble over, curious how far these creatures have come.

“We’re o’er from Donny fer’t weekend,” Uncle Fester explains, fluttering his long black eyelashes.

“We dunt usually dress lark this. E’s an estate agent. I’m an ’ousing officer.”

Two weekends a year Steve and Tommy drive up from Doncaster, South Yorkshire, to visit the dramatic North Yorkshire coastline for the biannual gothic bashes (dates for spring 2014 are April 25 to April 27.) They are not alone. Thous-ands come from around the world to dress to kill and meet fellow spiritualists without the fear of funny looks.

There are nightly concerts in the town’s spa pavilion, and walk into any pub and you’ll find unofficial mascara-laden gatherings with music and dancing in a refreshingly friendly atmosphere. Club nights run late and restaurants offer gluttonous goth-themed menus (though I’d suggest beginning your culinary tasting at world-beating fish restaurant The Magpie, in Pier Road, where the stock is landed only yards from the kitchen).

Across town bookshops are filled with gothic literary exploits, with local writers’ modern noir for sale alongside Stoker’s evocative Whitby-based thriller.

Parked outside the goth market in Whitby Leisure Centre I spot a neon-purple pimped-up hearse. A steampunk meets Alice In Wonderland family – even the dog (or is it a wolf?) is dressed up – are stopping for photos by the town’s famous whalebone.

“Everyone makes an effort, which is why it feels special,” explains one women in fishnets and clutching a whip, her man in a muzzle and mask. She tells me about the clandestine, ancient tradition of fire walking on the beach, which takes place after dark.

The sandy beach stretches for three miles around Whitby Bay to the hamlet of Sandsend. When the tide is out and you’ve seen enough sadistic dressing, you can stroll along the beach to Wit’s End cafe, a wood-roofed den under an old railway viaduct, where the soup comes with sandwiches stuffed with thick Yorkshire gammon.

Now is the time to visit Yorkshire. Lonely Planet readers voted the ancient county the world’s third best holiday destination last year and the New York Times named the county as one of 50 worldwide hotspots for 2014. Even the French smell white roses. The Tour de France departs from Leeds for a two-day stint in July before heading south.

Access to the great outdoors – the sparse mauve gorse and heather-covered North Yorkshire Moors, seared in half by the chugging Goathland to Grosmont steam railway – is easy from Whitby.

The only distraction walking through these moors (one of three national parks in Yorkshire) is the sound and sight of steam-engine fumes puffing up from the valley.

A 45-minute drive west is a town twinned with Agincourt, dominated by a grand, ruinous castle, where Richard III learned to be a knight.

Today the locals in Middleham prefer to do battle with racehorses. Gallops owned by trainers such as Mark Johnson line the town’s lush green moors.

We headed into the first of the seven Yorkshire Dales, Coverdale, to pick up the route racers in the Tour De France will tackle.

Down in the valley, it’s all dry stone walls, hidden churches and sleepy villages. Up the hills are treeless, gusty moors, with scurrying pheasant and grouse taking in the spectacular views.

Combine the vistas with quiet, well-maintained roads and it’s easy to see why Christian Prudhomme decided to bring the Tour caravan to this part of the world.

After one visit he, like most visitors, knew he had to return.

  • Rooms, with bed breakfast and evening dinner included, at the Georgian Estbek House, whose restaurant has two AA rosettes and overlooks the beach in Sandsend, start from £80 per person per night. Call 01947 893424
  • East Coast trains depart London King’s Cross for York every 30 minutes daily.
     
  • Visit www.whitbyonline.co.uk