‘There’s a right way, a wrong way, and a Whitby way,’ says the man. He’s silhouetted against the skyline wearing a long black coat, a bowler hat, and carrying a staff. This is Dr Crank, who’s here to lead us on a ghost tour of the West Cliff area, telling us chilling tales as we stroll among the town’s ancient yards and alleys.

Whitby, as you might expect, is awash with ghosts. There’s Caroline, carried out to sea on a gust of wind which turned her crinoline into a parachute. ‘Like Mary Poppins,’ says the man, ‘but with a less happy ending.’ There’s Burning Mary, whose long blonde hair, doused in whale-oil to make it shine, caught alight in the bake-house, and there’s one-armed Albert, who met his end on the lighthouse steps. There’s also a phantom horse-drawn coach that pulls up outside the abbey, horses rearing.

In among the tales of spooks and spectres there are snippets of local history, and although I’m a regular in this town I learn things I never knew, like why some of the streets change names half way along – George Hudson who developed much of the West Cliff housing in the 1850s paid the builders per street. And why some of the Georgian town house windows run the length of several floors – to dodge the window tax. The right way, the wrong way and the Whitby way, of course.

This town captured my imagination when I first discovered it 20 years ago and continues to do so – not least for its literary connections and potential. If you were going to pen a gothic novel, where better to set the narrative, and base yourself while writing it, than here, against the backdrop of the iconic, brooding abbey ruins. Bram Stoker obviously thought so, captivated by the setting sun reflecting off two west-facing windows of St Mary’s Church, like two red eyes looking out across the harbour. He wrote Dracula while staying in the town’s Royal Hotel, and Whitby features widely in the narrative.

Since then, Whitby has stoked its reputation on that one book. The Dracula effect keeps this English seaside town in business all year round. Twice a year, the place gets invaded by goths. Even if you’re not a goth, the bi-annual goth weekends are worth a visit, as white-faced, leather coated goths, middle-aged steam punks in elaborate Victoriana, and teenage emos all mix seamlessly and amicably among the massing throng.

There are Lewis Caroll influences too, La Rosa Hotel on West Cliff, where the author stayed, has themed its museum-like décor around the Alice in Wonderland theme. A creature, half doll, half rabbit sits in state in a tea-room boasting eclectic Victorian memorabilia. Upstairs, the rooms are ‘furnished with antique kitch’ – one even has a goat’s skull above the bed. I guess it’s popular with goths.

But it’s not just goths who love Whitby. It’s a magnet for walkers, cyclists, surfers and especially dog-owners. Nearly all the pubs and cafes allow dogs and there are large stretches of canine-friendly beach. The town sits on the Cleveland Way  –  a seven mile trek south along the coastal path takes you to the quaint fishing village of Robin Hood’s Bay. Inland, ancient pilgrims paths criss-cross the fields. The Cinder Track, a 21-mile former railway, now a path for walkers, cyclists and horse-riders, runs from Whitby to Scarborough, passing over the 13-arch, 120-foot high Larpool Viaduct close to its start.

In the summer, families soak up the sun outside pretty, pastel coloured beach huts. There are festivals galore. Folk Week follows close on the heels of Regatta and later in the year there’s a 1940s weekend. Another opportunity to dress up. The place is full of independent shops – barely a chain in sight – and all through the year live music rings out from the many pubs. The town is packed with fabulous eating places too ranging from traditional fish and chips to Mexican tapas. 

But the thing that sets Whitby apart from so many other English seaside resorts is its all-year-round appeal. It never has that sad, shut-down feel, typical of holiday towns off-season. Whenever you go, the town is buzzing. As a holiday experience, you can’t beat it. There’s something for everyone and whatever the season, Whitby is open for business. It’s a town for all seasons.

This time, we’re here for new year, intending to see out 2018 in the same place we saw it in, on Whitby town beach. But first, while it’s still light, I make my own pilgrimage up towards the Abbey, joining a throng of other people heading up the narrow cobbled streets, past the gothic shops selling chocolate coffins, skull bracelets and vampire mascs, past little cafes offering home cooked muffins, street vendors selling roasted chestnuts, and jewellers displaying genuine Whitby jet. For me, a trip to Whitby isn’t complete without this 199-step ascent.

Up on the Abbey steps, it’s survival of the fittest, and the young children climbing alongside are clearly in better shape than me. They have spare breath to count each step as they go. In days gone by, coffins were hauled up these steps to St Mary’s Church at the top. I take a moment to catch my breath on a casket-shaped bench half way up, placed to offer rest to weary coffin-bearers.

At the top, the climb is worth it for the clear view across the town with its tile roofs glowing red in the evening sun, its sandy beaches stretching for miles along the east coast, and the characteristic outline of the giant whalebones and Captain Cook monument on the West Cliff opposite.

Later, after a pub-crawl through the town, we finish up at the Duke of York, just below the Abbey Steps. It’s rammed, but we manage to squeeze into a window-seat overlooking the harbour. We get chatting to a couple in their 80s. They know the place well, living just up the street from here. They also know the bar staff, and only need to wave to get a drink handed to them. Handy, as the queue for the bar is by now about six deep.

A little before midnight we join the exodus from the pub down a set of steps at the back to the town beach, where people of all ages gather round small bonfires. We watch from the pier as fireworks go off all around, no barriers or health and safety in sight, then join the party on the beach and start off 2019 dancing on the sand. It’s magical. This has to be the best way to see in the new year – the Whitby way.