May 4

I slept uneasily last night, even though my bed was comfortable, and the room pleasant. A constant knocking on my door woke me up from my terrorizing slumber.

For breakfast, I had more paprika and a bowl of puréed bean soup, which they said was “bessara,” and a crispy flatbread, which they call “khobz.” Note to self: get recipe for this too. Moesha loves learning about other Black European foods.

Right after breakfast, I rushed to the train station to travel eastward. The whole day passed with unending views of picturesque country beauty. Cloud-like fog veiled and then unveiled jutting mountains. I passed by towns of simple houses and castles on hills. At every train station, there were all sorts of Black people, wearing all sorts of clothing. Some of the peasants wore the same attire as the Black British peasants back home, with homemade shirts, trousers, and hats. The Romanian peasants wore wide-sleeved, white dress shirts, which contrasted with their black skin. The Black Magyar peasants wore black hats, black vests, and black trousers.

It was dusk when the train reached the small Romanian town of Bistrița. Count Blackula had directed me to go to the Upper Egypt Hotel. I was clearly expected, as a cheery, old, Black peasant woman immediately greeted me.

“The Herr Black English man?”

“Yes,” I said. “Jamarcus Harker.”

She said something in Hungarian to an old Black peasant man, who reached underneath the table and pulled out a letter from the Count:

Dear Mister Harker,

Welcome to the Carpathians. I hope you had a safe journey from London to Bistrița. At 3 pm tomorrow, a cab is traveling from the hotel to Bukovina. A place on the carriage will be reserved for you. At the Borgo Pass, my carriage will be waiting for you and will take you to my castle. I know you’ve had a hard journey, and so I am excited for you to relax and enjoy all that my land has to offer.

Your brother,

Blackula

When I asked the old man for more details about the carriage ride, he pretended to not understand my German. He mumbled something about receiving some money from Blackula and that’s all he knew of the entire matter. He and his wife looked at each in a frightened manner. When I asked the two if they could tell me anything at all about Count Blackula or his castle, they crossed themselves and refused to speak further.

I went up to my room for to rest. Soon afterwards, the old woman knocked on my door with an urgent energy.

“Young Herr!” she said hysterically. “Don’t go! Please don’t go!”

At this point, her German was entirely forgotten, and her words were mixed up with Hungarian. I told her that I had to continue, as I had very important business with the Count.

“Do you know what day it is?” she asked.

“It’s the fourth of May,” I said.

She shook her head, “No, I already know that. Do you know what day it is?”

I replied that that I didn’t.

“It is the eve of St. Jerome’s Day. At midnight, the undead are at their strongest. You mustn’t go to the Count’s castle!”

It was all very ridiculous, but the poor old woman was so distressed, and I tried to comfort her. She begged me to at least wait until tomorrow to meet the Count, but I told her that I had very important business with him and nothing could stop me. She wiped her tears and sighed. Then she took off her necklace, which had a large Black Jesus on a crucifix, and gestured it towards me.

“For your mama’s sake,” she said.

I hesitated, for the Black Church of England regards such items as idolatrous. However, she was so insistent, and so I graciously accepted her charm necklace.