I went to bed at dawn and woke up in the late afternoon. I washed my face and combed my Afro. I then began to shave, using my small travel mirror to help avoid cutting myself.

“Good morning,” said Count Blackula’s voice.

I was so startled that I accidently cut my chin with my razor, although I didn’t notice it at the time. I hadn’t heard his footsteps.

“Good morning, Count B,” I replied, waving my travel mirror apologetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t you see in my mirr—"

I glanced at the mirror, but the only things that it reflected back were my Black face and the rest of the room. I looked at the count and then back at the mirror. His reflection was missing. I nervously looked back at him. His dark face was contorted in an intense anger.

“Blood …” he rasped out.

I felt blood trickling down my chin.

“Right,” I said. “Let me get a towel and stop the bleeding.”

I laid down my razor and started to look around for a clean cloth, but Count Blackula suddenly moved very close to me. I stumbled backwards and he pressed me against the wall. He grabbed my collar, but immediately withdrew when he accidently touched the beads of my Black Jesus crucifix. The speed in change of demeanor astounded me. He hunched over and cradled his hands, as if they were in pain. The anger was completely gone, replaced by anxiety and cautiousness.

“Be careful that you don’t cut yourself,” said the count breathlessly.

He grabbed my travel mirror and threw it out the window. I heard it shatter onto the stones of the courtyard, several stories below. He turned around curtly and left.