I opened my eyes and woke up. It was morning and I was still alive. I ran down the stairs, to the main entrance, and tried to open the doors. I shook it, rattled it, pushed, and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. Count B must’ve locked it after yesterday’s theatrics.

If I didn’t get the key, Blackula’s brides would surely eat me tonight. Adrenaline took control of me and I scaled the walls again to B’s bedroom. He wasn’t in the human bed. I searched his room for a key, but I couldn’t find it. I opened the door in the corner and went down the dark tunnel. I now knew where he really slept.

I went downstairs into the dark tunnel. Blackula’s coffin bed now had a lid over it, like a normal human would sleep with a duvet. I lifted the cover and took a closer look at B’s Black face. It was clearly him, but he looked 30 years younger. His white Afro and mustache were now black. Before, he seemed thin and gaunt, but now his dark cheeks were chubby and pink. His face had an expression of satisfied greed.

I glanced around the room for a weapon. There was only a workman’s shovel. Even though my hands were shaking, I picked up the shovel, lifted it over my shoulder, turned the edge toward him, and struck Count B’s face. But even though I made a direct hit, there wasn’t even a small cut on the count’s skin. I tried a second, a third, and a fourth time, but his body seemed immune to physical attacks.

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In any case, he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon. I searched through his clothes for a key, but I couldn’t find it. There had to be another way out.

I walked further into the tunnel. I had to be careful as there was little light, and the path was uneven. Then I heard the sound of many footsteps and heavy objects being set on the floor. Blackula’s employees were probably shipping all those boxes of dirt. At the end of the tunnel, I saw a faint light from a half-opened door.

My heart pounded as I jogged toward the workers. I hid behind a box and peeped over the top. The Black employees were heaving dozens and dozens of boxes onto carriages. Every few minutes, a driver left with his cargo.

I crouched behind a box of dirt and watched the workers fill up the back of the carriage with boxes. A Black worker gave a signal to the driver, who shook his reins and started to drive away. As soon as the worker turned around, I sprinted toward the carriage and jumped in the back.

In the words of the great Black freedom fighter Martin Luther King Jr:

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, I am free at last!