I noticed floating specks outside my window. They glowed purple, the traditional color of Black African royalty. The specks whirled together with the moonlight and slowly took shape. Two of Blackula’s brides floated into my room.

“Hey, sugar,” said the Black woman with the braids. “We’ve missed you so much.”

“Ah lawd have mercy, I am ready to bone. Boy, I dare you to take off my panties – cuz when you do, you finna see steam come out of there like a boiling kettle,” said the one with the afro.

I felt unnaturally sleepy and weak.

The two women carried me to the bed. One of the women sat by the pillow and the other straddled my thighs.

I managed to gasp out, “Get away from me, vile temptress.”

“We good, Jamarcus. We good,” said the woman who was sitting by my head.

“You know what? I feel you. I feel you,” said the Afro-haired woman who was sitting on my thighs. “I need you to pump your brakes. You know what I’m saying?”

“She’s saying you need to relax,” translated her friend.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The woman unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down slightly. Her breath felt warm on my lower regions. Slowly, she licked, and slowly, she pulled down my underwear. She smiled at me and bared her sharp teeth. She lowered her head, and I felt a slight pain in my thigh. I felt a great shame, as I also wanted this to continue.

Suddenly we heard another female voice from outside.

“Something’s wrong with dat coffin lid. It’s super glued together.”

Both women became stiff and nervous. The Afro-haired woman quickly buttoned up my pants and got off the bed.

She said very loudly, “Uh, so like I was saying, Mr. Harker, where’d you get those nails did? They on fleek.”

The third Blackula bride floated in. This was the one with the weave.

“What is you two doing in here? The last time I checked, ya’ll asses supposed to be sitting in the tower. Which means, ya asses supposed to be sitting in your coffin, til we supposed to be eatin.”

Blood leaked through my pants and onto the bed.

“Ah, hell no! Was happened to him?” she exclaimed.

“We just here to check up on Mr. Harker, make sure he’s doin aiight,” said the Afro-haired woman. “We ain’t trying to front nobody.”

“Ah no no no no. His femoral artery bleeding out,” said the weave-haired woman. “Ya’ll need to be ashamed of yourselves.”

She grabbed her two companions by the backs of their dresses and shoved them out the window.

“Get out there and fix my damn coffin.”

“Sorry,” said the woman with the braids.

“And get this man some gauze and a tourniquet,” said the weave-haired bride. “Do I gotta do every single thing myself?

She turned toward me.

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Harker. I’s be making sure no one eats you until we’s supposed to.”