In Chuckleville, a town of oddities, lived Vincent, a vampire in denial. With moonlit skin and night-seeing eyes, he dismissed the townsfolk’s whispers over his nightly “tomato juice” indulgence.

Vincent’s escapades were many. He’d jest at the diner for a steak “practically walking rare,” and the cook played along. His attempts to join the gardening club were met with giggles from the children at the orphanage as he read to them, claiming a “green thumb” beneath his gloves.

One night, Vincent threw a costume party, ironically dressing as a vampire. His tales of “ancestors” from Transylvania amused guests, unaware of their host’s true nature.

The story’s peak arrived with vampire hunters seeking the town’s terror. Vincent, ever sociable, offered to help, pointing out all the “drafty” spots he’d avoid if he were a vampire.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The hunters left, charmed by Vincent’s cluelessness, and he continued his joyous life, a vampire unaware.

As Ken closed the book, the orphanage’s laughter ceased. The children looked at him, their faces a blend of sadness and hope, knowing the harshness of the world beyond their walls.

Mrs. Hargrove, the orphanage owner, entered, announcing bedtime. The children’s pleas for one more chapter were gently denied. Ken shared a silent moment with Mrs. Hargrove, acknowledging his gift of instilling hope through stories.

The orphanage quieted, the magic of the tale fading. Ken felt the weight of reality as he placed the book back on the shelf. Alone, he allowed the storyteller’s loneliness to seep in, promising to be their beacon of joy again tomorrow.

And so, Ken’s last day at the orphanage ended, with the belief that stories and laughter could keep the magic alive.