Pebbles: A Collection of Short Stories

The Vampire Storyteller

Jasper Remilia awoke with a start, his eyes fluttering open to the dim light filtering through the dense canopy of moss-covered trees. The air was damp and filled with the earthy smell of decaying leaves—definitely not the luxurious perfume of the roaring twenties he had come to expect after a century-long slumber. For a moment, he lay there, blinking at the peculiar sights around him. Was that a squirrel eyeing him suspiciously, or was he just dreaming of an acorn-fueled nightmare?

Pushing himself up from the soft, mossy ground, Jasper quickly realized he was in a cemetery. A rather charming one, he noted, albeit with a slight air of decay. Gravestones tilted at awkward angles, as if they were playing an ongoing game of "how low can you go?" The whole place had an unsettling vibe, and for a moment, he wondered if he had fallen into some modern art installation about mortality.

"Right," he muttered to himself, brushing the moss off his coat. "Nothing like waking up in a graveyard to feel refreshed." He stood up, his legs wobbling slightly as if they had forgotten their primary function during his century-long nap. The last thing he needed was to trip over a gravestone and make a spectacular fool of himself—again.

As he glanced around, a chill ran down his spine. The cemetery was not empty. No, there were people milling about, laughing and chatting as if they hadn't noticed a centuries-old vampire rising from the dead among them. He squinted at the strangers, his heart racing. What if they had come to stake him? Or worse—what if they were planning a flash mob? The thought was terrifying.

Jasper decided retreat was the best course of action. He took a cautious step back, only to find his heel slipping on the moss, sending him tumbling backward into a particularly bushy patch. He landed with a soft thud, half-buried in greenery, like a very confused and slightly disgruntled gopher.

"Fantastic," he grumbled, wrestling himself out of the shrubbery. "How does one go about hiding from humans without ending up in a botanical mess?" He took a moment to gather his dignity—well, as much dignity as a 500-year-old vampire could muster after such an entrance.

As he peeked out from behind the clump of ferns, Jasper's heart sank further. A group of teenagers was approaching, giggling as they took selfies in front of his makeshift hiding spot. What would they think if they knew he was not just an eccentric old man with a penchant for moss but a genuine vampire? The sheer horror of modern technology was almost too much to bear.

"Just act natural," he muttered, trying to adopt the relaxed demeanor of someone who definitely didn't just emerge from a nap that spanned a century. But as the teens got closer, Jasper felt the urge to flee again. Maybe the tree line could provide some cover, or perhaps he could camouflage himself among the nearby gravestones—just like the bad guys in those silly old movies.

But before he could execute his escape plan, one of the teenagers pointed directly at him. "Look! Is that a Halloween decoration?"

Jasper froze, mortified. Halloween decorations? He looked down at himself—perhaps he was indeed sporting a rather ghostly pallor. The sight of his bedraggled appearance sent waves of embarrassment through him. "I'm not a decoration! I'm a vampire!" he shouted, panic rising in his chest.

The teens burst into laughter, clearly entertained by the notion that someone could be so committed to a Halloween theme. Great. Just great. The vampire who had fled from the excesses of the 1920s only to become the punchline of a millennial joke.

"Well, this is going swimmingly," he muttered under his breath, slumping against a gravestone and wondering if he could really outlast another hundred years of these antics. Perhaps it was time to take that long nap again, but this time, he would find a less mossy, more dignified place to rest.