Jack had never been to a castle before.
He’d seen one once, on a cereal box.
This one was not like that.
It loomed in the distance like it had been built out of shadows and bad decisions. The sky above it was thick with clouds, the kind that looked like they were plotting something. The front gate squeaked as the wind pushed it, like even it wanted to run away.
Jack tightened his curtain-cape. “Okay,” he whispered. “Confidence. You are a creature of the night. You drink blood—no, wait, pretend to drink blood. You fear nothing. Except maybe report cards.”
He walked up the stone steps, which felt like they were judging him with every creak.
Two vampires stood by the massive front doors, arguing.
“I told you, it’s fang polish, not toothpaste!” one hissed.
“Then why does it say minty fresh?” the other snapped.
Jack froze behind a column.
Okay. Real vampires. Real fangs. Real minty freshness.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked right toward them like he totally belonged there.
Both vampires stopped mid-argument and stared.
“Who are you?” one asked, his red eyes narrowing.
Jack cleared his throat. “Uh… I’m… a vampire. From… uh… the old days. Yeah. I used to live here. Ages ago. Just got back from—” he waved vaguely “—a… long coffin nap.”
The two vampires glanced at each other.
One muttered, “I don’t remember him.”
The other shrugged. “Maybe he’s from the ancient shift. You know, the dusty era.”
Then, apparently too busy arguing to care, they yanked open the giant doors and shoved Jack inside.
He stumbled across the cold stone floor, his cape flapping dramatically behind him—until it wrapped around his foot.
He tripped, crashed forward, and slammed into a table.
A very fancy vase wobbled once.
Twice.
Then exploded on the ground like a ceramic firework.
The room went silent.
Dozens of pale faces turned toward him.
Every vampire in the hall was staring.
Jack stood frozen, one foot tangled in his cape, baby powder still clinging to his nose, ketchup dripping down his chin.
He raised one hand slowly and hissed, “Sssssup.”
A few vampires hissed back. One even nodded politely. Apparently, “hiss-greetings” were a thing here.
Jack straightened, pretending that breaking priceless antiques was part of his grand entrance. He strutted through the crowd, waving his arms mysteriously like he was controlling invisible bats, and muttered things like, “Ah yes, the darkness is particularly dark tonight,” and “Good evening, fellow blood drinkers.”
One real vampire snapped. “Can you not wave your arms around like you’re auditioning for ‘Vampires on Ice’?”
Jack froze mid-pose. “Sorry. Old habit. From the… ancient shift.”
The vampire rolled his eyes and muttered, “Mortals are getting weirder every century.”
Jack’s heart nearly stopped.
Mortals.
He was surrounded by them, real vampires.
And he had no idea how to get out.
🌀 What Just Happened?
- Jack reached a castle that looked nothing like the cereal box version.
- Two vampires argued about fang polish like it was toothpaste.
- Jack lied about being an “ancient vampire” on a long coffin nap.
- He tripped, shattered a fancy vase, and hissed at everyone.
- Jack successfully fooled some vampires and terrified himself instead.
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