"Tapper Smurf and the Midnight Guest" is a ChatGPT generated mini-story.
The Story[]
It had been a week since the tavern vanished and returned. Things were back to normal… almost.
Tapper kept glancing at the woods.
Not out of fear.
Out of wonder.
He’d seen something in that clearing—something rare and ancient. A peace deeper than silence, like creation itself had taken a breath. And now… he missed it.
Then, one night, just as Tapper was locking up, a breeze swept through the tavern—no open windows, no door ajar. Just… wind. It smelled of pine and dew and fireflies.
He turned slowly.
There, at a corner booth, sat a shimmering figure. Not quite Smurf. Not quite spirit. It looked like it was made of dandelion seeds and stardust, cloaked in twilight.
The Smurfadee.
It nodded politely.
Tapper didn’t flinch.
“I don’t suppose you drink cider?” he asked.
The creature tilted its head. Tapper took that as a yes.
He poured a glass, brought it over, and sat across from it.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said. “For what you showed me.”
The Smurfadee said nothing. Just watched him. Its eyes shimmered with scenes—mountains, clouds, old forests, new stars. Tapper felt small… and oddly comforted.
“You took the tavern because you saw its value,” Tapper continued. “But there’s another way.”
He leaned in.
“What if… I built one just for you? Not for business. Not even for the village. Just a quiet place in the woods, for wanderers, for spirits, for those who don’t fit in.”
The creature blinked slowly.
Then—vanished.
The next morning, Tapper went to Duncan.
“I need lumber. And your help.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Building an underground pub for mushrooms again?”
Tapper chuckled. “Even better.”
Together, they built a tiny tavern deep in the woods. Small, warm, with moss for chairs and mushrooms for mugs. They carved a cross into the oak over the door—not to claim it, but to bless it. Tapper left a single note inside:
"To the lost, the lonely, the light-hearted, and the long-wandering:
You are welcome here.
—Tapper Smurf"
No one in the village ever saw the forest tavern again.
But sometimes, when the moon was full and the wind whispered strange names, Tapper would find a new flower on his doorstep… or a full mug no one had poured.
And he’d smile.
Knowing the Smurfadee still visited.
Moral: Hospitality isn’t about walls. It’s about welcome. And sometimes the ones who need it most… don’t look like us at all.