The Day the Magic Died
The magic wasn’t really magic, it turns out. It was a full-length mirror with a crack at the bottom, except when he turned it on end, and then the crack was at the top. This explains his mood swings, not the evil elves that sprinkled mischief in his ear as he slept at night.
The mirror had tiny brass bells all along its wooden border, put there by the bell fairies, and they jingled when he grabbed the mirror and shook it, out of anger against the elves who plagued his sleep.
Because of the peculiar way his eyes were set, when he looked into the mirror he didn’t see his reflection but that of a shape shifter who lurked behind him, and when he dreamed at night, unless the elves got there first, the shape shifter had many great adventures and as time passed came to know and love many beautiful women.
Then one day life dealt him a resounding blow that jolted his vision into normal focus. He was dismayed by what he saw. He took the mirror in his hands and shook it to make the bells jingle, but the magic was no longer there.