We found the man soaking in an old bathtub in the middle of a paddock.

Some nearby cows looked confused, evidently wondering what the man was doing in their trough. With eyes closed, he rubbed a bar of soap vigorously through his beard, working up an impressive lather while he mumbled his way through the chorus of ‘Mumma Mia’.

I leaned against a nearby fence where he’d draped a towel. On first impressions, he didn’t seem particularly sinister. The man took a moment to rinse his face with cupped hands, before launching into the second verse.

We’d stopped at the payphone on the highway where Darren made a couple of calls to his friends at the station. It turned out that community radio—staffed predominantly by nosy senior citizens—rivaled both the KGB and CIA as intelligence networks.

According to the rumor mill, the man’s name was Darryl and he’d been sleeping in his car on the outskirts of town. Darryl dunked his head in the water, held it there for a moment and, when he emerged gasping, shook like a dog.

I took the opportunity to cough loudly.

The man’s reaction was explosive. He burst from the water and gave a high-pitched squeal that sent the cattle running.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled.

Water dripped from his beard and suds trailed down a thatch of ginger chest hair. He took a moment to study the badge pinned to my navy jumper.

“We’ve had a complaint about you,” I said.

“It’s not what you think—”

“You’ve been stalking an old woman, Darryl.”

He seemed to process that for a moment. “Well,” he replied sheepishly, “I guess it’s exactly what you think.”

Darryl gestured for the towel draped over the fence. When I turned to reach for it, he bolted.

Bloody hell.

Pale and naked, his ginger buttocks wobbled as he dashed across the open paddock. He was headed for an impenetrable copse of trees in the distance. It may surprise you to hear that I didn’t feel like chasing the soggy, naked man across a paddock.

I gave a whistle.

There was a sudden gust of displaced air and Darren appeared beside me.

“Jesus Christ, Darren!”

“Sorry, mate,” he replied, eyes blood-red and fangs extended.

“Reckon you can run him down?”

Darren gave a wicked grin and dashed after him. Draping the towel over my shoulder, I trudged after them. Darryl disappeared into the trees, Darren followed a few moments later. If I kept employing the vampire on a part time basis, we’d probably have to arrange some kind of contractual—

There was a sudden, sickening crunch. Darren sailed through the air and hit the ground like a sack of wet cement.

I dashed to his side. The vampire was unresponsive. Cursing silently, I realised I was in over my head again.

Removing the baton from my service belt, I started to cross the open paddock, feeling a familiar surge of adrenalin.

Pausing at the treeline, I looked back at the motionless vampire. Whoever…whatever…the man was, he was dangerous. He’d taken out an ancient and powerful vampire with a single, savage blow. That wasn’t the sort of thing that an overweight, country copper would possibly survive.  Steeling myself, I stepped into the bush, moving slowly…scanning the trees for—wait…was that…?

It couldn’t be.

I paused, blinking…trying to focus on the fine, white crystals floating on eddies and gusts of summer air. I exhaled and my breath formed a misty cloud of vapour.

What the hell?

The summer sky had disappeared, replaced with a layer of grey clouds. I felt a chill as the snow intensified. My reverie was broken by the sudden, violent sound of rending timber and the crash of enormous feet. Before I could turn, something snagged my leg and I struck the ground, vision exploding, momentarily breathless, rocks gouging my face as I was dragged through into the undergrowth and became suddenly weightless.

The world was upside down.

Then I saw the creature that held me aloft. It was at least fifteen feet tall, a hulking figure of twisted branches and bark. Two, tiny eyes studied me. In an ancient voice that sounded like two tectonic plates grinding together, it uttered a single word: “Witch.” Then, it reached out and poked me with a twig-like finger.

“You’re in deep shit now,” said Darryl.

“Story of my goddamn life,” I observed.