There was tension and fear circulating in the village. Small children and teenagers were getting sick. Each of them had strange marks on their bodies. Villagers felt sure that they were falling prey to Old Haigue. A bloodsucker must be living among them. Suspicion and distrust began to fester. 

Bamboo Field was situated more than 1,000 miles from the capital. It was remote and backward in many ways. No lights, no potable water, no telephones and no police presence. All issues were dealt with at the village council level.
When the strange bite marks began to appear on the necks, arms, legs and backs of the children, a council meeting was convened. Mothers were hysterical and demanded immediate action. The only problem with that was they had no evidence to convict anyone.
Some villagers were adamant that nothing of the sort was taking place. They tried to advise the members of the village council to seek some rational explanation for the complaint that was afflicting the children. A doctor was summoned and all the children examined. The medical practitioner could offer no conclusive answer to the troubling illness.
At another meeting after the doctor had departed, the villagers decided to keep an eye on five suspects. They felt certain that one of them must be the culprit. Five elderly villagers came under intense scrutiny.
Ms. Kingston lived with her elderly daughter at the back of the village. She was 81 and deaf. The village had never experienced any sort of problem with her before. Some of the children began to laugh and make mock of her because of her handicap. This did not bother her. She got on with her life and seemed quite happy.
Basil was an old grey man with one leg. He lost his leg in a boat accident when he was working at sea. He owned a donkey cart and traversed the village moving scrap metal and garbage for a small fee. The children did not like him because he never allowed them to take rides on his old cart.
Doris was sixty-six and weighed in at 257 pounds. She worked as a washerwoman but succeeded in doing more gossiping than washing. As far as she was concerned she knew everything about everybody. She even knew details about persons who did not even know about themselves.
Faye was fifty-one but looked like seventy-seven. She was an addict and had quickly deteriorated into a junkie. Due to her abuse of narcotics, she had gone a bit crazy. Villagers referred to her as Flighty Faye. She would disappear for two weeks or more and when she came back she would be high on something. No one knew how she got her drugs.
The last suspect was Mr. Weeks. He was a well off retired civil servant. He lived alone in one of the biggest houses in the village. All his children were married and lived overseas. His wife had died three years ago and he had become withdrawn after that. He never attended any village council meeting and this helped to fuel suspicion.
The villagers’ vigilance was scaled up from just keeping a close eye to marking a cross on bridges and doors of the suspects. This last move caused the ones under watch to become aware of their status in the village. Some were very fearful. The only one who dared to show open defiance was Mr. Weeks. He called the frightened villagers silly, ignorant jackasses. This did not go down well with them.
Then the villagers took things further. They began questioning them about their movement especially during the night. All sorts of answers were given. Old man Weeks however sent them packing with the adept use of some spicy expletives.
For some unknown reason all the suspicion shifted from the others and centered on Faye. The mere fact that she ate very little and went missing on regular occasions was seen as too much of a coincidence. This made her the prime suspect. That was when her torment began.
Her house was regularly damaged by missiles thrown by villagers old and young. Whenever she went anywhere she was verbally abused. This escalated to shoves, slaps and cuffs. She fell ill and was taken to the capital for medical attention.
The villagers then turned their attention to Doris. The same treatment was meted out to her. She however fought back. When they cussed she cussed more. When they hit she hit back harder once she could catch the attacker. When bricks fell on her house she threw bricks on every house nearby.
In total exasperation some of the younger villagers attacked, beat and exiled her from the community. She went to live with relatives in the capital. When the children still woke with bite marks, the villagers decided to set a trap. One of the children, who had suffered on a nightly basis, became an unwilling bait. The child’s home and bedroom was prepared for a big battle.
The child, a six-year-old girl, was dressed in a shocking blue nightgown. Four cabbage brooms were purchased and concealed at strategic points. Powerful disinfectant was bought and placed within hand reach. One pint of rice was also kept handy. If they were lucky the Old Haigue would strike again. When it did they would be waiting to give it a rude awakening.
That night some of the villagers slipped unnoticed into the child’s home. Some armed themselves with a cabbage broom. One held the bottle of disinfectant and another had the small basin of rice. The vigil was on.
Creak!
The child’s door was slowly being opened. Sleepy eyes grew alert and everyone got ready for action. As soon as the door was half open, the trap was sprung. Men converged on the figure in the dark room and proceeded to beat it with their brooms. It was only the angry, indignant cussing that brought them to their senses.
In their excitement and enthusiasm, they had attacked the girl’s mother. Although the plan was for the mother to wait next door, she had disobeyed out of motherly love and protective instinct.
When tempers had cooled she returned next door and the vigil continued. There was now little hope of catching anything that night.
Mmmmmm!
The soft whimpering of the child forced sleeping eyes open. The bedroom door stood ajar and a dark form was stooping low over the infant’s bed. The rice went first. It was thrown onto the bedroom floor.
Pssssssh!
Then the disinfectant followed swiftly.
Splash!
The smelly liquid was thrown on the dark shape. The Old Haigue jumped in alarm and looked wildly around with panic and desperation. It stooped suddenly and began to count the rice scattered on the floor. Then the main course was introduced. Lix like peas landed on the crouching figure.
Curled up and silent the creature began scooping up the rice and counting it at an astonishing rate. Very soon the beaters realised that the pint of rice would not be enough. The dark creature straightened up holding it’s clothing in a ball. In the fold of the clothing was the rice it had counted. With its free hand the sinister shape swung wildly at its tormentors.
Bam!
Pow!
Two bodies too slow to react got badly injured. Then it was gone in the blink of an eye. Next day as soon as dawn arrived, the injured were rushed to the city. Meanwhile a large, angry mob of villagers began forcing their way into the homes of the remaining suspects. To their bewilderment no mark of injury was found on any of them.
They were just exiting a furious Mr. Weeks house when word reached them that William a young village handyman was sick. When they arrived at his dilapidated shack they knew before seeing him that they had found the Blood Sucker.
Rice was scattered in front of his door and inside the house. He lay sprawled on the floor with an expression of horror on his face. He was dead. The beating had been so severe they could have hardly recognised his face. What confirmed that he was the Old Haigue was the strong smell of disinfectant that permeated the small shaky structure.
There was no further incident of anyone being attacked in this strange way.