Stanford shouldn't have been surprised to find a live cow grazing near the house when they woke up that morning, just as Fiddleford's new "friend" had promised in her note. It seems that she wasn't going to let up on her "concern" for Fiddleford's health.

Poor Fiddleford: when he spotted the toffee-colored cow through the partially boarded-up window, the lanky man spat out his coffee, screamed himself silly, and ran out of the kitchen. Ford found him in the guest bedroom wearing ten garlands of garlic around his neck and brandishing a powerful flashlight hooked up to a suitcase-sized battery. Despite his friend's terror, Ford had to appreciate how fast McGucket could whip up a portable UV light while in a panic.

"She has it in for me, Stanford!" Fiddleford yelped. "She's gonna come get me and drain me dry, that's what!"

"Easy there, buddy," Ford said consolingly from the doorway. He held up a slim tome before continuing, "According to your Paranormal Stalkers book, vampires can't just waltz into the house. You need to invite them in. That must be why she used a rock to send you a message."

Fiddleford dropped the arm holding the UV light. "That's—that's something," he said faintly, with a trace of hope.

"Of course, this limits your safety to inside the house and walking outside during daylight hours," Ford helpfully supplied. Then he looked at his friend's disgruntled expression. "Oh."

"Real helpful, Pines," the engineer muttered, sinking into his garlands of garlic. "Real helpful."

And that was how Ford found himself out and about in town that afternoon, haphazardly stapling flyers with a description of the cow and details on how to reclaim the creature. It wasn't a pleasant experience for the socially reticent Ford, what with the people constantly gawking at him. But there were moments when he felt more intense eyes following him around as he hit the hardware store and bought groceries.

Ford rubbed the back of his neck as he drove Fiddleford's car back to the house in the woods.

This needs to stop.

XXXXX

Meanwhile, Fiddleford decided that it was fairly safe enough (and light enough) to go outside and inspect the new visitor on the lawn. He knew that it was silly of him to worry about vampires in the middle of the day, but he couldn't forget the moment when the woman lifted him up by his lapels and bit him. As he pet the cow, he was also aware of a niggling indignation that she found his blood gross.

"Fiddleford…"

He paused in the middle of stroking the cow's neck. That voice sounded familiar…

"Fiddleford, my dear! Come to the trees…" cooed the voice. It was both soft and compelling.

It sounded predatory.

Without taking his now-shaking hand off the cow, Fiddleford raised his eyes to the border of the property. Among the shadows cast by the trees, he spotted a cloaked figure. Swallowing nervously, Fiddleford started walking backwards towards the cabin.

"My dear man, have you set an appointment with a physician since our last meeting?" asked the figure from the trees. "I can smell you from here; you still have that disappointing lack in your blood."

"I—I don't know why that's any of your business, Miss Vampire," he said, mustering up righteous indignation. He touched the garlic garland around his neck as he took another two steps backward.

"I make it my business, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket," she said simply. "I still remember the taste of your blood. I am both offended and concerned for you."

Fiddleford's eyes bulged as he sputtered, feeling equal parts cross and terrified.

"I thought you would appreciate my gift of iron supplements. I believed they will help alleviate your condition…"

"Are—are you always this nice to your prey, Missy?!" Fiddleford interrupted, tamping down his panic as best as he could. He took another step backward and landed painfully on his rear; he had reached the porch.

"Please, call me Vlada," said the woman. "You should count yourself fortunate that I am looking out for your well-being! A hundred years ago, I would have been compelled to obliterate you on the spot for having terrible-tasting blood. We vampires are more enlightened now."

Fiddleford didn't know what was worse: the fact that vampires would kill you for having blood that disagreed with them or the way that Vlada discussed this so airily.

"Is that why you sent me that atrocious cookbook?!" Fiddleford asked; he could no longer keep the hysteria out of his voice.

The figure from the trees moved; it looked like the cloaked figure had placed her hands on her hips. Fiddleford wondered if he had offended her somehow. He started inching his way towards the door.

"Atrocious?!" she said, sounding shocked. "I'll have you know that that book is a gift to both mortals and vampires! It has been a bestseller for over sixty years; that copy I sent you was part of the last stock from the printers! You should be grateful you have a brand-new copy at all!"

Fiddleford's back made contact with something solid just as he heard a car coming up the rocky driveway.

"Oh no…STANFORD!" he gasped. He looked around him; the sky was becoming blood-red as the sun began to set.

"I will come back again soon, Fiddleford," said Vlada. "I'm not giving up on you. Now go and have your cow!"

And just as Stanford parked the car in front of the porch, Vlada's shadowy form blended with the shadows of the trees.

XXXXX

Author's Note: I didn't think I'd write a sequel for Fiddleford's Stalker, but here we are! This was inspired from the same vampire thread; the vampire kept checking up on their "patient".