In the dreary village of Fulhurst Moors, most residents spend their days cutting peat from the nearby bogs or tending flocks of rugged sheep on the moor. When night falls, they huddle in their homes or gather inside the solid stone walls of the Bell and Whistles, trading stories of the latest gruesome misfortunes to befall those foolish enough to venture out onto the moor after sunset or unfortunate enough to be caught by sudden fog or rain while working in the bogs.
The local priest has been driven close to madness by his inability to provide solace to his congregation, and the mayor and constable become increasingly concerned as a growing number of villagers drown their fears in moonshine whiskey. The fearful atmosphere is well deserved, for ancient beings of malice and cruelty haunt the mists beyond the village. And they have struck a terrible bargain with someone inside Fulhurst Moors.