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Usually there'd be no need to be out in the middle of the Scottish Highlands at midnight. No need to be at the crossroads at "dark o'the moon", waiting for bad spirits to materialize in the freezing night air. No need at all, unless you're stupid enough to have made a bet that those spirits don't exist. Peter was stupid enough, and it's a bet he's about to lose. When the air goes shimmery and a stench of death hits him, he'd better run. Because if the Bogle gets him, touches his forehead with its long, bony finger, it's only a matter of time...