The small town of Bishop, Oklahoma – a long way from anywhere.
It’s the winter of 1937. It’s been a long, unseasonably cold winter, the worst in a long time.
And there’s something out there. Preying on cattle, prowling around the farms, leaving strange tracks in the snow.
Foolish people say that it started after the strangers came from back East, but something tells you it started long, long before that. Maybe it started before the natives raised the mounds, maybe it started before people ever came to this part of the world. Whatever’s out there is older than the winter.
But it’s here now, at your very door, and it’s up to you to put an end to it.