It makes me think of Sherlock Holmes adventures on the moors of the British Isles. For instance, in "The Hound of the Baskervilles". One expects to hear the mournful howl of a great hound echoing though the night and sending a tremor of fear through my body.
It is a night made for murder most foul. I can nearly feel the cold dampness penetrating my body under my greatcoat.