Two men, Peter Maxwell and someone named Churhill were flying high over a forest in a futuristic "flier," which is like a car, except it flies (anti-gravity, I suppose). Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the engine quits, and the flier starts falling out of the sky. Peter Maxwell, knowlegeable about the territory they were flying over, quickly finds a clear spot between the trees and has Churhill, the "driver," aim to land in it.

The clearing is a fairy green, a place for fairies to dance when the moon is full. The flier lands on the green and skids to a stop, tearing an ugly gash in the fairies' lawn in the process.

The flier's descent had been marked by a goblin clan leader named Mr. O'Toole, who came galloping down a hillside path toward the two men from the downed flier. Mr. O'Toole, longtime friend of Peter Maxwell, arrived cursing "them lousy trolls" for putting a hex on the "broomstick" (the flier). Recognizing Maxwell, he offers to share with him the latest brewing of sweet October ale, the favorite alcoholic drink of goblins, who alone know how to make the stuff, and trolls, who are always angling to make the goblins give them some.

After ordering some other goblins to get to work repairing the damage to the fairy green, Mr. O'Toole, Peter Maxwell, and that Churchill fellow start climbing up the path toward the drafty castle at the top where the goblins distilled their brew. But on the way up, they were met by a hysterical younger goblin who told Mr. O'Toole that the "sweet" October ale had suddenly gone sour! The only way this could have happened is by magic, and suddenly Mr. O'Toole went tearing back down the path again, heading toward the mossy bridge where the trolls hung out, ranting and raving about how he was going to skin the trolls alive and pin their ears to trees...