[pixie_shimmer]: 19.CE - The Gogglegit

For the Unusual creatures contest.

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The Gogglegit

On dark nights, when thunder claps and rain pours down so hard and fast that you are unable to see even your hand in front of you; beware, for this is the time that the Gogglegit goes searching for helpless victims. His eyes pierce into the gloom and seem to look right through the sheets of raindrops falling from the sky that render your vision useless. His head is large and shaped somewhat like a potato, with folds of skin creating a sort of visor where his eyebrows should be. You are more than likely dead before you get the chance to see him, but if you’d surely die of terror if you saw him in perfect lighting, unhindered by the darkness and rain.

His nose is merely a huge gaping hole in the middle of his head. His mouth is merely a slit. A thick, tattered cloak that drags along the ground covers his knobbly body, and matter how much rain he walks through, he cannot get the cloak clean. The stench of death surrounds his being, and has become a part of him. 

Shuffle
     

dra-a-ag

Shuffle
     

dra-a-ag

Blinded by the rain, a weary traveller has decided to stay and rest a while, instead of getting hopelessly lost in the wilderness. He jerks sharply to look behind him – but he sees nothing but rain and has to wipe his eyes. The sound is gone. The traveller pulls his jacket over his head to offer some protection from the downpour.

Shuffle
     

dra-a-ag

Shuffle
     

dra-a-ag

The traveller jerks sharply around again. This time he can see a little better with the jacket to keep the rain out of his eyes. He can make out a dim shadow – or at least he thinks he sees something. He cannot be sure, so he calls out:

“Hello! Is anyone there?”

There is no answer. Perhaps the traveller is seeing things? Hearing things? A small moment of confusion is felt, before he turns back around and huddles tightly under his jacket again.

***A clap of thunder***

***A bolt of lightning***

The traveller is gone. His jacket is the only thing left providing evidence of his existence.
Some may say that he just ran away, perhaps because of money troubles? Maybe it was a woman? People are always willing to believe such stories. Some of the more superstitious folk whisper together though. They know what happened, as they’ve seen it before. “The Gogglegit”, they murmur. They make signs of a cross across their chests. They make sure to lock their windows on rainy nights. They know to be wary of the Gogglegit.