The Vog

Cave painting from the mines of Dun Tugal.

Beware the Vog, in half-human shape, something like the wolf.

The Vog? you ask with lighter tone and careless smirking doubt. What are they? you press in jest.

You haven't heard the stories yet, stretched back a thousand years and more? Then, in denial and unafraid, hear something now about the Vog, a little that I know.

But what to tell that won’t scare youth, or even you, saucer-eyed, bedcovers to the chin?

So first take note and be aware of high on granite hill elusive sounds and shifting shapes, long trailing shadows in spiny gorse falling within the blackened mire. Beware the weathered mounds and broken tors, dusky vales and flowing leats. Beware stealth in deadened air and whispering grass. Then dropping low on narrow paths, slight shrouding fog in sunken hollow, crisp rustled leaves beneath your feet, trailed by the owl's shriek. All to win in raising doubt hard goosebumps on the shivered neck.

Oh, I fear now any more to tell about the Vog itself! So wait a while, with only this til then. Beware you the coming mist and dark, both cloud or moonless nights, and if about keep close a friend to shield you from your fright.