Work Text:
Before you read
Sources:
- “Scottish Myths” by Jake Jackson.
- The Bogle by W. D. Cocker | Scottish Poetry Library
- Bogle - Wikipedia
- Bogles, Bugbears, and Boggarts | Eric Edwards Collected Works (wordpress.com)
- (11) Folklore ,Traditions & Legends - Posts | Facebook
A bogle is a spirit that takes delight in scaring humans. They’re strange and freakish, but are more mischievous than harmful. The word for this spirit comes from the middle-English word bugge (which then led to the word bogey in English and bögge/böggel-mann meaning “goblin” in German).
There’s a famous story of the Tatty Bogle which would hide in potato fields and attack or scare people. The Tatty Bogle is said to have looked like a scarecrow, so the meaning of bogel meant “scarecrow” and this is where scarecrows originate.
In some lowland stories, the bogle is a ghost similar to the boogeyman. In the highlands, the bocan referred to a creature similar to the Norse puki , which is where the English word puck derives from. This is also the creature that Robin Goodfellow from Shakespeare’s play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream , comes from.
This is an excerpt from the book, “Scottish Myths” by Jake Jackson:
“Two men in a very dark night, approaching the banks of the Ettrick, heard a doleful voice from it’s waves repeatedly exclaim, ‘Lost, lost!’ They followed that sound, which seemed to be the voice of a drowning person, and, to their astonishment, found that it ascended the river; still they continued to follow toe cry of the malicious sprite, and, arriving before dawn at the very sources of the river, the voice was now hard descending the opposite side of the mountain in which they arise. The fatigued and deluded travellers now relinquished the pursuit, and had no sooner done so, than they heard Shellycoat applauding, in loud bursts of laughter, his successful roguery.”
Typical late night patrols for Hawks mean swiftly dealing with several villains in between small orders of street food from the late night vendors. His patrol approaches its end when he receives a call from the Hero Commission instructing him to fly to a nearby town for a short mission.
He makes his direct way to his destination. The town is eerily quiet in the late hour, much different than the fast paced culture of the city. Most civilians are asleep, their houses dark and seemingly void of life.
Dim street lights faintly illuminate the concrete road. The blond walks down the path, focusing his senses on his wings. The lamp above him flickers a few times before going out completely. Perhaps it was simply in need of maintenance, but his gut twists in anticipation of something bad.
It should be normal. Street lamps go out all the time, but something sends shivers right through the pro-hero’s bones. He chalks it up to whatever villain activity he was called in to handle. Within seconds, his fierce wings detect the issue.
It takes mere moments for him to stop the villain. After police arrive to arrest the man, Hawks bids goodbye to the two bystanders only after he takes a selfie with them. It’s a typical day of work for the pro-hero.
He’s on his way back when he hears a loud cry from below. Reacting instinctively, he swoops down towards the wail.
“Please help!”
The voice echoes from the river below; rushing water overpowering the call. He swoops over the water, searching for the voice. His sharp eyes catch something ahead of him. Picking up speed, he rushes towards the person drowning.
“Help!” it wails again.
The sound is seemingly further away, but Hawks swears he’s flying faster than the running stream.
It’s then he realizes that he’s flying in the opposite direction; the sound carrying from upstream as its echoes ripple through his down. As soon as he thinks he’s about to save the victim, they disappear.
“Help, help!”
The call is followed by a scream. The winged hero's blood runs cold as he fears the worst, but he doesn’t give up. He flies above the trees, searching for the vibrations from the victim’s call once more. When he feels the familiar tingle, he races in its direction, only to be led back to the center of town.
The air is still; only a few street lamps dimly illuminate the street. The silver sliver of the moon only contributes to the darkness as wisps of clouds wander across it.
A chill runs down Hawks’s spin; his wings pick up the slightest movement in the air. He spins around, eye darting towards the direction that had his senses screaming.
Just out of sight of the light, he watches a small, hunched figure shift ever so slightly. The edges of the light only vaguely highlights the creature’s many ridges and angles, but Hawks’s eyes catch it clearly.
Its body looks like it’s covered in long branches, twisting and wringing themselves around its form. It’s eyes are completely black. The creature cocks its head, anticipating the hero’s next move.
Hawks is stunned.
He hesitates, wondering if it’s a kid with a heteromorphic quirk playing a prank on him. He’s about to dismiss his gut feeling until the creature begins cackling. Its laughter grows louder as it begins clapping.
Hawks sends several of his feathers hurling towards the creature in response, but they pierce nothing. As quickly as it came, the howling laughter ceases and the creature disappears back into the darkness of the night.
Hawks takes a deep breath to steady his racing heart, then, he takes off into the night sky; doing everything he can to write off the strange encounter.