GLOGtober Challenge: A Monster Described Only Through Conflicting Folklore & Rumour; Or: The Granfalgroo

As seen here: https://glass-candles.blogspot.com/2024/09/glogtober-24.html

Challenge courtesy of Vivanter: https://mediumsandmessages.bearblog.dev/

🥄

You two come and eat your fill of the granfalgroo,
All pantry-things at hand have gone into this stew,
Dig in til nothing's left, come on give it a chew,
It will be your end if we've had our fill of you!

GRAN

'Ewere drinkup!: the molly-combs glister to the twinking stars between them, enswathing indigold roots invest'iridal floors, twiralled in flocorum and once more in chiaroscurry-all strips - slimp strathe-wise 'cross the lambent flumes for 'ewhenin the grand-fall-grew how're glass'n into verse.

 FAL

Potstruck, stewstrewn, lumpin' poured,
Breadtack driven, hardstale board,
Puncture, sancle, 'testin' cord,
Proud-lapse coockle oh my lord!
Strifelin' tatter'd, exeunt-bound,
Outed houses, s'loose the hound!
Snuckle swoofley yack-end ground,
Wiff-club grample, smaff, and pound!
Death rats clean with rock-dove coo,
Struck downstrewn the granfalgroo!

GROO

Sup twice from the maenad's cup and tere-tair-up from the withinside-out:
I tell you true for the granfalgroo is NOT the grundaloot IS not the sweembairn and IS NOT the nardypuce;
Yet forgiven underforgotten, grave-packed you'll be for mistaking them and he!

GROO

It splatters it squelches it rushes it crushes it kills you out right from within and without with torn-out nails and bursted tripe it knows you it smells you it knows that it smells you but not with its nose it smells from the heart and the hart and the hare and the brown and the stew and it knows where you sleep it knows when you sleep it's watched you through life with eyes not its own and fish-heads burble and bobble and pickled eggs wobble it won't do you good go hungry get clear it won't shed a tear for a lick of your fear

FAL

Once upon a time there was a boy
A nasty little boy
 Who did nasty little things
He pissed in pies on the sill
And plucked the wings off chickens
And he was very rude to his uncle
And one day the nasty little boy died
His head was like a drumstick
With meat slurped off the bone
His hands had been peeled like potatoes
And his chest made for a deep bowl of soup
No one attended his funeral
And people quietly thanked the granfalgroo

GRAN

A smidge of porridge on the door,
A boar's head rolling 'neath the floor,
In beds on tables gruesome gore,
Old man still sleeping, what a snore!
Tummy rumbling, chin all a'biled,
What's left unsaid can come out wild,
In pots and pans it brews and stews
And spills out deadly granfalgroos!