Gehängt Ghul or Hanged Ghoul

In the middle of the village square is a tree gnarled by age and by the darkest of deeds committed on its branches. 

Long ago flowers used to bloom around the tree when it was in its prime with the most verdant of leaves and the most succulent of fruits. But now its leaves are withered and dying and yet do not descend from the branches like most leaves do when their life has reached it end and flowers no longer grow in the soil beneath the tree, instead replaced by thorny vines and roses black as the grave and cold to the touch. The fruits that villagers used to pick from the tree have grown worm-ridden and foul dripping rotten juice onto the soil no longer able to grow and sustain healthy flora. 

Villagers used to spend pleasant summer nights resting underneath the tree whilst lovers met in secret and fulfilled their inner most passions and desires carving their initials into the trees tough bark after the deed was done. But now villagers avoided the shade of the tree and lovers pass with a shiver and hurry past giving the tree no second glance.

Children used to play around the tree using a swing underneath one of its branches but now the children are forbidden to approach the tree and the swing that used to creak back and forth is now a noose tightly wrapped around the neck of the trees only occupant visited daily by the crows.

During the Day he is just a hanging corpse staring high up into the sky with lifeless eyes and revolving slowly as the noose winds and unwinds.

During the Night he is a Wrathful Wraith with pale and pulsing sickly yellow eyes untying himself from his noose and paying visits to any unfortunate soul he picks, burying his crooked teeth into fresh living flesh and gorging himself on the tender meat and the warm crimson ambrosia. Men he finishes off quickly whilst women he takes his time satisfying himself on both the lust for blood and the lust for flesh. Children he takes with him into the shadows and from out of the shadows pour forth mutated creatures malformed and malevolent no longer enjoying the company of teddy bears or dolls but of skulls and bones. The offspring of the women he leaves alive are even worse than the Shadow Children as the creatures given birth to are already rotten as if fresh from the grave and crying for mother's blood. Woe and dread he brings to all and all a horrid night. 

Once the moon is chased away by the sun, he is returned to his tree and noose protected by the vines and the noxious poisons of the thorns. His Shadow Children and Death Born that have not been slain have retreated into the blackness of the underworld awaiting another night of their Danse Macabre.