Introduction

Ghost stories, tales of the supernatural, and of odd and inexplicable happenings are the gossip of the people, passed around as they sit by the fire of a stormy evening. Some are told at ceilidhs, where folk gather to tell stories, to sing beloved old songs, and, if someone has brought a fiddle, or in later days an accordion, to step out the intricate measures of Scottish strathspeys, Gay Gordons, jigs, and reels. There is always time for a story or two or three at a ceilidh, and many that are told are sure enough to send shivers down the hearers’ spines. Fortunately, not all these Scottish tales are frightful. The Scots love to laugh, although that fact does not seem to be universally known, and they are not adverse to poking a sly bit of fun at themselves once in a while, as they do in the tale of “The Ghost of Hamish MacDonald.”

It is impossible to put a date or an author to any supernatural story I have ever heard. Some of them one recognizes as fairly recent because their backgrounds mention modern things, but others, by their settings, show that they spring from days long gone. The important thing is that these tales, young or old, are still being told by word of mouth, and that their stock, unlike that of the folk tales, is still being added to. I have heard one particularly gruesome story of the haunting of a house in Aberdeen by the ghost of a child who died in 1945.

Not all the eerie stories of Scotland are ghost stories, however. There are tales of demons, fetches, monsters, and many other strange phenomena as well. In my own family we have a number of stories that are peculiarly our own. There were, for instance, two cousins of my grandmother who could communicate their thoughts to each other when they were apart. This happened to the good of the family one stormy autumn eve. Wullie had not done his lesson well and was kept at home to study it while his cousin Calum was sent to fetch in the cows. Wullie was sitting with his nose in his book, toasting his toes by the fire, when suddenly he lifted his head and sat up as if listening to something outside the house.

He said in a moment, “Calum is saying the broon coo is i’ the boglach.”

“Get back to your book,” his mother bade him, not paying him much heed, thinking it a trick of Wullie’s to get out with Calum. But Wullie tossed his book aside and shouted, “Rin and fetch my father and the men, for Wullie is saying he canna hauld her longer ’an she’s going doon fast.”

His mother, struck by his excitement, rushed out to the byre and told her husband that Calum was saying the “broon coo” was stuck in the bog. He waited to ask no questions, but called the men, and they rushed off with ropes and ladders to the bog. Sure enough, there was the broon coo and she was being sucked into the bog, with Calum doing his best to keep her head above the mire. They got her out, but not without some difficulty, and if it had not been for Calum and Wullie they’d have lost her that day.

“Och, weel,” said Wullie. “’Twas too far to run hame for help and I couldna leave the coo to herself wi’ nane tae hauld her heid up, so I just tauld Wullie to send the men.”

Well—that’s one of the queer tales that have come down to me, and I have no doubt that every Scottish family could match it if they liked to. As for myself, I do believe that if you were to spread out the map of Scotland before me, I could tell you some strange and supernatural tale I’ve heard about almost every town and village that appears upon that map. In this book are ten of these stories, from ten Scottish towns lying between the Border and John o’ the Groats, north, south, east, and west.

Sorche Nic Leodhas