Ghostlore – The Skirrid Inn, Wales’ Most Haunted Pub
The Skirrid Inn. Definitely not a place to hang about at nightfall…
In the south-east of Wales lies the county of Monmouthshire. Its southern border rests against the great Severn Estuary, whilst its northern and eastern edges are next to England. It is considered a predominantly rural area, with its largest town being Abergavenny, sometimes referred to as the gateway to Wales, due to its close proximity to the English border.
Not far from Abergavenny you will find the village of Llanvihangel Crucorney, home to Wales’ oldest and, very probably, most troubled public house. Documents date the place back to the 12th century, but it could be even older. The name of this haunted establishment: The Skirrid Inn.
The Skirrid Inn takes its name from the impressive Skirrid Mountain, an easterly outlier of the Black Mountains in Wales, and part of the Brecon Beacons National Park. The Skirrid was once a traditional pilgrimage site, as it was believed the mountain was struck by lightning and split in two at the moment Jesus died on the cross.
There are plenty of historical sources for the many ghostly disturbances a visitor might experience. According to legend, the inn was used as a meeting place for supporters of the Welsh revolt against the reign of Henry VI. Later, it was used by the notorious Judge Jeffreys, nicknamed The Hanging Judge. He is said to have ordered over 180 men to be hanged from the oak beam above the stairwell. The marks of the executioner’s noose can still be seen to this day.
The Hauntings
The ghost of the wicked Hanging Judge is said to roam the upper levels of the building, and is considered a very unpleasant entity to encounter. Witnesses describe his spirit as a sinister black mass, large and foreboding, which wanders the dark halls before finally fading from the terrified onlookers’ view.
Some people staying at the inn have reported a choking sensation, along with the feel of rough hemp being drawn about their throats, as though a noose had been dropped over them. It is a horrendous suffocating feeling that can causes panic even in the hardiest soul.
A great many strange noises are reported throughout the inn: heavy boots pacing rooms known to be empty, whispered voices in the shadows, the thud of something dropped from the upper floors. Given the number of deaths that have occurred at The Skirrid Inn, knowing exactly who or what is responsible for all these sounds is nearly impossible.
A landlady from the 17th century is said to have died of consumption in one of the bedrooms. Her name was Fanny Price. She has been seen wandering the public house on cold, dark evenings. Another member of the Price family, Henry - possibly either Fanny’s husband or perhaps her father - has been spotted marching up and down the cobbles by moonlight, stepping in time to the squeaking of the Skirrid Inn’s sign in the night wind. Sometimes his phantom wanders inside to scare guests by banging on the chimney.
Not far from the inn is a stretch of woodland called The White Lady Woods. Here can be found the ghost of a sad young woman wandering amongst the trees with a lonely tread. She is thought to have been the lover of one of the inn’s former owners. The Inn keepers wife stumble upon the pair in the middle of a fruity cuddle and chased the naked girl out into the night, where she eventually froze to death in the woods.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog, my friend. I hope you found it enjoyable. If you like folktales or scary stories, why not try out my audiobook Fireside Horror? It is wonderfully narrated by the talented voice actor Aubrey Parsons, and is the perfect thing to listen to as the cold, dark nights draw in. Link below:
Stay Spooky.
Sources
Spirits Behind Bars: The Haunting of Shepton Mallet Prison and the Skirrid Inn – Richard Estep
Abergavenny Chronicle
Amyscrypt.com
thelittlehousofhorrors.com
Wikipedia
Folklore – Tizzie Whizie – England’s Cutest Cryptid
The Tizzie Whize. Only dangerous if it drops out of a tree onto your head.
In Cumbria, in the north of England, lies a mountainous region of national parkland known as the Lake District. It is undoubtedly a beautiful place, and many writers and poets have called it home, including children’s author and illustrator Beatrix Potter.
Lake Windermere is the largest lake in England, and a popular spot for tourists to visit during the summer months. It is a place shrouded in myth and legend, and home to perhaps the most child-friendly of all the British cryptids: the diminutive Tizzie Whizie.
An awful lot of legendary beasts that are said to occupy the United Kingdom should probably come with a public health warning, for they are either extremely dangerous or truly terrifying to behold – and very often both. But not the Tizzie Whizie. It is described as having the body of a hedgehog, the wings of a bumblebee, the bushy tail of a squirrel, and the antennae of a butterfly.
The story of the Tizzie Whizie began around 1900, when one evening a boatman from the town of Bowness-on-Windermere entered The Stag’s Head, ordered a drink, and proceeded to regale both locals and tourists with his amazing sighting of the animal. A small group of visitors were so captivated by the story that they offered to pay the boatman to sail them to the location where the little beastie had been spotted – and the first Tizzie Whizie hunt was born.
Then the incredible occurred: the little cryptid was captured and photographed.
One day in 1906, according to legend, the boatman’s grandson managed to capture the creature. It was taken to Louis Herbert’s photography studio opposite St Martin’s Church in Bowness, but it was in a great state of distress and had to be calmed down with ginger biscuits and warm milk. Eventually, when it had settled enough, its photograph was taken, and it was then released back into the wild.
Proof. If ever proof was needed.
That photograph was turned into a postcard, which tourists could purchase and send to friends and relatives, thus spreading news of the little bushy-tailed beast throughout the country.
More tourists came to the area, and more boatmen began offering tours to Belle Isle, the location of the majority of the sightings. These Tizzie Whizie hunts became something of a local industry, and often ended with an unlucky individual being pushed into the water.
Occasionally a tourist would complain about not being able to see the shy creature flying about the lake, and even dare to suggest that it might not exist. Fortunately, the boatmen were able to reassure them that the creatures were hard to spot because “it was a very good underwater swimmer.”
On Reddit, one user shared the following information:
“This cryptid is said to live in the Lake District’s Bowness Bay. First spotted by a fisherman on a boat back in the 1900s... many still pay locals to take them on Tizzie Whizie hunts. What a cutie... I’ve lived near Bowness for 20 years and been many times but never heard of him!”
For those who are a little nervous of boats and do not enjoy trips on the water, it has been said that the best way to see a Tizzie Whizie is late at night, staggering down the lanes around Windermere after enjoying a great many drinks in the local pub.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog. Although not quite as scary as my usual posts, I do think the Tizzie Whizie is deserving of our scrutiny – and I’m told the little fellow appreciates the attention.
I will finish with a special shout-out to my niece and nephew, Annie and Alfie, who I hope enjoyed this blog, which I dedicate to them.
Finally, if you enjoyed this piece, please consider picking up a copy of my new book, Threads of Shadow, currently available on Amazon. If you’re kind enough to give it a read, I’d be hugely grateful if you could leave a review – it really does help.
Link below:
Sources
Wikipedia
TheLakeDistrict.org (local tourism blog)
News and Star, Cumbrian news, 26th July 2025
Irish Folklore – The Merrow: Love and Death in the Ocean.
A male Merrow, the harsh environment has not been kind to his complexion…
Ireland’s misty, storm-drenched coastlines stretch for approximately 3,172 kilometres (about 1,970 miles). They consist of towering cliffs, sea-lapped coves, and long stretches of soft, sandy beaches, with many settlements ranging from quaint fishing villages to the larger, bustling port cities of Belfast, Dublin, and Cork.
These ancient coastal areas are home to a very unusual kind of mermaid and merman, known as the Merrow. Now, mermaid stories are told throughout the world - from Cornwall to Jamaica, all the way to Australia. They can be thought of as something of a global phenomenon. So what is it that makes these legendary Irish sea folk different?
At first glance, a Merrow maiden is very typical of the kind of Mermaid found elsewhere: a beautiful woman with long, flowing green locks, which she is often witnessed combing with great care. She has delicate fingers with a slight webbing said to resemble the fine skin between an egg and its shell; and the scaled lower body of a fish, complete with a large, powerful tail that allows her to swim at great speed. Merrows differ from other merfolk because of their magical hat called a cohuleen druith, which allows them to dive beneath the waves. If they lose this cap, they lose the power to return to the water.
Much like the sirens of Greek mythology, the song of a Merrow maiden is said to lure men to her. If she finds a man comely, she might take him as a lover beneath the waves. In some cases, they come ashore, discarding their magic caps and becoming the wives of mortal men. There is a very good reason why a Merrow maid might seek the company of a human male - and that lies in the monstrous nature of the Merrow men.
Male Merrows are described as grotesque: green-skinned, with sharp green teeth and a red, pig-like nose. It is thought to be dangerous to encounter a male Merrow, as they are far more aggressive than the females, and it is believed they embody the malevolent nature of the sea.
The Soul Cages is a story published in Croker’s Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland (1825–28). In it, a merman captures the souls of drowned sailors and locks them in lobster-pot-like cages at the bottom of the ocean. Though this tale turned out to be an invented piece of fiction, Thomas Keightley, who wrote it, claimed similar folktales were circulated in the counties of Cork and Wicklow.
In 1936, two fishermen - Martin Heanue and Thomas Regan - reported a sighting of a male Merrow. Whilst fishing in a cove in County Galway, they were approached by the hideous creature, whom they described as bearded. He allegedly attempted to seize their currach (a wooden-framed boat covered with canvas or animal hide). No doubt the men thought themselves lucky to have survived the experience.
There was also an allegation that a group of female Merrows were reported in the 1960s in the waters off Kinconly Point, a cape in County Kerry, in the province of Munster in the south-west of Ireland.
Thank you for taking the time to read my blog. I do hope you enjoyed this journey into Irish folklore, you can be sure that there will be more strange tales next week. If you enjoy stories of monstrous entities, baleful ghosts and dark magic, please consider purchasing a copy of my new book Threads of Shadow—the perfect companion as the evenings slowly begin to draw in and the darker seasons comes ever nearer.
Stay Spooky.
Sources
Beachcombing online magazine
Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland (1825–28), T. C. Croker
Wikipedia
Scottish Folklore – Terror at the Haunted Bothy
The Haunted Bothy
Bothies are located throughout the United Kingdom, often in out-of-the-way wild places, but they are most commonly found in the Scottish Highlands. A bothy is a basic shelter, without gas or electricity. They are left open to the public and are intended to be used free of charge as a refuge for ramblers.
Most bothies are old cottages of either one or two storeys that have been repurposed to serve their new role. Because they are freely available to all, their continued existence relies on users helping to maintain them. Over the years, the Mountain Bothies Association has developed a code that sets out the main points users should respect. This includes leaving dry wood and kindling for future visitors and reporting any damage to the bothy’s owners.
As can be imagined, bothies are remote and lonely places, ripe for tales of mystery and the supernatural. There are probably as many of these strange stories as there are bothies, but today we will focus on one particular shelter – perhaps the loneliest of them all – Ben Alder Cottage.
Ben Alder Cottage is located in the heart of Scotland, on the edge of Loch Ericht. The closest village is Dalwhinnie, to the north-east of the loch.
The Tales
Undiscovered Scotland by W. H. Murray recounts several of the eerie tales associated with Ben Alder Cottage. In the first, a former officer of the Great War was walking from Rannoch to Dalwhinnie and decided to rest at Ben Alder Cottage for the night. At the time, the property was inhabited by a gamekeeper and his wife. As he tried to sleep, the walker reported hearing the sound of footsteps in the unoccupied adjoining room. When he mentioned this to the gamekeeper’s wife the next morning, she told him that a stag was in the habit of banging its antlers against the outer walls. However, she gave this explanation so unconvincingly, and “with such a look of guilt upon her face”, that the visitor was sure she was hiding the real truth.
The Scottish Mountaineering Club Journal tells another strange tale. A Second World War veteran, blinded in that terrible conflict, was out hill-walking with a companion. They unwisely decided to rest for the evening at the troubled bothy, where they reported tapping noises, low groans, and the sound of footsteps during the night. The following morning, the companion witnessed a packet of biscuits being flung across the room - without the aid of a human hand.
Two stories have been put forward to explain the origins of Ben Alder Cottage’s supernatural resident. The first claims that it was the spirit of a ghillie (the outdoor servant of a landowner) who hanged himself from the back of the front door.
The second is even more disturbing.
In this account, the ghost is said to be that of a woman who was forced to take shelter at the bothy with her baby during a storm. Trapped there for days, she gradually began to starve. Driven mad by hunger, she committed a terrible crime: she devoured her own child. She was last seen wandering Rannoch Moor, “so wild-eyed with despair that no one dared cross her path”, until finally she was “lost in the morasses of the place”.
Both stories are grim and raise the unsettling question: how desperate would a rambler have to be to rest within Ben Alder Cottage’s cold stone walls?
Many thanks for taking the time out of your day to read this blog. As ever, I hope you are able to sleep well tonight.
Finally, my new book, Threads of Shadow, is now available to claim for free on Booksprout in eBook form.
Booksprout is a place where readers may uncover hidden tomes and strange tales from their favourite authors. Best of all, it is free for reviewers - all that is asked in return is your honest reflection upon the stories you have read. My free books can be accessed on booksprout, link below.
Stay Spooky.
Sources:
Undiscovered Scotland by W. H. Murray 1951
Wikipedia
Booksprout Reviews for Threads of Shadow.
A book and a Sproutling…
Greetings, my friends. My new book, Threads of Shadow, is now available to claim for free on Booksprout in eBook form.
Booksprout is a place where readers may uncover hidden tomes and strange tales from their favourite authors. Best of all, it is free for reviewers - all that is asked in return is your honest reflection upon the stories you have read.
But beware - there are only 25 free copies waiting in the dark, so act swiftly before they vanish. A link lies below. Dare to join the review team, and help breathe life into these shadows…
Stay Spooky.
Ghostly Folklore – The Two-Headed Ghost of Abersychan
The two-headed phantom.
Abersychan is a town in the south-east of Wales. It is located in the northern part of the Afon Lwyd valley. Originally, it was a fairly isolated agricultural community, but all this changed in the 19th century with the discovery of iron ore. Industry quickly thrived in the area, and saw the creation of the Abersychan Limestone Railway, built in 1830 to carry limestone from Cwm Lascarn quarry to the ironworks.
Abersychan is also the home of a very unusual spectre. There are a great many headless ghosts throughout the British Isles, but this little town’s most famous incorporeal resident is described as possessing two heads and having a most ‘hideous appearance’ that has left a great many local people terrified. It is to be imagined that in life, the ghost may have been something of a drinker, or else connected to the pub trade, as his favourite haunt was around the Blue Boar public house.
A newspaper report claimed that there were many witnesses to this fearful phantom, who could ‘minutely describe him.’ And such was his reputation that people started to avoid nightly rambles, lest they encounter this beer-supping spook. Sadly, labourer Dan Hartley was compelled to brave Abersychan’s dark lanes one evening, and was unfortunate enough to encounter the monstrous entity:
Being delayed from returning home until a late hour, he had no alternative but to pass the haunted spot, or to have a nights parade in the chilly air. Not liking the later, he determined to proceed despite his dread. He went on courageously until within a few yards of his lodging house, when he fancied he could see something - he paused, and a lo! It was no less than the dreaded phantom. He could not speak, neither could he move backwards nor forwards – He remained transfixed to the spot for several seconds, but as soon as he thought the spectre was disappearing, he made a desperate effort, and reached the house wherein he repeated undefinable prayers to his preserver. His feelings for the remainder of the night can be imagined rather described.
But Dan was a resilient fellow and recovered from his shock; however, he remained convinced of what he had encountered on that benighted street.
When he is spoken to now, he says, very seriously, that he never was afraid, nor never will be afraid of all the ghosts of the earth or of the spirits of the air; but that such a two-headed monster was enough to put the dread on any man, and no man could help it, and ‘Bejabers. I hope it may be the last I see of the lad.’
One local person put forward a theory to a journalist, explaining why he felt the being might possess this second head. He said:
It is the ghost of an old man who suddenly met his death by falling downstairs and splitting his skull. The old man, when living, was an apostate from the Roman Catholic faith, therefore, could not have rest in the other world; consequently, he is a wanderer upon the face of this one. The cause assigned for his appearing with two heads, that is his head being split, when dying, could not again be reunited; therefore, they are not really two heads, but two separate halves of the once whole!
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog, my friend. I do hope you sleep well tonight. This wonderful tale was collected by Mark Rees in his fantastic book Ghosts of Wales - a worthy read for all lovers of the strange. I have enclosed a link below for anyone interested in purchasing a copy from Amazon. You can also support Mark by listening to his excellent podcast, Ghosts and Folklore of Wales.
Until next time — Stay Spooky.
Yorkshire Folklore - Jack-in-Irons
Jack-in-Irons
In the ceremonial county of South Yorkshire, in England’s northwest, can be found the market town of Barnsley. It is located in the valley of the River Dearne, near the eastern foothills of the Pennines, with the uplands of the Peak District to the west. It was once a centre for coal mining, with a great many collieries in the area, though these have now closed.
Most of the mining settlements have since been redeveloped; however, the culture and communal memory of the mining industry remains strong. Barnsley and its surrounding coalmines were connected by a series of lanes and tracks that cut their way through the local moorland. It has long been said that these paths are walked by a dark entity known as Jack-in-Irons.
Jack-in-Irons, stands somewhere between 7ft and 13ft tall, he is a very eerie figure, believed to be the ghost of a giant or ogre who once dwelt in the more isolated areas of the region. Witnesses describe him as a huge spectre bound in chains, who wanders the paths in search of victims. He is said to carry a spiked club upon which are impaled the heads of those he has slain - though sometimes these heads are described as hanging from his belt.
Much of the Jack-in-Irons lore has been lost to history. It is possible he is a folk memory of some old pre-Christian god, an ancient guardian spirit, or even the shade of a giant from the days when such beings were said to walk the island. It is unclear why Jack finds himself wrapped in chains - some suggest it is a form of punishment for the terrible deeds committed during his life; others say they are trophies taken from his fallen victims.
His gruesome collection of heads could, in some way, be connected to the Celtic head cults of the Iron Age. These cults involved the ritualistic veneration of the human head, which the ancient Celts believed held the soul, power, or spirit of a person - even after death.
Having walked the remote moorland roads, it is easy to see why the people of the area would fear them at night. As dusk settles into evening, and the inferior glow of the moon replaces the clearer radiance of the sun, the atmosphere becomes more unsettling. Travellers speak of hearing the rattle of chains and seeing odd figures moving in the fog. If the individual is lucky, Jack will wander on into the night, ignoring them. But if they are unlucky and draw his attention, he might challenge them, demanding tribute. The truly unfortunate will never be seen alive again - their heads added to Jack’s collection.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog, my friend. I do hope you didn’t find it too horrifying. My new book, Threads of Shadow, is currently available, so if you enjoy ghosts, monstrous entities, and strange magic inspired by folktales – and would like to support the author and his work – please consider picking up a copy. Links below. Stay Spooky.
Ghostly Folklore – The Haunted Lighthouse of Dunbar Head
The Headless Lady.
On the eastern coast of Ireland, you will find the county of Wicklow - a place of waterfalls and mountains. The county is named after Wicklow town, located some 31 miles south of Ireland’s capital city, Dublin. The name Wicklow is believed to derive from the town’s former Norse settlers and may have meant either Viking Meadow or Lough of Ships.
Wicklow Head, also referred to as Dunbar Head (Irish: Ceann Chill Mhantáin), lies approximately two miles to the south-east of Wicklow town. Its lighthouse, constructed around 1781, remained in use until 1836, when a fire destroyed the lamp house. Today, the structure possesses a domed roof—added in 1866 - as it was considered an important and useful landmark. The building has an octagonal shape and gradually tapers as it rises 95 feet from the ground.
One might expect the spectral inhabitant of such a building to be a former lighthouse keeper, or perhaps the shade of a sailor drowned at sea—but it is not. The ghost of Wicklow Head Lighthouse is that of a headless woman.
The Tale
During the mid-nineteenth century, a young woman became engaged to her suitor. Much enamoured with her handsome new love, she looked forward to settling down with him. Sadly, a former admirer became aware of the engagement. He still carried a candle for the pretty young woman, the thought of her taking up with another man drove him into a rare and violent rage. Seizing a scythe from a barn, he stalked the headland in search of her. He discovered her near the lighthouse on the Wicklow headland.
Perhaps she tried to flee - or maybe she was taken unawares - but either way, the enraged man decapitated her with the razor-sharp farming tool.
Now, her ghost lingers in the lighthouse, often seen on the staircase - a headless silhouette.
It is reported that in 2003, a travel writer visiting the lighthouse was casually flicking through its visitor book when he was surprised to find a collection of unusual entries: tourists reporting strange encounters with the headless woman. In one entry from 2000, six guests described seeing her slowly walking down the stairs towards them, before vanishing before their eyes.
Many thanks for taking the time out of your day to read this blog. As ever, I hope you are able to sleep well tonight.
Until next week—stay spooky.
Finally, if you enjoyed this blog, please consider picking up a copy of my new book, Threads of Shadow, currently available on Amazon. If you're kind enough to give it a read, I’d be hugely grateful if you could leave a review - it really does help.
Link below.
Welsh Folklore – The Murderous Brenin Llwyd, and His Court of Mists and Shadow.
Brenin Llwyd brings mists and bad weather…
A mysterious being is recorded throughout the mountainous regions of Wales: his name, the Brenin Llwyd (translated as “The Grey King”), is sometimes also rendered as “The Monarch of the Mist” - a terrifying entity said to prey on the unwary.
As the names suggest, the Brenin Llwyd is described as a grey figure with an imposing, regal presence, surrounded by mists and shadow. He is believed to make his home at the peaks of Wales’ great mountain ranges, and is frequently associated with Snowdonia and Cader Idris in the northern Welsh highlands.
Welsh writer and folklorist Marie Trevelyan gave a compelling account of this mysterious, mountain-dwelling king in 1909:
"Stories about the Brenin Llwyd, the Grey King or Monarch of the Mist, were told in the most mountainous districts. In the North, he was described as being very mighty and powerful. He was represented as sitting among the mountains, robed in grey clouds and mist, and woe to anybody who was caught in his clutches! Snowdon and the ranges of it, Cadair Idris, Plinlimmon, and other lofty places, were his favourite haunts. In the South, he was regarded as 'hungering' for victims, and children were warned not to venture too high up the mountains, lest the Brenin Llwyd should seize them."
From Marie Trevelyan, we see that the Grey King takes on a more threatening role the further south one ventures. In all regions, he was considered to influence bad weather and was therefore a danger to those who travelled or worked in the high places. However, further south, his desire to slay mortals was more pronounced, and he would actively seek out victims. Trevelyan provides the following account:
"An old woman said that many a time she shuddered when they ascended to the mineral wells on the Smaelog, and was glad to come down, because the people and children warned everybody not to linger late, for the Brenin Llwyd would be after them. She was further told that there was no trusting him, for sometimes on the brightest summer evening he would come suddenly and draw them into his clutches."
So the Grey King could be seen as a bogeyman, sensibly warning children to be wary in the Welsh highlands. Other 19th-century folklorists, including Elias Owen, give vague accounts of the Grey King as a local superstition whispered about by shepherds and quarrymen.
Marie also recorded an account from Carmarthenshire that contained elements not found elsewhere. In this, she says the King dwelt in a ‘Court of Mists’ and was associated with “Hounds of the Sky” – great mystical hunting dogs, which may hint at a connection with the Celtic Underworld and its ruler, Annwn, and his Cwm Annwn (spectral hounds).
As with nearly all the other folk tales and myths I have explored, I am forced to wonder how many tales of the Brenin Llwyd have been lost to history, forgotten before the great folklorists of the 19th century could set them down on paper.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog, my friend. I do hope you didn’t find it too chilling. My new book, Threads of Shadow, is now available. If you enjoy ghosts, monstrous entities, and strange magic inspired by folktales – and would like to support the author and his work – please consider picking up a copy. Links below. Stay Spooky.
Vampire Folklore – The Hunderprest of Melrose Abbey
The Hunderprest stalks the land…
Melrose Abbey is located near the town of Melrose on the Scottish Borders. The origin of the name Melrose is thought to be Mailros, meaning "the bare peninsula". This refers to a neck of land close to the River Tweed to the east, where the abbey was founded in the 6th century. However, this was eventually abandoned.
In the 12th century, King David I of Scotland took the throne and declared his intention to create a new Cistercian abbey, which was built at the site of today’s town, and was also called Melrose. Over the years a settlement gradually building up around it. Eventually, the abbey fell into ruin after the Reformation. Today, its remains make for an imposing sight. Its legend is a chilling one.
The abbey was said to be the home of a revenant - a medieval equivalent of a zombie, with an added dash of vampire for good measure. The name of this fearful being was the Hunderprest.
The Legend
There was a chaplain, well known for his many vices; his chief pleasure was hunting with his pack of dogs, and this earned him the nickname ‘Hunderprest’, meaning ‘Dog Priest’. John Lang, in his book Stories of the Border Marches, has this to say of the wicked old clergyman: “Other things he also loved that made not for sanctity, and when, at last, he died, his death was no more holy than his selfish, sensual life had been.”
When he finally died, his spirit could find no rest, and his dark revenant was seen stalking the border town at night in search of blood. No sober man would leave his home once the sun’s rays ceased to kiss the land. Desperate, the poor townsfolk turned to the abbey for a solution to their plight. Four monks were chosen to confront him. They decided to watch the old priest’s grave, and that first night they were terrified to see the ghoulish entity rise from the grave and stalk menacingly in their direction. The lead monk, armed with a staff, repeatedly struck at the undead being whilst praying aloud, until eventually it retreated back into its grave.
The monks knew they were dealing with a revenant, and also knew how to dispose of the supernatural menace. Awaiting daylight, they returned to the Hunderprest’s grave armed with tools for digging, and proceeded to exhume the revenant priest’s corpse. They found the body in its coffin, remarkably well-preserved, with fresh blood about its lips. They burned the corpse scattering the ashes to the four winds.
And yet, something of the Hunderprest still remains, and even today local folk speak of hearing the muted cries of the wicked old sinner coming from the abbey ruins on nights when the moon is fat.
During the 17th to 19th centuries, the legend saw something of a resurgence, with the evil priest adopting more vampire-like qualities. In the new retellings, he could turn into a bat and would drink the blood of his former mistress…
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog, my friend. I do hope you did not find it too chilling. With your permission, I will indulge in a bit of shameless advertising for my new book Threads of Shadow. If you enjoy ghosts, monstrous entities, and strange magic - inspired by folktales - please give it a try. Links below.
Somerset Folklore - The Witch of Wookey Hole.
The terrifying Witch of Wookey. In no way connected to Chewbacca or a certain sci-fi franchise…
Somerset is a mainly rural county found in South West England. It is bordered by the Bristol Channel, and Gloucestershire to the north, Wiltshire to the east, Dorset to the south-east, and Devon to the south-west. Its largest settlement is the city of Bath, but perhaps its most unusual location is Wookey Hole Caves.
Wookey Hole Caves are a series of limestone caverns, and are a big tourist attraction in the area, with the upper levels being dry caves that are accessible to tourists. The word ‘Wookey’ is thought to be from the Old English wocig (meaning an animal trap). The caves have a long history of human occupation, dating as far back as the Stone Age, but their most notorious occupant was the Witch of Wookey.
The ‘Witch of Wookey’ is a large stalagmite thought to resemble a witch’s face in profile. A small stone nearby is also thought to be the sleeping remains of her dog. Both these stones come with a legend, which goes thus:
In medieval times, these caves became the lair of an evil witch. Cattle sickened and died, crops failed, and some people even disappeared under sinister circumstances. Folk began to suspect that there were dark forces at work, and the locals were increasingly convinced that the much-feared Witch of Wookey Hole was to blame.
Desperate, the locals sent to nearby Glastonbury Abbey for aid. The Abbot duly despatched a monk, Father Barnard, to investigate. On entering the caves, the good Father soon found himself confronted by the witch. She tried to curse him, but God’s power preserved him from harm. Taking some water from the River Axe, as it flowed through the caves, he blessed it and sprinkled it over the witch. As he did so, he made the sign of the cross and recited the Pater Noster (Lord’s Prayer).
The witch let out a blood-curdling scream and then fell suddenly silent. The holy water turned her to stone. A sinister-looking stone ‘statue’ can still be seen in the caves today, commonly referred to as the Witch Stone. Thus, the witch was vanquished, and the surrounding countryside freed from her dark curses. Sadly, some of the holy water landed on her small dog, also petrifying him.
There are many other stories associated with these caves, a few of which I list below:
The Ghostly Monk
The cave is said to be haunted by the spirit of the monk who battled with the witch. Witnesses claim to have seen a hooded figure close to the entrance of the cave. Some say they were greeted by the strong scent of incense, or heard a whispered voice in prayer.
The Giant Eel
It is claimed that a giant eel once dwelt in the River Axe. It became quite a nuisance, causing severe damage to the local fishermen’s nets. Eventually tiring of the slimy pest, the river men gathered together and drove it upriver into the cave, where it is still said to inhabit the underground pools. Cave divers beware!
I will leave you with a poem from 1748, written by Dr Henry Harington. He was moved to write the piece after hearing the legend of the witch. Finally, my new book, Threads of Shadows, has just been released. Like its predecessor, it is a horror novel told through short stories. So if you enjoy ghosts, monstrous entities and strange folk magic - inspired by folktales - please give it a try. Links after poem.
Stay spooky, my friend.
In aunciente days tradition shows,
A sorry wicked elf arose,
The witch of Wokey hightp,
Oft have I heard the fearful tale.
From Sue and Roger of the vale,
Told out in winter night.
Deep in the dreary dismal cell
Which seem'd, and was y-cleped hell,
This blue-eye'd hag was sty'd;
Nine wicked elves have legends sayne
By night she chose her guardian train,
All kennell'd close her side.
Here screeching owls oft made their nest,
While wolves its craggy sides possest,
Night howling through the rocks;
No wholesome herb cou'd here be found,
She blasted every plant around,
And blister'd o'er the flocks.
Her haggard face so foul to see,
Her mouth unmeet a mouth to be,
With eyne of deadly leer;
She nought devis'd but neighbours ill,
On all she wreak'd her wayward will,
And marr'd all goodly cheer.
All in her prime, have poets sunge,
No gaudy youth, gallante and younge
Ere blest her longing arms;
Hence rose her fell despight to vex,
And blast the youth of either sex,
By dint of hellish charms.
From Glaston came a lerned wight,
Full bent to marr her fell despight,
And well he did I ween;
Save hers, sich mischief ne'er was knowne,
And since his mickle lerninge showne,
Sich mischief ne'er has beene.
He chauntede out his godlie booke,
He cross'd the water, bleste the brooke,
Then — Pater-noster done,
The gastly hag he sprinkled o'er,
When lo! where stood the hag before,
Now stood a gastly stone.
Full well 'tis knowne adown the vale,
Tho' strange may seem the dismal tale
Eke wondrous may appear;
I'm bold to say, there; s never one
That has not seen the witch in stone,
With all her household gear.
But tho' this lernede clerke did well,
With grieved heart, alas I tell,
She left this curse behind;
"My sex shall be forsaken quite,"
"Tho' sense and beauty both unite,"
"Nor find a man that's kinde."
Now lo e'en as this fiend did say,
The sex have found it to this day,
That men are wondrous scante;
Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd,
With all that's good, and virtuous join'd,
Yet scarce there's one gallante.
Shall such fair nymphs thus daily moan!
They might I trow as well be stone,
As thus forsaken dwell;
Since Glaston now can boast no clerks
From Oxenford come down, ye sparks,
And help revoke the spell.
Yet stay — nor thus despond, ye fair,
Virtue's the gods peculiar care,
Then mark their kindly voice;
"Your sex shall soon be blest again,"
"We only wait to find sich men"
"As best deserve sich choice."
Dr Henry Harington (1748)
Irish Folklore - The Dreaded Fetch
Ahh its a Fetch
There is an ominous saying in Ireland: “To see a Fetch is to see a soul departing.”
In Irish folklore, the Fetch is an apparition - a double or doppelgänger - of either the witness or someone the person knows. It can be seen as either a harbinger of death or a sign of spiritual transition.
The word “Fetch” may come from the Old Irish feithid, meaning “apparition” or “phantom.” As well as the German doppelgänger, it also has similarities to the Norse vardøger.
The Fetch is not bound to just one region and can be found throughout Ireland. It is often described as a quiet, pale double of a living person that eerily lacks any emotion. It can be seen in cities or in the wilds - sometimes spotted among a crowd, walking at a distance, or fleetingly glimpsed passing by a person’s home.
The time at which the Fetch is encountered is important. It is believed that if you see your spooky double around dusk or midnight, it means that your death is imminent. However, if the double appears in the morning rather than the evening, it could be a sign of a long life.
Sightings
The Fetch of Lord Beresford
In Co. Waterford during the 18th century, Lady Beresford allegedly saw the double of her husband standing at the foot of her bed - he was away at the time. It was later that day that she received a message to say her husband had passed away, around the time of her sighting.
A Visitor in the Mist
In a village near Enniskillen in Northern Ireland, an elderly gentleman said that one misty night he was disturbed by a repeated knocking at his door. Looking through the window, he saw it was his son, who he believed was many miles away in the city of Dublin. When he finally opened the door, no one was there, and his dog whimpered and refused to go near the threshold. It was the next morning that the dreadful news arrived - his son had died in the night of a fever.
The Mirror Fetch
There is a report from County Clare in the 19th century of a young lady who was dressing for a local dance. She claimed to see her reflection in the mirror blink independently from her own actions. Terrified, she notified her mother. The young woman later passed away from a heart condition. The locals said that the mirror had ‘shown her Fetch’.
The William Carleton Account
William Carleton was an Irish writer who included a story of a Fetch in his book Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry (1830s–40s). He retells the account of a local parish priest who claimed to have seen the double of one of his parishioners about the village. The man had failed to attend Mass that Sunday - it was only later that the priest learned the fellow had recently passed away.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog. I do hope you didn’t find it too scary, and that you’re still able to look in the mirror today.
My new book, Threads of Shadows, has just been released. Like its predecessor, it is a horror novel told through short stories. So if you enjoy ghosts, monstrous entities and strange folk magic - inspired by folktales - please give it a try. Links Below.
Stay spooky, my friend.
Book Update - Threads of Shadow
Hello, my friends. Just a short update to let you know that my new book is finally available to purchase on Amazon, in Kindle, paperback, and hardback formats.
Like my previous book, Fireside Horror, it is a novel told through short stories - aimed at lovers of folk horror, fantasy, and historical mysteries.
A big thank you for all your support. I hope you find as much joy in reading the book as I had in writing it. Below is a link to Amazon where the book can be purchased. Finally, please consider leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads, as it really helps.
Stay spooky,
Paul
Book Summary
Casper Trenchton is a man haunted by his past. Fleeing to the quiet lanes of Shropshire in search of solace, he finds instead a town steeped in secrets. Under the employment of the enigmatic
Doctor Mogfadian and his niece, Julie, Casper is drawn into a web of uncanny occurrences. Wendlelow, he soon learns, is no haven; it is a place where darkness festers and ancient horrors stir.
Within these pages lie nine chilling, interconnected tales from a town that reason forgot. So stoke the fire, draw the curtains tight, and prepare to be horrified.
Folklore - Cath Palug the Monstrous Black Cat.
Cath Palug - Purrrfectly terrifying…
The Island of Anglesey is the setting for a most unusual tale, featuring a magic pig, a brave Arthurian knight, and a monstrous black cat called Cath Palug.
Anglesey – Welsh: Ynys Môn – lies off the north-west coast of Wales. At 275 square miles, it is by far the largest island in Wales. It has many old poetic names, including: Ynys Dywyll (Shady Isle), as it once contained many groves believed to be sacred; Ynys y Cedairn (Isle of the Brave), for its royal courts; and Y Fêl Ynys (Honey Isle). It is a place rich with prehistoric monuments and was believed to be the last stronghold of the British Druids.
The story goes that Hen Wen was raised by Coll, son of Collfrewy, a pigkeeper for Dallwyr Dallben, in a settlement supposedly located in Cornwall. Prophecy foretold that when this legendary porker gave birth, it would not bode well for the Isle of Britain. So, the pregnant sow was chased across the sea into Wales, where she gave birth to a black kitten. This was thrown into the sea, but was caught in a fisherman’s net and brought ashore on the Isle of Anglesey. There, it was raised by the sons of Lord Palug, and over time it grew to a tremendous size.
Cath Palug means Palug’s Cat, but it seems that the beast became too big to control and wandered the island, a danger to man and beast alike. According to an incomplete poem, Arthur’s knight Kay went to Anglesey and did battle with the beast, eventually killing it. In other legends, the giant cat appears in France and is fought by King Arthur himself.
Large black cats are not officially recognised as inhabiting the United Kingdom, yet every year newspapers report many sightings of these elusive beasts, often seen slinking through hedgerows or across fields. Farmers also report strange sheep killings. These creatures are referred to as phantom cats or British big cats and are described as being as large as a Labrador – sometimes even bigger. Sleek, muscular, and usually black, witnesses sometimes report seeing them stalking pets or livestock, or hearing eerie screams and growls coming from woodland at night.
Famous Encounters
There are many reports of big cat encounters – far too many to list in this small blog – but I have included three here. Many more can be found in books, newspaper reports, and by searching online.
An early historical sighting of a british big cat occurred in the 1760s, when William Cobbett, an English farmer and journalist, recalled how, as a boy, he had seen a cat “as big as a middle-sized Spaniel dog” climb into a hollow elm tree in the grounds of the ruined Waverley Abbey near Farnham in Surrey.
A notable sighting took place in 1995 on Bodmin Moor, when two off-duty police officers witnessed a large black cat-like creature crossing the road in front of their car. They estimated its length to be around five feet. The sighting was followed by a search involving police and a Royal Marines helicopter, but no concrete evidence was found.
In 2000, police received a report of a black, leopard-like animal attacking an 11-year-old boy in Monmouthshire. The boy was with his brother, searching for their pet cat near their home in Trellech, when he said the animal attacked him in long grass. He received medical treatment for scratch marks to his face. The police were never able to locate the beast said to be responsible.
Explanations for these sightings vary, from escaped zoo animals to exotic pets released into the wilds in the 1960s, after it was made illegal to keep such creatures. But could the legend of Cath Palug not hint at a folk memory of such beasts, suggesting the possibility that these creatures have always haunted the shores of this ancient island?
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog, my friend. My new book, Threads of Shadow, is due to be released on 1st July in softback and hardback, and is currently available on Kindle. It is part of my series of books entitled The Wendlelow Mysteries. If you enjoy stories of folk horror, ghosts, monsters, and mysteries, that all link together to form a complete novel, why not give it a try?
Ghostly Folklore – The Phantom Chicken of Pond Square
You’re Plucking kidding me…
There are many ghostly animals in Great Britain, from spectral monkeys to black dogs, but perhaps one of the most unusual can be found in Pond Square, Highgate, London: that of a phantom chicken.
Sir Francis Bacon, who lived from 22nd January 1561 to 9th April 1626, was the 1st Viscount St Alban and 1st Baron Verulam. He was a statesman, lawyer, and philosopher, and has been described as the Father of Empiricism. Empiricism holds that true knowledge or justification comes only - or primarily - from sensory experience and empirical evidence.
Whilst riding home one cold spring morning in the snow, he pondered whether it might be possible to use ice to preserve meat instead of salt. It was these ruminations that led to the infamous chicken incident - and, very possibly, his own death.
The fateful events of that day were described by an associate of Sir Francis’s named John Aubrey. He wrote:
“As he (Sir Francis Bacon) was taking the air in a coach with Dr Witherborne (a physician) towards Highgate, snow lay on the ground, and it came into my lord’s thoughts, why flesh might not be preserved in snow, as in salt. They were resolved they would try the experiment at once. They alighted out of the coach, and went into a poor woman’s house at the bottom of Highgate Hill, and bought a hen, and made the woman gut it, and then stuffed the body with snow, and my lord did help to do it himself. The snow so chilled him, that he immediately fell so extremely ill, that he could not return to his lodgings, but went to the Earl of Arundel’s house at Highgate, where they put him into a good bed warmed with a pan, but it was a damp bed that had not been laid in about a year before, which gave him such a cold that in two or three days, as I remember Mr Hobbes told me, he died of suffocation.”
Whether this account is accurate is open to debate. However, since that fateful night, there have been many reported sightings of a phantom chicken in the area.
Sightings
The spectral apparition of the chicken was reportedly seen one night in 1943 by Airman Terence Long,, as he was walking across the square. He said he heard the sound of hooves and turning wheels, followed by a screeching noise. Expecting to see a horse-drawn carriage, he turned - only to be shocked by the sight of a half-plucked chicken flapping its wings and spinning in a circle before vanishing.
There were further sightings by air raid wardens, who claimed to witness the fowl spectre vanish into a wall.
In 1969, a large white, half-plucked bird was seen by a motorist stranded in Pond Square. Concerned that the creature might be injured, he approached it - only for it to disappear.
In the 1970s, a young couple who were canoodling in the haunted street claimed that a headless, frozen chicken landed beside them, ran in two circles, and vanished.
I hope these tales of avian horror have not put you off your dinner, my friend.
My new book Threads of Shadow is due for release on 1st July 2025. However, Amazon have decided to make it available early on Kindle - so if you fancy early access to a ghoulish treat, click the link below and start reading today.
Until next week - stay spooky.
Ghostly Irish Tales – The Phantom Jester
The Spooky Jester walks…
To the north of Dublin in Ireland can be found the village of Malahide, located on the south side of the Broadmeadow Estuary. A place known for its restaurants and pubs, it is also the site of a wonderful coastal walk. But perhaps one of Malahide’s most popular attractions is its grand, imposing castle.
Malahide Castle is set within a 260-acre parkland estate, with the oldest part dating back to the 12th century. The estate was originally granted to Richard Talbot, a knight who accompanied Henry II to Ireland in the year 1174. With such a long history, it is no surprise that the place has a reputation as one of Ireland’s most haunted castles, with a list of at least five spectral inhabitants.
Puck the Jester
Puck was a dwarf and court jester in the service of the Talbot family. He also worked as a watchman and made his home in one of the towers. His is a tragic tale. During the reign of Henry VIII, Lady Eleanora Fitzgerald was confined in Malahide Castle due to her rebellious tendencies. It was during this confinement that the little jester fell hopelessly in love with the beautiful noblewoman, and either hanged himself in misery after being rejected by her, or was stabbed to death one snowy December night just outside the castle walls - murdered by agents of the Talbot family who were horrified to learn of his infatuation.
Puck is one of the castle’s more beloved phantoms. He is mischievous and is known to enjoy photobombing selfies (sadly, I was unable to find any examples of these photos, but allegedly, they do exist).
The last confirmed sighting of this diminutive spectre was in 1976, when a staff member reported seeing him climbing some stairs, dressed in his jester’s outfit.
Miles Corbett
Miles Corbett ruled from Malahide Castle during the Cromwellian era. A much-hated and cruel man, he was one of the regicides - those responsible for the execution of King Charles I. Eventually, when the monarchy was restored following Cromwell’s death, he was captured and executed for his crimes, being hung, drawn, and quartered.
His ghost is usually sighted in the great hall, where he appears as a spectral knight in full armour that gradually falls to pieces before the terrified witness.
Lady Maud Plunkett
Lady Maud Plunkett was a beautiful and strong-willed woman, believed to have been the wife of Richard Talbot, the 1st Baron of Malahide. She was married three times - each marriage fraught with turmoil or tragedy. Her spirit is said to haunt the castle’s corridors, where witnesses claim to have seen her chasing her first husband, the unfortunate Chief Justice, whom she is said to have bullied terribly in life.
The Ghostly Prisoner
Deep within the older part of the castle, there was once a dungeon used in troubled times to hold political prisoners suspected of treason. Rumours speak of torture, execution, or folk simply abandoned and left to starve to death. One such prisoner was a Catholic sympathiser during a Protestant regime. Castle visitors believe they have heard his moaning or weeping; others say they hear him cry for mercy in the dead of night.
Lord Galtrim
The final phantom in this list is that of Sir Walter Hussey, Lord Galtrim. His tale is a sad one. He died violently in 1429 on the very day he was due to wed his beautiful young bride. He was ambushed and killed by a spear thrust to the side. His ghost is seen in the castle chapel, clutching miserably at his wound.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog, my friend. I hope it was not too scary and that you are able to sleep well tonight. If you do enjoy terrifying tales, my new book Threads of Shadow is currently available to read in advance on Kindle (link below). The hardback and paperback versions of the book are set for release in early July 2025. Please consider supporting me by purchasing a copy and leaving a review.
Until next time—stay spooky.
Book Update - ‘Threads of Shadow’ Early Release.
Threads of Shadow
Hello, my friends. Just a short update on the release of my next book in the Wendlelow Mysteries, entitled Threads of Shadow. I had planned to release the book in early July (around the 1st), with the Kindle version being made available for pre-order today.
However…
Amazon have made the Kindle edition available for purchase today. I’m not entirely sure how this happened - perhaps I did something wrong - or it may also be a mistake on Amazon’s part. But, it’s not a problem; it just means Kindle readers will have access to the book a few weeks early.
The softback and hardback editions will be available to purchase on 1st July, for anyone who would like to own a physical copy of the book.
A big request to anyone who purchases a copy of any of my books: please consider leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. It really helps us authors a lot.
I hope you have as much joy reading Threads as I did writing it. I enclose a link to the book on Amazon.
Stay spooky, friends..
Highland Folklore - The Monstorous Fachan
He is hopping mad…
The Highlands lie in the north of Scotland – a vast, sparsely populated area dominated by mountainous regions and large tracts of moorland. It is a stunning but harsh landscape, inhabited by hardy men and women.
In the Highland regions, Scots banded together in kinship groups called clans, from the Scottish Gaelic clann, literally meaning 'children', but more broadly 'kindred'. You did not need to have direct family connections to the clan chief in order to adopt his name. Many clansmen took the clan surname as a show of solidarity, or to obtain a degree of protection and resources.
It is easy to imagine these family groups gathered together after a hard day's work, drawn close to their peat fire, sharing stories – tales of love, tales of adventure, tales of terror.
High in the peaks surrounding Rannoch Moor lies the source of the River Etive. It carves a sinuous path through the landscape, eventually emptying into the sea loch, Loch Etive. On its journey to the ocean, it passes through Glen Etive—a wild region, home to the Dwarf of Glen Etive also known as The Fachan.
The Fachan, is described as either a dwarf or sometimes as a giant, a ferocious being, possessing a single eye in the middle of its face, a single hand protruding from its chest in place of arms, and a single leg emerging from its central axis. It has a solitary tuft of hair on the top of its head. It was believed to hop about with great agility. Given the strong historical ties between Scotland and Ireland, it is possible that the name Fachan derives from the Irish word for giant, fathach.
The Fachan was a terrifying presence. It was said to be a solitary creature, hostile to any who wandered into his glen. In battle, he would carry a large club, which he wielded with great effect against intruders. Any disappearances in Glen Etive or the surrounding area would be blamed on this vile monster.
Some believe the Fachan to be an imperfect folk memory of a druid in the corriugneacht (crane position), in which the ancient priest would stand on one leg, with one eye closed and one hand extended before him. Other theories suggest his origins lie in tales of the Scottish wild man.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog, my friend. If you enjoy stories of ghosts, monsters, and the uncanny, please consider supporting me by purchasing a copy of my book Fireside Horror—a novel told in short stories. It is currently available from Audible, narrated by the wonderfully talented Aubrey Parsons, who does a marvellous job of bringing the stories and characters to life. Visit my shop for more information.
Until next time, stay spooky.
Book Update - Hurrahhh
Lilly celebrates her freedom.
Hurrah – splendid news! The advanced copies of my new book Threads of Shadow are winging their way to readers as we speak, and the release date is officially set: 1st July 2025.
Meanwhile, now that book two is out of my hands, my long-suffering dog Lily is finally off footstool duty and back where she belongs – curled up on my lap, thoroughly content. Time at last for a well-earned breather and a few days of glorious loafing!
And there's more good news – the Kindle edition of Threads of Shadow will be available to pre-order from 5th June 2025.
In the meantime, you can enjoy my first book Fireside Horror, available on Audible, and in paperback, hardback, and Kindle. Links can be found in the shop tab on my website.
Stay spooky, friends.
Ghostly Folklore - The Herlathingi. Army of the Dead.
The army of the dead rides forth…
The Welsh Marches are an area in the United Kingdom between England and Wales, particularly the counties of Shropshire and Herefordshire. In medieval Europe, the term Marches or Mark was used to describe any borderland. It could be a dangerous place to live, as raids and skirmishes were not uncommon.
In England, the King appointed Marcher Lords to guard the borders between the two countries. These men were given a greater degree of independence and had very specific rights, allowing them to better handle the dangers they faced.
The following tale ends in this oft-troubled region. It is a tale of a strange goblin lord, and an army of the dead.
King Herla was a mythical ruler of Britain. One day, he met a red-bearded dwarf with hooves for feet, mounted on a goat. The little fellow told King Herla that he too is a king, and the two make a pact: the dwarf will attend King Herla’s wedding, if he in turn will then visit the kingdom of the dwarf and be present for his.
The dwarf king is true to his word and attends Herla’s marriage, bringing with him a great host and many fine gifts.
One year later, the dwarf king dispatches a messenger requesting that King Herla be present for his nuptials. So, gathering his entourage about him, the King rides forth. He comes to a cave and, upon entering, finds himself in an underground realm illuminated with strange lamps.
The fairy wedding lasts for three whole days, and when finally King Herla prepares to ride forth, his diminutive host approaches him and offers him a gift: a small hound, which sits on King Herla’s lap.
Twelfth-century Latin author Walter Map delivers the remainder of this tragic tale in the book De Nugis Curialium:
When Herla and his band return to the human realm, they encounter an elderly shepherd, whom Herla asks for news of his queen. The old man, astonished, replies, “I can barely understand your speech, for I am a Saxon and you are a Briton.” The elderly shepherd describes a legend of a very ancient queen of the Britons bearing that name mentioned - she was the wife of King Herla who was said to have disappeared with a dwarf king into that very cliff and was never seen again. The shepherd also adds that the Saxons had been in possession of the kingdom for the last two hundred years and had driven out the native Britons.
Herla, who thought he had been away for just three days, is so amazed he can barely stay in the saddle. Some of his men jump down from their horses, only to crumble quickly into dust. Herla warned his remaining companions not to dismount, so they ride on, eventually becoming a ghostly host called The Herlathingi, doomed to ride for all eternity. It is believed by some that this spectral war band eventually rode into the River Wye in Hereford during the reign of King Henry II, never to be seen again.
You are forced to imagine the horror that must have gripped the minds of the poor local medieval peasantry at the idea that a sombre host of undead warriors might make its silent way past them, as they wandered England’s byways on some nocturnal errand.
The Herlathingi have also been linked with The Wild Hunt, which is usually associated with the god Woden in his guise as leader of the Germanic Wild Hunt. The name Herlathingi is thought to be related to the French Harlequin (a variant form of Harlequin, Hellequin), the leader of the Wild Hunt in Old French tradition.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog, my friend. I hope you are keeping well.
Until next time, stay spooky.