Scotland, Land of Ghosts

Listen, Scotland is hella haunted. I knew that, of course, but experiencing it firsthand was wild, I tell you.

Let me preface this by saying: I do believe in ghosts. Why? Hard not to when you pissed one off. But that’s a story for another time.

Let’s talk about Scotland.

Scotland! It was absolutely lovely! I had a great time and picked the perfect week for weather to be there. Which admittedly did put a bit of a damper on the mood at The Glasgow Necropolis, when it was beautiful sunshine instead of cemetery-appropriate gloomy rain, but alas, you can’t have it all.

The ghosts are there rain or shine. You can’t throw a stone without hitting a ghost in Scotland, I’m pretty sure. I’m not even sensitive to spirits (and I am grateful for that every day). But even I experienced a few places that gave me the heebie jeebies.

One in particular was The Witchery, a restaurant on the Royal Mile. Our tour guide told us that this charming location used to be the site of many, many, many witch executions. (Or so-called witches. We all know it wasn’t about witchcraft 99% of the time).

I walked past that place and sped up. I can’t even really describe what I felt except: bad, bad, bad. There was a sense of a writhing darkness, and had I lingered I might be better able to describe it, but I had alarm bells going off in my head and I chose to listen to them.

I passed it again another day on the same side of the street this time. Out of morbid curiosity I slowed down and looked inside. I was greeted with a beautiful stone corridor filled with lush green plants and a sunlit courtyard beyond it.

And the uncanny sense that something was beckoning. Trying to lure me in.

I moved right along.

Mad respect to the people who spit on the history of unjustly murdering women accused of witchcraft by opening a restaurant called The Witchery, but I must ask, how haunted is that place oh my god?

Something lingers there and I shudder to think of just what it might be. Ghosts are one thing, but malevolent dark forces are another.

I’m sure many people have perfectly pleasant dining experiences there. Perhaps whatever energy—or entity—I picked up on was interested in me in particular.

All the more reason to scoot. Delighted by all things spooky I may be, I’m not stupid. If a dark presence is calling to you, don’t answer! (Great premise for a story though).

On to a much more inviting locale: The Glasgow Necropolis I mentioned before. The necropolis, which is in fact a big ole interdenominational graveyard, if you didn’t know (and was featured in The Batman (2022), if it looks familiar to you), was honestly nothing more than a pleasant walk through a park. Well, okay, a park full of dead people. And I don’t mind telling you some of those dead people are active.

There was this one section of the cemetery I passed a few times and every time I did, I would turn around to look at it because I felt…well, a party, if I’m being honest. A good ole ghostly gathering. It felt as if at night, when the moon was high, that that spot was the spot to come together and pass away the hours of the afterlife with some good company. I could almost hear music and laughter looking at it.

That was the impression I got off of it and I was honestly completely charmed by it. What a fun bunch.

This section. Party on, friends.

Then there was the underground ghost tour. That’s right, an underground ghost tour. Delightful.

See, there are vaults underneath Edinburgh, called the South Bridge Vaults. They were originally used for legitimate reasons, housing various workshops and storage for those workshops’ products. But as things so often do, the vaults eventually became home to more criminal ventures. Smuggling and bodysnatching and so on. What better place to be out of sight than underfoot, no?

So you can imagine that, in direct contrast to the ghosts at the necropolis who were lovingly buried by friends and family, these ghosts were a slightly less fun bunch.

Our guide regaled us with tales of the ghosts of a cobbler, a child, and the imposing caretaker dubbed The Watcher. Most anyone who died in the vaults was likely victim to poor conditions or direct violence, so there wouldn’t be a lot of happy ghosts down there. Some of the ghosts in the vaults are largely believed to be friendly if occasionally frightening (the cobbler and the child), but some of them are most certainly not friendly in the slightest (The Watcher).

Our lovely guide, Steph of Mercat Tours.

Although the atmosphere underground was oozing with creepiness, I didn’t see or hear anything particularly ghostly. Again, I’m not terribly sensitive to that sort of thing, so I wasn’t expecting any sightings.

However, there was one room that held a passage in one corner, blocked by an iron-wrought door. I sidled right up to it, entranced by its chilling appearance and thought nothing of standing next to it while our guide told us about the room.

A couple minutes later I felt two sensations: one) that of a spike falling through my left foot near to the toes and two) a hand resting on the back of my left calf just below the knee.

Yep. Ghost.

I did not react to it and I did not draw attention to it even after the tour was over. I have no idea who it might have been and I have no interest in finding out. I am not keen on poking and prodding at a ghost and risking pissing one off. Again.

So that’s Scotland! A lovely place full of lovely people both dead and alive. I’d highly recommend a visit.

But don’t go down any corridors you oughtn’t.

Let’s be real. I’d still go in.