A wander through Scotland’s autumn nights, where Halloween still whispers of its Celtic roots.

I’ve spent several years in America, where Halloween is a night of pure joy — costumes, candy, and a kind of infectious creativity that fills the streets with laughter. It’s a celebration that has taken on a life of its own, bright and bold in its embrace of fun.

Here in Norway, where I now live, Halloween is a more recent arrival. It follows much of the American style — eager children in costume, bags ready for candy, glowing pumpkins perched on doorsteps — it is truly a night for the kids.

And yet, I can’t help but look back fondly on how Halloween once felt growing up in Scotland, where the chill of late October carried something… older. Something mysterious.

For those of us raised in Celtic lands, before Halloween became candy and costumes — it was Samhain, the ancient Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. A time when the veil between the living and the dead was said to be at its thinnest. The Irish brought this festival to North America in the 19th century, where it evolved into the festive spectacle we know today. But at home, many of the original customs quietly endured, holding their own flavour of eerie delight.

I remember the air turning crisp, the smell of bonfires in the distance, and my mum preparing our costumes weeks in advance. Grandparents would share old tidbits of folklore that blurred the line between myth and memory. At school, we’d read Tam o’ Shanter by Robert Burns, his wild night ride through a haunted kirk reminding us that Halloween wasn’t just a game; it was a night steeped in the supernatural.

Then came the games:

• Dookin’ for apples, where you’d plunge your face into a basin of cold water, hands behind your back, trying to catch a bobbing apple with your teeth.
• Treacle scones, hung from strings, challenging you to take a bite without using your hands — inevitably ending with sticky cheeks and laughter.
• Nut burning and mirror games, quiet remnants of old fortune-telling rituals, where young people sought hints about future love or luck.
• Storytelling, a Celtic strongpoint, where family (or friends!) would gather to share ghostly tales and, sometimes, memories of loved ones who had passed on — a nod to the festival’s origins as a time of remembrance as much as mischief.

These traditions weren’t just entertainment — they were a reflection of a community bound by folklore and seasonal rhythm.

From Samhain to Superheroes

Today, many of Scotland’s towns still celebrate Halloween with a nod to the old ways — parades, storytelling nights, and even fire festivals in the Highlands and Islands that echo the ancient bonfires of Samhain. But there’s no denying that the more modern American influence has taken root: plastic pumpkins, and candy-filled buckets have largely replaced the hand-stitched masks and homemade lanterns carved from turnips. Although, as a fair trade, the import of the pumpkin has certainly spared many a Scottish thumb from the perils of carving a neep!

And yet, beneath the surface of all the glitter and glow, that old Scottish sense of mystery still lingers. The feeling that Halloween is a night when the veil between worlds thins, when the wind carries whispers from somewhere just beyond.

If you find yourself in Scotland at the end of October, you’re in for a treat — and perhaps a few goosebumps. The big cities, of course, come alive with modern revelry. Edinburgh hosts spooky ghost tours that wind through the old city, while elaborate fancy-dress parties and club nights spill out onto cobbled streets. On the west coast Glasgow’s bars and music venues embrace the theatrical with themed events and ghost tours galore.

But for a truer taste of old-world Halloween, venture beyond the Central Belt.

• Head north to Aberdeen or Inverness, where local communities still hold autumn fairs and storytelling evenings celebrating folklore and the harvest season.
• On the Isle of Skye, you might stumble upon a ceilidh or fireside music session that feels as though the spirits themselves have come to join in.
• The Samhain Fire Festival in Edinburgh — hosted by the Beltane Fire Society — brings ancient ritual to life through drumming, flame, and masked performance, evoking the meeting of summer and winter.
• Or, for something truly atmospheric, visit the Orkney Islands, where Norse and Celtic traditions intertwine, and you can walk among ancient standing stones as the northern winds whip through the dark.

Even a quiet evening drive through the Highlands feels different at this time of year — the low mist curling through glens, the occasional flicker of a jack-o’-lantern in a cottage window, and the sense that you’re travelling through a land still half in love with its ghosts.

Holding On to the Magic

Maybe that’s the charm of growing up in a Celtic country — that no matter how commercial the holiday becomes, it still feels rooted in something deeper. The long, dark nights. The stories shared across generations. The sense that we are part of a tradition that stretches back centuries.

As the world continues to dress up Halloween in brighter colours and louder costumes, I find comfort in remembering the quiet, candlelit magic of Scottish Octobers. A night when we didn’t just pretend to be ghosts and ghouls — we believed they might be out there, watching from the mist.

Happy Halloween Everyone!