hallowe'en (+ celebrating as an introvert)

We're not weird, just different

One of my distinctive childhood memories is standing outside the house on Hallowe’en, paper batwings rustling in the night breeze, and clay lantern in rubber-clawed fist, as I watched real bats wheel and dive from kirk’s bell tower.

My mask concealed a moon-sized grin as they swooped from the abandoned belfry and over the graves, snapping up moths in their tiny jaws. As an adult, I can put a name to the expansive sensation glowing in my chest: wonder.

I decided that the bats weren’t hunting, but celebrating Hallowe’en, too. For who could fail to be swept up in the magic of this mischievous night, where every year we disguised ourselves as monsters and exchanged songs and jokes for sweets?

With a last flap of my paper wings, I followed my sister and her friend inside to enjoy our best guising haul yet.

We reckoned we deserved it. We took guising (the Scottish term for trick or treating) very seriously. We rehearsed our songs and jokes for weeks on end, as though there was a real possibility of returning home empty-handed. Our repertoire included folksongs like ‘Three Wee Wives’, ‘Cannae Fling Pieces’, and ‘Three Craws’. My mum must have spent hours making our costumes by hand. I was obsessed with werewolves at that age and over the years had many ungrateful critiques about how she could make it look more like the lycanthrope in An American Werewolf in London. My single-mindedness did however lead to the creation of that year’s exceptional Hallowe’en costume—the werebat. That summer holiday in Scarborough, I’d spent most of my pocket money on an elaborate werewolf mask from the joke shop, with Hallowe’en in mind. Because the mask was adult-sized, my mum had to pad it out with napkins so I could see through the eye holes.

I wore that mask every Hallowe’en since! It helped me, a shy child, to interact with relatives and strangers while hiding my nervousness. I could run around as a half-wolf, half-bat thing, belt out songs, and tell mischievous jokes without being considered weird. Hallowe’en stirred my imagination and kindled a taste for the supernatural, which remains to this day. It gave me a way to express myself in social settings where I’d normally be withdrawn.

This is why I feel sad that for many years my love for Hallowe’en languished. Beyond the occasional fancy dress party, Hallowe’en seemed like another spark of childish joy that we were supposed to grow out of. And yet I felt a need for this ghoulish celebration.

Maybe you also feel a tug in your soul towards moonlight, towards mist and moths, and towards the creatures that claw their way through midnight’s cobwebbed veil?

I think the reason I faltered with Hallowe’en was because the mainstream version of the spookiest night of the year felt at odds with my reserved nature. Once I reached my teen years, Hallowe’en seemed nothing more than an excuse to drink and party. Part of me wanted to join the fun, but (as I’m sure you know by now) reading books or watching films at home seemed safer. A party wasn’t a rehearsed routine, and the success of an evening was measured in shots, not sweets.

At university, the student union always put on a Hallowe’en night. Another boisterous, booze-filled evening. The werewolf-obsessed child in me dearly wanted to transform myself into something spooky and join in, but at the last minute, I made an excuse not to go.

Was there something wrong with me? I wondered. If I loved Hallowe’en so much, why didn’t I go out and celebrate? I wish I knew then that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. I wasn’t antisocial or weird. My energy simply flowed in a slower direction, and I valued different things.

These days, I enjoy raising a glass at Hallowe’en with close friends. Not because I’m less introverted, but because I’ve accepted introversion as part of who I am. One of the reasons socialising can be painful for us introverts is the pressure to change. I often felt I had to be the life and soul of the party to make friends, or that I was boring for wanting to leave early. I worried that folk might take my quiet nature for rudeness. Going out felt more stressful than staying in. A Hallowe’en house party full of folk I barely know? No thanks. A bonfire under the stars with kindred spirits? Yes, please!

When I was younger, I often sacrificed my personal comfort to please others, or avoided situations where I might be overruled. My social battery drains quickly, so rowdy parties can feel overwhelming. As an adult, I’ve realised I can choose who I socialise with, when enough is enough, and that a quiet peaceful evening of fairy lights and books is a valid evening plan.

Another discovery I’ve made recently is that Hallowe’en holds a spiritual dimension for me. One that had been missing for many years, but which I felt closest to as a child, watching in wonder as the bats spun somersaults over the graves.

For me, to celebrate Hallowe’en is to answer a call from the past. In Scotland, Hallowe’en or Oidhche Shamhna, the night where the spirits roamed free, has been observed for centuries. Guising, the act of visiting neighbours in disguise and performing a song or joke in exchange for a treat, arose from a need to blend in with the evil spirits who were abroad on this eerie night. Children and adults donned guisers masks, and as you can see from the photos below, you wouldn’t want to open your door to them on a dark night.

The festival of Hallowe’en in Scotland is ancient and steeped in mystery. As I child I went ‘apple dooking’, which involved a basin filled with water and apples. We had to capture one of the floating apples in our teeth without using our hands. The purpose of the ritual had a second part that I was never privy to; once you had your apple, you were meant to take it into a candlelit room and look into a darkened mirror. The face of your true love would then be revealed to you. I might have seen more merit in this game if we’d completed the ritual!

In another divinatory rite, women would pull kale stalks from the field to determine the height and build of their future lover. Apparently you could tell how wealthy he’d be by the amount of soil left clinging to the roots! I think this looking into the future makes sense when you consider Samhain was traditionally the Celtic New Year, occurring at the end of harvest season.

The deeper meaning behind many of these traditions escaped me until I got older and became interested in my country’s folklore. The mystical apple ritual from my childhood inspired the opening scene of ‘The Traveller’s Curse’, a story in my book Fireside Fairy Tales. I preserve many of the magical traditions that meant a lot to me in my writings, and I’m glad to say that I’ve now found ways to uphold and preserve the old ways of Hallowe’en in accordance with my quiet nature.

Enjoying a bonfire at Hallowe’en with friends has become a new favourite tradition of mine. In the old days, Samhain bonfires or ‘needfires’ warded off ill spirits and disease. There’s certainly something comforting about smoky air, curling chilly fingertips around a bowl of hot food, and kindling a warm glow in your belly with a nip of whisky while you watch the stars glint in the sky like lucky silver sixpences.

I also love to carve pumpkins and decorate my home with autumnal foliage. Traditionally, Scots carved turnip lanterns, or ‘tumshies’. However, I’ve long succumbed to the ease of a pumpkin!

I think it’s important to consider the wonder we felt as children and to keep that magic alive as an adult. It could be as simple as lighting a candle and watching the flame dance or as elaborate as stitching together a magnificent costume. Personally, I like to blend the old and new. Watching my favourite spooky films and cobwebbing the stair sits comfortably alongside homemade lanterns, candles, and bonfires. I’ve found that even the simplest rituals bring joy and peace to my life, and often it’s the least elaborate that mean the most.

Surprisingly, I had grand plans this year to travel to London for a Hallowe’en gig and sabbat. If that sounds un-introverted, I was going with my sister, and trust me, we had our exit strategies in place!

But my priorities changed, and once again I’ll spend Hallowe’en quietly at home. To be honest, an evening of firelight, feasting, and friends feels fitting. One tradition that escaped me as a child, but which I find touching and will incorporate this year, is to set an extra place at the table. The veil between worlds is thin as a moth wing on Hallowe’en, meaning that ghosts, ghouls, and fairies can easily come and go. Leaving out a plate of food appeases any malcontent spirits and welcomes the souls of departed relatives who might wish to once more be the life and soul of the party.

Thank you for reading my Hallowe’en reminiscences. I hope you’ll share yours in the comments! Whether your Hallowe’en is quiet or raucous, I hope the night is brimming with magic xx

p.s. the top photo is me & my sister on Hallowe’en many, many moons ago. I’m the cat!