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The Brazen Head: Dublin’s Oldest Pub and Its Restless Rebel

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A rebel and freedom fighter for Irish independence is said to haunt his favorite pub, The Brazen Head in Dublin, where it is said he plotted his fight against the English. 

“For who was he, the uncoffined slain, /That fell in Erin’s injured isle /Because his spirit dared disdain/ To light his country’s funeral pile? remain unpolluted by fame /Till thy foes, by the world and by fortune caressed, /Shall pass like a mist from the light of thy name.”
– Percy Bysshe Shelley after searching for Robert Emmet’s grave in Dublin, believed now to be haunting The Brazen Head

Few places in Dublin carry as much history, or as many whispered ghost stories, as The Brazen Head near the river Liffey. Dating back to 1198 according to some, although some place it closer to 1754 starting as a coaching in. This ancient tavern has served rebels, poets, and outlaws for centuries.

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Ireland

The old place is a popular place for live music as well as a few ghost stories. Its walls are thick with memory, its corners heavy with shadows, and its reputation as one of Ireland’s most haunted pubs is nearly as strong as its title as the city’s oldest.

Roman Kharkovski/Wikimedia

The Haunted Brazen Head

The most chilling tale tied to The Brazen Head begins in 1803, when Irish rebel Robert Emmet plotted his doomed uprising against British rule, according to the stories, right at this pub. It was here, over tankards of ale, that Emmet and his companions dreamed of freedom and revolution. 

Robert Emmet (born 1778, Dublin—died Sept. 20, 1803, Dublin) was an Irish nationalist leader who inspired the abortive rising of 1803, remembered as a romantic hero of Irish lost causes. He was captured on August 25, tried for treason, and hanged on Sept. 20, 1803.

The rebellion failed swiftly and brutally, and Emmet met his fate on nearby Thomas Street, where he was publicly hanged and then beheaded on the 20th September in 1803. Where he is buried is today unclear, but the legend says that he made his way back to the pub. 

According to legend, the blood from his execution ran down the hill and seeped toward his beloved pub, staining The Brazen Head forever in the memory of Dublin’s folklore.

Image: Addam Hardy

Emmet’s ghost, they say, has never truly left. Patrons claim that late at night, when the chatter has faded and the candles burn low, a spectral figure can be seen lingering in a shadowy corner of the pub. Dressed as if he were still preparing for rebellion, he is said to watch the room with wary eyes, forever on guard for the enemies who condemned him. Some visitors feel the weight of his gaze as they sip their drink, while others report a sudden chill that clings to the air, as though history itself had entered the room.

Yet The Brazen Head’s ghosts are not limited to Emmet alone. With more than 800 years of revelry, rebellion, and ruin within its walls, the pub has been a gathering place for countless souls who may not have fully departed. Whispers float along the stone walls, footsteps echo where no one walks, and the past often feels closer than the present.

For those who dare, a visit to The Brazen Head is not just a chance to raise a glass in Dublin’s oldest pub. It is an invitation to share a drink with history, to sit where rebels once planned their fates, and perhaps to catch a glimpse of a restless spirit still bound to the place he loved.

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References:

The Brazen Head | Haunted Pubs, Dublin, Ireland | Spirited Isle

The Brazen Head – Wikipedia 

Robert Emmet – Wikipedia

Story – Brazen Head 

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Black Cat Ghosts of Bern: A City Haunted by Feline Phantoms

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The black cat in European folklore is shrouded in mystery and magical lore. From the old parts of Bern, ghost stories of ghostly black cats linger in the shadows, reminding about the old fear the feline specter used to hold over people. 

Beneath the ancient arcades and cobblestone alleys of Bern, a darker tale swirls through the mist. Though this capital city of Switzerland is known for its UNESCO-listed Old Town, its medieval clock tower, and stately parliament buildings, its ancient stones whisper of more chilling legends and ghost stories. Among the myriad of legends and myths from Bern, curiously, stories of black cats, harbingers of the supernatural, phantoms in feline form are aplenty. .

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

Like the ghost story about the talking cat on the steep stairs from Brunngasse to the Stettebrunnen fountain. A midwife was said to have taken the stairs after a childbirth. The cat called out to her, “Good morning, good morning, how are you?” Before vanishing into thin air. And this is probably the nicest cat ghost story. 

Throughout Europe, black cats have long played both sides of the supernatural coin: omens of good luck in some regions, signs of misfortune in others. In Bern, like many other European cities from medieval times, they also remain as ghost stories. These are some of them penned down mostly by Hedwig Correvon by her collection of ghost stories from 1919 Gespenstergeschichten aus Bern.

The black cats of this Alpine city are not mere creatures, they are revenants. Witches in hiding. Spirits unshriven. Ghosts with fur and fangs.

The Horrible Beautiful Girl and the Kiltgang

It began with a girl so hauntingly beautiful that none in the surrounding Bernese countryside could forget her face. She lived in near solitude right outside of the city, speaking to no one, never seen beyond the threshold of her quiet home. Her allure became a mystery and a challenge. One that a group of curious young men decided to unravel during a secret nighttime visit, known in Alpine regions as a Kiltgang. This clandestine tradition, akin to the Bavarian Fenster involved sneaking to a girl’s window under cover of night for romantic courtship.

But what they witnessed that night was anything but romantic.

As the young men tiptoed toward the lighted window, they saw her lying motionless, as if dead. Her face drained of life, her chest still. Then, from the shadows, a sleek black cat crept into view. It leapt through the open window and vanished beneath her bed. Suddenly, the girl stirred. Her cheeks flushed, her fingers twitched, and her breath returned with a sigh from some unseen depth.

The boys fled into the night, white with terror, never again to approach a black cat, especially not one seen after dark.

Wicked Women and Cursed Cats

In Bernese legend, wicked women are punished in death by becoming that which they most dreaded: immortal black cats, cursed to haunt the homes and hearts of the living.

One tale speaks of a cruel woman, long dead, who returned in cat form to torment those who dared defy her. A housewife once tried to chase away such a cat, striking it with all her might. But the creature sat unmoved, its eyes glinting with eerie patience. A second blow was delivered and in that instant, the woman’s arm seized with pain. From that day on, it hung useless at her side, as if touched by some infernal frost.

Another spirit-cat haunts a house deep in the Old City, although which house is not mentioned. At night, when all lights are extinguished, its presence grows bold. It hums like a machine. It roars like a lion. It wrestles with living cats, leaving them blind, limping, and forever changed. Residents now leave lights on through the night, not to see—but to keep the darkness at bay.

The Treacherous Nun of Bubenbergraine

On the time-worn steps of Bubenbergraine, near where cloistered sisters once lived and died, a ghost lingers. Not in flowing robes, but fur. If Bubenbergraine is an old name or something local is uncertain, but modern Bernese people would more likely know the location as Bubenbergplatz, an area outside the third city walls. 

Read More: Read all about the Ghost of Nuns Haunting Bern

For over a century, residents have reported sightings of a black cat stalking beneath pergolas, crouching in alcoves, slipping into dreams and dread alike. One man, returning home at midnight, found the cat at his doorstep. When he tried to kick it away, the creature’s eyes glowed with an unnatural fire. Before he could turn to flee, its body grew, towering over him like some shape-shifting beast. He collapsed where he stood.

The next morning, he was found unconscious, delirious with fever. Days later he died and was buried.

“The nun has taken another,” the locals whispered. A nun who broke her sacred vows. A nun who perhaps never stopped loving men—even after death.

Whispers in Fur and Shadow

Bern’s black cat legends speak to the city’s lingering medieval soul, where sin and sanctity mingled in dim corridors and holy silence. Cats, with their glowing eyes and unnatural grace, became vessels for guilt, wrath, and unresolved desires and the shadow of the witch trials lingers over the lore as well. 

Some say that in Bern’s narrow alleys, black cats still roam between worlds, slipping through the cracks of time. When the mist rises from the Aare River, they can be seen, perched on rooftops, slinking down cellar steps, pausing beneath the gaze of a statue before disappearing entirely. If you see a black cat watching you, especially at midnight, don’t follow it.

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References:

Die sprechende Katze | Märchenstiftung 

Märchenstiftung Switzerland – Der Kiltgang

Märchenstiftung – Böse Frauen

Märchenstiftung – Die Treulose Nonne

Keckeis & Waibel, Legends of Switzerland, Bern, Zurich, 1986.

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The Haunting of Münchenstein’s Rectory Marini House

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Right outside Basel in Switzerland, the haunted former Rectory in Münchenstein is said to be haunted by one of its former priests. 

At the entrance to the tranquil town of Münchenstein, just outside of Basel, stands an otherwise unassuming structure at Hauptstrasse 19, also called the Marini House, were the renowned Berri family used to live, and now are said to haunt.. 

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

To the casual passerby, it’s merely a relic of centuries past, but beneath its weathered façade lies one of the Basel region’s most quietly unsettling ghost stories: the lingering unrest of a tragic soul and the eerie disturbances that continue to be whispered about to this day.

The former rectory in Münchenstein. // Source: Roland Zumbuehl/Wikimedia

A Birthplace of Brilliance and Darkness

This house was once the rectory of Münchenstein, serving as a residence for local clergy until the 1830s, but the building is much older than that. 

Old views from the 17th century clearly show that the house once stood behind the northern gate of the town-like settlement on the east side, facing the castle rock. According to a detailed drawing by G. Pr. Meyer from 1690, the house originally consisted of two buildings.

Münchenstein has had a pastor since 1334. Therefore, it can be assumed that a rectory already stood near the north gate before 1537. Its location arose from the fact that the parish church stands nearby, outside the fortification walls.

It also holds the distinction of being the birthplace of Melchior Berri (1801–1854), the renowned Swiss architect behind some of Basel’s most iconic 19th-century landmarks, including the Museum of Natural History and Ethnology. 

Melchior Berri: Portrait of Melchior Berri (1801–1854), Swiss architect. His father bearing the same name was a priest, and he grew up in the former rectory.

But it is not Berri’s legacy that has kept the house in local memory — it is the sorrowful fate of his father, Pastor Berri, and the restless phenomena that followed.

A Life of Restlessness and a Death of Despair

He had served as vicar at St. Peter’s from 1804. After his election as pastor, he moved with his family to Münchenstein, right outside of Basel, where his son spent his youth in rural surroundings at the foot of the castle rock. Berri’s religious streak can probably be traced back to his father, which was evident in the fact that even as a young man he conscientiously kept records of the church services he attended.

The elder Berri, though a man of the cloth, was by all accounts troubled and dissatisfied with both himself and the world around him. Known to lead a restless, melancholic existence, his growing despair culminated in a grim and tragic act: he took his own life, hanging himself from a sturdy beam in the rectory’s attic in 1831.

Almost immediately after his death, the house earned a sinister reputation. Locals began to report unsettling nocturnal disturbances like eerie phantom winds that howled through sealed rooms, the clanking of invisible chains from the attic, and ghostly lights flickering and vanishing without cause. The rectory had become a source of dread.

The tragic family tradition seemed to follow his son, who also took his life on May 12 in 1854 after losing one of his eight children to bronchitis. Because he had taken his life, he was quietly buried next to his son in St. Alban Church, and his grave was lost to memory for ages. 

The Shape in the Shadows

In the years that followed, sporadic reports of ghostly activity surfaced. Most notably, witnesses described seeing a black, shadowy figure with glowing eyes within the house. On one infamous night, as townsfolk summoned the courage to investigate, the sinister presence was found crouched within a fireplace — not as a man, but in the form of a black cat with burning eyes.

Haunted Home: Former rectory and family home from 1805 to 1831 of Melchior Berri (1805-1854) at Hauptstrasse 19 in Münchenstein. // Source: EinDao/Wikimedia

Whether this was a mere trick of the light or the physical manifestation of the pastor’s anguished spirit, the answer was never found. The cat vanished as quickly as it appeared, but the story became forever entangled with the house’s already chilling folklore.

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References:

Huhuuuh! – Sieben Spukhäuser in der Region | TagesWoche

Hauptstrasse 19 – Baselland

Architekt Melchior Berri

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The Ghost Procession of Basel and the Dance of Death

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Mirroring the famous Dance Macabre mural that used to hang on the walls near the Predigerkirche in Basel, it is said that plague victims were buried in the patch of grass outside of the church. Legend has it that when the city needs it, the dead will rise from it in a macabre procession, as a warning of an oncoming disaster. 

In the heart of Basel’s old town, amid narrow cobbled streets and Gothic church spires, there lingers a memory too grim to fully fade of the plague and the deaths of thousands of people, rich, poor, young or old, the death didn’t discriminate. It clings to the city like mist to the Rhine, a shadow of death and ancient disease that once brought the living to their knees. 

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

The story’s origin lies in one of Basel’s darkest chapters: the Black Death and it claims that it’s victim will rise from their graves if the city ever needs a warning from the afterlife. 

Predigerkirche: © Roland Fischer, Zürich (Switzerland) – Mail notification to: roland_zh(at)hispeed(dot)ch / Wikimedia Commons / CC-BY-SA-3.0 Unported

A City Marked by Death

The 14th century was an era of unimaginable horror for Basel as it was for the rest of Europe. In 1314, a virulent wave of the plague swept through the city, carrying away thousands within weeks. The death was swift and cruel — marked by hideous black buboes beneath the arms and around the groin, followed by high fever and swift decline. 

The Dance of Death: (1493) by Michael Wolgemut, from the Nuremberg Chronicle of Hartmann Schedel

Thirty-five years later, the plague returned with even greater ferocity. The city’s cemeteries overflowed, and in desperation, the dead were buried hastily in mass graves, especially in the burial grounds surrounding the Predigerkirche (Church of the Preachers).

It was amid this devastation that The Basel Dance of Death (Basler Totentanz) was born. Beautiful art depicting horrible death.

The Dance of Death Mural

In the 15th century, as plague continued to haunt Europe, a long, striking mural was painted along the inside of the cemetery wall near the Predigerkirche. The Dance of Death was no gentle allegory. Here, death came for all, beggar and merchant, soldier and king. They were all depicted as skeletal figures leading the living in a grim, final waltz. It was a stark, public reminder that death makes no distinction of rank or wealth.

Danse Macabre of Basel: Watercolor copy by Johann Rudolf Feyerabend, 1806 : bottom left. Historisches Museum of Basel.

Miraculously, the mural survived the iconoclasm of the Reformation, was restored in the 17th century, and eventually dismantled in 1805, though parts of it survive in reproduction. But the mural’s power was never solely in paint and plaster and it became a living legend, one that the people of Basel claimed could still be seen, in another form, when darkness fell.

The Procession of the Restless Dead

According to local lore, the countless plague victims interred hurriedly in the soil before the Predigerkirche (Church of the Holy Spirit). Today it is a small patch of grass right in front of the church, said to house thousands of people buried after the plague. According to the legend, they do not sleep peacefully. 

When Basel stands on the brink of danger, be it war, famine, disease, or other calamity it is said that the plague dead rise from their mass graves. Silently, in the dead of night, they form a ghostly procession, a macabre parade of spectral figures shrouded in rotting shrouds and hollow eyes, marching through the old city streets.

This ghostly cortege begins at the site of the old Dance of Death mural, winds its way through the alleys, and returns to the churchyard before dawn. Some accounts claim that one can hear the faint rattle of bones, the dragging of weary feet, and the mournful tolling of an unseen bell.

In keeping with the ancient mural’s message, the procession is democratic in its horror where peasants, noblemen, clerics, and merchants march side by side, bound by death and decay march.

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References:

Basler Phänomene: Spuk, Phantome, Poltergeister | barfi.ch

Happy Halloween! 🎃 Ein Streifzug durch Basels grusligste Orte — Bajour

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The Haunted Halls of the Bern City Hall (Rathaus)

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Where history whispers and shadows reign, the Rathaus in Bern is said to be haunted by a myriad of ghosts. Who are the ghosts lingering in the City Hall after dark?

In Bern’s UNESCO-protected Old Town stands the Rathaus, a 600-year-old masterpiece of medieval Gothic architecture. This historic town hall is not just the political centerpiece of the canton where the Grand Council of the Canton of Bern meets in the town hall five times per year, it’s also a hub for the restless dead. 

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

The current building was begun in 1406–07 by Heinrich von Gengenbach on the site of a townhouse owned by the Burgistein family and completed around 1415-1417. Beneath the grandeur of its meeting halls, corridors, and council chambers lies a legacy of betrayal, justice, and eerie apparitions. When night falls and the crowds disperse, the Rathaus becomes the stage for Bern’s most unsettling ghost stories.

Eugène Cattin (1866–1947) when it was Hôtel du Gouvernement

The Mourning Treasurer

Among the earliest tales is that of the Dishonest Treasurer, who embezzled state funds only for them to be seized by invading French forces.

To this day, his tormented spirit is said to haunt the vaults, weeping for both his crime and the gold he lost forever. Visitors sometimes report hearing soft sobs or the clink of coins in the dead of night, echoing through empty corridors.

The Phantom Town Protector

When Bern teeters on the edge of crisis, locals tell of a gilded carriage drawn by two spectral horses arriving silently before the Rathaus. A servant jumps out and opens the door for the spectral protector of the city. A well-dressed man in outdated garb slowly ascends the steps, pausing with uncanny deliberation. Midway, he is engulfed by a spiral of mist and vanishes without a trace. 

Many believe this is the ghost of a long-dead protector of the city, appearing only when Bern’s fate hangs in the balance.

The Black-Clad Councilors

Far more chilling is the tale of the Black-Clad Councilors said to haunt one of the chambers at the Rathaus. And much like the phantom coming from the ghostly carriage, these ghosts are going to work. 

The Burgerstube in Bern’s Town Hall, 1735 by Johann Grimm

It is said they look like a skeletal assembly of former officials who rise from the grave to argue eternal matters of law. Dressed in 17th-century garb, clutching black folders, they shuffle into the council chamber at midnight, but no one ever sees them exiting. 

A spectral debate ensues, marked by snarling voices and bony fists pounding on ancient wood after one of them makes a speech. At the stroke of twelve, they vanish as swiftly as they came when the silver bell on the clock on the wall chimes. 

In the book from Hedwig Correvon, Ghost Stories from Ber, it is said that the ghostly meeting was seen once by a living. A man once dared to watch from behind a stove—he emerged blind, his sanity cracked.

The Headless Execution Victim

One narrow corridor, once thought to house instruments of torture, remains a hotspot for ghostly phenomena in the city hall. Those who pass through have reported dizziness, chills, and even fever that lasts for days. 

Occasionally, a figure is seen drifting silently through the halls. There are those claiming a man in tattered robes, carrying his own severed head beneath his arm is haunting the building. He is believed to be one of those executed centuries ago when justice was swift and brutal in Kirchgasse.

The Caretaker’s Wife and the Stove

More recently, strange disturbances are heard from what was once the caretaker’s apartment. Shouting, crying, and unintelligible arguments erupt from behind a large iron stove. The ghost of the caretaker’s wife, mad by unruly spectral children, is said to still shout commands at the unseen chaos within. Her voice echoes: “Will you be quiet immediately!” And an eerily silence follows.

The Sinful Nuns

There are also those claiming that a group of nuns have been haunting the area for ages. Towards Schipfe, there is an iron door to the town halls, said to be so rusty that no one can open it. This is at least how it was described in 1919 in a collection of ghost stories from Bern. 

Read Also: The Ghosts of the Sinful Nuns Haunting Bern

At night, it opened however and a group of nuns dressed in all black comes out, walking to the fountain. It is said that without saying anything they start to throw the small and dead bodies of children they have drowned in the well.

Today, the Rathaus hosts elegant receptions, formal debates, and civic ceremonies—but behind its regal veneer, shadows move and whispers linger. Those who work late or wander its halls after dusk report an undeniable chill and an oppressive presence. For in Bern, even the walls of governance cannot silence the ghosts of its past.

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References:

Bern Town Hall – Wikipedia

Geisterstadt Bern – SWI swissinfo.ch

https://www.maerchenstiftung.ch/maerchendatenbank/11867/suendige-nonnen

https://www.maerchenstiftung.ch/maerchendatenbank/11827/ratsherren

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The Restless Dead Buried Inside of Basel’s Double Cloister

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The two adjoining cloisters by Basel Cathedral are said to be haunted by a couple of spectres entombed within the building. In the darkness of Basel’s Double Cloister, it is said you can hear the moaning of a man slowly suffocating and feel the unsuspected slap from a man, as mean in death as he was in life. 

Basel is a city where history lingers not just in its ancient streets and Gothic spires but in the very earth beneath its feet. Nowhere is this more palpable than in the Cathedral and its adjoining Double Cloister of Basel Minster.  solemn, shadow-cloaked place where the line between the living and the dead has always felt unsettlingly thin. 

Read also: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

Built in the 15th century, the cloisters once rang with sacred hymns and church rites, housing as many as six altars for medieval services. There are actually two different cloisters, connected by the open gardens surrounding them.

After the Reformation, one of the cloisters turned into a marketplace, but also a cemetery for the city’s upper middle class. Long after the Reformation’s sweeping changes silenced the rituals of the monks, the ritual of burial within the cloister’s cold embrace.

Basel Minster

A Cemetery Hiding in Plain Sight

For centuries, this peaceful cloister functioned as a cemetery for the city’s wealthy and influential, seen as their graves marked with ornately carved stones, some still intact within the shaded arcades. This was known as Münster Cemetery. Even as the world outside modernized, these hallowed grounds remained a final resting place, with burials continuing into the 19th century. The place is heavy with history, and as any Basler will tell you, such places seldom stay quiet after dark.

When the evening mists curl in from the Rhine and the last of the daylight dies behind the Minster’s towers, strange things are said to stir amid the cloister’s arches.

Cloister of Basel Minster

The Moaning of Emanuel Büchel

Among the restless souls tied to these ancient stones is Emanuel Büchel (1705–1775), a respected draftsman and master baker whose demise is steeped in grim folklore. He also painted, mainly nature and landscapes.

Emanuel Büchel completed his apprenticeship with a master baker in Basel in 1723. He then set out on a journeyman’s journey, and upon his return in 1726, he applied for membership in the city’s bakers’ guild. In 1728, he applied for the position of gatekeeper to the Steinentor. He married Susanna Felber in 1726.

Self Portrait

In 1773 he was assigned the task of copying the dance of death in Basel, a huge honor for an artist. At that time he was 68 and he died 2 years later at 70, 24 September in 1775. The question his legend asks though, did he truly die on that day though?

Legend insists that poor Büchel was buried alive, mistaken for dead in an era when death’s finality could sometimes be tragically premature. On long, hushed nights, visitors claim to hear his ghost moaning, wheezing, and rustling beneath the cloister’s stones, a soul forever reliving the terror of suffocation in his tomb.

The Malevolent Shade of Master Tailor Schnyyder Hagenbach

But if Büchel is a sorrowful spirit, Master Tailor Schnyyder Hagenbach is an entirely different creature of the night. Even in life, the tailor was, by all accounts, an unpleasant man. It was said he was cruel to his family, dishonest in business, and feared by neighbors. It comes as little surprise, then, that his spirit would choose to linger in malevolence.

The Cloister Cemetery: The cloister of Basel Minster consists of a small and a large cloister. Numerous epitaphs (grave and memorial monuments) are attached to their walls.

For generations, tales have spoken of an invisible, vindictive specter haunting the cathedral cloister. Passersby walking the dim, ancient pathways have felt sudden, icy slaps on their faces or hands, delivered by unseen forces. Locals blame Hagenbach’s ghost, a being said to emerge not at the witching hour, but as early as dusk, prowling the arcades in search of fresh victims to torment.

His ghost, it’s said, lashes out without warning — a sudden blow accompanied by mocking laughter, leaving the victim shaken, their skin cold where the invisible hand landed.

A Living Monument to Basel’s Darker Past

The Double Cloister stands as both a treasured historical site and a place of uneasy quiet. Its arched walkways and sun-dappled courtyards are beautiful by day, but at night, the air thickens with something ancient, something watching.

A cemetery masquerading as a courtyard, a sanctum where moaning spirits and unseen hands remind the living of the unforgiving past.

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References:

Emanuel Büchel – Personenlexikon BL

Spuk und Geister im alten Basel

Happy Halloween! 🎃 Ein Streifzug durch Basels grusligste Orte — Bajour

Basler Phänomene: Spuk, Phantome, Poltergeister | barfi.ch

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The Portobello Bar: Spirits on the Canal

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A lock keeper from the adjacent lock next to The Portobello Bar in Dublin is said to be haunting it. Ever since his mistake cost the lives of someone crossing, he is said to be lingering in the area. 

In the heart of Dublin’s city centre, where the Grand Canal glides quietly past brick façades and timeworn bridges, stands The Portobello Bar that is one of the pubs to put on the checklist for a haunted pub crawl.

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Ireland

The Portobello has seen much of Dublin’s turbulent past. Once known as Davy’s, it became an unlikely stronghold during the 1916 Easter Rising. Rebels seized the building for its strategic position near the bridge, using it to fire on British troops attempting to advance from the nearby Portobello Barracks. Gunfire echoed over the canal, and blood was spilled on the cobblestones just outside the pub’s doors. 

The Ghost Haunting the Portobello Bar

At first glance, it looks like any classic Irish pub, warm and inviting with the clink of glasses and low hum of laughter spilling into the night. The Portobello has stood here since 1793, offering shelter and stout to locals and travelers alike. But with its long history, the pub has gathered more than just regular patrons. Some say it still plays host to a guest who never left.

But it is not only the ghosts of war that haunt The Portobello Bar. Locals tell of a restless soul tied to the lock just beside the pub. In the 19th century, it is said that the lock keeper caused the sinking of a horse drawn carriage passing through the canal, either through negligence or in a drunken rage. 

The Ghost of the Lock Keeper

Some say he could not live with the guilt or the shame of being fired from his job and took his own life near the water’s edge. Some even claim that it was no suicide at all, but that his death was under mysterious and suspicious circumstances. 

On still nights, when the music from the bar fades and the ripples on the canal settle, those walking the towpath have claimed to see him. A shadowed figure stands by the lock, silent and watching. His ghost is said to not have the most gentle energy, some even call him rather vengeful. Some even claim to have felt confused and dizzy, almost falling into the cold canal. 

Inside the pub, glasses sometimes clink without cause, doors creak open on their own, and staff report a sudden chill sweeping through the air even when the fire burns high. Patrons have caught their reflection in the window, only to see another figure standing just behind them, vanishing when they turn around.

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References:

Portobello Bar

Top 11 Haunted Dublin Pubs Full Of Spirits! | Spooky Isles

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Val Sinestra Hotel and the Ghost of Hermann Haunting the Lower Engadine

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In an old sanatorium in Switzerland the ghost of Hermann is said to have been haunting the Val Sinestra Hotel for ages. But who was he when he was alive, and what was his true name before he died in the remote fortress up in the mountains? And is he still haunting the old halls where he never made his recovery?

Tucked away in the silent snowscape of Switzerland’s remote Lower Engadine Valley lies Val Sinestra, a former 1912 spa-hotel, or a Kurhaus, once famed for its healing mineral springs in the Grisons region of Switzerland. The Kurhaus ‘Val Sinestra’ grew into a real sensation, the foreign newspapers and magazines were full of it and the high society came there to take the cure. Some say that that some of the patients never left.

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

Although once a stately institution, In 1914, this glorious period came to an end as the First World War broke out and the Belle Epoque was over for good. The therapy activities of Val Sinestra Hotel closed in 1972, but beneath its former Belle Époque elegance, it harbors a secret far colder in the form of a ghost named “Hermann” who has been haunting its corridors for nearly a century. 

The Haunted Hotel: Hotel Val Sinestra in Graubünden is said to be haunted by a former patient, now known as Hermann. // Source: Agnes Monkelbaan/Wiki

From Spa to Specter: The Legend of Hermann

Originally built to treat tuberculosis patients, Val Sinestra drew visitors seeking cures and rest 1500 metres above the sea levels in the remote parts of Switzerland. The Hotel Val Sinestra stands like a fortress on the rock, eleven stories high with a pointed tower, looming above the valley overlooking La Brancla river. The rust-red, arsenic-laden water from the Ulrich spring was said to cure syphilis, people with consumption and anemic patients.

One of the more talked about ghosts has been one named Herman. Hotel owner Adrienne Kruit has claimed strange things have happened since 1978 when her husband bought the building. He passed away in 2018, and most of the ghost stories told from the hotel, comes from their time running the place. It is said that he was greeted at the door by a spirit screaming at him, scaring him so badly he drove all night to the North Sea. 

“There were loud noises, keys were swinging on their hooks, and the windows were suddenly open!” she said about her experiences since taking over the Val Sinestra Hotel. “Once, a wall clock fell to the floor right next to me. But the hook was stuck in the wall.”

But who was the famed ghost? There have been a lot of theories, but most of them claim was a Belgian patient, who reportedly stayed so long and grew so attached to the Val Sinestra Hotel and its staff  that he refused to leave. He was for a long time known as Hermann.  

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In 2010 there were also two mediums ordered to check out the haunting of the Val Sinestra Hotel, and said it was a tuberculosis patient called Gilbert, Guillon or Guillaume, perhaps a Belgium soldier from World War I who stayed there in the 1920s haunting the hotel. 

It is said that he fell in love with Maria, an employee. After his death in the late 1920s, sightings began: a tall, pale figure wandering the old bathhouse halls at night, sometimes glimpsed in the lobby or elevator area. It is said he mostly haunts the lower floors where the patients used to stay. 

Staff and guests describe Hermann as mischievously protective of the Val Sinestra Hotel. Windows will open on their own, the lift runs unoccupied, and he’s even moved objects. 

Haunted Floors & Hotel Whispers

There is little evidence to the story of the poor patient at Val Sinestra Hotel today, especially since the guestbook from this time was stolen at some point. 

The old bathhouse floor—a place of healing in life—has become the epicenter of paranormal activity. Lights flicker, faucets run without explanation, windows open suddenly, wine glasses begin to ring, balls of light emerge at night and cold drafts pierce the temperature of the rooms. Visitors report waking to the hiss of steam and feeling a distant presence when alone..

The Old Sanatorium: Val Sinestra Hotel. // Source: Agnes Monkelbaan/Wiki

Visiting the Phantom’s Realm at Val Sinestra Hotel

Val Sinestra remains an operational hotel, its ghostly inhabitant part of its allure. Guests hoping to connect with Hermann are advised to stay near the old bathhouse, wander empty corridors at dusk, and be open to subtle signs: a misplaced key, sudden draft, or perhaps a feeling of presence. As one medium noted, Hermann doesn’t mean harm—he’s just a restless guardian who cares deeply… and quietly.

According to Thomas Frei and other ghost hunters who have investigated the hotel for years, there are other ghosts said to haunt it as well. A man, a woman and a little girl is also said to be lingering inside of the halls. 

Val Sinestra Hotel stands as a beautifully preserved relic of early 20th-century health resorts—but it is Hermann’s spectral shadow that lingers darkest. And in the silent snowfall of Lower Engadine, the gentle hum of unseen footsteps may well be the echo of a man who never truly left.

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References:

TVI Traveler – Hotel Val Sinestra

Geisterjäger sicher: Im Hotel Val Sinestra spukt es wirklich – 20 Minuten

Schweizer Ghosthunter kommen im Val Sinestra mehreren Geistern auf die Spur

Val Sinestra (2019) CH

historie — Hotel Val Sinestra

A letto con gli spiriti nella Val Sinestra – Ticinonline

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Glasnevin Cemetery and the Faithful Ghost Dog still Waiting for his Master

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After his master died at sea, the faithful dog was by his master’s grave, day in and day out. After dying of hunger and grief it is said that the Newfoundland dog is still seen, slipping between the graves at Glasnevin Cemetery in Dublin. 

It is hardly surprising that Ireland’s largest burial ground should be haunted. Glasnevin Cemetery, sprawling over 124 acres and holding more than 1.5 million burials, is a city of the dead that overshadows the living Dublin beyond its gates. Founded in 1832 by Daniel O’Connell, it was intended as a place where Catholics could finally bury their dead with dignity. Over the years it has grown into the final resting place of rebels, revolutionaries, poets, politicians, and ordinary citizens whose lives were cut short by famine, war, or disease. A place of history, yes, but also a place where the past refuses to stay buried.

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By day, Glasnevin Cemetery, or Reilig Ghlas Naíon as it is in Irish, feels like an open-air museum of Irish identity. Visitors trace the names of towering figures such as Michael Collins, Éamon de Valera, and Constance Markievicz carved into stone. The O’Connell Tower rises high above the graves, an imposing monument to “The Liberator” himself. But when the sun sets, the solemn dignity of the cemetery changes. The shadows deepen. The endless rows of crosses and crypts begin to look like silent witnesses, and the air grows heavy with the weight of countless unquiet souls.

Glasnevin Cemetery: Originally a monastery established by Saint Mobhi in the sixth century. A settlement grew around the monastery but would see tumultuous times during the Viking Age when Vikings regularly raided the coasts of Ireland. Record shows the settlement was destroyed by Vikings but would later come to be rebuilt and absorbed as part of Dublin city.

The Haunted Glasnevin Cemetery

Among the many legends tied to the cemetery, the most famous is not of a statesman or a rebel, but of a loyal Newfoundland dog. His master, Captain John McNeill Boyd, perished during a daring sea rescue in 1861 at Dun Laoghaire when the ship, The Neptun smashed into the east pier, trying to dock in the storm.

His body was retrieved from the sea many days later, and according to the story, even then, the dog was onboard and refused to leave his master’s side. Boyd was buried at Glasnevin, and the dog lay faithfully beside his grave, refusing to leave until starvation claimed him. Even death did not end his vigil. Witnesses still report seeing the spectral hound pacing near Boyd’s headstone, or padding silently near his statue in St. Patrick’s Cathedral. They say on misty nights you can hear his paws on the gravel and catch the faint glimmer of eyes watching from between the stones.

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The dog is not the only lingering presence. Staff and visitors alike have spoken of unexplained footsteps echoing along the pathways when no one is there. Voices whisper in the stillness, names spoken in the dark. Some claim to see fleeting figures dressed in Victorian mourning clothes vanish behind mausoleums. Others describe the heavy sensation of being watched as if the dead resent the intrusion of the living into their eternal city.

The Resurrectionists of Glasnevin Cemetery

As if ghosts were not enough, Glasnevin has its darker, flesh-and-bone history to contend with. In the 19th century, body-snatching was a thriving trade in Dublin. Known as “resurrectionists,” these grave robbers would dig up freshly buried corpses under cover of night and sell them to medical schools desperate for cadavers to dissect. Glasnevin, vast and new, became a prime hunting ground. Families, terrified that their loved ones might be stolen and sold like contraband, hired guards to keep watch over graves.

Lived Once, Buried Twice: Margorie McCall, who was buried in 1705 in Glasnevin Cemetery. Hours after her funeral, grave robbers exhumed her body and tried to cut off her finger to steal one of her rings. Margorie woke up from the coma-like state and the terrified body snatchers ran off. She was dug up and her husband opened the door he fainted. Margorie lived in Lurgan for years after this. When she finally died, she was once again interred in Shankhill graveyard in Belfast, where to this day her gravestone bears the inscription: “Margorie McCall, Lived Once, Buried Twice.”

So many feared the resurrectionists that Glasnevin Cemetery built high watchtowers and employed night patrols with muskets and dogs. Relatives sometimes slept on top of graves for weeks to protect the bodies until they decayed beyond value to the anatomists. It was a time when the living still fought to keep the dead at rest, but the desecration left a mark. Some whisper that the restless spirits of those disturbed from their graves are still wandering the grounds, denied the peace they were promised.

A Cemetery That Never Sleeps

Glasnevin also bears witness to Ireland’s most tragic chapters. The Great Famine filled mass graves here with thousands, their names lost to history. Cholera victims were buried under hurried earth, and soldiers from wars far beyond Ireland’s shores returned only to find their rest here. Perhaps it is this sheer density of sorrow that gives the place its atmosphere. Some say the ground is too saturated with grief to ever be quiet.

Today, Glasnevin is open to those who dare walk its avenues. You may wander alone among the towering Celtic crosses and ornate angels, or you may join one of the Irish History Tours, where guides speak not only of patriots and poets but of the strange, unsettling stories passed down through generations. They will tell you that the past is not gone in Glasnevin. It lingers, waiting for those who listen closely.

If you find yourself in Dublin, step beyond the gates of Glasnevin Cemetery. But tread carefully. For in this vast necropolis, the boundary between the living and the dead is fragile. And not all the souls here rest quietly.

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References:

Glasnevin Cemetery – Wikipedia

Glasnevin Cemetery | Explore Haunted Ireland

https://www.shamrockgift.com/blog/folklore-friday-glasnevin-cemetery/?srsltid=AfmBOoqcll6cO-yqCN6Xwuj_F0sqxlqmgwP1wbpz1tRBzro6WNmXY9sY

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The Ghosts of the Sinful Nuns Haunting Bern

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Once, the city of Bern was filled with nuns working and living inside of the city walls. According to ghost stories though, some of them remained, even after the Reformation that closed their convents down. And those stories tell about them being guilty of terrible things with terrible ends. 

In the winding alleys and cloistered ruins of Bern, ghosts drift beneath the vaulted ceilings of forgotten convents. Long before the Protestant Reformation swept through Bern in the early 16th century, the city throbbed with the sacred heartbeat of Catholic ritual. Monasteries, nunneries, and chapels dotted the cityscape, and pious women in black habits tended to the sick, the poor, and the orphaned. Some were devout and willing. Others were not.

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By November 1523, the tides had turned. Under pressure from reformist leaders, the Bernese city council ordered that the words of the Bible be preached directly—without the filter of Rome. Within months, the convents were abandoned. The once-sacred cloisters stood silent. But silence is not absence. And in Bern, some souls remained behind… trapped.

The Walled-Up Nun

One of the ghost stories that were told about the Bernese nuns was one left behind, still inside of her old convent walls, and it is said that even in death, her face cries out.

It was an ordinary day when a man, strolling past a decaying monastery wall near the heart of Bern, caught sight of something horrifying. The story doesn’t really specify which building this happened in. It is also a story that is said to have happened before 1919, as it was printed in a collection of ghost stories that year. 

Behind a narrow, crumbling window he claimed to have seen a face. Pale, pleading, trapped. He rushed into the building, but the room was empty. The very spot where she had stared down was bare stone and shadow. No sound. No warmth. No sign of life.

Haunted by the vision, he returned the next night. That’s when he heard it. A cacophony from beyond the walls: roars, thuds, the pounding of fists or perhaps hooves. Amidst the fury, a woman’s voice wept and moaned, begging for deliverance. He screamed for help. Together with another man, he began tapping along the walls until one section gave a hollow response. Stone by stone, they tore it open.

And there she was.

A skeleton, upright, impossibly intact, as though caught in her final scream. Her black robes hung in rags from brittle bones. A rosary was knotted in her clenched, skeletal hands. Her skull tilted ever so slightly toward the light, toward freedom that was denied.

She had been walled up alive. Whether for punishment, penance, or cruelty, no one knows. But her agony never left the stone.

The Dancing Beguines Around Christmas

On quiet, moonlit nights near the Nydeggbrücke, those with the rare gift of second sight may glimpse something truly otherworldly. Seven small lights rise from the river’s dark waters and begin to swirl and twirl, chasing one another in joyful abandon above the gentle current. This is from the collected ghost stories by Hedwig Correvon.

Beguines: Although they are called Beguines, were they really this? The Beguines were Christian lay religious orders that were active in Western Europe, particularly in the Low Countries, in the 13th–16th centuries. Their members lived in semi-monastic communities but did not take formal religious vows. Although they promised not to marry “as long as they lived as Beguines”, to quote an early Rule of Life, they were free to leave at any time. Beguines were part of a larger spiritual revival movement of the 13th century that stressed imitation of Jesus’ life through voluntary poverty, care of the poor and sick, and religious devotion.

These are no ordinary flames; they are the spirits of the Beguines, young women once cloistered in the monastery at Klösterlistutz against their will. According to legend, their restless souls are granted a fleeting moment of freedom each Christmas to dance above the river they were once forbidden to cross. As the clock at Nydegg Church strikes midnight, their ghostly game ends in a soft sigh and as they vanish, they are leaving only ripples on the water and a chill in the air.

The Sinful Nuns of the Old City Hall

There are also those claiming that a group of nuns have been haunting the area around the old cityhall at Rathaus for ages. Towards Schipfe, there is an iron door to the town halls, said to be so rusty that no one can open it. This is at least how it was described in 1919 in a collection of ghost stories from Bern. 

At night, it opened however and a group of nuns dressed in all black comes out, walking to the fountain. It is said that without saying anything they start to throw the small and dead bodies of children they have drowned in the well.

The Faithless Nun and Her Black Cat

Just beyond the medieval city’s old west gate lies Bubenbergraine, possibly an old name and most likely referring to the area now known as Bubenbergplatz in Bern. The Bubenbergplatz is a plaza in the Old City of Bern, the medieval city center. It is part of the area outside the third city walls. This is where the Holy Spirit Convent once stood, a place of quiet devotion, cloistered halls, and whispered transgressions. Though the convent was dissolved in the Reformation, not all its residents departed.

For over a century, a sleek, spectral black cat has haunted a house built on those same grounds. By day it hides in old cupboards or among the pergolas that once shielded nuns from worldly eyes. But at night, it stalks doorways and dreams.

One man, returning late, found the feline watching him. When he tried to shoo it, the cat’s eyes flashed like twin embers. Its body swelled to monstrous proportions. The man fell on the spot, unconscious. He died days later in inexplicable agony.

“The faithless nun beat him,” the old Bernese muttered. She had betrayed her vows in life—perhaps with men, perhaps with ambition. Whatever her sins, her punishment is eternal. She walks now in feline guise, dooming any who mock her presence.

She is not the only one.

The Poisoner of Bubenbergrain

Not all ghosts haunting the area called Bubenbergrain in the collection of ghost stories from Bern from 1919 were nuns though. Some spirits haunt out of guilt. Others out of pleasure.

On quiet, silver-drenched nights in Bubenbergrain, a woman appears on the terrace of her former home. Her face is still beautiful, adorned with the yellow Schwefelhütchen cap once worn by Bernese noblewomen. Moonlight glints on the gold chains of her ancient costume.

She stands at the very spot where she once mixed the poison meant for her husband and son, both of whom had discovered her betrayal when she had an affair. Both of whom now lie in Bernese soil. Though the years have passed, her spirit lingers. Those who have seen her say she never moves, never speaks, only watches.

Sacred Walls, Damned Souls

These are not sweet legends to comfort children. They are warning signs carved into Bern’s foundation. Once, these streets rang with the chants of nuns, the bells of convent towers, the echo of whispered prayers. But beneath those hymns lay darker stories of forced vows, secret lovers, silent punishments. And when the Reformation scattered the living, the dead stayed behind.

Ghostly cats now wander where piety once walked. Eyes shine from beneath doorsteps. Shadows rustle across crumbling convent walls. Some say they hear weeping at night from the stones of the Heiliggeistkirche, once the chapel of the Holy Spirit Convent. Others avoid Bubenbergraine entirely after sundown.

If you walk Bern’s Old Town, take heed. What looks like a cat may not be. What seems like a whisper may be a cry. And what appears to be a ruin may, in truth, still house the cloistered sins of centuries.

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References:

Märchenstiftung – Die eingemauerte Nonne (The Walled-Up Nun)

Märchenstiftung – Die treulose Nonne (The Faithless Nun)

Märchenstiftung – Die Giftmischerin (The Poisoner)

Wikipedia – Heiliggeistkirche (Bern)

P. Keckeis & M. Waibel, Legends of Switzerland, Bern, Zurich, 1986.