An online magazine about the paranormal, haunted and macabre. We collect the ghost stories from all around the world as well as review horror and gothic media.
Deep in the heart of the Swiss Alps, the enchanting yet eerie Lötschental Valley harbors a chilling tradition that has captivated and terrified generations. Known as the Tschäggättä, these fearsome, fur-clad figures emerge from the shadows of snow-laden forests during the dark, cold months of winter. Combining ancient folklore with theatrical spectacle, the Tschäggättä embody the primal fears and superstitions of a bygone era.
Deep in the heart of the Swiss Alps, the enchanting yet eerie Lötschental Valley harbors a chilling tradition that has captivated and terrified generations. Known as the Tschäggättä, these fearsome, fur-clad figures emerge from the shadows of snow-laden forests during the dark, cold months of winter. Combining ancient folklore with theatrical spectacle, the Tschäggättä embody the primal fears and superstitions of a bygone era.
Deep within the isolated Lötschental Valley of the Swiss Alps, amid snow-laden forests and frostbitten villages, lurks a chilling winter tradition few outside of Switzerland have heard of: the Tschäggättä. These grotesque, fur-clad figures prowl the narrow streets during the coldest, darkest months of the year — a living echo of ancient Alpine superstitions and forgotten fears.
The Origins of the Tschäggättä
Though no one can say exactly when the tradition began, written references to the Tschäggättä date back to the 19th century, with local authorities at times attempting to ban the custom due to its rowdy and unsettling nature. Way back, this used to be one of the poorest regions of Switserland. The first written record dates back to 1860, when prior Johann Baptist Gibsten banned the use of masks during carnival.
However, folklore scholars suggest the practice is far older, a survival of pre-Christian beliefs in malevolent winter spirits that roamed the mountains when the sun was weakest. The second theory links the Tschäggättä to the demonic figures that appeared in ecclesiastical Baroque theatre.
In earlier centuries, the Alpine winter was an unforgiving season of darkness, hunger, and death. Isolated valleys like Lötschental often felt cut off from the world, and stories of spirits, witches, and vengeful phantoms were common. The Tschäggättä became a way to personify these fears — and perhaps to ward them off.
Wooden Masks: The oldest Lötschental wooden mask still in existence from 1790-1810. // Source: Lötschental Museum; Deposit Swiss National Museum
The Schurten Thieves
The best-known legend of the origins of the Tschäggättä is the legend of the Schurten thieves from the middle ages. In the shady forests on the opposite side of the valley once resided the legendary Schurten thieves. They were thieves who lived on the shady side of the valley and disguised themselves to plunder farms on the sunny and richer side of the valley.
Even today, their farmsteads can still be recognised, particularly clearly visible on the Giätrich, in the “Obri Wald” forest opposite the village of Wiler.
At nightfall, they went on the prowl in wild disguise with masks on. It was said that the Schurten thieves did not accept anyone into their ranks who was not able to jump over the Lonza with a load of a hundred pounds.
The Appearance of the Tschäggättä
Each Tschäggättä is immediately recognizable by its disturbing appearance. The figures wear heavy animal furs, typically from goats or sheep, to shield them from the brutal cold. Most terrifying, however, are the wooden masks they don — hand-carved, each unique from Swiss stone pine, and featuring grotesque, distorted faces with exaggerated noses, glaring eyes, twisted mouths, and long, matted hair.
Read More: Check out all ghost stories and haunted legends from Switzerland
Some masks resemble demons or monstrous old men, while others are bestial and almost supernatural in form. The craftsmanship of these masks is a source of local pride, with some families passing them down through generations.
The Ritual and Terror of Carnival Nights
The Tschäggättä emerge during Fasnacht — the Swiss pre-Lenten Carnival season, typically in February. from Candlemas until “Gigiszischtag” (i.e. the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday) with the traditional Lötschental carnival procession in Wiler, on the Saturday after the “feisten Frontag”. As night falls, these masked beings descend from the mountains and roam the villages of Lötschental. Carrying cowbells and sticks, they chase anyone they encounter, especially the young, and revel in causing fright.
Craftsmanship: Today there are masks made for the masses, but some of them have hours and hours of time spent carving, some being passed down in the family. Tschäggättä Masks, traditionnal wooden mask from Lötschental in Switzerland. // Source: photographed by Robbie Conceptuel
Traditionally, the Tschäggättä are adult men of the valley, though the anonymity provided by the masks has allowed even women and children to join the fray. The Tschäggättä will often burst uninvited into homes, overturn furniture, scatter hearth ashes, and steal food — an ancient ritual chaos meant to purge winter’s stagnation and welcome the coming spring.
Symbolism and Folkloric Meaning
The Tschäggättä tradition is thought to serve as a way of confronting and mastering communal fears during the most perilous season. The masks might have once represented the spirits of the dead, ancestral ghosts, or demonic forces banished by light and human defiance.
The Tschäggätä: carnival figures wander through the remote Lötschental in the canton of Valais, Switzerland, for several weeks in February, scaring the population. The costumes consist of masks made of Swiss stone pine, sheep or goat skins and cowbells. // Source
Some folklorists believe the Tschäggättä also embodied social rebellion. In a culture tightly controlled by religious and communal expectations, the anonymity of the mask allowed for a brief, sanctioned breakdown of norms — a time when men could mock the authorities, frighten neighbors, and behave wildly without consequence.
The Tschäggättä Today
While modernization has softened some of its rougher edges, the Tschäggättä remain a vital part of Lötschental’s identity. Each year, the locals still carve the terrifying masks and don the heavy furs, parading through villages in eerie processions. Today, any villager can take part, but historically, the fur-clad revelers were exclusively young, unmarried men who moved alone or in small groups during the day (save Sundays) during Carnival.
Though now mingled with festive Carnival celebrations, the primal eeriness of the Tschäggättä endures — a living link to a time when long winters meant living with darkness, death, and things unseen.
After falling to his death trying to escape the debtor’s prison, The Marshalsea Barracks in Dublin, it is said the ghost of Pat Doyle is haunting the remaining walls of the ruins.
Planted to mark the mass grave of plague victims, the Linden Tree in the Aargau valley in Switzerland has become a famous landmark. In the night though, it is said that the ghosts buried underneath it crawls from the ground to haunt as a warning for any oncoming tragedies.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
A lock keeper from the adjacent lock next 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 an old sanatorium in Switzerland the ghost of Hermann is said to have been haunting 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?
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.
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.
