Ghosts are the worst at social etiquette. They never RSVP, show up late, and if they do bring snacks, it’s usually something cursed from 1692. In my latest short story, The Haunting of Crumbleton Manor, Maggie Hawkins discovers this first-hand when Lady Eleanor and Barnabas (resident freeloaders of the spectral variety) decide to crash her Halloween special. Between Barnabas’s sarcasm and Lady Eleanor’s flair for monologues, Maggie quickly learns that forgotten spirits rarely knock before entering.
Which got me thinking: in Scottish folklore, there’s a long tradition of ghosts who—like Crumbleton’s finest—linger without permission. The uninvited. The overlooked. The dearly departed who missed the celestial calendar reminder for “Exit, Stage Left.”
Let’s talk about them, shall we?
Ghosts with No Social Calendar
Scotland has never lacked for restless spirits, and many of them come from being… well, forgotten. No proper burial, no prayers, no one remembering your name—these were the ingredients for a haunting.
Take the Green Ladies of Scottish castles. Depending on the day, she might appear as a helpful household guardian or a moody specter sighing through draughty halls. Forget to light a fire in the great hall? She’ll let you know—with wails. Invite her to a ceilidh? She probably won’t show. Typical.
Or the Covenanters of Greyfriars Kirkyard, Edinburgh’s infamous restless tenants. After brutal imprisonment and death, some never quite got the memo to move on. Visitors today still report scratches, chills, and an overwhelming sense that someone is standing uncomfortably close behind them. (And let me tell you, nothing screams “forgotten spirit” like a ghost that treats you like a personal space invader.)
Forgotten spirits are essentially the paranormal world’s version of FOMO. They weren’t invited to rest, so now they’re stuck haunting staircases, drafty corridors, and occasionally, your Wi-Fi signal.
Haunted Houses 101: From Manor to Ruin
If you’ve ever walked into a centuries-old house, you know the drill: every creak of the floorboards sounds like a ghost auditioning for a horror film, and every draft feels like icy fingers on your neck. Add in ivy, gargoyles, and a caretaker with a nervous twitch, and voilà—you’ve got a certified haunted manor.
Crumbleton Manor, with its gothic silhouette and dramatic staircase, fits the bill perfectly. In folklore, these places became magnets for ghost stories because they were liminal—half in the past, half crumbling into the present. Add a few rodents staging rave parties in the walls, and you’ve got the foundation for a legend.
As Maggie herself would say: “Some houses have foundations. Others have full ghost boards.”
Sarcasm as Ghost Repellent
In traditional lore, spirits could sometimes be warded off with rituals, charms, or chants. But humor? That’s less common—though there are echoes of it. In Gaelic storytelling, mocking spirits or laughing at them was a way to diminish their power. Fear feeds the dark, but laughter starves it.
Which is exactly Maggie Hawkins’s approach. When Lady Eleanor floats dramatically down the stairs demanding reverence, Maggie’s response isn’t to scream—it’s to ask who her costume designer was. Barnabas, meanwhile, embodies ghostly sarcasm as a lifestyle choice, his favorite pastime being mocking Maggie’s livestream viewership (spoiler: one loyal subscriber, and yes, it’s her mom).
Turns out the sharpest ghost repellent isn’t holy water—it’s a sharp tongue.
Why Wraiths Hate Wi-Fi
Of course, no ghost story would be complete without a big bad, and Crumbleton Manor delivers with a wraith straight out of nightmare fuel. Ancient, shadowy, and terrifying… until Maggie starts comparing it to bad Wi-Fi and TikTok challenges.
Here’s the thing: spirits in folklore thrive on fear. They want reverence, dread, trembling mortals. What they don’t know how to handle is twenty-first century banality. Memes. Streaming glitches. Sarcasm about long johns for the soul. By the time Maggie and Barnabas are done, the wraith has an existential crisis and checks itself out of the haunting entirely.
If you were wondering what the modern weapon against ancient evil is, the answer is Wi-Fi passwords and a healthy dose of sass.
Closing Thoughts (and a Shameless Plug)
Ghosts may never RSVP, but they’ll always crash the party. Whether they’re Scottish Green Ladies, restless Covenanters, or drama queens like Lady Eleanor, the forgotten dead rarely miss a chance to make their presence known.
If you’d like to meet Maggie, Tom, Nina, Lady Eleanor, Barnabas, and the Wi-Fi-hating Wraith in all their ridiculous glory, you can read The Haunting of Crumbleton Manor—available now on Kindle Unlimited. Perfect for your spooky season binge: https://a.co/d/bb4WfaB.
Just remember: if the ghosts at your next haunted house don’t RSVP… keep your sarcasm ready.