The Spooky Tale of Ben-Baynac and Clashnichd

Oct 31, 2024

As Halloween approaches and the veil between the living and the dead grows thin, the chilling winds of the Scottish Highlands seem to whisper ancient tales of ghostly apparitions. The Highlands, with their fog-draped peaks and desolate glens, have long been home to stories of spirits that wander the earth, bound by curses, vengeance, or unfulfilled destinies. One of the most haunting of these tales is the dark saga of Ben-Baynac and Clashnichd—two restless spirits whose turbulent afterlives still echo through the wilds of Strathdown, Banffshire.

Ghosts of the Highlands: More Than Shadows

In the Highlands, ghosts are not distant figures lurking in forgotten corners. These spirits are as much a part of the landscape as the craggy hills and ancient lochs. Unlike the fleeting specters of modern tales, Highland ghosts were believed to be immense, tangible beings—“as tall as a pine and broad as a house”—with powers that reached far beyond the imagination. These spirits were said to live alongside mortals, interacting with them, influencing their lives, and at times, wreaking havoc on the living.

The ghostly inhabitants of the Highlands were as old as the land itself. Each Highlander was thought to have a spiritual companion from birth, a shadow that followed them through life and even lingered after death. But some spirits, like Ben-Baynac, were far from benevolent. As Halloween night draws near and the air thickens with the unseen, it’s time to revisit one of the most disturbing tales of these supernatural figures—where cruelty and revenge played out not among mortals, but between the dead themselves.

The Strife Between Ben-Baynac and Clashnichd

Our tale takes us to the haunted wilderness of Craig-Aulnaic, a desolate place where the wind itself seems to carry the moans of long-forgotten souls. It was here that two spirits—Ben-Baynac, a towering male ghost, and Clashnichd, a sorrowful female ghost—fought a bitter and violent feud. Clashnichd had once lived in peace, a solitary figure haunting the high hills, until Ben-Baynac came to claim her dwelling, forcing her into a life of torment and misery.

Night after night, Clashnichd’s shrieks pierced the eerie silence of the Highlands, her cries carried on the winds to the ears of the villagers below. Among those most haunted by her suffering was James Gray, a farmer whose home lay in the shadow of their supernatural quarrel. Ben-Baynac’s reign of terror extended not only to Clashnichd but to the living as well, casting a pall of dread over the entire area.

Unable to endure the constant disturbances, James Gray decided to confront the ghostly struggle head-on. One fateful day, he encountered Clashnichd, her spectral form pale and trembling, and learned of her plight. Ben-Baynac had driven her from her home, beaten her, and subjected her to cruel torment. With Halloween drawing closer, and the air thick with the unseen, James made a vow—a vow to put an end to Ben-Baynac’s cruelty, no matter the cost.

The Final Confrontation

Clashnichd revealed to James the one weakness of her tormentor—a large mole on Ben-Baynac’s left breast, the only part of his ghostly form vulnerable to mortal weapons. Armed with this knowledge and his skills as a marksman, James set out to defeat the monstrous spirit. The encounter came on a night when the moon hung low and heavy in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow over the bleak landscape.

As James and Clashnichd approached Ben-Baynac’s haunt, the air grew colder, thick with the foreboding presence of the supernatural. Ben-Baynac emerged from the shadows, his towering form blotting out the moonlight, his voice a low growl of hatred. He taunted James, threatening to tear him apart like so many fallen leaves on a stormy night.

But James was undeterred. With a steady hand, he raised his bow, aimed for the ghost’s vulnerable mark, and released the silver-tipped arrow. Time seemed to slow as the arrow flew through the darkness, striking its target with deadly precision. Ben-Baynac let out a bone-chilling howl, his voice reverberating through the mountains, as his immense form crumbled into nothingness, dissipating into the cold night air. The winds howled in response, carrying the wails of a thousand restless spirits.

Ben-Baynac was gone.

A Hollow Victory

Though Ben-Baynac’s terror had ended, the Highlands would never be quite the same. Clashnichd, freed from her oppressor, was grateful to James, offering her service in return for his brave act. For a time, she lingered near his home, her ghostly presence a silent witness to his daily life. But freedom did not come without its burdens.

Clashnichd, like many of her kind, had long been part of the ghostly world, and her habits—much like those of Ben-Baynac—were far from harmless. She often indulged in strange, supernatural whims, helping herself to the food and drink of the living. One day, during one of her spectral wanderings, she ventured into the miller’s home and helped herself to a hearty meal of freshly roasted fish. This time, however, her spectral mischief would lead to her downfall.

Enraged by the loss of her meal, the miller’s wife retaliated, overturning a boiling cauldron of water onto Clashnichd’s ghostly form. The spirit, scalded and in agony, fled into the wilds of Craig-Aulnaic, her cries of pain and anger fading into the dark hills. And just like that, Clashnichd vanished from the world of the living, never to be seen or heard again.

Echoes in the Highlands

The story of Ben-Baynac and Clashnichd is a reminder that not all spirits rest easy, even in death. The Highlands, with their bleak beauty and wild isolation, are steeped in tales of the restless dead, whose grudges and grievances continue to echo through time. As Halloween approaches, the air thickens with the weight of those old stories, as if the spirits themselves are drawing near.

For James Gray, the defeat of Ben-Baynac brought an uneasy peace. But as every Highlander knows, ghosts are rarely gone forever. On certain nights, when the wind blows just right and the mists roll over the hills, you might still hear the faint, mournful wail of Clashnichd on the wind—a spectral reminder of a haunting that refuses to fade.