Samhain — The Night Between Worlds
Samhain has always felt special to me, even before I really knew what it was.
When I was younger, I was drawn to the atmosphere of this time of year: the silence, the smell of smoke in the air, and the strange beauty of decay. Later, I learned that in Celtic tradition, this season marked the end of the harvest and the beginning of the darker half of the year.
Samhain wasn’t about fear; it was about transition. People believed the veil between worlds became thinner: a time to honor ancestors, light candles for the departed, and prepare for what’s coming. It was both an ending and a beginning.
The Celtic roots
Samhain (pronounced sow-win) was one of the four major seasonal festivals of the ancient Celtic world. It marked the end of the harvest and the beginning of the darker half of the year. It was a liminal time, the Celts believed that the boundary between the living world and the Otherworld grew thin. Spirits, fairies, and the souls of the dead might walk among us.
Bonfires were lit to protect the living and guide wandering spirits home. People would extinguish the fires in their homes and relight them from the communal flame, a symbol of renewal and shared protection.
Animals were brought down from the summer pastures, and the last crops were stored for the cold months ahead.
Divination was an important part of Samhain. Apples and nuts — symbols of fertility and knowledge — were often used for simple fortune-telling games.
Young people would throw hazelnuts into the fire to see if love would last, or peel apples in one long strip and toss them over their shoulders to reveal the first letter of their future lover’s name.
Fires, smoke, and embers were believed to carry messages from the spirit world, a reminder that even in darkness, something new was always being born.
In that sense, Samhain was both an ending and a beginning — a cycle closing and a new one starting.
Echoes of Spirits: from the Pampas to the Old World
Every culture has its own way of giving shape to the unseen.
In Celtic lands, people spoke of the Dullahan: a headless rider who carried his own skull, a grim messenger between the living and the dead. Others feared The Wild Hunt, a ghostly procession that crossed the sky on stormy nights, collecting lost souls along the way.
There was also The White Lady, a spirit said to appear on lonely roads or near ruins, dressed in white and forever mourning. Some saw her as a warning of death, others as a soul bound by grief, an echo of stories that remind us how love and loss are never far apart.
These legends weren’t about horror; they were reminders that there’s always something moving beyond what we can see.
In Argentina, we have our own stories that carry that same feeling.
The Luz Mala: a strange, floating light that appears in the countryside, is said to be the soul of someone who never found peace. People say it wanders through the pampas, glowing just above the ground, searching for rest or warning those who cross its path.
Then there are the Ánimas, the blessed spirits remembered every year on November 1st and 2nd. Families visit cemeteries, light candles, bring food, and talk to those who are gone. It’s quiet, humble, but deeply human, a moment where love and memory cross the veil.
And in some of the darker tales, people still whisper about El Familiar: a demonic creature or shadowy black dog that protects wealthy estates, demanding sacrifices in return. It’s not a spirit of the dead, but it reminds us of the same truth: that power and fear often live side by side, and every bargain with the unseen comes with a price.
The names and rituals change, but the message is the same:
that the dead are never truly gone, and that remembering them is a way of keeping the world in balance.
All these figures: La Luz Mala (present in the whole country of Argentina but mostly in the provinces: Santiago del Estero, Tucumán, Córdoba, Corrientes, Entre Ríos, Santa Fe and Buenos Aires country side), El Familiar (north of Argentina: common in Tucumán and Salta), El Almamula (well known in Santiago del Estero, Catamarca and Tucumán), and Las Ánimas (people clame to see them in Jujuy, Salta, Catamarca, La Rioja, San Juan, Mendoza), come from Argentine folklore.
They’re part of the stories told in rural towns, passed down through generations, mixing indigenous beliefs, Catholic faith, and local superstition.
Like the Celtic myths, they speak of spirits, guilt, and transformation, proof that every culture finds its own language for what hides in the dark.
Why this matters to me
For me, Samhain is not just a date on the calendar. It’s a feeling: the moment when everything slows down and you start to listen.
It’s when I light a candle, sit quietly, and let ideas flow from the shadows.
What about you?
Do you have your own rituals or beliefs for this time of year?
Maybe you light a candle, read the cards, or just listen to the silence at night.
Have you ever seen or felt something you couldn’t explain, a sound, a shadow, a presence?
I’d love to read your stories in the comments below.
Let’s keep the conversation between worlds alive. 🕯