Entities of the Night

A formless entity that exists in the spaces between light and dark. Shadow Walkers are drawn to emotional turmoil and feed on fear. They cannot harm you directly but can influence dreams and create feelings of dread.

A wailing spirit whose cry heralds death. Contrary to myth, the Banshee does not cause death — she mourns it before it occurs. Her appearance is a gift of preparation, not a curse.

A manifestation of psychic energy, often tied to adolescents or those experiencing emotional upheaval. Poltergeists move objects, create noise, and can cause physical harm through thrown items.

A corpse animated by sheer will, returning to complete unfinished business — usually revenge. Unlike zombies, Revenants retain intelligence and purpose. They cannot be reasoned with.

A spirit that has bonded with a practitioner, often taking animal form. Familiars serve as guides, protectors, and amplifiers of magical ability. The bond is sacred and mutual.

An exact duplicate of a living person. Seeing your own doppelgänger is said to herald misfortune or death. Seeing someone else's may indicate they are in danger.

The spirit of someone who died with intense hatred or was wronged grievously. Wraiths seek vengeance and will not rest until their target suffers. They can drain life force with a touch.

A faded remnant of a soul, lacking consciousness or purpose. Shades repeat actions from life endlessly — a residual haunting. They cannot interact and are unaware of the living.

In Irish and Scottish folklore, the Fetch is a supernatural double — an exact replica of a living person seen by others at a distance. Unlike the Doppelgänger, which is seen by the person themselves, the Fetch is witnessed by friends, family, or strangers. Its appearance carries one meaning: the person it resembles will die soon. The Fetch appears most often at dawn or dusk — the liminal hours when the veil between worlds grows thin. It is always silent, always moving with purpose, and always heading somewhere the real person has never been.

Long before vampires dominated horror mythology, ancient Romans trembled at the Strix — a creature that flew by night, screamed like a dying woman, and fed on the blood and flesh of infants. It was described as a large bird with a human face, hooked talons, and eyes that glowed faintly in darkness. It could transform — sometimes appearing as a woman, sometimes as an owl, sometimes as something that defied category. What made it uniquely terrifying was its intelligence. The Strix didn't hunt randomly. It chose. It returned to the same household. It remembered. The word 'strix' survived into Italian as 'strega' — witch. The creature became the witch.

In Welsh folklore, the Corpse Candle — Canwyll Corff — is a small, pale flame that appears at night and moves slowly along the path a funeral procession will take. It is not a ghost. It is not a spirit. It is something older: a warning built into the landscape itself. The flame's color carries meaning: large and bright means an adult will die, small and dim means a child, pale blue means a young person in their prime. Those who have seen one describe it as moving with terrible purpose — not drifting like a lantern in wind, but traveling deliberately, pausing at the door of the house where the death will occur, then continuing along the route to the churchyard.

In English folklore, a Church Grim is a black dog spirit said to haunt graveyards and guard churches. It isn't a demon. It isn't a pet. It's a sentinel — placed there on purpose, sometimes by accident, sometimes by cruelty. Old stories claim the first creature buried in a new churchyard becomes its guardian. That's why some villages would bury a dog beneath the first stone. The Grim would rise as a watcher: keeping witches out, keeping thieves away, keeping the restless dead from wandering. But the Grim has a second function that makes it terrifying. It counts. If you see it watching you from the edge of the graves, it is measuring your time. In some accounts, the Grim appears to the person who will be the next to die in the parish — not as a threat, but as a notice.

Before Dracula. Before Nosferatu. Before the elegant, aristocratic vampire of modern horror — there was the Nachzehrer. A German and Slavic revenant that stays in its coffin and eats. It begins with the burial shroud. Then its own flesh. The sound of this gnawing beneath the earth was reportedly audible to those who pressed their ears to the grave. As long as it fed, the living members of its family would weaken and die — a sympathetic connection stretched between the grave and the house. Livestock died first. Then children. Then adults.