Ireland Invented Halloween, You're Welcome!

From carved turnips to guising, the world’s spookiest night started right here on Irish soil.

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Before there were pumpkins, haunted houses, or polyester vampire capes, there was Samhain. Pronounced “sow-win,” it was the ancient Celtic festival marking the end of harvest and the start of the dark half of the year. Over two thousand years ago, people in Ireland gathered on hilltops to light great fires, feast, and honor their ancestors. It was a night when the line between the living and the dead grew thin, when spirits could wander freely among the living.

When waves of Irish emigrants crossed the Atlantic in the 19th century, they carried Samhain with them. In America it changed shape: the bonfires became backyard parties, the turnips became pumpkins, and the disguises once meant to fool ghosts became costumes for fun. The name changed too, but the bones of it remained Irish.

Ireland didn’t just inspire Halloween. It invented it. And beneath today’s pumpkins and party costumes lie much older Irish tales... of tricksters, lanterns, and restless souls still wandering the dark. The truth, as always in Ireland, is far older and far stranger. Let’s dig into where it all began.

The Legend of Stingy Jack

The story goes that a wily Irishman named Jack once invited the Devil out for a drink. Bad idea - great story. True to form, Jack didn’t want to pay. He convinced the Devil to turn himself into a coin to cover the tab, then pocketed the coin beside a silver cross so the Devil couldn’t change back. When Jack finally let him go, it was only on the promise that he wouldn’t claim Jack’s soul in Hell.

Years later, Jack died. Heaven took one look at his record and said absolutely not. Hell, remembering that awkward evening at the pub, also declined. Clearly, Jack had made an impression. The Devil, mildly entertained but stuck with his promise, handed Jack a single burning coal from the fires of Hell and told him to get lost. Jack hollowed out a turnip, dropped the glowing coal inside, and began his endless wandering through the condemned darkness between Heaven and Hell. And so Jack of the Lantern, Jack O’Lantern, was born.

For centuries, people in Ireland carved their own lanterns from turnips and placed them in windows to ward off wandering spirits like Jack’s. When the Irish reached America, they found pumpkins... bigger, softer, easier to carve, and far more photogenic. Thus, the modern jack-o’-lantern was born from one Irish rogue.

Guising: The Original Trick-or-Treat

Before doorbells and candy, there was “guising.” During Samhain, people (especially children) would dress in masks or costumes and visit homes, performing songs, rhymes, or short plays in exchange for food, nuts, or small coins. It was part theatre, part ritual, and entirely tied to the belief that spirits roamed the night. Disguising oneself was both entertainment and protection.

Over time, guising merged with the Christian observance of All Hallows’ Eve. When the Irish carried it abroad, the tradition adapted again. In North America, it became “trick-or-treating.” The performances disappeared, the offerings became sweets, and the tricks turned into harmless mischief. But the bones of it are still Irish... the idea of dressing up to navigate a night when the worlds blur.

The Usual Spirits

Ireland’s folklore still swirls with the spirits of Samhain, and they’re nothing if not loyal. Every October, they seem to clock back in for work. The Púca, for example, is Ireland’s answer to chaos itself - a shapeshifting mischief-maker said to appear after the harvest to claim whatever was left in the fields. Sometimes a horse, sometimes a goat, sometimes a handsome stranger you should absolutely not follow home. Farmers once left offerings to keep the Púca in good humour, because an angry one could sour milk, ruin crops, or send travellers wandering in circles until dawn.

Then there’s the Banshee, the most misunderstood woman in Irish history. She doesn’t kill anyone; she just announces the job’s been done. Her mournful wail could be heard outside the homes of the dying, a kind of spectral early-warning system for bad news.

And of course, the Dullahan: the headless horseman of Irish lore. He rides a great black steed, carries his own skull under one arm, and uses a human spine as a whip. If he stops riding near you, it’s said your name is next on his list. You don’t wave. You don’t run. You just hope he keeps going.

These aren’t dusty stories from a schoolbook, these tales still breathe in the Irish night air. You’ll find them whispered beside peat fires, murmured down cobbled Dublin lanes, and shared over late pints when the lights flicker just a bit too much. You can hear them in pub corners, in the wind around Christ Church, or, if you’re really unlucky, right behind you.

We're Still At It

Today, Ireland still celebrates its ancient night. In County Meath, the Hill of Ward (the original site of the Samhain fires) burns again every October. Derry throws one of Europe’s largest Halloween festivals. And Dublin’s streets fill with ghosts, ghouls, and tour guides like me sharing tales of murder, magic, and the afterlife.

So when you carve a pumpkin this year, remember Jack and his cursed lantern. When you put on a costume, think of those first guisers warding off spirits. You’re not just celebrating Halloween, you’re keeping Samhain alive.

And if you’re in Dublin this October, come join us. We’ll tell you the rest of the story, after dark on our special Samhain tour.