Banshees, Púcas, and Clurichauns

What Irish Folklore Actually Says (and What Pop Culture Gets Wrong)

If your idea of a banshee is a screaming ghost woman from a horror film, Irish folklore would like a word with you.

The bean sí—literally “woman of the fairy mound”—doesn’t haunt you. She mourns for you. Her keening is a lament, not an attack. In traditional Irish culture, the banshee is attached to specific families, and her cry announces a coming death—it doesn’t cause one. She’s grief made audible, a supernatural expression of the same sorrow that human keening women performed at funerals for centuries. There’s nothing evil about her. She’s doing what the community needs someone to do: she’s holding the grief so you don’t have to hold it alone. Pop culture turned her into a monster. The tradition says she’s a mourner.

The púca is even more misunderstood. Modern fantasy tends to treat púcas as trickster demons—dangerous shapeshifters who exist to terrify. The folklore is more complicated and more interesting. A púca can take the form of a horse, a goat, a hare, or a dark figure on a country road. Yes, a púca might take you on a wild ride across the countryside. But the ride isn’t always malicious—sometimes it’s a test, sometimes it’s a gift, and sometimes the púca just feels like running. In The Morrígan’s Game (Cosmic Janitor Trilogy, book 2) I leaned into the ambiguity. The púcas in Cork don’t terrorize travelers—they offer comfortable rides, because these are modern púcas who’ve adapted. The mischief is still there, but so is the generosity. That duality is what makes them fascinating.

And then there’s the clurichaun—the creature everyone confuses with a leprechaun. A leprechaun is a solitary fairy shoemaker who guards a pot of gold. A clurichaun is his wine-cellar-raiding cousin who haunts your house, drinks your best stock, and causes havoc if you try to move. He’s not interested in gold. He’s interested in your whiskey. The clurichaun is the most Cork-appropriate supernatural creature imaginable—a being whose entire mythology revolves around strong opinions about drink and an absolute refusal to be evicted from where he’s settled. I couldn’t not put him in the books.

What all three have in common is that Irish folklore treats them as neighbors, not enemies. They’re part of the landscape—sometimes dangerous, sometimes kind, always present. That’s the approach I took in my works. The supernatural beings of Cork aren’t invaders from another dimension. They’ve always been there. They just don’t always let you see them. But you might on Samhain (All-Hallows-Eve).

Happy Samhain!

~ Liam