Category: Lineages of the Craft

In the shadowy corners of Scottish folklore lives a figure both feared and revered, Nicnevin, described as a witch or fairy queen who rides the night sky at Samhain, leading spirits, witches, and the dead in her wake. She is Scotland’s dark goddess, the hag queen, the mother of witches. Yet her story has been nearly lost to time, fragmented across centuries of poetry, witch trials, and whispered warnings.

The Mystery of Her Name
The origins of Nicnevin’s name remain debated, with multiple theories emerging from the linguistic fog of history. Some scholars suggest it derives from the Scottish Gaelic Neachneohain, meaning “daughter(s) of the divine” or “daughter(s) of Scathach,” while others propose NicNaoimhein, meaning “daughter of the little saint.”

Another interpretation links her name to the Gaelic Nic an Neamhain, “Daughter of Frenzy”. A fitting title for a goddess associated with the liminal chaos of Samhain night. Some scholars have even connected her to the Irish war goddess Neamhain, one of the Morrigan’s triple aspects, or to water spirits like the Nixie and Nokke.

The multiplicity of her names reflects the complexity of her nature. She is not one thing, but many things at once.

Deep in the woodlands of Fife, just minutes from the ancient city of St Andrews, lies a place where the veil between worlds grows thin. Hidden behind Dunino church sits an ancient pre-Christian holy site featuring an altar stone, a sacred well, and carved footprints etched into rock overlooking a stream. This is Dunino Den. A place where time layers upon itself, where ancient kings may have been crowned, where druids once performed their mysteries, and where modern pilgrims still leave offerings for spirits that have never left.

Descending Into Sacred Space
A narrow, winding set of stone steps carved into the rocks lead down into the den, pulling visitors deeper into the wooded ravine. These aren’t modern stairs. They’re worn smooth by countless feet over potentially thousands of years, each step a descent not just into geography but into history itself.

As you descend, the mundane world falls away. The canopy closes overhead. The sound of the Kinaldy Burn rushing below fills your ears. And suddenly, you’re standing before something that defies easy explanation. Massive rock faces covered in symbols, some ancient, some modern, all speaking to the same impulse – the need to mark sacred space, to communicate with what dwells beyond the visible.

In the annals of New England folklore, few figures loom as large or as mysteriously as Eunice “Goody” Cole of Hampton, New Hampshire. Her story represents one of America’s most enduring tales of witchcraft accusations, community fear, and the tragic consequences of superstition in colonial society.

A Life Marked by Suspicion
Eunice Cole arrived in Hampton sometime in the 1640s with her husband William. From the beginning, she was viewed with suspicion by her neighbors. Perhaps it was her sharp tongue, her poverty, or simply the misfortune that seemed to follow in her wake. But Goody Cole quickly became the community scapegoat for any unexplained illness, crop failure, or maritime disaster.

The accusations against her were typical of witch trials throughout New England: livestock dying mysteriously, butter failing to churn, children falling ill after encounters with the old woman. In a time when scientific explanations for natural phenomena were scarce, fear and superstition filled the void.

Trial and Punishment