Scott Lyall, talks to JOHN TANTALON about The Wulver Stane, his zine that dives deep into Scotland’s folklore, paranormal phenomena and Fortean mysteries
Interview with Scott Lyall about The Wulver Stane
JOHN TANTALON: Greetings Scott. The Wulver Stane publications are a right riveting read. What was the story behind their conception, and when did you come up with the idea?
SCOTT LYALL: Back in 2019, I contributed a few articles to Wyrd Harvest Press’ Urban Wyrd collection. These went down well, so that encouraged me to get back into writing.
I used to do a hardcore punk fanzine in the late 1990s, but this petered out. I had various blogs after this, but these never lasted, so I decided to go back to my roots and make it a paper zine, mainly themed on Fortean subjects.
I was also inspired by a lot of the other zines that were appearing around this time, such as Weird Walk, Strange Days, and Grimoire Silvanus.
Like everyone else, lockdown also gave me much more time to focus on writing and digging into stuff, with the first issue appearing not long after lockdown started.
The issues are packed with engaging content and incredibly varied. Please tell us about some of the subjects that you feature.
I’ve written on a range of subjects that fit under the Fortean umbrella, including cryptozoology, ghosts, fairies, and folklore.
These often have a local angle, so I’ve covered topics like the mystery animals of the Lothians, the folklore of Arthur’s Seat, modern Scottish fairy encounters, the Dragon’s Hole outside Perth, Christie Cleek (the cannibal butcher of Perth), and the weirdness of the M8 motorway.
Sometimes I take a broader look at a subject and how it’s evolved over the years. In the most recent issue, for example, I explore the evolution of dogmen.
I’ve also written about the worldwide mystery ape phenomenon and the folklore of cannibals in the US national park system.
I love standing stones and ancient monuments, so I often include mini-guides to sites such as Kilmartin Glen, Orkney, and the remaining standing stones hidden away in Edinburgh.
We are now up to issue five. Can you relay your three favourite articles to feature so far?
It’s difficult to pick just three, but off the top of my head:
- The Mystery Animals of the Lothians in issue two. I’ve had a longstanding interest in cryptozoology, so pulling together reports from my doorstep was a pleasure. There are some great stories in there, such as the pub in Leith that had a puma in a cage on the bar in the 1970s (though not so good for the puma), the Niddry Mothman, and a Lovecraftian horror in Hanover Street.
- Liminal Luncarty in issue one. This is a walk round the village where I was born and grew up, covering the folklore and weirdness of the area, along with personal reminiscences. It was particularly rewarding to write, as there’s not much written on it.
- The Rise of the Dogmen in issue five. Dogmen are everywhere just now, but were pretty much absent from Fortean literature before the early 2000s. If you look at books like John Keel’s Strange Creatures from Time and Space or Janet and Colin Bord’s Alien Animals, written in the 1970s and 80s, they’re barely mentioned. It was fascinating to trace the development of the phenomenon and to look at some Scottish cases.
In the first issue, there is an article on an extensive US road trip. What were the highlights, and did you encounter anything along the way?
In 2018, my friend and I went to Migration Fest, a metal festival in Pittsburgh. We flew into Washington DC and planned a route between the two cities that included weird places of interest.
Highlights included Point Pleasant, home of the Mothman. We visited the Mothman Museum and the nearby statue. Our hotel, just across the street from the museum, is said to be haunted by the ghost of a sea captain. We’d planned to stay up for a vigil, but four late nights at the festival caught up with us and we slept right through until morning.
We also visited Kecksburg in Pennsylvania, the site of an alleged UFO crash. They have a statue of the craft and a UFO museum in a local bar. The general area is rich in UFO and bigfoot sightings, so I loved being in the vicinity of so many cases I’d read about over the years.
I had only one weird experience on the trip. We rented a cabin in a forest near Renwick, West Virginia, where there had been bigfoot sightings. One evening, sitting on the porch at twilight, we tried some call blasting. At one point, I thought I saw a pair of red eyes in the trees. Investigating, I realised it was a trick of the light—a reddish sunbeam coming through a gap in the clouds.
Later that night, I got up to use the toilet. As I turned to wash my hands, a rocking chair in the corner began to move by itself. I couldn’t explain it, so I just went back to bed.
What got you into the subject of folklore and Forteana?
My mum’s always been a big reader, and I inherited that from her. I grew up in the mid-1970s and 80s, which was a golden era for paranormal culture.
I had all The World of the Unknown books, including the infamous Ghosts volume with the terrifying picture of the Newby Church spectre. There were also the Piccolo Explorer books on ghosts, monsters, UFOs—even demons. On day trips, I’d always look for books on local ghosts and folklore. I rinsed the school and local libraries for anything paranormal.
I collected The Unexplained partwork, which had articles by great researchers like Jenny Randles, Janet and Colin Bord, and Hilary Evans. It gave me a solid grounding in Fortean subjects, along with a taste for unsettling art.
TV was rarer then, but I loved Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World and its sequel, World of Mysterious Powers. The bigfoot episode was the first time I saw the Patterson-Gimlin film. The eerie credits scared me, especially the sequel, which added the face of the Newby monk to the spinning crystal skull.
My first full-time job was as a night watchman. I’d sit and read paranormal books all night, in between patrols around a derelict jute mill in the Perthshire countryside.
As I’ve grown up, other tastes have changed, but Forteana has remained constant. I’ve not missed an issue of Fortean Times in about 25 years. I find it fascinating that when the subject comes up, people often say, “I don’t believe in the paranormal, but this one time…”
There are many features and reviews of bands that feature themes of Forteana. Could you please tell us something about the bands you have covered?
I’ve interviewed bands like Gnarl, a drone metal band from East Lothian who draw on folklore and the local landscape, even using field recordings like rookeries. Both heavy and eerie.
Issue four includes an article on Fortean-themed bands. I’ll admit my coverage is limited to genres I enjoy, like metal, noise, and weird electronics.
One of the most interesting bands is Ahulabrum, a one-man black metal/noise project from West Virginia by someone using the alias Indrid Cold—familiar to readers of The Mothman Prophecies. They claim their music helps facilitate communication between non-human intelligences and receptive humans. Their work references specific encounters, such as The Rendlesham Forest Psyop and November 8th, 1979 Livingstone, Scotland. The sound is like low-fi black metal bleeding through as EVP.
A more accessible band is The Night Monitor, who make electronic music inspired by classic Fortean cases. They have albums themed around the Hexham Heads, the Enfield Poltergeist, and the Alan Godfrey abduction. Perfect for late-night reading sessions.
You are initially from Perth but now live in Edinburgh. What are the main differences between the two? Which is spookier?
I grew up in Luncarty, five miles north of Perth. It has eerie spots like the Witches’ Wood—sadly much thinned out now—and Jeanie’s Pond, which is said to be haunted by a murdered woman or a crashed stagecoach that emerges from the water at certain times of year.
Perth and Edinburgh are both old towns, but Edinburgh has a more concentrated Old Town area, while Perth’s historic buildings are more scattered. Edinburgh wins for atmosphere—there’s not much that beats walking down the Royal Mile on a dark autumn night with a thick haar rolling in from the Firth of Forth.
Scotland has some incredible ghost stories. Do you have one to bring to the table?
My favourite unpublished one is about Battleby House, just outside Luncarty. Built in the 1860s, it became the headquarters of the Scottish Countryside Commission in the 1970s. My mum worked there as a cleaner from the 1980s to the 2000s and had all sorts of strange experiences—lights and hand driers switching on and off, footsteps in empty rooms.
There were also harder-to-explain events. One colleague saw a pair of old-fashioned riding boots at the top of a spiral staircase. She ran, but when she returned with others, nothing was there.
Office staff had experiences too. One woman who walked her dog on the grounds saw a figure in a World War One-era uniform under a tree. The figure disappeared. Her dog had always refused to go near that tree.
My uncle worked at a market garden there in the 1940s. He told of a greenhouse door opening, followed by footsteps inside. They believed it was the deceased owner still doing his rounds.
What is The Wulver Stane?
The wulver was a dogman in Shetland folklore who perched on a rock in a loch, catching fish and leaving them on the window sills of the poor. This rock was said to be called the Wulver’s Stane.
I always liked the story and took the name for the zine. However, it’s been pointed out that this is not an authentic piece of folklore but a creation by folklorist Jessie Saxby in the 1930s. It raises the question: how old does a story need to be before it’s considered folklore? That said, I don’t think anyone ever believed it was a real creature.
Have you participated in many investigations, experiments, or events of a Fortean nature? If so, what was the outcome?
I’ve gone looking for Bigfoot in Canada, the Loch Ness Monster, Mothman and so on, but these were more like themed holidays. You’d need weeks in the field to experience anything.
I did a skywatch at Cairnpapple with SPI Edinburgh, an ancient ritual site in West Lothian. Everyone but me saw a weird light in the sky—I was off playing with a night vision app on my phone.
My friend and I took part in an ESP experiment at the Koestler Institute at Edinburgh University. We were placed in separate rooms; one was shown a film clip while the other lay on a couch, blindfolded, listening to white noise. When I was the sender, the film showed a demon stepping through a mirror. My friend described “canoes coming through ice”, which matched surprisingly well. When we swapped, I got nothing.
I’ve also joined ghost investigations with Paranormal Investigation Scotland. We captured some interesting EVP and saw a kitten ball move of its own accord, with no explanation. In the Banshee Labyrinth, we also saw Christmas decorations move without any obvious cause.
Find The Wulver Stane zine
- Free PDFs and paper copies available: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/sjlyall
- Instagram: @wulversstanezine
- Email: [email protected]
