Halloween at Arkham!

Here's a fantastic story to celebrate Halloween with Irish Wolfhounds!

Story by Arkham

The Night of the Shadow Hounds

In the green hills of Ireland, among ancient ruins and mist-shrouded woods, lay a small village called Arkham. Every year, on Halloween night, the villagers lit bonfires and danced, for it was said that on that night the veil between the world of the living and the realm of spirits grew thin as a spider’s thread.

But not everyone knew that Arkham held a secret.

At the edge of the forest lived Maeve, a young breeder of Irish Wolfhounds. These dogs were enormous, graceful, with silent steps and eyes deep as ancient lakes. People believed they were merely gentle companions, but Maeve knew the truth: her wolfhounds were descended from mythical guardians, able to see what humans could not.

Her favorite was Fionn, a wolfhound with a smoke-gray coat. He was larger and more majestic than the others, and his gaze had a depth that stirred the soul.

The Eve of Halloween

That night, the moon was full and red, an ancient omen.

While children ran through the streets with lanterns and carved pumpkins, Maeve noticed Fionn lift his head toward the forest, ears pricked, body tense.

A shiver ran through her.

— Something is coming, she whispered.

Suddenly, a black fog began to seep from the heart of the woods, like a great creature breathing darkness. From the mist emerged a tall figure, wrapped in a tattered cloak.

It was the Banshee of Samhain, the herald of sorrow.

— The spirits of the Otherworld claim this village, she whispered with a voice like wind through abandoned graves. But if someone dares challenge me, I will grant one chance.

Maeve looked at Fionn. The wolfhound stepped forward, proud and fearless.

The Banshee smiled, a thin and terrible smile.

— Then let the Guardians awaken.

The Transformation

The mist wrapped around the wolfhounds and, for the first time in human memory, they changed form.

Their bodies glowed with silver light. Their shapes stretched and grew ghost-like. They became Cù Sidhe, ancient hound spirits who guard the threshold between worlds.

Fionn howled, and the forest answered.

Malignant spirits emerged beside the Banshee: shadows with empty eyes and whispers cold as winter graves.

But the wolfhounds formed a circle around the village.

With graceful steps, they danced.

A dance slow, sacred, older than stone.

Each movement extinguished a shadow.

Every breath scattered the darkness.

The Banshee screamed, a wail that shattered the stillness of the night.

Then, she vanished.

The Return of Peace

The moon became clear and bright again. The wolfhounds returned to their mortal forms, weary yet victorious.

Maeve knelt beside Fionn, stroking his muzzle.

— You protected us all, she whispered. As you always have.

From that night on, the villagers understood that those noble dogs were not mere companions, but Guardians of the Threshold, defenders between light and shadow.

And every Halloween, in the silent woods, one can still hear their soft footsteps…

and feel that the village is safe.