As part of our current Scottish Myths and Legends exhibition, we invited children to take part in a Mythical Scottish Creature short story competition – and what an incredible response we had!
We were blown away by the imagination, creativity, and storytelling skills on display. From mischievous beasties to mysterious water spirits, pharmacist’s experiments, ghosts and weather sprites - every entry captured the magic and mystery of Scotland’s folklore. Our volunteers had the very difficult task of reading through them all and selecting just two winners – and it was no easy job!
We are now highly delighted to announce our winners:
Callum O’Neill (age 5) with his bold and exciting tale of Longkey of the Loch
Keelan Whyte (age 10) with an atmospheric supernatural story about the legendary Cù-Sìth
We thoroughly enjoyed every single story that was submitted, and we are proud to be displaying all entries in our Community space alongside the exhibition.
So if you are visiting the museum, make sure to stop by, enjoy the exhibition, and take a moment to read these wonderful stories – including our two winning entries below.
Longkey of the Loch by Callum
This story takes place hundreds of years ago in Linlithgow…
Sam was a very brave man and he was the Captain of the Scottish people. There was a war in Linlithgow and Sam had asked all the people in Scotland to come and join the army to protect Linlithgow against the invaders. The invaders were aliens who had landed in England and quickly travelled north because they wanted to live in Linlithgow. They loved Linlithgow because it was safe, had shops, sold haggis, neeps and tatties, it had a good library, an excellent museum, nurseries and schools, churches, a palace and the beautiful loch.
Unfortunately, the aliens were eating all the haggis so the Scottish people wanted them to leave. The big battle took place across the loch. Sam and his army fired their bows and arrows, and the aliens used their power guns which were purple and green. There were lots of explosions. Some of the Scottish people escaped on boats. Sam jumped on to the submarines and disappeared into the Loch just in time. The aliens thought the Scottish people were invisible! Suddenly they fired their arrows up through the water and the battle started again. This time the aliens brought their shields and swords. Sam whispered the magic words (“please come and help”) to call the monster, Longkey. Longkey lived in the deep dark water of the Loch and he would always help his friends if they needed him.
Out of the darkness two huge blue eyes appeared and a big long green body with spikes with red dots in the middle of them. He had the sharpest teeth you’ve ever seen and a big long tail with a sharp gold knife at the end. This was a very special knife that shoots lava. Longkey swam beside the submarine and then he rose up out of the water and sprayed lava all over the aliens. The aliens ducked under their shields and ran as fast as they could back to their spaceship house. They locked the door and pressed the yellow button inside. Blue flames came out of their boosters and they shot up into space and went back to their planet, Marcowave.
All the Scottish people cheered and had a big party to celebrate with lots of haggis, neeps, and tatties. They even attached some blue boosters to a haggis to send to Marcowave for the aliens to eat so that they wouldn’t fight any more. Longkey disappeared back into the Loch and played with his friends. That night, Sam had a long sleep in his bed.
No-one has seen Longkey since that day, but when the sun is shining you can see his gold tail blade on top of the palace protecting all of Linlithgow and keeping everyone safe.
The Cù-sìth by Keelan
Deep in the shadowy glens of the Isle of Skye, where the heather grows thick and the winds howl like old gods, there’s a tale the crofters tell by firelight. It’s not a story of heroism or romance, but of dread — and of the green-eyed beast that walks between worlds. They call it the Cù-Sìth— the Fairy Hound.
Not a creature of flesh and bone, but of ancient magic. Massive as a bull, with fur dark green like moss and eyes that glowed like witchfire. Its paws made no sound on the earth, and its breath smelled of grave-soil and stormwater. To hear its bark — only three times — was a death sentence. The old ones said that the third bark was the last thing you’d ever hear.
But no one alive had heard it in generations. Some said the beast was long gone, faded with the old ways. Until the night Isla MacRae disappeared.
Isla was sixteen, the blacksmith’s daughter, quick-witted and fearless. She scoffed at old tales, wore trousers instead of skirts, and wandered the hills after dusk, despite her mother’s warnings. “I’ll nae live in fear of bedtime stories,” she’d mutter. But on the first night of the harvest moon, something stirred in the hills above Dunmara.
The sheep were found huddled together, eyes wide with terror. Crops wilted overnight. And late that evening, as a chill fog rolled in from the moors, the first bark echoed through the village — low, mournful, and far too real. The older folk went pale. Doors were bolted. Windows shuttered. No one spoke it aloud, but everyone knew: The Cù-Sìth had returned.
Isla vanished the following night. Her cloak was found torn at the edge of the fairy hill, moss stuck to the hem. A second bark rang through the glen as her father searched the woods, desperate and wild-eyed. But there was no body. No blood. Just silence. Then came the third bark.
No one dared leave their homes. The sound rang through the land like a knell, thick with sorrow. By morning, the village was changed. The air seemed heavier. The hills quieter. And the wind — the wind carried whispers no one dared translate. But that wasn’t the end.
Weeks later, a traveler came through Dunmara — a bard with silver strings and too many stories. He stayed one night, sang songs of the old gods, and listened to the villagers’ tale of Isla and the hound. Then he nodded slowly and said, “The Cù-Sìth doesn’t hunt without cause. It’s a warning — not a curse.”
“A warning of what?” they asked.
He only looked toward the hills.
That winter, a landslide swallowed half the village. The fairy hill collapsed, revealing a hollow cave beneath — with ancient stones carved with symbols no one could read. Bones lay scattered among them. Not animal. Not human. Something… else. The village moved after that. But some still say, on cold nights when the fog creeps low, they hear a single, distant bark in the dark — not of malice, but of mourning.
And the brave ones whisper:
The Cù-Sìth still guards the threshold between our world and what waits beyond.