Werewolf Myths of the Carpathians: History and Sightings

Tales of shape-shifting beasts roaming the moonlit forests are as old as the Carpathians themselves. In Romania, the werewolf — or vârcolac — is not just a creature of horror films, but a powerful figure embedded in folklore, myth, and whispered village warnings. Unlike the Western werewolf of Hollywood lore, Romania’s version is far more complex — blending pre-Christian beliefs, cosmic fears, and ancestral magic.

The Roots: Dacian and Slavic Influences

The origins of werewolf legends in Romania stretch deep into antiquity. The Dacians, Romania’s ancient ancestors, believed in powerful animal spirits and transformation rites. Some scholars argue that their warrior cults may have worn wolf pelts in battle — not just as camouflage, but as a spiritual transformation to embody the wolf's strength.

Later, Slavic folklore merged with these ancient beliefs. The vârcolac emerged — a creature sometimes described as a werewolf, other times as a vampiric demon that could devour the moon and sun during eclipses. In certain regions, the vârcolac is more metaphysical than physical — not just a beast, but a spirit that haunts the sky and distorts reality.

What Is a Vârcolac?

In traditional Romanian belief, the vârcolac can be:

• A man cursed or born under certain omens.

• A dead soul returned from the grave in wolf form.

• A hybrid creature between wolf and spirit.

• A celestial monster that causes eclipses.

This diversity of interpretation points to something much older than Gothic fiction. The vârcolac is part of a cosmological worldview — a being that straddles the boundary between the seen and unseen, the living and the dead, the earthly and the astral.

Folk Practices and Protection Rituals

Romanian villagers once had specific practices to ward off the vârcolac. Babies born with a caul (a piece of amniotic sac on the head) were sometimes considered destined to become one, unless special measures were taken. During eclipses, villagers would bang pots and shout toward the sky to scare off the devouring werewolf-demon believed to be swallowing the moon.

Wolves themselves were viewed with awe — feared and revered. In some winter traditions, people wore carved wooden masks of wolves during dances, invoking protection and channeling the animal's power.

Real World Sightings and Modern Accounts

Though much of the vârcolac legend lives in oral history, modern-day reports of werewolf sightings continue — especially in remote parts of the Carpathians. Shepherds and hikers have described humanoid figures running on all fours through misty valleys. Strange howls have been recorded echoing through isolated gorges, not matching the calls of any known animal.

In 2004, a Romanian paranormal researcher collected a series of testimonies from villagers in Maramureș and the Apuseni Mountains who described “large, shaggy beasts” that walked upright but disappeared without a trace. Others have claimed sightings of men transforming into wolves during winter solstice rituals near the Siret and Bistrița rivers.

Are these stories superstition, hallucination — or something much older surfacing through the cracks of the rational world?

The Connection to Lunar Cycles and Fear of the Forest

Romanian werewolf myths are closely tied to the rhythm of nature — especially the moon. Just as the moon affects tides and crops, it was believed to affect the soul. A full moon could awaken a dormant curse, especially in those already “marked.”

Hoia Forest near Cluj-Napoca, already famous for its paranormal activity, has also been linked in recent years to reports of “shadow wolves” or “spectral beasts.” Visitors have claimed to see large, wolf-like creatures vanish into thin air. Whether it’s modern hysteria or ancient memory, the werewolf continues to stalk the Romanian imagination.

Werewolves and the Borderlands of Belief

The Carpathians have long been a place of borders — between East and West, earth and spirit, human and animal. The werewolf is the embodiment of these liminal spaces. It is the fear of losing control, the shadow of the self, and the echo of ancient animism in a world increasingly disconnected from myth.

In Romanian folklore, to become a vârcolac is not always to be bitten or infected. Sometimes it is to carry a wound — of rage, injustice, or grief — that grows teeth. Sometimes it is to be born with a gift too wild to be tamed.

Whether spirit or beast, legend or memory, the vârcolac reminds us of a world where humans were not separate from nature — and where the moon still had the power to change us.