Things That Go Bump in Reykjavík: Meet the Ghosts

A different side of Reykjavik

Iceland is famous for its nature. The waterfalls. The glaciers. The volcanoes. The black sand beaches. The moss-covered lava fields that look like they were designed by a fantasy novelist with an unlimited special effects budget.

And make no mistake, they're spectacular.

But maybe after your third waterfall of the day, your second mountain, your fourth lava field, and your seventh declaration that "this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," you may begin to wonder whether there is, in fact, an upper limit to the amount of nature the human brain can meaningfully absorb in a single holiday.

Fortunately, Refurinn Reykjavik Guesthouse is here to offer an excellent palate cleanser. Once you've had your fill of geological wonders and breathtaking scenery, you can balance things out with something altogether less scientific: ghosts.

In fact, Icelanders have spent the last thousand years populating the landscape with enough spirits, revenants, apparitions, sea ghosts, and miscellaneous supernatural entities to ensure that visitors never become too comfortable.

So if you've already seen the waterfalls and feel ready for something a little less geological, here's a brief retelling of some of the Reykjavík area's most famous supernatural tales.

Before we begin, it's worth understanding that Icelanders have historically taken a rather different approach to the supernatural than many other cultures. Rather than attempting to banish ghosts, elves, hidden people, and other unexplained entities, the traditional Icelandic response was often simple courtesy.

One old protective phrase reads: "Komi þeir sem koma vilja, fari þeir sem fara vilja, mér og mínum að meinalausu"  (en. "Let those who wish to come, come; let those who wish to go, go, without harm to me and mine.")

In other words: you mind your business, we'll mind ours, and let's all try not to ruin each other's evening. It's a remarkably practical arrangement and perhaps explains why so many of Iceland's ghosts seem content to merely wander around old houses, lonely roads, and lava fields instead of causing serious trouble. Should you encounter any of the spirits mentioned below, we recommend adopting the same diplomatic approach.

Hvíta Konan í Höfða (The White Lady of Höfði)

Location: Höfði House, Reykjavík

Every city needs at least one haunted house. Reykjavík's happens to be one of the most famous buildings in Iceland.

Today, Höfði is best known as the site of the 1986 summit between Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev, a meeting that helped bring the Cold War to an end. But long before world leaders arrived, the house had already acquired another resident: Hvíta Konan, the White Lady.

The identity of the White Lady varies depending on who tells the story. Some say she was a young woman who drowned. Others claim she took her own life. What everyone agrees on is that she never quite left.

The most famous encounter occurred in the early 1950s when the British ambassador, John Greenway, was living in the house. According to the story, he became increasingly disturbed by unexplained noises, footsteps, and mysterious happenings during the night. Eventually, he became so uncomfortable that he requested to be moved elsewhere and the British Embassy abandoned the house altogether.

To this day, the White Lady is said to wander the halls of Höfði. Some visitors report seeing a pale woman in white standing silently in doorways or gliding through empty rooms before vanishing. Others simply hear footsteps in places where nobody should be.

Perhaps the best part of the story is the official response. Asked about the ghost, Iceland's Foreign Ministry famously stated: "We can neither confirm nor deny that Höfði has a ghost."

Which is, frankly, the most Icelandic possible answer.

If you walk from Refurinn along the waterfront toward Höfði on a dark winter evening, you'll find a beautiful old house standing alone beside the sea. The lights of the city fade behind you, the wind whistles off Faxaflói Bay, and for a moment it's surprisingly easy to understand why so many people believe the White Lady is still there.

Whether she's actually haunting the house is another matter.

The Haunting of Stapi

Location: The lava fields around Reykjanesbraut, between Keflavík Airport and Reykjavík

If you've just landed in Iceland, picked up your rental car, and are driving through the seemingly endless black lava fields toward Reykjavík in the middle of the night, there is a ghost story specifically designed for you.

You're welcome.

Stapadraugurinn, or "The Ghost of Stapi," is one of the most famous supernatural figures of the Reykjanes Peninsula. According to local folklore, travellers crossing the lonely lava fields near Stapi would sometimes encounter a tall, strange figure standing beside the road.

So far, fairly standard ghost behaviour. The unsettling part comes next.

Rather than simply appearing and disappearing dramatically, Stapadraugurinn was said to quietly join travellers on their journey. Drivers reported catching sight of an unfamiliar figure sitting silently in the back seat of their carriage. In modern retellings, the ghost has upgraded to rental cars and hatchbacks, allegedly appearing in rear-view mirrors as motorists drive the dark stretch between Keflavík Airport and Reykjavík.

Fortunately, most sightings end the same way: the figure eventually vanishes without causing any harm. The ghost appears less interested in murder and more interested in carpooling.

Still, if you find yourself driving Reykjanesbraut late at night and suddenly become reluctant to check the back seat, don't worry. You are participating in a centuries-old Icelandic tradition.

Menntaskólinn í Reykjavík: The School Where Nobody Ever Really Leaves

Location: Lækjargata, downtown Reykjavík

If Reykjavík has a building that has earned the right to be haunted, it is Menntaskólinn í Reykjavík. For more than 160 years, students from all corners of Iceland travelled for days on horseback to study at the country's most prestigious school. Many lived in dormitories inside the building itself, often far from home, enduring long winters, strict discipline, and, in some cases, genuine hardship. Food brought from home was expected to last much of the winter. Sometimes it didn't. Students fell ill. Some never recovered. A few are even said to have died from hunger.

Much of the school's ghostly reputation centres on the attic. Beneath the sloping roof was a small infirmary where sick students were housed. Over the years, numerous students reported strange happenings there. Mysterious knocking echoed through walls and doors in the middle of the night. Doors would suddenly swing open on their own. Students lying awake beside sick classmates heard footsteps, bangs, and disturbances that would instantly stop whenever someone lit a lamp and went looking for the source.

According to one persistent legend, a man hanged himself in the attic long ago and has been haunting the building ever since. Skeptics pointed out that students occasionally enjoyed staging their own ghostly pranks. Yet even the skeptics struggled to explain the incidents witnessed by sick students, their caretakers, and later generations of staff.

The hauntings apparently continued well into the twentieth century. Students and teachers alike reported unexplained noises and disturbances, while stories of the attic ghost became part of school folklore.

Not all of the school's spirits, however, seem to be unfriendly.

In the 1950s, the school's caretaker, Karl Kristjánsson, was fond of telling people that the ghosts of MR were good-natured. He insisted that whatever shared the building with students was not something to fear. Then, in March 1961, Karl died. For decades, a large clock hanging in the entrance hall had kept perfect time. On the very night Karl passed away, the clock suddenly stopped. Nobody ever found a satisfactory explanation. Many chose to believe that the caretaker had decided to clock out one final time.

Today, thousands of students and tourists pass the old building on Lækjargata without giving much thought to what may be lurking beneath the roof. But if you hear knocking from an empty room, notice a door opening by itself, or glance up at the attic windows after dark, remember that some former students may still be waiting for exam results that are now more than a century overdue.

Reykjavík Cathedral: The Ghost Who Attended Every Funeral

Of all Reykjavík's ghosts, none was more reliable than Steinunn Sveinsdóttir. While most apparitions are content to rattle chains in the occasional attic, Steinunn apparently kept a regular social calendar.

Her story begins with the infamous Sjöundá murders of 1802. Steinunn and her lover, Bjarni Bjarnason, were convicted of murdering their spouses in one of the most notorious criminal cases in Icelandic history. Both were sentenced to death, but before the sentence could be carried out, Steinunn died suddenly in prison under mysterious circumstances. No one ever established exactly how she died. Theories ranged from suicide to murder to a fatal accident.

Because she died while under sentence of death, Steinunn was buried outside consecrated ground on Skólavörðuholt in a grave known as Steinkudys. Over time, a curious tradition developed: passers-by would pick up a stone and toss it onto the grave. Some said it was to maintain the cairn. Others believed it was a way of politely informing Steinunn's ghost that it should leave them alone.

The precaution may have been necessary.

According to Reykjavík folklore, Steinunn's spirit began appearing in Reykjavík Cathedral. She reportedly had a particular fondness for funerals, quietly sitting in the pews alongside the mourners as though she had every right to be there. Unfortunately, being dead made her somewhat conspicuous. Congregants occasionally noticed her sitting among them and, upon realizing exactly who was beside them, reacted with understandable alarm.

One story tells of a man who became so terrified after seeing Steinunn sitting next to him that he hurled himself through a church window in an attempt to escape. Remarkably, church records from the period do record a broken window, lending just enough credibility to keep the story alive.

As the years passed, sightings of Steinunn became increasingly common. The legend grew so strong that many people believed her restless spirit could not find peace because she had been buried outside sacred ground. Finally, in 1915, her remains were moved into consecrated soil. After that, the sightings largely stopped. But according to Reykjavík folklore, Steinunn never entirely left.

Her ghost became one of the city's most famous apparitions. Sightings were reported around the old burial site, and stories spread that her restless spirit wandered the area around the cathedral and the hill above the town. Given the circumstances, it's perhaps understandable. After all, being convicted of a double murder, waiting years for an execution that never arrived, dying under mysterious circumstances, and then being buried under a pile of rocks outside consecrated ground would leave almost anyone with unfinished business.

So, if you find yourself standing between Alþingi, the Cathedral, and the slope leading toward Skólavörðuholt after dark, spare a thought for Steinunn. Reykjavík has changed beyond recognition since her day. But according to local legend, she may still be wandering through it.

The Old Apothecary: Reykjavík's Most Persistently Overstaffed Pharmacy

Austurstræti, downtown Reykjavík

If ghost stories are measured by value for money, the old Reykjavík Apothecary by Austurvöllur may offer the best deal in town. Most haunted buildings come with a single resident spirit. This one appears to have accumulated an entire night shift.

The story begins in 1882 with Marie Josefine Angelique Krüger, the wife of apothecary Niels Smidt Krüger. According to local accounts, the couple became embroiled in an argument one morning. In a moment of anger, Marie threatened to drink a bottle of carbolic acid if her husband did not back down. He reportedly replied that she could do as she pleased and walked away. Unfortunately, she did exactly that.

Marie died shortly afterwards and was buried in a small garden attached to the property. Before long, staff and residents began reporting sightings of a woman in a nightgown with her hair hanging loose, wandering through the dining room where she had spent her final moments.

Then things became stranger still.

In 1922, a young Austrian exchange student arrived in Reykjavík after a long sea voyage. Exhausted, he was shown to a bedroom in the apothecary and promptly fell asleep. Sometime after midnight he rose from bed without waking, walked through the unfamiliar building, opened several doors, crossed the garden, and made his way directly to Marie Krüger's grave. There he knelt silently for several moments before returning to bed, all without ever opening his eyes. The next morning he remembered nothing.

Considering that he had never visited Reykjavík before, did not know the layout of the building, and had never heard the story of Marie Krüger, many concluded that someone, or something, had guided him there.

And as if one ghost were not enough, the apothecary acquired another. Around the turn of the twentieth century, a pharmacist named Jón Tómasson also took poison and died in the building. Afterwards, staff repeatedly reported seeing a man in a white pharmacist's coat working quietly behind the counter.

One cleaning woman became so convinced she had seen him preparing medicines one morning that she deliberately avoided disturbing him while she worked. When she was later informed that the pharmacy had been empty all morning and the pharmacist she described had been dead for years, she promptly quit and refused to set foot in the building again.

Visitors occasionally reported similar sightings. A white-clad man would appear behind the dispensary counter, only to vanish moments later.

And if that still wasn't enough paranormal activity, a visiting Danish pharmacist once spent the night in the building and complained the next morning about the terrible racket coming from the floor above his room. There was only one problem: there was no floor above his room.

The Danish Captain

Location: Reykjavík Harbour

The Danish captain was said to haunt the harbour after dying at sea. Witnesses reported seeing a lone seafarer walking the waterfront at odd hours, disappearing whenever anyone approached him.

As with many Icelandic ghost stories, nobody seems particularly surprised that a drowned sailor would come back. The surprising thing would have been if he didn't.

The harbour has changed a lot since then. Today it's full of whale-watching boats, cafés, and tourists photographing the mountains. But if you happen to see a solitary figure staring out over the water on a foggy evening, perhaps don't be too quick to assume he's waiting for the next ferry.

The Widow of Álftanes

Location: Álftanes, about 15 minutes from downtown Reykjavík

This one has everything: romance, betrayal, revenge, murder, and a corpse that simply refused to stay put. According to the legend, a young and ambitious man named Þorkell had been courting a wealthy widow on Álftanes. The relationship seemed serious enough until Þorkell caught the attention of the Danish governor at Bessastaðir. The governor promised him wealth, power, land, and, rather awkwardly, the hand of a Danish servant girl. Þorkell accepted. The widow was not thrilled.

Before Þorkell left, she warned him that if he had betrayed her, she would kill both his new bride and him. A few months later, she travelled to Bessastaðir, confirmed the rumours, and spoke politely with the Danish girl. A few days later, the widow herself died. So far, so normal. Then her body disappeared from where it had been laid out before burial.

That same week the Danish girl became violently ill and died in agony. Soon afterward, Þorkell himself met a grisly end when the widow's ghost finally caught up with him.

The moral of the story seems to be that ghosting someone on Álftanes was historically a very bad idea.

The National Theatre: Reykjavík's Most Dramatic Ghost

Location: Hverfisgata, downtown Reykjavík

The National Theatre has long been rumoured to host an unseen resident. The leading theory is that a young man died there during World War II, when British forces used the unfinished building as a warehouse. Others suspect the spirits of actors who simply refused to retire from the stage.

Whatever the cause, the ghost seemed particularly fond of pushing people. One worker carrying equipment down a staircase felt an invisible shove from behind. An actress fared even worse. While admiring a stage set shortly before the theatre's grand opening, she suddenly felt herself pushed backwards into the orchestra pit, suffering injuries severe enough to require hospitalisation. In true theatre fashion, she still appeared on opening night, covered in braces, before returning straight to hospital.

While sleeping in a dressing room during renovations to her apartment, another actress awoke one night to the sound of a doorknob turning. The door slowly opened by itself. Assuming someone had entered the building, she called out into the corridor. No one answered. No one was there.

At this point, Icelanders did what Icelanders do: She held a séance. According to the story, they successfully contacted the spirit and politely explained that he was, in fact, dead and no longer needed to wander around the theatre in the dark frightening actors.

Unfortunately, younger actors have continued reporting strange experiences in the building, suggesting that either the message never got through, or someone forgot to tell the rest of the ghosts.

The Ghost in the Printing House

Location: Central Reykjavík

Austurstræti 8: Reykjavík's Most Complicated Haunting

Some haunted buildings have a ghost. Austurstræti 8 appears to have a full cast. Known for much of its history as Prentsmiðjan, the building has witnessed everything from family tragedies and unexplained deaths to mischievous spirits, phantom workers, and what may be Reykjavík's first supernatural cleaning inspector.

One of the earliest tragedies involved Johan Billenberg, a shoemaker with a reputation for cruelty. In the 1850s, his wife Lovísa suffered a stroke and was allegedly left without proper care for days. Although authorities eventually fined Billenberg and his daughter for neglect, Lovísa died soon afterwards. The grim story attached itself to the house and helped cement its reputation as a place where unhappy souls lingered.

The hauntings soon followed.

One journalist working in the building reported seeing an enormous hairy hand emerge through a hatchway. When he described it to his colleagues, they claimed it perfectly matched the hand of a servant girl who had died there the previous winter.

Then there was the staircase. Workers frequently complained that something seemed to grab at their feet while they climbed it. One former employee became so concerned that he brought in a psychic to investigate. According to her, a miserable creature of some sort was crouched beneath the stairs, amusing itself by spitting through the banisters at passing people and draining the strength from their legs. The ghost never attacked anyone. He simply wandered around making sure nobody enjoyed a completely stress-free shift. Thanks for that.

Yet the strangest resident may be the little girl who supposedly still wanders the building today. One tenant described repeatedly sensing the presence of a dark-haired girl of about ten years old, dressed in old-fashioned clothes and wooden shoes. The girl was not considered frightening. Instead, she expressed her displeasure by hiding objects, rearranging things, and generally behaving like a supernatural middle manager. Eventually, employees became convinced that a former worker had returned from the dead to continue his duties. Which, if true, represents an admirable work ethic – even by Icelandic standards.

…

Whether these stories are tales of genuine hauntings, overactive imaginations, or simply Reykjavikings finding creative ways to explain the unexplainable, they have become part of the city's character. Long before Reykjavík was a capital city, it was a small, windswept settlement where everyone knew everyone else's business, and a good ghost story travelled almost as fast as gossip. Centuries later, the people involved are gone, the buildings have changed, and the city has grown around them, but the stories remain. So as you wander through downtown Reykjavík, remember that behind every colourful façade and trendy café may lurk a lovesick murderer, an overworked pharmacist, a disgruntled schoolboy, a theatre ghost, or a spectral child with strong opinions about tidiness. Reykjavík may be one of the world's safest capitals, but it is still wise to stay on good terms with the locals, living and otherwise.

Citation: When gathering material for this article, the writer among others read a fantastic masters thesis by Anna Kristín Ólafsdóttir, Reimleikar í Reykjavík.