The Hebridean Hum: Scotland’s Haunting Sound That No One Can Explain

May 17

Written By Michele Edington (formerly Michele Gargiulo)

I have a weird thing with sounds. My PTSD sent it into overdrive of course, but I always had a fascination with sounds and frequencies like Nicola Tesla. There are some sounds that just don’t belong in this world. I’m talking about the kind that feels alive…like something ancient is groaning just beneath the surface, trying to rise.

In the Outer Hebrides, on the wind-carved Isle of Lewis, a low, droning vibration has started to haunt the landscape. Locals call it the hum. It shows up unannounced, seeps into your very bones, pushes through walls, floors, even ribs and jawbones and dreams.

And no one can explain it.

It Begins with a Feeling

They say that at first, it might feel like a pressure in your chest, some sort of resonance in the skull. Some compare it to the thrum of a distant engine, or the steady beat of bass from a nightclub that doesn’t exist. But there’s no source, no power plant, no low-flying aircraft, no secret government facility, just wind and stone and sea.

Over 200 people on the island have now spoken up, joining a Facebook group formed out of shared confusion. They describe being kept awake at night or hearing it in one room but not another, even of feeling it in their body, even when they plug their ears.

“It’s like something is alive underground,” one man wrote.
“It’s driving me mad,” said another.
“I can’t find the silence anymore.”

Here’s the thing that’s super weird, yet for some reason makes perfect sense to me at the same time: the Hebridean Hum doesn’t sound the same to everyone.

To some, it’s a faint electrical buzz, while others claim it pulses in waves, something like a generator cycling just below hearing range. Many compare it to tinnitus, but doctors have ruled that out for most who report it.

You can’t record it either, not really clearly and not consistently. Because for whatever reason it’s not just heard…it’s felt. It’s vibration and resonance, it’s like your bones are being used as tuning forks. And when it starts…you can’t unhear it.

This isn’t the first mysterious hum the world has ever known. Like I mentioned earlier, I have a thing for hums and sound waves, so I’ve gone down into more than one rabit hole. All across the globe, isolated communities have reported mysterious low-frequency hums like the Taos Hum in New Mexico, the Windsor Hum in Canada, the Bristol Hum in England, and there have even been reports of a hum in Kokomo, Indiana, that drove residents to panic.

In almost every case, governments, scientists, and engineers tried to investigate. Sound meters were installed and tests were run, and yet…nothing definitive ever surfaced from it.
In some cases, industrial noise was blamed, in others, electromagnetic interference, but shockingly often, no source could be found.

The Hebridean Hum fits the same super eerie pattern. Except this one is happening in the middle of nowhere where there are no factories, power lines, or anything else that could be to blamed. Just a big ole sea, a ton of sheep, lots of stones, and sky.

Infrasound: A Silent Culprit?

One possible explanation is infrasound: low-frequency noise below 20 Hz, beneath human hearing.

Infrasound can be produced by thunderstorms, ocean waves, earthquakes, or even volcanic activity. It doesn’t have to be loud to be disturbing. Infrasound has been proven to cause anxiety, headaches, nausea, and insomnia in some people who are more sensitive. In some cases, it’s even been linked to feelings of dread and unease. Horror seems to utilize these sound waves in some of their movies to create that feeling of unease.

Some people online seem to be wondering if ocean waves pounding the Hebridean cliffs could be creating a subsonic chorus? Eh, I guess. But why now? Why not for centuries? The sea has always sung here, why would it start screaming like this in 2024?

Could It Be the Earth Somehow?

Another theory is microseismic activity, tiny tremors that are too faint to register as full earthquakes. The Isle of Lewis is located near ancient tectonic faults, and even small shifts could cause a resonant vibration through bedrock.

I feel this on a deeper level because the Earth murmuring to itself is oddly comforting to someone who also talks to herself when she’s stressed (me, it’s me). A song only some can hear is also kind of chosen-one-trope magical that I approve of.

There’s poetry in that theory, but still no proof.

Or...Is It Man-Made?

Some suggest that despite the island’s rural nature, the hum could still be caused by subsea communication cables, military sonar systems, remote low-frequency transmitters, or even wind turbines…even ones miles away.

It’s possible I suppose, after all, low-frequency sound travels far, but none of these theories explain why only some people hear it. Why this teeth-vibrating hum starts in one room but disappears in another. It can vanish for days, only to return in the middle of the night like an old nightmare come back to haunt you.

The Paranormal Theories

Then there are those who believe something stranger is going on. Enter the tin-foil-hatters. Just kidding, I’m already here.

Whispers of ley lines has entered the chat. For those of you out there who don’t read conspiracy theories at night before bed, that’s basically the idea of a mystical energy current that flows beneath Earth’s surface.

There’s always the theory of Ultraterrestrials as well, which to be clear, aren’t aliens, exactly, but entities that share our world unseen. So…sort of aliens.

Those who like to believe that some messages from beneath is the land remembering something we've forgotten, has a theory I’d love to stand behind. Sometimes I think the ghosts of the past haunt our future, or maybe the ghosts of the future sometimes reach back into the past.

One elderly woman claimed the hum reminded her of “the stones singing.” Another said it always came when the weather shifted, as if the wind carried messages from nature itself. A kid said the sound made her feel “like the moon was calling.”

You can’t test those theories with instruments, but I guess that means you can’t rule them out either. Not here at least, not on an island where folklore runs deeper than science.

I also want to be clear for a moment to mention that the Hebridean Hum isn’t just a curiosity for people to write about online (guilty). It’s tormenting people. Some residents have had to sleep with earplugs and white noise just to get rest. Others have left the island temporarily, hoping the sound wouldn’t follow, and one man online said he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think: “like a fog was pressing down on my brain.”

There’s a quiet kind of panic in the Facebook group now. Not mass hysteria, just a sort of shared helplessness, a feeling of being invaded by something you can’t fight because you can’t find it.

Why Now?

That might be the biggest part of this mystery.

The Isle of Lewis is ancient, the stones here are older than empires. The people have weathered storms, invasions, famine, and war, and yet this…this hum…has left them all rattled.

So why is it happening now?

Could it be climate change altering the patterns of the ocean or some sort of seismic shifts? New undersea cables or military frequencies? Or something we haven’t thought of yet, because it doesn’t belong in our textbooks?

What if the hum isn’t here to hurt us? I like to think of it as a whale’s song echoing through the bones of the planet. Sometimes I think the Earth changes its rhythm, and some of us are sensitive enough to notice.

We Don’t Know What We Don’t Know (WDKWWDK)

We like to believe we’ve mapped the known world, that we’ve explained all the natural sounds and catalogued all the strange ones out there. But the Hebridean Hum comes along and reminds us we haven’t.

There’s still mystery in the wind and still frequencies we don’t hear, until they decide to be heard. This island, wrapped in fog and folklore, has become a stage for a silent concert only a few can attend.

And it’s growing.

The Isle of Lewis has always been a place of mystery. The Callanish Stones, older than Stonehenge, stand in solemn rows like petrified guardians. Old Norse and Gaelic legends speak of shape-shifters and spirit voices carried on the wind. The land itself feels old, like it remembers things.

I’d like to think it’s remembering again now, or maybe it’s singing something new.