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"They call this place the Bermuda Triangle of Transylvania," states a tour guide, his breath forming wisps of vapor in the cold evening air. "Numerous people have gone missing here, many believe it's an entrance to a different realm." The guide is escorting a guest on a night walk through frequently labeled as the globe's spookiest forest: Hoia-Baciu, an area covering one square mile of primeval native woodland on the outskirts of the Romanian city of Cluj-Napoca.

Hundreds of Years of Enigma

Stories of strange happenings here go back hundreds of years – the forest is named after a regional herder who is said to have vanished in the long ago, together with 200 of his sheep. But Hoia-Baciu achieved international attention in 1968, when an army specialist called Emil Barnea took a picture of what he described as a UFO hovering above a oval meadow in the centre of the forest.

Numerous entered this place and failed to return. But no need to fear," he states, turning to the visitor with a smirk. "Our guided walks have a flawless completion rate."

In the decades since, Hoia-Baciu has brought in yoga practitioners, traditional medicine people, ufologists and paranormal investigators from around the globe, eager to feel the strange energies said to echo through the forest.

Modern Threats

Despite being one of the world's premier hotspots for paranormal enthusiasts, this woodland is at risk. The western districts of Cluj-Napoca – a modern tech hub of more than 400,000 people, described as the Silicon Valley of Eastern Europe – are encroaching, and developers are campaigning for authorization to cut down the woods to erect housing complexes.

Except for a few hectares containing regionally uncommon specific tree species, the grove is not officially protected, but Marius is confident that the company he was instrumental in creating – a dedicated preservation group – will contribute to improving the situation, persuading the local administrators to acknowledge the forest's value as a travel hotspot.

Eerie Encounters

When small sticks and fall foliage snap and crunch beneath their boots, Marius tells numerous folk tales and claimed ghostly incidents here.

• One famous story tells of a young child going missing during a group gathering, then to rematerialise half a decade later with complete amnesia of what had happened, showing no signs of aging a day, her attire lacking the slightest speck of dirt.
• Regular stories detail smartphones and photography gear mysteriously turning off on venturing inside.
• Feelings include absolute fear to moments of euphoria.
• Some people claim seeing bizarre skin irritations on their arms, detecting disembodied whispers through the forest, or experience hands grabbing them, despite being convinced they're by themselves.

Research Efforts

Although numerous of the tales may be unverifiable, there is much before my eyes that is undeniably strange. All around are trees whose trunks are warped and gnarled into unusual forms.

Various suggestions have been proposed to clarify the misshapen plants: powerful storms could have altered the growth, or naturally high electromagnetic fields in the earth account for their crooked growth.

But formal examinations have discovered insufficient proof.

The Notorious Meadow

The guide's tours enable visitors to participate in a small-scale research of their own. As we approach the clearing in the forest where Barnea captured his well-known UFO pictures, he hands the visitor an EMF meter which measures EMF readings.

"We're entering the most energetic section of the forest," he comments. "Try to detect something."

The trees suddenly stop dead as they step into a complete ring. The only greenery is the low vegetation beneath their shoes; it's apparent that it hasn't been mown, and appears that this strange clearing is wild, not the result of human hands.

The Blurred Line

The broader region is a place which inspires creativity, where the line is unclear between fact and folklore. In countryside villages faith continues in strigoi ("screamers") – supernatural, form-changing bloodsuckers, who emerge from tombs to terrorise regional populations.

The novelist's well-known vampire Count Dracula is always connected with Transylvania, and the legendary fortress – a Saxon monolith located on a rocky outcrop in the Carpathian Mountains – is heavily promoted as "the count's residence".

But including folklore-rich Transylvania – literally, "the land past the woods" – seems solid and predictable compared to this spooky forest, which seem to be, for reasons radioactive, climatic or simply folkloric, a hub for creative energy.

"Inside these woods," Marius comments, "the division between reality and imagination is extremely fine."