Delving into this Planet's Most Ghostly Woodland: Gnarled Trees, Flying Saucers and Spooky Stories in Romania's Legendary Region.

"Locals dub this place the Bermuda Triangle of Transylvania," remarks a tour guide, his exhalation producing wisps of mist in the cold night air. "Countless visitors have gone missing here, it's thought it's a portal to a different realm." This expert is escorting a traveler on a night walk through frequently labeled as the planet's most ghostly forest: Hoia-Baciu, a square mile of primeval indigenous forest on the outskirts of the Transylvanian city of Cluj-Napoca.

Centuries of Mystery

Stories of bizarre occurrences here date back centuries – this woodland is titled for a regional herder who is believed to have disappeared in the distant past, accompanied by his entire flock. But Hoia-Baciu gained international attention in 1968, when an army specialist known as Emil Barnea photographed what he described as a flying saucer suspended above a circular clearing in the centre of the forest.

Numerous entered this place and failed to return. But don't worry," he states, addressing the visitor with a grin. "Our tours have a flawless completion rate."

In the decades since, Hoia-Baciu has attracted yogis, shamans, extraterrestrial investigators and paranormal investigators from worldwide, eager to feel the mysterious powers reported to reverberate through the forest.

Contemporary Dangers

It may be one of the world's premier pilgrimage sites for paranormal enthusiasts, this woodland is under threat. The outlying areas of Cluj-Napoca – a contemporary technology center of more than 400,000 people, known as the innovation center of the region – are advancing, and developers are pushing for permission to cut down the woods to erect housing complexes.

Barring a few hectares containing regionally uncommon oak varieties, this woodland is not officially protected, but Marius believes that the organization he helped establish – a dedicated preservation group – will contribute to improving the situation, motivating the government officials to acknowledge the forest's value as a tourist attraction.

Spooky Experiences

As twigs and autumn leaves split and rustle beneath their footwear, the guide recounts numerous folk tales and claimed supernatural events here.

• A popular tale describes a little girl going missing during a family picnic, later to rematerialise five years later with no memory of her experience, having not aged a moment, her attire without the tiniest bit of dust.
• Frequent accounts describe mobile phones and imaging devices mysteriously turning off on entering the woods.
• Reactions range from absolute fear to moments of euphoria.
• Certain individuals claim observing unusual marks on their skin, perceiving disembodied whispers through the forest, or experience palms pushing them, despite being sure they are alone.

Scientific Investigations

Although numerous of the accounts may be hard to prove, numerous elements visibly present that is certainly unusual. Everywhere you look are plants whose bases are curved and contorted into fantastical shapes.

Different theories have been suggested to explain the deformed trees: strong gales could have altered the growth, or naturally high electromagnetic fields in the earth explain their unusual development.

But scientific investigations have turned up insufficient proof.

The Famous Clearing

The guide's walks enable guests to participate in a little scientific inquiry of their own. When nearing the meadow in the trees where Barnea photographed his well-known UFO pictures, he passes his guest an ghost-hunting device which registers electromagnetic fields.

"We're stepping into the most energetic area of the forest," he states. "See what you can find."

The vegetation abruptly end as we emerge into a perfect circle. The single plant life is the low vegetation beneath their shoes; it's clear that it's not maintained, and appears that this strange clearing is wild, not the result of human hands.

The Blurred Line

This part of Romania is a area which fuels fantasy, where the division is blurred between fact and folklore. In countryside villages belief persists in strigoi ("screamers") – undead, appearance-altering vampires, who emerge from tombs to terrorise local communities.

The famous author's renowned fictional vampire is always connected with Transylvania, and Bran Castle – a Saxon monolith situated on a rocky outcrop in the Transylvanian Alps – is keenly marketed as "the vampire's home".

But even folklore-rich Transylvania – truly, "the place beyond the forest" – feels solid and predictable compared to these eerie woods, which appear to be, for reasons nuclear, climatic or purely mythical, a nexus for fantasy projection.

"Inside these woods," Marius says, "the boundary between fact and fiction is very thin."