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"Locals dub this location a mysterious vortex of Transylvania," remarks an experienced guide, his breath producing puffs of vapor in the chilly night air. "Numerous people have disappeared here, many believe it's an entrance to a different realm." The guide is guiding a guest on a night walk through frequently labeled as the planet's most ghostly grove: Hoia-Baciu, a section spanning 640 acres of ancient native woodland on the outskirts of the Romanian city of Cluj-Napoca.

A Long History of the Unexplained

Reports of strange happenings here go back a long time – this woodland is titled for a local shepherd who is believed to have disappeared in the distant past, together with his entire flock. But Hoia-Baciu came to global recognition in 1968, when a defense worker called Emil Barnea took a picture of what he claimed was a UFO suspended above a circular clearing in the centre of the forest.

Countless ventured inside and never came out. But don't worry," he adds, addressing the visitor with a smile. "Our excursions have a 100% return rate."

In the decades since, Hoia-Baciu has drawn yogis, shamans, ufologists and supernatural researchers from worldwide, eager to feel the strange energies said to echo through the forest.

Current Risks

Despite being one of the world's premier destinations for supernatural fans, the forest is under threat. The western suburbs of Cluj-Napoca – a contemporary technology center of a population exceeding 400,000, called the Silicon Valley of Eastern Europe – are advancing, and construction companies are campaigning for approval to remove the forest to build apartment blocks.

Barring a limited section containing area-specific Mediterranean oak trees, the forest is without conservation status, but Marius is confident that the company he co-founded – a local conservation effort – will assist in altering this, persuading the authorities to recognise the forest's importance as a tourist attraction.

Chilling Events

When small sticks and fall foliage split and rustle beneath their footwear, Marius describes numerous folk tales and claimed supernatural events here.

• A well-known account describes a five-year-old girl vanishing during a family outing, only to rematerialise after five years with complete amnesia of the events, without aging a moment, her garments lacking the smallest trace of dust.
• More common reports explain cellphones and camera equipment inexplicably shutting down on entering the woods.
• Feelings include full-blown dread to feelings of joy.
• Various visitors claim observing strange rashes on their skin, perceiving unseen murmurs through the trees, or experience palms pushing them, despite being sure they are alone.

Study Attempts

While many of the stories may be unverifiable, there are many things clearly observable that is undeniably strange. Throughout the area are vegetation whose bases are warped and gnarled into bizarre configurations.

Multiple explanations have been given to account for the deformed trees: strong gales could have bent the saplings, or typically increased radiation levels in the earth explain their crooked growth.

But scientific investigations have found insufficient proof.

The Legendary Opening

The expert's tours allow participants to participate in a small-scale research of their own. As we approach the opening in the trees where Barnea photographed his famous UFO images, he hands the visitor an ghost-hunting device which detects electromagnetic fields.

"We're stepping into the most active area of the forest," he states. "Discover what's here."

The vegetation abruptly end as the group enters into a complete ring. The only greenery is the low vegetation beneath the ground; it's apparent that it's not maintained, and appears that this bizarre meadow is organic, not the work of human hands.

Fact Versus Fiction

The broader region is a location which fuels fantasy, where the line is blurred between fact and folklore. In rural Romanian communities superstition remains in strigoi ("screamers") – otherworldly, appearance-altering bloodsuckers, who rise from their graves to frighten regional populations.

The novelist's renowned vampire Count Dracula is always connected with Transylvania, and the historic stronghold – a Saxon monolith perched on a stone formation in the Carpathian Mountains – is keenly marketed as "Dracula's Castle".

But even myth-shrouded Transylvania – literally, "the land past the woods" – seems real and understandable versus these eerie woods, which appear to be, for factors nuclear, environmental or simply folkloric, a nexus for human imaginative power.

"Inside these woods," Marius states, "the line between truth and fantasy is remarkably blurred."