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"People refer to this location a mysterious vortex of Transylvania," remarks a tour guide, the air from his lungs producing puffs of condensation in the chilly evening air. "Numerous individuals have disappeared here, it's thought it's an entrance to a parallel world." Marius is leading a traveler on a night walk through what is often described as the world's most haunted woodland: Hoia-Baciu, a square mile of old-growth native woodland on the outskirts of the metropolis of Cluj-Napoca.

Hundreds of Years of Enigma

Stories of bizarre occurrences here go back centuries – this woodland is titled for a area shepherd who is believed to have disappeared in the distant past, together with 200 of his sheep. But Hoia-Baciu came to global recognition in 1968, when a defense worker known as Emil Barnea took a picture of what he claimed was a flying saucer floating above a round opening in the heart of the forest.

Numerous entered this place and vanished without trace. But rest assured," he continues, addressing the visitor with a smile. "Our guided walks have a flawless completion rate."

In the time after, Hoia-Baciu has brought in yoga practitioners, spiritual healers, extraterrestrial investigators and paranormal investigators from around the globe, interested in encountering the strange energies said to echo through the forest.

Modern Threats

Despite being one of the world's premier destinations for lovers of the paranormal, the forest is at risk. The outlying areas of Cluj-Napoca – an innovative digital cluster of over 400,000 residents, called the tech capital of the region – are encroaching, and real estate firms are campaigning for permission to remove the forest to build apartment blocks.

Barring a limited section housing locally rare specific tree species, this woodland is not officially protected, but Marius hopes that the initiative he was instrumental in creating – a dedicated preservation group – will help to change that, persuading the government officials to recognise the forest's value as a travel hotspot.

Chilling Events

While branches and seasonal debris split and rustle beneath their boots, the guide tells some of the traditional stories and reported ghostly incidents here.

• A popular tale describes a five-year-old girl vanishing during a family outing, later to return five years later with no memory of what had happened, having not aged a moment, her garments lacking the slightest speck of dirt.
• Regular stories describe smartphones and imaging devices mysteriously turning off on venturing inside.
• Reactions range from absolute fear to moments of euphoria.
• Certain individuals claim noticing strange rashes on their bodies, detecting unseen murmurs through the forest, or sense fingers clutching them, despite being certain nobody is nearby.

Research Efforts

While many of the tales may be hard to prove, there is much before my eyes that is certainly unusual. Throughout the area are plants whose bases are curved and contorted into fantastical shapes.

Different theories have been proposed to explain the deformed trees: that hurricane winds could have altered the growth, or inherently elevated radioactivity in the earth explain their strange formation.

But research studies have discovered insufficient proof.

The Notorious Meadow

The expert's excursions permit visitors to participate in a small-scale research of their own. Upon reaching the meadow in the forest where Barnea photographed his famous UFO photographs, he gives the visitor an electromagnetic field detector which registers energy patterns.

"We're venturing into the most energetic section of the forest," he says. "Try to detect something."

The vegetation immediately cease as we emerge into a flawless round. The only greenery is the short grass beneath our feet; it's apparent that it's naturally occurring, and appears that this strange clearing is wild, not the work of human hands.

Fact Versus Fiction

This part of Romania is a place which fuels fantasy, where the line is indistinct between fact and folklore. In traditional settlements belief persists in strigoi ("screamers") – supernatural, form-changing vampires, who return from burial sites to haunt nearby villages.

Bram Stoker's renowned vampire Count Dracula is always connected with Transylvania, and Bran Castle – a Saxon monolith perched on a rocky outcrop in the Transylvanian Alps – is keenly marketed as "the vampire's home".

But even myth-shrouded Transylvania – actually, "the land past the woods" – appears tangible and comprehensible compared to the haunted grove, which appear to be, for factors nuclear, environmental or entirely legendary, a hub for human imaginative power.

"In Hoia-Baciu," Marius says, "the boundary between truth and fantasy is extremely fine."