Today, I’m setting out on a new journey.
Take my hand, and come with me.

We’re heading to a forest unlike any other — a strange, whispering place wrapped in stories and shadows. Some say it’s haunted. Others swear extraterrestrial forces landed there. And there are those who whisper about a portal to another realm hidden among the trees.

Before we step inside, let me tell you where this forest lies: near Cluj, in Romania. Its name is Hoia — named after a shepherd who vanished with his flock long ago, never to be seen again.

So, take a deep breath. Grab my hand. Leave your fears at the edge of the path, for in this place, they say fear only grows heavier, sharper… amplified. Feel the wind against your face. Breathe in deeply. We’re crossing a threshold now.

Look at these trees. Twisted. Crooked. Like something held them back from growing straight. This place is beautiful, but unsettling. Deeper we go, deeper into the unknown.

Did you know a young girl disappeared here once — at five years old — only to return five years later, unchanged, still a child? People have seen strange lights hovering above these woods, shapes in the sky like ships from another world. But don’t worry — we’ll likely see none of that. We’re here only to enjoy the beauty.

See that clearing ahead? No trees grow there. Some believe it’s because the soil is poisoned. Others say it’s where a spacecraft once landed. But walking here now… it doesn’t seem so frightening, does it? No portals. No ghosts. Just the creak of branches and the soft crunch of leaves.

But wait — do you feel that? A chill. The air’s growing colder.

And fog — is it just my imagination, or is the mist getting thicker? It’s strange; the birds have gone silent. Their songs have vanished into a heavy hush.

Stay close. Don’t let go of my hand. The fog is swallowing everything, even the path. The trees we passed are fading into shadows.

Hey — are you still there?
I can’t see you. I can’t even hear you anymore.

This fog is… wrong. It’s too dense. Too cold. Biting at my skin. The trees — I can’t even feel them now. Have I reached the clearing where nothing grows? Or is this… something else?

Finally, the fog begins to thin. Shapes emerge, but not the shapes I remember. These trees are bare, their branches like black claws. It’s not winter. And yet, everything is stripped of life.

Nothing looks like before. Nothing feels like before.
And you… you’re gone.

I have to find you. But where am I now? Did we cross something without realizing? This place — it’s different. It’s not the forest we entered.

It feels older.
It feels hungrier.

And it feels like it’s been waiting for us

Suddenly, I hear something—
Not your voice, exactly… but something like it. Echoing, distorted, as if it’s being played back from inside a dream.

I follow it, heart pounding, feet unsteady on the damp ground. The fog parts just enough for me to see a figure standing still in the clearing up ahead.

It’s you. Or at least, it looks like you.
But something is wrong.

You’re facing away from me, motionless. I call out — once, then twice. No response.
Then, slowly, you begin to turn.

Your face is… not quite right. Like a memory drawn from the wrong mind. Eyes too still. Smile too wide.

I take a step back.
The forest holds its breath.

And then, everything shifts. The trees shimmer. The ground beneath me hums like it’s alive. For a second — just a second — I see it:
The clearing isn’t empty. It’s a circle. A threshold. Something pulses beneath the soil. A door that’s half open.

But then—
A blink. A breath.
Gone.

The fog closes in once more, silent and cold.

No more voices. No more footsteps.
Just me… and the whispering forest.

And somewhere behind me,
another set of footsteps begin to follow.

But then—
A blink. A breath.
Gone.

The fog closes in once more, silent and cold.

No more voices. No more footsteps.
Just me… and the whispering forest.

And somewhere behind me,
another set of footsteps begins to follow.

I gasp—
And open my eyes.

I’m lying on the forest floor. The sky above is bright again. The mist has vanished.
You’re standing over me, smiling, reaching out your hand.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “You must have tripped. You were only out for a moment.”

Everything looks normal. Birds are singing. The trees are just trees again.
I brush myself off and take your hand, but my heart is still pounding.

Had I dreamed it?
Was it just my imagination?

I look down at my palm.
There, pressed faintly into my skin, is the shape of a cold, perfect circle — like something had been holding my hand.

I don’t say a word. I just keep walking.