The 1968 UFO Photograph Over Hoia Baciu Forest
On August 18, 1968, Emil Barnea lay on a blanket at the edge of a clearing inside a forest he had entered for no reason more dramatic than a weekend picnic. He was 45, a military technician living in Cluj, and he had brought his girlfriend, Zamfira Mattea, and two friends into the woods west of the city to escape the August heat. Around 1:15 in the afternoon, Mattea called out. Something was above the tree line. Barnea grabbed his camera — a basic Energija model — and aimed it upward. The object was metallic, round, and completely silent. It moved slowly, tilted, then accelerated. He fired off four frames before it disappeared.
The photographs show a dark, disc-shaped object against an overcast sky. No visible propulsion. No wings. No trail. Barnea, a Communist Party member and a man with a military security clearance, understood immediately what publishing the images would cost him. Romania under Nicolae Ceaușescu did not encourage its citizens to report unexplained aerial phenomena. Barnea released the photographs anyway. He was demoted. His career stalled. The images circulated through European paranormal networks and, by the early 1970s, had been reprinted in UFO publications from London to Buenos Aires.
Barnea's photographs did not create the reputation of Hoia Baciu. The forest had been feared for generations before he ever aimed a lens at the sky. But the images did something more lasting — they gave the forest a visual artifact, a single piece of physical evidence that could be reproduced, debated, and projected onto screens in living rooms across the world. Every haunted place needs a catalyst, a moment where local dread becomes global mythology. For Hoia Baciu, that moment was a technician on a blanket, shooting four frames of something he couldn't explain, in a forest that had been waiting for exactly this kind of attention.
The deeper truth about Hoia Baciu is not whether ghosts walk between its crooked trees. The deeper truth is how a forest becomes haunted in the first place — how layers of folklore, landscape strangeness, Cold War paranormal research, and 21st-century television converge to produce a place the world agrees is terrifying, even though no one can agree on why.
The Legend Behind Hoia Baciu Forest's Name
The Vanished Shepherd and the 200 Lost Sheep
The forest takes its name from a story no one can verify. A shepherd named Baciu — no first name survives — walked into the forest with a flock of 200 sheep and was never seen again. Neither was the flock. The story has no date, no corroborating records, no neighboring witness accounts. It exists purely in oral tradition, repeated in the villages around Cluj-Napoca with the flat certainty that attaches to stories told long enough.
The legend functions less as history and more as a founding instruction: do not enter this forest. Romanian folklorist Ion Muslea, working in the mid-20th century, documented a broader pattern of forest-avoidance mythology across Transylvania, particularly in communities near dense, elevated woodlands. Forests were thresholds — places where the rules of the village ceased to apply and older, less predictable forces took over. Hoia Baciu fit the template perfectly: high, dark, dense, and just close enough to a major city to be familiar without being tame.
The name stuck. Locals in the surrounding villages referred to the forest as "the place where the shepherd disappeared," and over decades, the shorthand became the proper noun. By the time Barnea took his photographs in 1968, the forest already carried a century of accumulated unease. The UFO images didn't create the fear. They confirmed it.
Where Is Hoia Baciu Forest? Location Near Cluj-Napoca
Hoia Baciu covers roughly 250 hectares on the Transylvanian Plateau, three kilometers west of Cluj-Napoca's city center. The terrain rises gently from the Someșul Mic river valley into mixed deciduous woodland — predominantly sessile oak, hornbeam, and beech. The elevation sits between 410 and 490 meters above sea level, placing the forest on a low plateau that catches fog earlier and holds it longer than the valley floor below.
The proximity to Cluj matters. This is not a remote wilderness. It is a suburban forest, reachable by city bus, bordered by residential neighborhoods and a botanical garden. University students jog its trails. Dog walkers use it daily. The disconnect between the forest's mundane accessibility and its global reputation as a paranormal hotspot is one of the first things visitors notice — and one of the details that makes the mythology harder to dismiss. Whatever people experience in Hoia Baciu, they experience it within earshot of traffic.
The Dead Clearing and the Twisted Trees of Hoia Baciu
Poiana Rotundă — The Circle Where Nothing Grows
The most photographed feature of Hoia Baciu is not a tree but an absence. Poiana Rotundă — "the Round Clearing" — is a near-perfect elliptical gap in the forest canopy, roughly 290 meters in diameter, where no trees, shrubs, or significant ground cover grow. The perimeter is sharp: dense forest on one side, bare earth on the other, with almost no transitional zone. Grass and low weeds creep a few meters in from the edge, but the center remains stubbornly barren.
Soil samples taken from the clearing over several decades have failed to produce a single, consensus explanation. Analyses conducted by researchers affiliated with Babeș-Bolyai University in Cluj-Napoca found no elevated concentrations of heavy metals, no anomalous pH levels, and no pathogens that would account for the vegetation gap. One hypothesis points to a subterranean geological feature — possibly a buried sinkhole or a pocket of unusual mineral composition — that disrupts root growth. Another suggests the clearing is a relic of historical land use, perhaps a charcoal-burning site or a medieval pasture whose soil was compacted beyond recovery. Neither theory has been confirmed.
The clearing is where most paranormal claims concentrate. Visitors report headaches, nausea, the sensation of being watched, and — in the more dramatic accounts — seeing orbs of light hovering at the tree line. Photographs taken inside Poiana Rotundă occasionally show anomalies that believers interpret as apparitions and skeptics attribute to lens flare, long exposure artifacts, or moisture on the glass. The clearing does not explain itself, and that refusal is the source of its power.
Why the Trees of Hoia Baciu Grow Crooked
Beyond the clearing, the forest's second signature is its trees. Hundreds of trunks across the western and central zones grow in spirals, right-angle bends, and corkscrew patterns that look deliberately tortured. Some curve near the base and straighten higher up. Others twist continuously from root to canopy. A few grow horizontally for a meter before turning sharply vertical. The effect, in person, is disorienting — a forest that looks like it was designed by a set decorator who wanted the audience to feel uneasy.
Forestry science offers several partial explanations. Gravitropism disruption — interference with the hormonal signals that tell a trunk to grow upward — can be caused by persistent strong winds, heavy snow loads during formative growth years, or uneven light penetration through a dense canopy. Soil instability, including localized subsidence or shifting clay layers, can tilt young saplings and lock them into curved growth paths. Similar trunk deformities appear in Poland's Crooked Forest near Gryfino, where roughly 400 pine trees bend uniformly at the base — a phenomenon attributed to either deliberate human shaping for furniture wood or heavy snowfall in the 1930s.
What distinguishes Hoia Baciu is the randomness. The Polish trees bend in one direction. Hoia Baciu's trees bend in every direction, with no uniform pattern. This lack of consistency makes a single mechanical explanation harder to sustain and leaves room for the interpretations the forest has always attracted: that something beneath the soil, something in the electromagnetic field, something unexplained is warping growth from below.
Paranormal Research in Hoia Baciu Forest During the Cold War
Alexandru Sift and the First Paranormal Investigation of Hoia Baciu
The first person to treat Hoia Baciu as a subject of systematic investigation rather than local superstition was Alexandru Sift, a biologist and amateur photographer who began working in the forest in the early 1960s. Sift's method was simple and, by the standards of academic science, eccentric: he hiked into the forest with a camera, shot hundreds of frames of empty clearings, tree lines, and open sky, then developed the film and examined it for anomalies invisible to the naked eye.
He found them — or believed he did. Sift's photographs, taken over more than a decade, allegedly show luminous shapes, humanoid silhouettes, and geometric forms that were not visible at the moment of exposure. He published his findings in Romanian paranormal journals and presented them at informal gatherings in Cluj. His work was not peer-reviewed in any conventional sense, and the original negatives have never been subjected to independent forensic analysis. What Sift did accomplish was the transformation of Hoia Baciu from a place of peasant superstition into a place of quasi-scientific inquiry — a site where educated men with cameras went looking for evidence and claimed to have found it.
Sift's legacy is contested. Believers treat his photographs as the first hard evidence of paranormal activity in the forest. Skeptics point out that chemical artifacts on film, double exposures, light leaks, and developing errors can produce exactly the shapes Sift catalogued — and that shooting hundreds of frames in variable light virtually guarantees a handful of anomalous results. What is not contested is that Sift's work gave the forest a second narrative layer. The shepherd legend made it feared. Sift's photographs made it investigated.
Adrian Pătruț's Scientific Study of the Forest's Anomalies
Where Sift operated on instinct and film, Adrian Pătruț brought credentials. A professor of chemistry at Babeș-Bolyai University, Pătruț began researching Hoia Baciu in the 1970s and continued for decades, producing the most sustained body of work on the forest's anomalies. His approach was explicitly scientific: soil sampling, magnetometry, radiation measurements, atmospheric monitoring. He published papers, gave lectures, and wrote a book — Phenomena of Hoia Baciu Forest — that attempted to catalog every reported anomaly and evaluate it against known physical processes.
Pătruț's magnetometry readings documented localized fluctuations in the forest's electromagnetic field, particularly in and around Poiana Rotundă. These fluctuations were real and measurable — the instruments registered them — but their cause remained unresolved. Underground mineral deposits, fault-line micro-activity, and even variations in soil moisture content can produce EMF anomalies. Pătruț acknowledged these possibilities but argued that the consistency and spatial concentration of the readings warranted further investigation beyond conventional geology.
The tension in Pătruț's work mirrors the tension of the forest itself. He was a credentialed scientist who refused to dismiss what his instruments recorded, even when his colleagues in the hard sciences dismissed the entire project. He did not claim ghosts haunted the forest. He claimed something measurable was happening that existing models did not fully explain — and that the scientific community's refusal to investigate was itself unscientific. Whether one reads Pătruț as a rigorous anomalist or a credentialed believer depends largely on what one walked into the forest already believing.
UFO Sightings and Paranormal Activity in Hoia Baciu
The Most Documented UFO Reports Over Hoia Baciu
Barnea's 1968 photographs remain the most analyzed UFO evidence associated with the forest, but they were not the last. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, residents of Cluj-Napoca and visitors to the forest reported luminous objects above the tree line — typically described as orange or white lights moving in non-linear patterns, hovering, then accelerating out of sight. A second set of photographs, attributed to multiple witnesses in the late 1970s, showed similar disc-shaped forms, though none achieved the clarity or circulation of Barnea's originals.
The Romanian government under Ceaușescu had no official UFO investigation program and no public position on unidentified aerial phenomena. Reports were quietly filed or ignored. This institutional silence had an unintended effect: it made the sightings feel suppressed rather than debunked, lending them the credibility that comes with forbidden knowledge. In a totalitarian state, the things the government refuses to discuss are often the things citizens believe most fiercely. Hoia Baciu's UFO reputation benefited directly from the regime's refusal to engage with it.
After the fall of Ceaușescu's regime in December 1989, Romanian media embraced the forest as a domestic sensation. Newspapers and television programs that had been barred from covering paranormal topics now produced sensationalized features on Hoia Baciu, often mixing Barnea's genuine photographs with unverified claims and repackaged folklore. The 1990s marked the forest's transition from a local curiosity to a national brand — and set the stage for its international breakthrough.
Strange Physical Symptoms Reported by Visitors
Alongside the visual phenomena, Hoia Baciu has generated a long catalogue of reported physical symptoms. Visitors describe sudden-onset headaches, nausea, dizziness, skin rashes, a sensation of pressure on the chest, and — most consistently — an overwhelming feeling of being watched. Some accounts include burns or reddened skin appearing without contact with any heat source. A few report missing time: entering the forest at one hour and emerging to discover that more time has passed than their subjective experience accounts for.
The medical documentation for these claims is thin. No controlled study has been conducted in which subjects entered the forest blind — without knowing its reputation — and reported symptoms. The reports that exist come almost exclusively from people who entered Hoia Baciu already knowing it was "the most haunted forest in the world." This is not a trivial distinction. The nocebo effect — the phenomenon in which negative expectations produce real physical symptoms — is well-documented in clinical literature. Headaches, nausea, dizziness, and anxiety are among the most reliably nocebo-induced symptoms.
This does not mean every reported symptom is psychosomatic. Pătruț's EMF readings suggest the forest may contain zones of elevated electromagnetic activity, and exposure to strong EMF fields has been associated in some studies with headaches, nausea, and disorientation — though the causal mechanism remains debated. Infrasound, produced by wind interaction with the forest's unusual topography, is another candidate: frequencies below 20 Hz are inaudible but can produce feelings of unease, chest pressure, and even visual disturbances. The forest may be doing something to its visitors. The question is whether what it does requires a supernatural explanation — or simply a geological one that no one has bothered to fully fund.
Hoia Baciu on Destination Truth, Ghost Adventures, and Global Television
How Paranormal TV Shows Made Hoia Baciu World-Famous
Hoia Baciu's transformation from a Romanian curiosity into an international paranormal destination began in 2009, when the American television series Destination Truth aired an episode filmed inside the forest. Host Josh Gates and his crew spent a night in Hoia Baciu, deploying thermal cameras, EMF detectors, and audio recorders. The episode featured unexplained scratches appearing on a crew member's arm, thermal anomalies near Poiana Rotundă, and enough atmospheric tension to make the forest irresistible to a global audience already primed by decades of ghost-hunting television.
The Destination Truth episode did not invent the forest's reputation, but it industrialized it. Within a year of broadcast, English-language searches for "Hoia Baciu" spiked. Travel blogs, paranormal forums, and YouTube channels began producing content. The Travel Channel's Ghost Adventures followed with its own Hoia Baciu episode, doubling down on the atmosphere of dread. British tabloids ran features. International lists of "the world's most haunted places" began including the forest alongside the Tower of London and Poveglia. Each broadcast and publication added another sedimentary layer to a mythology that was already centuries deep. Japan's Aokigahara — a forest at the base of Mount Fuji with documented suicides stretching back decades — followed the same trajectory from local taboo to global dark tourism fixture after its own wave of media coverage. Hoia Baciu achieved identical status without a single confirmed death inside its borders.
The feedback loop is the mechanism that matters. Television crews arrive expecting anomalies, film in conditions designed to produce them (darkness, handheld cameras, infrared), broadcast footage edited for maximum tension, and inspire a new generation of visitors who arrive expecting exactly what the television showed them. The forest does not need to be haunted. It needs to be believed to be haunted — and belief, once broadcast to millions of screens, becomes its own self-sustaining evidence.
Hoia Baciu Forest Tours and Dark Tourism in Cluj-Napoca
Cluj-Napoca, Romania's second-largest city, maintains a complicated relationship with its most famous neighbor. The city is a university town, a tech hub, and the cultural capital of Transylvania. Its residents are more likely to identify with the city's Habsburg architecture and thriving arts scene than with the paranormal forest on its western edge. Local attitudes toward Hoia Baciu range from bemused pride to mild embarrassment — the awkwardness of a sophisticated city whose primary international association is a haunted wood.
The economics, though, are unambiguous. Multiple tour companies in Cluj now offer guided Hoia Baciu experiences, from daytime hiking tours with historical commentary to nighttime excursions with EMF detectors and thermal cameras. Prices range from modest group walks to premium private tours with professional paranormal equipment. The forest appears in Cluj's tourism marketing, on souvenir shop shelves, and in the itineraries of visitors who might never have come to Romania otherwise. Bran Castle — the so-called "Dracula's Castle" 170 kilometers to the south — demonstrates the same dynamic on a larger scale: a real place whose economic survival depends on a fictional reputation.
The irony is structural. Cluj's local government maintains the forest as a public green space. The trails are marked. The clearings are accessible. There are no gates, no fences, no admission fees. The most haunted forest in the world is also, functionally, a municipal park — and the contrast between its bureaucratic reality and its mythological identity is the kind of absurdity that Hoia Baciu has always specialized in.
Scientific Explanations for Hoia Baciu's Anomalies
Electromagnetic Anomalies and Geological Theories
The measurable facts about Hoia Baciu are less dramatic than the legends but more interesting than the debunkers typically admit. Multiple independent readings, including Pătruț's long-running dataset, have confirmed localized electromagnetic anomalies within the forest, concentrated in and around Poiana Rotundă and the zones of maximum tree deformity. The anomalies are not constant — they fluctuate with time of day, weather conditions, and season — but they are repeatable and spatially consistent.
The leading geological hypothesis centers on the forest's substrate. The Transylvanian Plateau sits on a complex geological foundation that includes Miocene-era sedimentary layers, salt deposits, and clay-rich soils capable of retaining and conducting electrical charge in unpredictable ways. Subsurface voids — dissolved salt pockets or collapsed karst features — could create localized disturbances in the electromagnetic field above them. A buried void beneath Poiana Rotundă could, in theory, explain both the vegetation gap (disrupted root systems, altered soil chemistry above the void) and the EMF readings (electromagnetic energy channeled through the void's geometry).
No comprehensive subsurface survey of the forest has been published. Ground-penetrating radar, which could map voids and anomalous geological features beneath the clearing, has not been deployed at the scale necessary to confirm or rule out the geological hypothesis. The forest's anomalies remain in a frustrating middle ground: too measurable to dismiss, too poorly studied to explain.
Why Hoia Baciu Feels Haunted: Infrasound, EMF, and Psychology
The science of why certain places feel "wrong" is better developed than most ghost-hunting television suggests. Research in environmental psychology has identified several features that reliably produce unease in human subjects: low natural light, obstructed sightlines, ambiguous sounds, isolation from social contact, and — crucially — prior expectation. A forest that is dense, fog-prone, visually disorienting, and universally described as haunted hits every trigger on the list.
Infrasound deserves particular attention. Frequencies below the threshold of human hearing (approximately 20 Hz) can be produced by wind passing over and through irregular terrain, and dense forests with uneven canopy heights are natural infrasound generators. Laboratory studies have demonstrated that exposure to infrasound at sufficient intensity can produce anxiety, feelings of presence, chills, and even peripheral visual disturbances — symptoms that map precisely onto the most common visitor reports from Hoia Baciu. The British engineer Vic Tandy, in a widely cited 1998 paper, demonstrated that a 19 Hz standing wave in his laboratory was responsible for the feeling of a ghostly presence that had unsettled staff for weeks.
Hoia Baciu may be, in the most literal sense, a landscape that makes people feel haunted — not through any supernatural agency but through the convergence of infrasound, EMF variability, visual disorientation, fog, canopy darkness, and the overwhelming power of walking into a place you have already been told will frighten you. The forest does not need to be haunted to produce every symptom its visitors report. It only needs to be itself.
Visiting Hoia Baciu Forest: What to Know Before You Go
Trails, Access, and What the Forest Looks Like in Person
Hoia Baciu is open to the public year-round and requires no permit, ticket, or guide. The main entrance is reachable from central Cluj-Napoca by bus or a 15-minute taxi ride. Marked trails wind through the forest, and the Round Clearing — Poiana Rotundă — is accessible via a moderate 30- to 40-minute hike from the western trailhead. The terrain is uneven but not technical. Proper footwear is advisable, particularly after rain, when the clay-heavy soil turns slick.
In daylight, the forest is beautiful in the way that central European woodlands are beautiful: tall oaks filtering green light, birdsong, the smell of leaf litter and damp earth. The twisted trees are concentrated in the western and central zones, and the effect, while genuinely striking, is less apocalyptic than photographs suggest. Poiana Rotundă is unmistakable — the tree line ends abruptly and the clearing opens like a room in the middle of the woods. Standing in it at midday feels like standing in a very quiet, very empty meadow. Standing in it at dusk, with fog rolling in from the plateau, feels like something else entirely.
Nighttime visits are popular among paranormal tourists and are offered by several Cluj-based tour operators. The quality varies. Some tours are led by knowledgeable guides who balance folklore with science. Others lean heavily into theatrical scares and unverified claims. Independent nighttime visits are legal but disorienting — the trails are not lit, phone signal is unreliable in places, and the forest's reputation has a way of converting every cracking branch into evidence.
Hoia Baciu Forest and the Making of the World's Most Haunted Place
Hoia Baciu sits at the intersection of every force that creates a haunted place: genuine landscape strangeness, centuries of folklore, a culture steeped in mythological thinking, a political history that suppressed and thereby amplified the mysterious, and a global media apparatus hungry for content that confirms what audiences already want to believe. The forest is not a fraud. The twisted trees are real. The clearing is real. The EMF anomalies are real. What remains unreal — or at least unproven — is the explanation that most visitors arrive hoping to confirm.
Ochate in Spain and Bhangarh Fort in India share this architecture of reputation — places where the legend has become so much larger than the site that the site itself almost doesn't matter. Hoia Baciu matters because it refuses to resolve. It is not debunked and it is not confirmed. It sits in the space between, accumulating stories, and that space — the space where certainty fails — is the most haunted place of all.
The forest is three kilometers from a European capital of technology and education. It takes twenty minutes to reach by bus. It costs nothing to enter. And for all the television episodes, all the paranormal investigations, all the books and blogs and breathless headlines, the 250 hectares of oak and hornbeam on the Transylvanian Plateau remain exactly what they have always been: a forest that doesn't explain itself, in a country that has learned not to force it.
Phase 3 — Technical Appendix: Hoia Baciu Forest
FAQ
Is Hoia Baciu Forest really haunted?
Hoia Baciu has never produced a single verified supernatural event. No confirmed death, disappearance, or unexplained injury has been documented within the forest's borders. What the forest does contain are measurable electromagnetic anomalies, a barren clearing with no definitive scientific explanation, and trees growing in genuinely unusual twisted patterns. Visitor reports of headaches, nausea, and unease are consistent with both environmental factors (infrasound, EMF exposure) and psychological priming — the tendency to experience symptoms you expect to experience. The forest is strange by any objective measure. Whether "haunted" is the correct word depends entirely on what you believe causes the strangeness.
What is the Round Clearing (Poiana Rotundă) in Hoia Baciu?
Poiana Rotundă is a near-perfect elliptical clearing roughly 290 meters across in the heart of the forest, where trees and significant vegetation refuse to grow. The perimeter between forest and clearing is unusually sharp, with almost no gradual transition zone. Multiple soil analyses have been conducted, but no single explanation — contamination, geological anomaly, historical land use — has been definitively confirmed. The clearing is the focal point of most paranormal claims associated with the forest, including reports of orbs of light, apparitions, and physical symptoms like headaches and nausea.
Where is Hoia Baciu Forest and how do you get there?
Hoia Baciu covers approximately 250 hectares on the Transylvanian Plateau, roughly three kilometers west of the center of Cluj-Napoca, Romania's second-largest city. The forest is reachable from central Cluj by city bus or a short taxi ride. Multiple marked trails provide access, and the Round Clearing is approximately a 30- to 40-minute moderate hike from the western trailhead. No ticket, permit, or guide is required for entry. The forest is a public green space maintained by the local government.
What happened to Emil Barnea after he photographed the UFO?
Emil Barnea, a 45-year-old military technician, photographed an unidentified disc-shaped object above Hoia Baciu on August 18, 1968, using a basic Energija camera. Despite holding a Communist Party membership and military security clearance — both of which made reporting unexplained phenomena professionally dangerous under the Ceaușescu regime — Barnea published the photographs. He was subsequently demoted and his career suffered. The four images became the most widely circulated UFO photographs associated with Romania and remain the single most analyzed piece of evidence linked to the forest.
Why are the trees in Hoia Baciu twisted?
Hundreds of trees across the western and central zones of Hoia Baciu grow in spirals, right-angle bends, and corkscrew patterns. Forestry science offers several partial explanations, including disrupted gravitropism (interference with the hormonal signals that direct upward growth), heavy snow loads during formative years, persistent wind, and soil instability from shifting clay layers. What makes Hoia Baciu unusual compared to similar phenomena elsewhere — such as Poland's Crooked Forest — is the randomness of the deformity. The trees do not bend in one uniform direction, making a single mechanical cause harder to identify.
Has any scientific research been done on Hoia Baciu?
The most sustained research was conducted by Adrian Pătruț, a professor of chemistry at Babeș-Bolyai University in Cluj-Napoca, who studied the forest from the 1970s onward. His work included soil sampling, magnetometry, radiation measurements, and atmospheric monitoring. Pătruț documented repeatable electromagnetic anomalies concentrated around the Round Clearing. Earlier, biologist Alexandru Sift conducted photographic investigations in the 1960s and 1970s, claiming to capture luminous forms invisible to the naked eye. No comprehensive subsurface survey using ground-penetrating radar has been published, and no controlled blind study of visitor symptoms has been conducted.
Sources
- [Phenomena of Hoia Baciu Forest] - Adrian Pătruț, Babeș-Bolyai University Press (2010)
- [The Ghost in the Machine: Infrasound and Fear] - Vic Tandy and Tony R. Lawrence, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, Vol. 62 (1998)
- [Transylvanian Review of Systematical and Ecological Research: The Hoia Baciu Forest Ecosystem] - Babeș-Bolyai University, Faculty of Biology and Geology (2008)
- [Romania's Haunted Forest: A History of Belief] - Liviu Chelcea, Romanian Journal of Sociology (2013)
- [Environmental Correlates of Anomalous Experience: EMF and Infrasound as Candidate Explanations] - Jason Braithwaite, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, Vol. 68 (2004)
- [The Nocebo Effect: A Comprehensive Review] - Winfried Häuser et al., Deutsches Ärzteblatt International (2012)
- [UFO Sightings in Romania During the Communist Era] - Ion Hobana and Julien Weverbergh, Romanian Cultural Foundation (1974)
- [Crooked Forest of Gryfino: Botanical and Historical Analysis] - Arkadiusz Prajsnar, Szczecin University Department of Forestry (2016)
- [Geological Map of the Transylvanian Basin: Miocene-Era Sedimentary Layers] - Romanian Geological Institute (2004)
- [Psychology of Haunted Environments] - Christopher French, Goldsmiths University of London, The Psychologist, Vol. 22 (2009)
