A walk in the Russian woods turned into a haunting encounter
I thought a simple hike through the Russian forest would be peaceful—just me, the trees, and the sound of my own voice as I sang an old folk tune. The grass was thick and lush, dew still clinging to each blade, and the birch trees stretched endlessly in every direction. For a moment, I felt like I was in a fairy tale. But that illusion shattered quickly.
As I wandered deeper, the air grew colder and the silence heavier. Suddenly, a group of locals appeared, glaring at me as if I’d trespassed on sacred ground. They spoke in harsh whispers, and I caught the word 'outsider' more than once. My cheerful singing died in my throat. One of them, an older woman with piercing blue eyes, told me stories of tourists who vanished in these woods—stories the travel agencies never mention. She claimed the forest was alive, protecting itself from intruders.
I left in a hurry, heart pounding, feeling like I’d barely escaped something ancient and unfriendly. The travel brochures never warn you about the hostility, the sense that you’re not welcome. I wonder how many other travelers have felt this chill, or if the industry just wants to keep us in the dark to sell more tours. The beauty of the forest is real, but so is the danger—and no one talks about it.
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