People like to tell scary stories about the forest near where I live. In particular, an abandoned mine, which was finally shut down in 1945, is at the center of all paranormal events: it is said to be haunted.
Walkers and curious onlookers claim to have heard women screaming in the forest, and that a man rises from the abandoned mine and wanders through the woods. Shadowy figures, children’s handprints on foggy car windows, and hanged men who are said to have been seen on a tree that was felled some time ago. Joggers are also said to have disappeared, and young people are even said to have lost their lives.
The pit is therefore a popular destination for thrill-seeking people and teenagers. Anyone who wants to get spooked or make a name for themselves in the area goes to the forest or the pit at night.
I didn’t know anything about these stories, urban legends, or myths when I took my daily walks in the forest.
However, my first experience in the forest was a negative one: I immediately had the feeling that a crime had been committed here, that someone had been murdered, and the longer I stayed, the stronger this feeling became. It was oppressive and made me nervous. With this negative feeling came a certainty: not only had something terrible happened here, but I also had the impression that this person had been buried in the forest.
It was a strange and intense feeling—especially since it was my first time in the forest and I had actually intended to take my children to the nearby playground. It was almost unbearable for me, so I just wanted to get home as quickly as possible. It was simply not a good place to take children to play.
My need to revisit this place was satisfied, which is why I didn’t set foot in the forest again for a long time.
But at some point, my usual walk with my dog on the dirt road became too crowded, so I turned back to the forest. Hardly anyone was out and about here, and you could really enjoy the peace and quiet. However, on a hot summer’s day as I was walking through the forest in the morning, the intense perception of the place became torture. I had the distinct feeling of being watched. I didn’t know anything about the scary stories yet, so due to the intensity of my perception, I assumed that we (my dog and I) were actually being watched. The forest runs along hilly paths, and I was firmly convinced that there was a hunter or forester standing at the end of a path watching us. Their gaze seemed to pierce right through us, and the situation, combined with the rising heat and the constant buzzing of flies around us, was pure torture. My growing irritation didn’t help, and even my dog became nervous at some point. I really didn’t feel like staying any longer and went home as quickly as possible – another unpleasant experience in this forest.
In this case, too, I took a week-long break from walks in the forest. But at some point, I tried again with our dog, and lo and behold: this time it worked. No watching, no anxiety, no negative atmosphere.
At least, that’s what I thought. But I didn’t know at the time that someone had followed us home that day.
It started the following night: I woke up to the sound of a child crying. At first, it sounded like a small child crying outside on the street. But I knew that if that were the case, I wouldn’t be able to hear it crying so loudly. It was further away and yet close. It wasn’t possible, and yet it didn’t stop. The crying became more present and I had to concentrate to make it stop. I was already aware that I couldn’t have heard a “real” child here. I fell asleep again.
On the second night, I woke up again to the sound of a child crying. This time it was obviously in our bedroom. At first, I was just irritated and checked to see if one of my children was crying or breathing heavily in their sleep. But they were both sleeping peacefully and the sounds did not match the steady movements of their chests. But there was another child in the room. I couldn’t see anything, but I was absolutely sure of it. The crying stopped. I fell asleep again.
On the third night, I woke up again to the sound of a child crying. This time it was in the room next door, my younger daughter’s room. I heard her crying and breathing heavily. Of course, I knew that this couldn’t be “real” either. I checked again to see if one of my children was crying in their sleep, but they were calm. The crying stopped and I fell back asleep.
After this third night, it was clear to me that this couldn’t be a coincidence. It was children visiting me. But at first, I couldn’t make sense of it, except that it irritated me greatly. After all, children who die go into the light. They are picked up and taken to the other side. Right? So why would they be here?
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