I never thought a peaceful solo hike could turn into the most unsettling experience of my life. But this mysterious forest encounter still replays in my mind, and no amount of logic can fully explain what happened.

It was last October. I had taken a few days off to get away from the noise of my city life, so I booked a quiet Airbnb cabin near a forest preserve about three hours from home. I had gone hiking many times before, and I loved doing it alone — something meditative about being surrounded by trees, just the sound of birds and wind.

The first two days were uneventful. Calm. Healing. On the third morning, I decided to take a new trail I hadn’t explored yet. It wasn’t on the official map, but I noticed a worn path leading off the main route, marked by a ribbon tied to a branch. Curious, I followed it.

About fifteen minutes in, I began to feel… off. Not afraid exactly, but aware — like I was being watched. I brushed it off as nerves. The forest was dense, and I hadn’t seen another soul all morning.

Then I heard it. A soft, low humming. Not mechanical, not musical — it was like someone trying to hum a lullaby, but slightly out of tune. I stopped walking, expecting to see someone up ahead. Nothing. Just trees and silence. But the humming continued, and it sounded… close.

I turned around to go back. That’s when I noticed something strange.

The ribbon I had followed? Gone.

There was no path, no marker, no sign of the trail I’d just walked. Every direction looked the same.

I panicked a little, but told myself to stay calm. I had my phone. Except — no signal. Of course.

I started walking back in what I thought was the right direction. After a few minutes, I found something that didn’t belong. A small wooden chair, placed randomly in the middle of a clearing. And on the chair… was a children’s shoe. Old. Worn. Muddy.

There were no footprints. No houses nearby. And no reason at all for that chair to be there.

The humming started again.

This time, it was louder. Closer. It was definitely coming from the direction I had just walked. I didn’t wait. I ran — no idea where I was going, just… away.

Eventually I stumbled back onto the main trail. I recognized a marker and nearly cried from relief.

I never told anyone about what happened. I don’t even know how to explain it. No one would believe me anyway.

I’ve searched online for stories about that forest. Found nothing.

But sometimes, at night, when I’m trying to fall asleep, I remember that humming.
And the chair.
And the single muddy shoe.