My former mother-in-law was from Blackpool (England England) and had many family members in that part of the world. When my ex-husband and I went to Britain for a three-week visit (this was, of course, before I killed him), one of the places we stopped was Chingle Hall, on the grounds of which a really delightful dog show was going on.
Mind you, I don't have a psychic bone in my body. I've been in plenty of cemeteries, even on Halloween, and have lived in old houses. But as I toured this 13th-century cruciform structure, I distinctly sensed . . . something. Unsettled presences, I guess. The feeling was strong and tenacious, although not particularly distressing. We'd already, by this point, spent a couple of weeks doing touristy things in London and Bath, the Cotswolds and Lake District and Yorkshire, but no place, not even the Tower, had affected me the way Chingle Hall affected me.
Eerie building, that. Click on the post title to read more about its history.
Some years later, when I was on Husband #2, I lived just north of Sturgeon Bay on Wisconsin's Door peninsula. Behind our home, down a dirt access road, lay an abandoned 40-acre cherry and apple orchard, all its structures somewhat decrepit but still standing. I had no problem poking around the outbuildings. But as soon as I entered the house, I wanted very much to leave.
I knew nothing about the orchard's history, and there was nothing foreboding about the look of the residence. It was just a weathered clapboard farmhouse. Still, its atmosphere, even on a sunny summer day, was heavily oppressive -- so much so that I had to get out of there. Whenever I mentioned my reaction to other locals familiar with the property, they knew immediately what I meant. A chill between the shoulder blades, hair standing up at the back of the neck, an urgent desire to flee. It was worse than a reaction to a run-of-the-mill creepy place; it was more like a reaction to an evil place.
I haven't had any experiences like these in a while. What about you?