Two experiences stand out:

I rented an apartment in a semi-large city fairly close to downtown, nothing even remotely comparable to LA or NYC in city-size, but that's neither here nor there. While watching TV, I heard something running toward me and turned around -- nothing there. I felt the foot steps (2nd floor apartment -- only 2 floors, not a 3rd). I was with a, now ex-, girlfriend, sleeping in my bed. She woke me up to let me know there was something whistling in the corner of the pitch-black room, a human-like whistle, not mechanical, not a kettle, nothing of the sort. I brushed it off and went back to sleep. Alone a few days later, I felt something sit on the edge of my bed, like a human sitting on it, and kicked my foot in that direction and kicked what felt like someone's thigh. Problem is, she didn't have a key, I was the only there (no doubts), it's pitch-fucking black (dark curtains), and I was not about to reach for the string kinda close and within a reasonable distance to grab and turn the lights on. Problem is, the ceiling fan was on, but I had to grab that string to turn on the lights. Fuck. That. I laid motionless for hours under the covers, drawn up to my nose, until just enough sunlight came in for me to turn on that light without fear of being grabbed by something, whatever it was, that sat on my bed. I know I was the only one in there, that's what's fucked up about it.

Other times, while getting ready for work, the light switch in the bathroom would turn off. It was one of those old hefty click ones too, so not like it was a bad light switch. Just really hard to turn off accidentally. I felt foolish, but it all stopped when I went around the apartment yelling "You're not welcomed here! This is my place!" I don't believe in the paranormal, or accept it as a possibility, but the shit that happened in that apartment almost made a believer out of me. Sometimes the silverware drawers would be open with all the silverware dumped all over the floor, sometimes I'd find ALL of my plates in the living room, all of my glasses in the bathroom. I smoked pot, still do, but that's not an excuse, no one blacks out and does random shit, especially turning off the light switch while in the shower. That shit was unreal.

I went camping by myself at a very remote campsite -- by remote, I mean it's only accessible by canoe, and something like 10 miles from anything. Every little fear gets the best of you during times like this, but hearing noises out in the black was unnerving. I went primal. I made a spear, built the fire larger, stayed up all night, stood and danced around as if I went back to my early human roots. I heard boars, I heard branches breaking, I heard alligators grunting, and I'm almost positive I heard voices (I'm almost positive that was my mind playing tricks on me but I am not sure to this day) and big cats doing what they do. I will not go camping by myself again. They say you have to to understand yourself. I understand myself alright; I'm a big fucking chicken, I have maniacal episodes with fear of the unknown, and I am a piss-poor solo camper. You don't want me on your team in a survival situation. I'll be that weirdo screaming about crazy shit I think I hear.