I've told this one before, but here goes..
I got a promotion at work that necessitated a move to another city. One of my current colleagues had a flat in the new city that she could rent out to me. It was where my colleague ( let's call her Mo) had raised her family and one of her sons had continued to live in it for years but had been empty now for around a year. I readily accepted!
I met Mo a few weeks later in the new city to get the keys and get shown around. Her husband was also there that day. The flat was in a high rise / multi story block in a not brilliant area but hey beggars can't be choosers! I was looking out the living room window and Mo's husband sidled up to me and said "don't jump" I laughed it off, but he unnerved me. Mo could see something had been said between us and shushed her husband and moved me away from him.
The next few months were busy, getting used to my new job, making new friends etc. My new workplace was very sociable and I never had any reason to feel lonely, except when I went back to the flat.
I hated the flat. I felt like a ton of weight had been put on my shoulders whenever I entered. It was cold, it was depressing, I struggled to get to sleep and when I did, I would wake frequently through the night. I started to travel back to my home city most weekends to escape it. Back home I would instantly feel back to my normal self. After an extended break at home over Christmas my impending move back to the flat had me in tears and I knew I couldn't stay there.
It was crazy, I loved my new job and workplace but here I was willing to give it all up rather than live in that flat. My logic was telling me that maybe I was just lonely living alone but my senses were telling me to run for the hills.
I never did spend another night in that flat but I had to pack up my belongings so I got the train back on a Saturday morning and my dad was coming over later with a small van to get my stuff. I spent the morning packing (the flat was furnished so I didn't have a lot, clothes, bedding, kitchen ware etc), I moved all my stuff into the communal hall to wait for my dad.
I did a final clean and hoover around and sat down, still inside the flat, with my back against the front door. From the front door there was a long corridor with two bedrooms to the right hand side, the bathroom to the left and the living room door directly ahead. I left all the doors open to air the place but had made sure all windows were shut. As I was sat against the front door, the living room door suddenly SLAMMED shut with an almighty BANG! I was frozen in fear for what seemed like minutes but was likely only seconds. I hot footed it out of there and ran the 15 flights down the stairs to wait for my dad. I couldn't even step a foot in the block again and my dad, when he arrived had to move my things single handed.
I later discovered that one of Mo's adult sons (not the one who had been living there prior to me, this was going back 10 or so years) had thrown himself out of the window. Mo had moved out prior to her son's suicide when she met her now husband (the one who gad told me not to jump). I also learned that at the time I met him he was in the early stages of dementia, which would explain why he said something so inappropriate to me (especially given the circumstances!).
Apart from that door slam I honestly never saw or experienced anything else in that flat but never will I forget the air of depression and sorrow that permeated the walls. Still makes me shudder now.