The church where Florence Nightingale is buried - the name of which I cannot, for the life of me now, remember. We visited on the way back from my daughter's 3-generation-family 18th birthday meal (my parents and I share a love of old churches). The first surprise was the fact that there are medieval wall paintings inside the church (rare in our part of the UK), but as my then 10-year-old son and I were marvelling at the different images shown on the walls of the church, my daughter was standing by the door of the church, rubbing her arms as though freezing (it was a hot summer's day, so we were all in tee-shirts and bare-armed). My parents were still outside at this point looking at yew trees (... don't ask).
As we were leaving the church to go and locate my parents to tell them about the wall paintings, my daughter allowed my son and myself to go through the door (old, heavy, thick wood... probably 18th century) before her. As she walked through it, I turned to say something to her and saw a petrified expression upon her face, as the door literally slammed, pushing her out of the church and into its porch. She swears, to this day (she's 24 now), that she felt a hand in the middle of her back shoving her out of the church itself. The church was now completely empty. She fled the church and its yard and waited in the car for the rest of us.
My mother went inside the church maybe 5 minutes later, though, and whilst we'd all found it a bit heavily aired inside, she said how beautifully cool and airy it was. She also wasn't shoved outside with the door being slammed behind her, though...
Then there was Hever Castle where over several consecutive years both my daughter and I've felt as though we've walked smack bang into a wall - where there isn't one (but there was a few hundred years ago).
And Tintagel, where we holidayed when my daughter was 5 or 6. She and I were going to walk the dog from the church, along the cliff's walking trail, to the monastery/castle, where we were going to meet up with my parents and my grandmother. Unfortunately, my father had "a vision" of us all falling/jumping to our deaths (including the dog) and kicked off. Whilst we did manage the cliff path, it was in tears and involved another family very worriedly getting involved, as my father had grabbed my (small for her age) daughter up and was marching off with her, with the dog snarling and going for him, and me yelling for him to give her back. My father's normally very docile and doesn't behave like that in the slightest, so I have no clue - other than his "vision" - as to why he behaved like an absolute idiot that day. My daughter was so frightened she wet herself, too - and whilst I had a change of clothes for her... he had to wear the shirt she'd pissed on for the rest of the day, with no one else talking to him. He was very lucky that the other family didn't call the police, actually. Anyway, still haven't been "inside" Tintagel. We met my mother and grandmother at the entrance, got yelled at for "not obeying" my father (I was 26 at this point), for "not stopping" the dog from biting him (the dog was my mother's), and for "causing a scene" (he was the one who caused it by randomly grabbing my daughter from behind) and for "ruining the day out". My father's only excuse was that as we strolled off to find the cliff-path, he just had this overwhelming sense of dread and "a vision".