Hunted in Appalachia
I'm from small-town Appalachia and my grandpa lived out in the relative boonies. I was home from college once in mid autumn and went down to visit him. Ended up staying a while and it was dark by the time I was going to take off and head back to Mom's house. He walked me to the back door that had a little 8x10 or so porch off of it and a set of stairs straight down to a concrete stoop with a single-bulb outside light fixture that threw just enough light to see by. The driveway was probably 15 yards away and since I had parked behind his car it was maybe a total of 20 yards to my jeep, 15 more beyond that to the woods.
As soon as I hit the bottom step and took about two steps forward something stopped me cold. It was almost a physical sensation. Hair on my arms stood up, breathing went shallow, heart rate up, and my feet were just saying 'fuck no we are NOT going forward.' Being a born and raised hillbilly the first thing I did was draw my concealed handgun and point it at the driveway/woods beyond as I slid back toward the porch. I took a look behind me and grandpa had stepped out on the porch with his by-the-door shotgun pointed in the same general direction. I backed up the steps and he covered me until I got to the door and we shut and bolted it. I called ma and said I was just gonna stay the night since it was late already.
We sat up for hours trying to figure out what had tripped both of our ohshit meters at the same time but could never come up with a satisfactory answer. Neither of us consciously saw or heard anything out of the ordinary and neither are the type to get easily freaked out; he was a WWII Marine who fought all over the Pacific and I'd been hunting and camping with him since I could walk. He said the only other time he'd had that feeling was during the war on Iwo Jima before either a late night banzai charge or just before a sniper up in a palm tree took a shot.