[Error: unknown template qotd]I'm not afraid of the dark. The dark is afraid of me.
...Okay no. Sorry. (I couldn't resist.)
As far as it goes, most places that make me feel nervous are specific ones: none of the general places cited bother me, although dark basements do if I've only been down once (or not at all).
There is one place that really bothers me.
There's a deserted junkyard at the end of my street, in which is a wreck of what used to be a house. I'd never been into this junkyard until yesterday, because there's a padlocked chain-link gate.
However, there's also a wooden fence surrounding it, with-- I discovered yesterday-- a hole in it.
There was a lost-dog poster in a couple of places on the street, and I saw the dog, and I followed her to the junkyard. I spotted the hole in the fence and went in.
Now this place is huge, which you'd never know from outside. It's open but for an abandoned smallish warehouse in the middle, the shack at the edge of the lot (complete with tiny overgrown yard), a CAT machine of some sort (didn't look too close), and some giant dirt and gravel piles. I walk in, by the overgrown weeds at the gate and around the lot, past the burnt-looking warehouse, and I look down to see what I'm walking on. For the most part, it's chunky gravel, but half the lot is covered in this odorless, nasty-looking liquid. It looked like motor oil mixed with beer and something else I wasn't sure I wanted to place. I looked up momentarily, and something swished by my face, maybe a bold bird of some sort. The dog was staring at me from across the lot, so I called to her (Lola). She bolted. I knew I wouldn't catch up just yet, so I continued on. Past this building are two mountainous piles of dirt, gravel and rocks. They seem almost to portion off a section of the lot, along with the CAT machine beside them. I walk around the building and see the shack again, and an old truck. It looks like a haunted house. Each and every window is shattered, and the shingles are flaking and falling off. The dog was there again, lurking behind a set of broken-down front steps. I called to her (in Spanish this time) and she paused, about to run. I took another step closer-- still being several yards away-- and she bolted again.
I decided it wasn't worth it and crept back out of that hole in the fence.