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One of the more unusual “death omen” stories appeared in the “Sentinel and Democrat,” April 10, 1844:

Mr. Ponting, a tailor, now residing in Bedfordbury, leading from New street to Chandos street, Covent garden, was in the autumn of the year 1819, accompanied by Mrs. Ponting, at Turnham green, when they called on a friend of the name of Smith, who still resides there. They walked into the garden attached to the house, and their attention was fixed on an apple tree which carried a good show of fruit. Mrs. Ponting was in a thriving way, and, from fatigue or some other cause, was induced to lean against the tree which she and her husband had been looking at., Whether she fell against it, or otherwise shook it with violence. we are not informed, but the tree was shaken, and all the fruit, with the exception of a single apple, was the next moment strewed on the ground. 

Though vexed at the accident, Mr. and Mrs. Ponting attached no vast importance to it, nor did their friends at the moment, but in the course of the day Mrs. Smith took an opportunity of communicating with Mr. Ponting on the subject. The lady spoke to this effect that she was much disturbed at what had happened, and it was her fear that the accident was nothing less than an omen of death. Her impression, which she could not get rid of, was that Mrs. Ponting would not get well through her expected confinement.

From one apple being left on the tree uninjured, she concluded that the child would live, but the mother she mournfully predicted would not recover. A few months set the question at rest. Mrs. Ponting gave birth to an infant and died: the child lived to grow up. But this is not all.

Our informant goes on to add that the tree, though up to that period it had in most years brought a good crop, since the year 1819 has never in any season borne more than a single apple. The tree, which was named “Elizabeth," after the lady whose early departure it was supposed to shadow forth, is still standing, and may be seen by the curious.

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Everyone loves a good death omen account (unless you’re the unfortunate one to see it, of course,) and this is something of a doozy.  The “Moncton Transcript,” August 20, 1896:

WILKESBARRE, Aug. 20.--Robert Montgomery, of Wanamie, near here, died today under very peculiar circumstances, and evidently from fright or a belief that he had been warned of his approaching death by a wraith, and that he had a premonition that he could not live.

For years Montgomery has been employed as pump runner in No. 18 colliery of the Lehigh and Wilkesbarre Coal Company at Wanamie. He was a brave soldier in the late war, and was not easily frightened. Two weeks ago he said that while he was attending to his work he heard a peculiar noise in the mine. He paid no attention to it at the time.

A few moments later a peculiar feeling came over him as though there was an awful draught circulating through the mine and he became chilly. He looked up from his work, as he had just started to oil the machinery, at the repetition of the strange noise. He claimed he felt as though there was some one else about besides himself. He could not see any one, and strained his eyes far into the dark recess. Then he beheld a white object about the size of a man.

It moved about as though floating in the air and kept a certain distance from him. He spoke to the strange apparition several times, but not a sound came from it, and it soon disappeared from view, keeping its face toward him all the time. Montgomery at once made a search, but failed to find anyone lurking or hiding about, and he was in a quandary to the matter. He was very much affected, and told his friends he regarded the wraith as an omen of death. He at once gave up his position and, a couple of days later, took to his bed although he had no specific sickness which the doctors could discover.

He continued to talk of the wraith and said it was of no avail to take medicine or care for himself, that he was doomed, and might as well reconcile himself to death. Some of his friends tried to dispel his thoughts about death, by saying it was a man sent in by the company to see if he performed his duty. But the deceased would never believe anything else but that it was the omen of death, and grew gradually weaker until the death he had looked for came early this morning.

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There are a whole lot of “death omens” out there, but this is one of the odder examples.  The “Harrisburg Telegraph,” August 11, 1909:

The fulfillment of a premonition expressed one week ago while on a visit to friends in Bendersville, Adams county, that death was not far distant, occurred this morning when the body of Mrs. Howard McGrail, of 1337 North Second street, was taken back to that place for burial.

Mrs. McGrail returned home Friday from the visit to her old home and died early Sunday morning. Interment took place in the Bendersville cemetery at 10:30 this morning. 

Mrs. McGrail returned home strongly impressed with the belief that she would not live long. Mr. McGrail, who is sexton of the Bethlehem Lutheran church, has a large phonograph and on Saturday evening took it into the rear yard of his home and began running off several new records which neighbors had given him. 

During the playing his wife came out to listen while the instrument played her favorite hymn, "Holy, Holy, Holy." At its conclusion she requested her husband to repeat it. As he was about to accede to her request the record suddenly broke in two in his hands. He was startled, as the record was perfectly new. but in order not to alarm her he said: "O, no, I'll try something else. I never did like that myself," and going over to the cabinet he selected a little catchy song that had always been one of her favorites. He carried this one over to the machine and was about to put it on when that record also crumbled In his hands. 

Mr. McGrail was visibly startled, and. having a feeling that something was wrong, turned around to put the machine away when his wife gave a little scream and he saw that she was ill. Simultaneously with the breaking of the second record she had suffered a paralytic stroke. 

She was helped into the house and while her little 6-year-old daughter Beryl looked after her while medical aid was summoned, but the breaking of the records had been death's token. She died several hours afterward. 

Neither of the records had ever been used and no reason could be given for the breaking, as they were not cracked. Mr. McGrail said he felt the moment the second of his wife's favorite records had broke that something was to befall her.

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There are a few stories out there about clocks or watches that serve as omens of death.  This typical example was reported in the “Sioux City Journal,” November 25, 1884:

Washington D.C., Nov, 24.--Lieut. Greely since his return relates a number of curious incidents connected with the expedition during his two years residence in Arctic regions. The most singular one of all is that told to him by Mrs. DeLong, a few weeks since, which she vouched for as being true in every respect, According to her narrative, when Commander DeLong started on his cruise toward the north pole he gave to his wife to keep for him a valuable and highly prized watch. He also left with her a small nickel plated clock. He enjoined her to keep the watch wound up, adding jestingly that it was something difficult for a woman to do for two years.  She continued to perform the duty most carefully, but one day the watch suddenly stopped as also did the clock, and both on the same hour and minute.  Examination of the watch by a jeweler showed a broken main spring, but the clock was without injury. Nothing was thought of the occurrence at the time, though the anxiety of Mrs. DeLong had caused her to make a note in her diary of all the facts. The affair was almost forgotten as a trivial circumstance until the wife received the journal of her dead husband, in which he had noted on a certain date that his watch and the ship's chronometer had stopped; both at the same time, and by a comparison of days and circumstance, it was found that all of DeLong's timepieces, those in the Arctic as well as those at home, had been in perfect sympathy.  All had ceased to tick on the same day, at the same hour, and the same minute.

[Note:  Information about DeLong and his doomed expedition can be found here.]