Lawrence stood in the moonlight, waiting for his agent to appear. She was very late, it was almost after midnight.
Finally she bustled up, sweat glistening in the blue light. "Sorry, one of my other clients was dithering a bit. Shall we go in?" she asked.
Lawrence took a good look at the house as they walked up the sidewalk and through the front door. It was a neat little house, a bit shabby around the edges but the sort that accumulates from use, not neglect. Always a good sign. He noticed a row of window wells.
"It's got a basement?" he asked his agent.
"Yes, and a nice, spacious attic."
"And you can see that it has a lovely kitchen and dining room. Look at that chandelier."
"It's very nice," Lawrence asked. "What's the furnace like?"
"It's quite old, very old. Converted from coal-fired and the large ironworks were never removed," his agent said.
"Very good. I like the old stuff. Classes up a place, not like new construction, it's all so bland. And the crawlspaces?"
"What's the family like?"
"The mother's a die-hard atheist, the father's an ex-businessman who sold a bunch of stock options and is now a born-again hippie. The children are a nice bunch. Rowdy but kind-hearted."
"Why'd the previous occupants leave?"
"One of his relatives was in the hospital and he wanted to be with her."
"Everything looks great," Lawrence the ghost said, "can I started haunting it tonight? I'd love to get a fresh coat of blood on the walls before sunrise."
"Absolutely," said his agent, pulling out a sheet of otherworldly sigils and runes. "Just put your Mark of Haunting here and I'll turn it into the records office tomorrow night."
"Thanks!" Lawrence said.
The Moral: it's not a haunted house, it's a haunted home.