I finally bought my dream house, a charming colonial at an unbeatable price. But something felt off, especially the locked basement door. My real estate agent brushed it off, but unease lingered. The first night, I heard eerie giggles and called the police. They found nothing, but a former owner, Margaret, later called, hinting at the house’s haunted history and offering to buy it back. I refused.

Determined to uncover the truth, I discovered scuff marks near a vent in the basement. That night, mist crept from under the door, and I called the police again. Margaret showed up, acting suspicious. A camera I’d set up revealed her planting a speaker and fog machine to fake hauntings, hoping to scare me into selling. The police arrested her, and I stood in my doorway, relieved but shaken. This was my home, and I wasn’t giving up without a fight.