My grandmother lived in the same house from the birth of her first child to her death in 1999. After she passed, the house was willed to me, but I gave my aunt controlling power over it while I was in boot camp.
Fast forward to 2003, newly engaged me moves home to find out my lazy aunt had rented the house out to deadbeats that didn't pay and destroyed the place. I evicted the tenants, cleaned out the mess and decided it would be a good starter home for the future wife and I.
My fiance had never met my grandmother, never saw a picture of her, pretty much only knew that she passed away in this house, but other than that had no idea what she looked or sounded like.
Moving in day went surprisingly without a hitch. We were just grabbing the last of the stuff out of the truck when I told her to sit down on the couch and relax while my buddy and I brought in the TV. She said she'd call and order a pizza while she waited. My buddy and I took more time than I'd care to admit to get the TV up the stairs, but finally after about 20 minutes we come through the living room door to see her white as a sheet and shaking like a leaf.
I run over to her and immediately asked what was wrong, and she can barely speak. I tell my buddy to sit with her for a second just so I can look around, thinking maybe someone maybe tried to break in thru the back door or something. After a minute or two she calms down enough to tell me what happened. She was putting books on a recessed shelf where my grandmother used to keep these awful, horrifying clown statuettes, when she started smelling cigarette smoke. Neither of us smoked, but my grandmother did. She turned her head towards the kitchen and saw an old woman sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a mu-mu/nightgown and a babushka (bandana for the non Pollacks) puffing away on her cigarette. She said she looked away and looked back and now she was standing right next to her and said "WHERE ARE MY CLOWNS?" in a very nasty, almost evil tone.
The fiance never knew any of these details about my grandmother. After explaining to her about gram, and then showing her a picture she confirmed it was her. We unloaded the last box from the truck and spent that night at a friend's house.
At this point, I fall into the "idiot from the horror movie that should've just left", but financially it was our only option for a little while to stay there. The gf needed heavy doses of medication to sleep, and while I was uneasy some nights I'd never had anything happen in the house. She said that she didn't see her anymore after this, but the cigarette smell would come back from time to time, and she'd just grab the dog and go for a walk.
After a month or two, there really wasn't much going on. Occasionally something was out of place when we woke up or came home, but that was about it. The gf still hated the place but we decided if the weird shit had stopped, there was no point in leaving.
Fast forward about 6 months, and I'm mid way thru some minor renovations. After a long day of taking down awesome turn of the century lathe and plaster, I decided it was enough, called it a day, grabbed a beer and went out to the porch. Gf was at work, so the dog and I were just enjoying the relaxing silence. After about ten minutes sitting on the porch, I started getting the weird feeling that someone was watching me. I turn around and look at the house and see that the living room light was on. I know it couldn't have been left on, because I unplugged everything in there while working.
I really didn't want to go in the house at this point. I'm a big guy and I'm always the first one to jump in and stop a fight or deal with a dangerous situation, but admittedly, I turn into a little girl when it comes to unexplainable creepy stuff. So naturally I send the dog in ahead of me, and he starts barking the second he gets to the top of the stairs. I walk up behind him cautiously, and there's the cigarette smell again.. peek my head in to see the lamp plugged in, but no other lights are on. The dog is growling with the hair on his back standing straight up at this point. I've literally had at least three or 4 drops of pee come out. I reach over the wall to turn on the ceiling light, flip it on, and see everything from the bookshelf on the floor, and a fucking ceramic clown statuette sitting there.
That was it. Grabbed the dog, my keys and got the fuck out. Called a realtor the next day, put it up for sale, and paid a moving company to get our shit. Went back a couple times with them to help box stuff up, but was never in the house with less than 3 people again. One of the movers asked me if we'd had anything in the attic that we needed packed, and I said I didn't think so, but I'd take a walk thru with them just to be sure. Wasn't much up there, but we found one box shoved in a corner behind the chimney. Opened the top and inside was my grandmother's entire clown collection. Closed the box and walked right out. Told the mover leave that shit right where it was.
The house ended up selling in a few months because I didn't ask much since it was half gutted/half renovated and I didn't owe anything on it. The new owner was supposedly going to turn it into a 2 family rental unit, but within a year of them taking possession, it burned to the ground. There was never an official explanation other than "possible electrical issues" which didn't make sense because they never turned the power on there.
TL;DR- inherited grandma's house after she died. Grandma never left.