In daylight, Elfie's new house, 'The Bargain', didn't look haunted.

Half of a modern cubic duplex, it had a living room with an open kitchen at the ground floor, and a bedroom plus a bath at the top one. Economical, inlined in a neighborhood of similarly shaped houses.

Cheap, made cheaper by the ghost stories. Out of all identical white boxes, Clover Lane 34 had a reputation that went years back, despite the entire area being newly added to the city.

A suburbia for the poor, Tree Houses prided itself on being affordable, comfortable, City life in a suburban setting, said their sales pitch. Out of Elfie's price range -- except for one single house.

Shrieks in the night, objects falling... "The entire package," the former owners said, happy to get back as much as they'd paid. They'd also been warned and didn't believe it, they'd said to Elfie, clearly not risking their conscience over money. Whatever it was, it had scared a penitentiary guard and his husband who was a surgeon. Not the types to run out of the house naked, as they'd warned her she'd end up doing, too. Ominous, but not really scary.

What they didn't know about Elfie was that she didn't give a shit. Dragons could've made a nest there and she'd just ignore them. Her one question when everyone -- including the real estate agent, probably afraid of an insanity lawsuit -- tried to reason against her spending all her money on a house she might never be able to sell, was:

"Did anyone see any people?"

"What?!" Bart the surgeon asked, five pairs of eyes moving from the sale contract to her face to join him in judging her.

"The ghosts," Elfie had to explain, bored. "Were they... people, like, talking and shit?"

"No... it was just objects... falling... doors opening... lights... flickering... A face in the mirror!" the big man shivered.

"Then I'll be fine," Elfie took the pen, spreading Elvira Dia over the signature box outlines, her wide and ugly handwriting making her a homeowner at last.

All she wanted was a place to crawl in, to drink her settlement money. Away from everyone.

Her first night in her new home started excellently: smelling of sawdust and cheap paint. The walls were two shades of white, probably each painter shift had its own vision. Elfie didn't care, and the workers who were tasked to handle her welcome were clearly relieved they didn't have to pretend they cared, either.

As a result, Elfie's old furniture -- gathered while renting over the years -- clashed with unfinished corners and exposed pipes. Her different sized bean bag collection, opposing colors. Her furry pink couch.

Her living room had a way of looking like a warehouse, wherever she lived.

So when the first book fell from a bookshelf, she wasn't really concerned. It was a disorganized mess of books she'd never read again, she didn't have the focus for them anymore. It was her only regret, made better by the internet. So one book could fall on its own.

The second, not likely.

Third, and Elfie knew someone wanted her out. But why?

Too annoyed to investigate further, she just took another swipe of vodka straight from the bottle. Why wash glasses when she could just not use them?

The TV was on, showing the lowest budget sci-fi movie ever, The Leaf. About time travel and other nonsense. And a romance. Because everything had to have love sprinkled on it, to sell. Ugh.

The alcohol gulping proved to be inefficient in demonstrating her lack of interest in whatever was haunting her -- now a door slammed against the wall. The noise scared Elfie, but the rage that followed made her brave.

"Whoever you are or whatever you are, I can't sssstress this enough," she paused, realizing she was slurring her words, "I'm not going anywhere. Maybe you're just someone who wants the house cheaper... or some dude with a fetish... or some ghost who can't go to heaven. I don't give a flying shit. I live here now and I'm staying!"

She hit the wall behind the couch she laid on with the bottom of the bottle, it echoed empty from the inside. Carton walls, the best. She screamed louder:

"You can burn this house down -- I'm just gonna put a mattress over its ashes and sleep on it!"

No one answered, of course, and Elfie looked at the label of the bottle and saw how lower the transparent liquid inside it was, compared to when the night had started.

"I can't believe you're gonna make me talk," a man's voice interrupted her.