My paternal grandmother's house was downright evil. The previous occupant was some bitter old woman that passed away in the master bedroom, but I don't think that would account for all of the strange things that happened there. While she was traveling, Dad stopped by to check on the house while he was on patrol one day. He never said what exactly it was that he saw, but it was enough to send a fully armed police officer screaming out of the house.
After her husband passed, I moved in to help take care of Marie in her waning years. The bedroom I first occupied creeped me out, so I moved to the smaller one at the front of the house. It didn't matter which bedroom I occupied, the one that I was in was always colder than the rest of the house. With the AC not working, that was highly disconcerting. The first bedroom always felt like there was a creature in the corner watching me, but I'd never actually see anything there. I didn't always feel watched in the second bedroom, but the appearance of a particularly strange swirl in the wood paneling of the bedroom door scared the everliving shit out of a lot of people, to include my parents.
When her Alzheimer's reached the point that the level of care was more than I could provide, we were more than happy to see her stepsons take the house back over after moving her to a facility. Let them deal with the bad juju that came with that place.