I lived in a haunted house once. The best way I can describe it is that it was like having bugs, or some other nuisance - you learned to live with it, thought about getting in pest control, then didn't bother.
The only scary presence was in the living room, where one of my great great uncles had hanged himself (game is hung, men are hanged). I never liked being there alone.
Our house was really three - we had a little shop and a small house behind it, but my forebears had expanded by buying the blacksmith's yard next door and the cafe behind, then turning them both into bedrooms and living space. You had to take a step down to go into the kitchen downstairs or the bathroom upstairs, because that had been the cafe once upon a time.
So ghosts were the least of it.