Just because something is supernatural doesn't mean it won't follow a learnable set of rules. It just means the "why" of those rules isn't bound to make logical sense. -- RecklessPrudence
It was an old house. Of course it came with a ghost. It had been a farm in the ancient days of yore, before urbanisation subdivided the land again and yet again, and it became the last house along a new street that had once been its driveway, and, simultaneously, the oldest house on the street. The buildings around it were only slightly older than the sixties, and were all squat, blocky bricks compared to this ancient Gothic heap.
It was also, according to the kids of the neighbourhood, cursed. Joaquin paid curses no mind. His Abuela had taught him how to remove curses from old houses, and he had a box full of saint's candles for just such an emergency. The house came furnished and, as it became evident on his entry, supplied with an abundance of hoarded objects. He would have to call his landlord about those. Soon. There was barely enough room to move his stuff inside.
The ghost greeted him with, "Vous etes n'est pas Maman. Ou est Maman?"