When I bought the place I'm sitting in (home/office on Route 1 in Maine), right after closing, the seller said, "Now you get to deal with the ghost." However, I have yet to meet "the ghost" after 11-12 years here.
Also bought an old cape about 20 miles inland a few years backbuilt in 1790, attached barnand same deal: come to find out (after closing) it was home to a ghost named Lydia who hung out in the cellar. Supposedly. Because I never met Lydia, though I went looking for her.
A friend up here, meanwhile, used to own an 1800s sea captain's house near the harbor of a neighboring town. Whenever he'd have guests with children staying there, a woman would appear on the stairs at night carrying a tray of milk and cookies?a plump black woman wearing 19th-century nanny attire. Very friendly, would smile and greet late-to-bed guests, who assumed she was part of an elaborate prank or something. But no prank. She would only appear if kids were around.
My dear ol' mom died three years ago in Austin. On her deathbed, she'd see interesting people none of the rest of us could see. E.g., she saw a little boy sitting in the corner of the room (not uncommon, from what I hear). Another time she saw a tall old gray-haired guy with a mustache standing at the foot of her bed. He even told her his name: "Fernie." Weird name, Ma. "He says it's short for 'Ferdinand.'" Well, when my sister heard this story soon after, her eyes got wideseems down the block from her, on the other side of town, lived a tall old gray-haired man with a mustache named Ferdinand who went by "Fernie." She was sure she'd never mentioned him to our folks. Thing is, he'd died a couple months before.