A little spooky, a little lame

So, I'm starting to think my house is haunted. Which, you know, kind of sucks.
It's not that I have anything against ghosts — or spiritual-Americans, as I think they like to be called. I just wish they'd stop messing with my stuff.
They haven't done anything particularly spooky yet. They don't seem particularly dangerous. They're more the kind of ghosts that do things just to mess with you a little. Less Poltergeist, more Ghostbusters.
They're the prank callers of the spirit world.
Take my refrigerator. Since I moved in last December it's occasionally made odd ticking noises. For weeks I thought people were knocking on my door every time it acted up. At first I figured the noises were the result of the refrigerator's internal mechanics going haywire. I don't know the technical term. Cooling coil ping, or something. Now, though, I'm pretty sure I'm experiencing the intervention of supernatural forces.
A less open-minded observer might point out that the refrigerator itself appears to be relatively new and installed not long before I bought the house. Those people have no imagination. I suspect there was a tragic game of hide and seek in the Frigidaire factory and now I'm stuck with a cursed refrigerator from which the ghost of some long-forgotten assembly line worker is forever trying to escape. Desperate for revenge on a co-worker who really needs to work on his seeking.
The refrigerator spirit by itself might not have been enough to convince me if there hadn't been other signs. Like, a few months ago when I found my basement in disarray. There was soot on the floor from a chimney that, so far as I can tell, no longer connects to anything that requires venting. The tops of my washer and dryer were filthy. A bottle of laundry detergent had been knocked off its shelf. Most of the liquid had leaked out through a pin-prick hole. At first I figured some kind of critter had gotten loose down there. Now I know better. More appliances, more obnoxious ghosts.
The last haunting took place over the weekend. I was downstairs brushing my teeth when I heard a crash and a heavy thud coming from the floor above me. The door at the top of the stairs was closed for the first time since I moved in. It was odd. And it didn't exactly make me excited to figure out what was on the other side. That's the point in the horror movie when the killer jumps out and chops someone to pieces. But, like I said, my ghosts are pretty lame.
When I finally mustered the courage to push the door open I discovered a closet door had fallen off of its hinge and pushed the door closed.
The result of shoddy craftsmanship that caused part of the door's frame to buckle? Yeah, keep telling yourself that. I know better.
I have ghosts. And they're jerks.