They looked like the typical whitebread couple who scoffed at the warnings that their new home was haunted until things got beyond the line of wilful ignorance. Candace listened to their story, and it ran the entire gamut of that sad story.
They fell in love with the place. Didn't believe in the supernatural. Laughed at the thought of ghosts. Little incidents escalated. And they escalated quickly. And the next thing they knew, blood was dripping out of the walls and an invisible hand was scrawling death threats in it.
Candace then found a couple of pans in the kitchen and opened all the doors and windows.
"You aren't going to light a candle?" said the Janet Weiss type.
"Don't need 'em," said Candace.
"If you need blood," began the Brad Majors type.
"Don't need that, either." She started in the furthest point from any of the doors. And crashed the pans together without any need for rhythm or meter. Just a need for noise. "GET THE FUCK OUTTA THIS HOUSE, YOU WISPY BASTARD! YOU'RE NO LONGER WELCOME IN THIS HOUSE! RACK OFF! SKEDADDLE!" And then she began some off-tune caterwauling in the general theme of So Long, Farewell, Auf Weidersehn, Goodbye.
Brad and Janet were understandably confused. Cowered out of Candace's way as they watched in shock and awe.
When it was over, Janet risked, "Why did you do that?"
Candace put the pans back away. "Ever wonder why they set off fireworks and make a big noise at new years? It's the same principle. If there's anything a ghost hates, it's a spirited party."
They didn't get the pun. The Brads and Janets of this world never did.