For forty years, the house was empty. And it was happy on its own. Then the people came, and made it all toxic.
The rooms were filled with screaming and boozing and malice and bitterness. Arguments and quarrels from the front rooms echoed in the farthest corners, even the ones that weren’t occupied. There were dinners in which people covertly eviscerated each other’s characters while smiling the whole time.
The house hated them. One by one, it tore down the rooms, trying to shut the people up. The people banded together against the house. They brought in exorcists and magicians, but these never helped. In a last act of misguided heroism, they burned the house down. The house shut its doors and windows and trapped the people. But then it realised that if they died here, it would never be rid of them.
So it let them go. Outside, they exulted and were happy. The house smiled at them as it collapsed.