Houses remain houses; feelings about houses remain feelings
Japan has 9 million empty homes, and some of them stay empty because of things that happened in them, which is to say: because of things people remember about them, which is to say: because of people. The houses themselves, being houses, have expressed no opinion.
An industry has formed in the gap, as industries do. For ¥88,000 a night, investigators will sit in a property with thermal cameras and confirm the absence of ghosts, a service philosophically identical to paying someone to confirm the absence of anything else that was not there. A report is produced. The report helps. Not because of what it proves — proof was never the currency here — but because a stamped document is the ritual object of the modern age, and rituals are what this was always about.
Alternatively a Shinto priest can be booked, which is at least the traditional vendor.
For the record, this is not new, and not Japanese: every culture has its version — houses 'with a history', numbers skipped in elevators, salt over shoulders. The format repeats; only the paperwork improves. The stigmatized Yokohama house will stand empty a while longer, then someone who needs a bargain more than they fear a feeling will move in, and the house will go back to being a house, as it quietly was throughout. Nothing happened today. Correct — and in that particular room, allegedly, nothing has happened every night for five years.