I grew up in a house with some mighty peculiar things going on. Lights going off and on by themselves, animals refusing to go upstairs, cold spot in the hallway, and, I am not kidding, a brown spot on the wall that soaked through dark purple paint. Organs played themselves, typewriter running with nobody at the keys, window sashes throwing themselves open, a book being snatched out of my sister's hands.
But one night while my mom was working second shift and my older sister was babysitting the SHTF. Doors slamming and opening, the sound of a baby crying when I was the youngest at home at the age of 8. All of which culminated in the sound of a gunshot from the upstairs. We kids stayed huddled together on the living room sofa while we called my mom home. She showed up with two guys from her factory job, the cops hot on her heels. Nothing found amiss except 4 kids who didn't get ANY sleep that night.
We'd have moved out but it was the only house for rent in our price range. After we moved out a whole string of people moved in and out in the space of a single month before the owner sold it. I've stopped at that house when I am in my hometown, but never had the urge to talk to the current residents.
Just my experience, but this is a problem that can't be solved by guns.