That’s what I was thinking. Now maybe the ghost of Grandma, who loved babies, will take care of crying babies when we have them. 
The house I was born and brought up in - 400 years old. Sitting downstairs doing my homework one night I was prompted to look under the table, there was this heavy laboured breathing sound. No, my brother was not under there trying to freak me out. I went into the kitchen to see if he’d escaped into there. No. I opened the door to the living room and the noise was so much louder. I slammed the door and ran upstairs to where my mum & sis were watching TV. My heart was beating furiously with fear. They came down and investigated with me. Nothing. Gone.
The next day my parents told me they’d heard this breathing many times before but had never mentioned it to us kids. They thought it was great-grandmothers dying breath. Apparently my father had once walked right into the spot where it was loudest (there was a piano in that spot by the time I heard it) and it stopped with a short squeak. Anyway the incident prompted my father to take me to my great=grandmothers gravestone the next day. We cleared away the weeds and the gravestone revealed that the day I heard the noise was the day she died. Wooooo.
This house I live in now is brand new - yet … there’s this popping noise which sounds exactly like someone has sent me a Facebook chat message. It’s got to be either the fridge or the plumbing, but it is weird.
When I was about 9, a new neighbour rang our doorbell. She had just moved in, her stuff wasn’t unpacked yet, and right when she’d come home, her phone rang. There wasn’t really anyone on the other line, and for some reason, she was wondering if it was possible to make a call from within the house, like in that typical campfire story. It had something to do with what she was hearing. So my mother, all 5’2" of her, agreed to go next door and go through every room and closet of the woman’s house. It was totally random and probably just a glitch in her newly turned on phone line, but it had given her the creeps.
The woman was embarrassed, but still had a sense of humour about it. She was very nice and grateful that my little mom had come over to help fight monsters with her.
When I was growing up we used to call each other from inside the house all the time. There was a particular number you called and it rang your own house. You could always tell it was that, though, because the rings were closer together.
I used this very feature early one morning when I was about, eh 18 or 19. I was home for the summer from college. I was awakened just after dawn by a huge horrible loud WHUMP against the garage door, which was beneath my bedroom. I laid there petrified, not knowing what to do.
After waiting a while, I decided that whatever it was that whumped had had time to come upstairs and get me, so I dialed this in-house number. My dad answered and I don’t remember what I said, but it was something like, “I heard a noise and it may be coming to get me!” The next sound I heard was my dad’s footsteps pounding down the hall. 
I still don’t know what this sound was — an actual loud sound or my imagination. I had decided it was a large wolf, bear, or quite possibly Sasquatch, that morning. We did live in the country. Now I think probably a bird flew either into my window, or the garage door.
Gah, of course. Turned out the car belonged to some friend of one of the roommates…he had driven over and carpooled with the roommate, so they left the friend’s strange car in the driveway.
I agree the story ending could have been more dramatic but I was reasonably happy with no deaths. Although I was personally uninterested, it might help your enjoyment of the story to know that the two young police officers were apparently very hunky, according to my wife.