There was a stranger in the house.

The girl was young. Younger than Miriam, and Miriam was barely in her thirties. Children, the both of them.

He didn't like how the girl looked at him.

"What is your name?" he asked.

The conversation, stilted as it had been, halted entirely. Miriam set her cup down, too-fast. Tea spilled over the rim. Miriam clasped her hands and exhaled sharply.

"It's alright," he told her, "I'm here."

The stranger smirked. "That you are."

Miriam made a soft, choked sound. She was upset. That would not do. Guest or not, the stranger had to go.

Miriam stood. "More tea?"

"Sure. Here."

The girl handed Miriam her cup. It was still mostly full.

"How... how long?" Miriam asked.

"We'll see. You'll know when it's done."

Miriam nodded. She darted a look over her shoulder, at him.

"Everything will be fine," he said.

Miriam shook her head and left the room. She closed the door behind her. Good. He didn't want to concern her with what was to be an unpleasant talk. He turned his attention back to the girl.

"You-" he began.

The girl drew a gun and pulled the trigger.

An explosion of sound and color blinded him. He had the girl by the throat when the world realigned again, her body wedged between him and a wall. Anger made him shake. Everything shook.

"How dare you," he snarled.

The girl smiled. "Had to try. It helps, sometimes. A reminder of where you ought to be."

He crushed her neck.

The girl disappeared. A paper doll floated in the space she had been, its head torn clean off.

"Over here."

He turned. He knew where she was. She couldn't hide from him, not in this house.

She wasn't trying.

"Which one of you is real?" he asked. His attention bounced from one end of the room to the other. There were two of her. Twin copies, an exact match.

"That'd be telling. Where's the body?"

"Get out," he rumbled. The ceiling cracked above them, a long, jagged line of broken plaster.

The girl smiled at him with two mouths and spoke with an echo. "It has to be here. The husband's accounted for, but the perp's was missing from the scene. Where'd you stash it?"

The husband. He had died protecting Miriam, protecting their home. Miriam still cried for him. The house mourned, too. The shadows spawned miserable things at night.

"The cops are still looking, you know. They'll keep bothering her."

"She's innocent."

"Not if she's hiding a corpse on her property."

He said nothing.

"It's not doing anything good for the spiritual balance of the place, either. There'll be problems soon."

The girl knew. He studied her anew, seeking something that would betray her as more than human. She raised her brows.

"Well?"

"It's under the back porch," he said at last. The intruder had come through there. It was but just to bury him in the space he had defiled.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Of course it is. I don't suppose you could point me to a shovel?"

He did. He even helped dig out the body, moving planks and shifting mortar so the girl could reach what she needed. The girl made a face of great disdain once the grave was uncovered. She stuffed the remains in a trash bag. The yellow rubber gloves she had borrowed from the kitchen were a splash of cheer in the dark.

"What now?" he asked.

The girl straightened with a wince. Her double had disappeared at some point between the living room and the back yard. She took off the gloves and tossed them in the bag, then tied the whole thing off.

"Now, you tell me what you are and I decide how to punish you for being a rule-breaking pest."

Amusement filled him with warmth. Inside the house, several lights went on. The girl's eyes flicked there.

"Oh. A house spirit. How'd you get your own body?"

"I didn't. I don't have one now."

"Miriam sees her husband when you're around. Just sometimes, but enough to freak her out. I see you that way, too."

"I have no hand in that."

"Guess that was all her. Projecting, or whatever. She showed me pictures of him. Must've influenced me." The girl muttered something to herself, disgruntled. She nodded at the trash bag. "Who killed him?"

"I did."

"How?"

"I made the floor rupture under him." Then he had squeezed the man flat between the planks, like the roach that he had been.

"Why then? Why not when he went for the husband - or no, it had to be Miriam, didn't it? The house's hers."

"I was built with immense love," he said. It was all the reason he could give, all the reason that he needed.

"Her great-grandfather, for her great-grandmother," the girl said. "Yeah, I see it now." Perhaps she did understand.

"Miriam must not know."

"She won't remember any of this tomorrow. She won't be able to see you anymore, either, now that the body's gone."

Cold filled him. The house dimmed. The girl narrowed her eyes and stabbed at him with a finger.

"None of that! She'd be happier. Murderous houses aren't good for socializing, you know."

"I understand."

"You better. I'll ruin you if I have to."

"Miriam's happiness is mine, as well."

"Good. Just in case."

The girl let a slip of paper fall into the shallow grave and covered it with the displaced dirt. Something wove around the house; a web of light. He shuddered.

"What was that?"

"A little insurance. I'll know if you go berserk again, so save us both the trouble and play nice."

The girl slung the trash bag over her shoulder. She saluted him and turned to go.

"Who are you?" he called after her. His voice was the rustle of trees, the crowing of crows.

The girl paused. "Niemand," she said, and laughed.

The girl left, dragging her shadow in her wake. He forgot her soon enough. It was growing late, the house darkening with sleep. He was tired. Nobody was there.

He could finally rest.

A/N: Niemand (German) - no one, nobody