Margaret stood at the kitchen sink, her hands still damp from rinsing dishes, eyes fixed on the birdbath just beyond the window. A sparrow flitted in, feathers puffing as it dipped into the shallow water, wings stirring up silver splashes that glittered in the late-afternoon sun. For a moment, she breathed with it, matching her exhale to the bird’s rhythm.

Peaceful. Serene.

The kind of silence she craved when the house was empty, when no one was asking anything of her. Out here, in her own kitchen, she could simply be.

Then came the knock.

Three sharp raps, loud enough to rattle the glass. The sparrow startled, wings beating frantically before vanishing into the sky, leaving only ripples behind.

“Good afternoon, ma’am!” The voice was thick, booming with cheer. “The Lord has sent me here today to speak with you.”

Margaret opened the door just a crack, but the man filled the space immediately—tall, sweat-darkened shirt clinging to his chest, a Bible heavy in his palm. He stepped forward without waiting for her to move aside.

“You see, the Good Book tells us that all who deny Christ will be cast into the fire. Now, I can tell just by the look of this home you’re a good woman, but even good women need saving. Amen?”

Her mouth parted, but before a sound could emerge, his hand lifted—finger wagging.

“No, no, don’t say you’re busy. The devil loves distractions. He’ll tell you laundry, or cooking, or whatever nonsense is more important than your soul. But I’m here because the Lord doesn’t wait.”

Margaret’s lips pressed together again.

He moved through her living room without invitation, shoes squeaking faintly against polished hardwood.

“I’ve walked this neighborhood all week, ma’am. Knocked on doors, prayed over families. Most don’t want to hear the truth. But you—” He turned and smiled, all teeth and certainty. “You need it.”

She followed, her silence as heavy as shadow.

By the time he reached her kitchen, he was already thundering through scripture, opening his Bible with a practiced flick.

“‘Behold, I stand at the door and knock!’ That’s Revelation, ma’am. Do you hear that? The Lord knocking. Just like I’m knocking. Just like I walked right in here, thank God you didn’t turn me away.”

Margaret’s gaze flicked once more to the birdbath, now still.

He kept going.

“Do you know Jesus, ma’am? Have you been washed in the blood? Because if not, it’s my duty to lead you right now. Not tomorrow. Not later. Right now.”

Her hand moved almost absentmindedly to the counter, brushing against the block of knives.

The man leaned closer, Bible raised like a shield.

“You don’t need to talk. Just listen. Don’t interrupt—it’s not about your words, it’s about His. The Lord speaks through me.”

The blade whispered free of its slot.

In one smooth, practiced motion, she drew it across his neck. His words cut off mid-syllable, replaced with a wet gasp. He dropped the Bible, staggered, and collapsed onto her pristine hardwood, blood spreading in a dark halo.

Margaret bent, picked up the book with delicate fingers, careful not to stain the pages. She carried it outside, past the birdbath, and knelt beside the weathered bench. Sliding her hand beneath, she pressed against a loose wooden panel.

The compartment opened with a hollow creak. Inside, a neat stack of Bibles waited, spines pressed together like bricks in a wall. She placed the new one among them.

Closing the bench, she stood and looked back through the window at the mess inside.

“Gosh,” she murmured at last, the only words she’d spoken all day, “I have to stop getting blood all over these hardwood floors.”