**A Punishment for Greed: The Tale of the Deceitful Water Sprite**
The door creaked open almost the moment he pressed the bell. Standing on the threshold was an elderly woman, about eighty, with sharp, mischievous eyes.
“Good afternoon,” he said politely.
“And a fine day to you too, young man,” she replied. “Though you’ve caught me off guard! Not even a ‘Who’s there?’—aren’t you afraid, Granny?”
“I’ve feared all there is to fear in this life, dearie,” the old woman chuckled. “Now it’s my turn to give folk a fright. Come in—are you from the council, or some other lot?”
“I’m with a company that sells miracle devices, Granny. Hook this up, and your tap water will taste like fresh spring water. Pure, no chemicals. Just like the old days when you could drink straight from the brook.”
“Well, well, the water sprite himself comes calling,” the old woman mused. “That’s a fine thing. Come in, then.”
The young man made a show of wiping his feet on the doormat.
“Mind if I leave my shoes on?” he asked, eyeing the rug.
“Leave ‘em, it’s no trouble. My daughter will mop up later—she’s young yet, not like me, an old crone.”
“Oh, nonsense. You’re lively, lovely, rosy-cheeked—ready for a dance, I’d say,” he muttered with a forced smile. “Where’s your kitchen? I’d like to show you the product…”
“Flatterer,” she snorted. “Haven’t looked in a mirror in years, so I’ll take your word for it. This way.”
Once inside the kitchen, he glanced around and suddenly asked, “Why don’t you see your reflection? Vampire, are you?”
“No, no,” the old woman laughed. “My daughter hung the mirrors too high, and I’m short. Couldn’t reach ‘em if I jumped.”
He set to installing the filter, twisting knobs, showing murky water before and crystal-clear after. The old woman listened closely, nodding.
“I’ll take it,” she said suddenly. “But first, have tea with me. Don’t like drinking alone. Just five minutes—no longer. It’s good tea, with herbs.”
She quickly boiled the water, brewing an aromatic blend. The room filled with the scent of mint and lime blossoms.
“Got a family, then?” she asked casually. “Children?”
“No, just me for now.”
“Good. Too soon for you yet. How’s the tea?”
“Lovely, Granny. Where do you get it?”
“Oh, I don’t. The fairies bring it on my birthday.”
He laughed, thinking she was joking—until his smile faltered.
“Tell me, lad,” she said, “why d’you go door to door? For clean water? I don’t believe it.”
Against his will, the truth spilled out.
“No, not really. I buy cheap filters from the shops and sell ‘em for twenty times the price. Sometimes I add a little something to the water to make it taste nice. Folk fall for it, and I profit.”
“Ah, there it is,” she nodded calmly. “I did warn you—this tea’s enchanted. Drink it, and you can’t lie. Fairies, you think? Aye. They made this blend. For your deceit, you’ll be punished.”
He tried to protest, but his body dissolved into mist, sinking into the copper basin she held beneath.
“Wanted to be a water sprite? Now you shall be. Ours by the river’s been asking for help. Ten years’ service, then we’ll see.”
She tipped the basin into the sink.
“Aye, ‘why no reflection, Granny?’ Because I’m three hundred years old. My daughter hung the mirrors high so folk wouldn’t be frightened.”
She laughed to herself.
“The first one came to fix the meter—now he directs the lightning. Air is his domain. Yours is water. You’ll meet him. Next time it rains.”
The old woman walked past the mirror, casting no reflection. Only a shadow slid across the floor, fading into the quiet of the old flat.
