The door creaked open almost as soon as he pressed the bell. Standing on the threshold was an elderly woman, about eighty, with sharp, mischievous eyes.
“Good day,” the young man said politely.
“And good day to you, lad,” she replied. “Didn’t even bother to ask ‘who’s there,’ did you? Not afraid of a little old lady?”
“Oh, I’ve been through enough in my time to fear much at all,” the old woman chuckled. “These days, I’m the one telling ghost stories. Come in, then—are you from the council or somewhere else?”
“I’m from a company that makes miracle devices, grandma. Hook it up, and your tap water becomes as pure as a spring—no chemicals, just like the old days when you could drink straight from the brook.”
“Well, well, the water sprite himself comes knocking,” she mused. “That sounds useful. Come in.”
The young man made a show of wiping his feet on the doormat.
“Mind if I keep my shoes on?” he asked, glancing at the rug.
“Oh, never mind that. My daughter will mop the floor later. She’s young, not like me—just an old crone.”
“Don’t say that—you’re lively, lovely, cheeks rosy as apples. You could go dancing tonight,” he said with a practiced smile. “Where’s your kitchen? I’d like to show you the product…”
“Flatterer,” she huffed. “Haven’t looked in a mirror in years, so I’ll take your word for it. Come on, then.”
Once in the kitchen, the young man scanned the room before suddenly asking,
“Why don’t you cast a reflection? Vampire, are you?”
“Oh, no,” the old woman laughed. “My daughter hung the mirrors too high, and I’m short. Can’t reach ’em even if I jump.”
He started assembling the filter, twisting knobs, showing murky water before and crystal-clear after. The old woman listened closely, nodding.
“I’ll buy it,” she said abruptly. “But first, have some tea with me. Don’t like drinking alone. Five minutes—no more. It’s good tea, herbal.”
She quickly boiled water, brewing an aromatic blend. The room filled with the scent of mint and elderflower.
“Got a family?” she asked casually. “Children?”
“No, just me for now.”
“Good. Too young for kids yet. How’s the tea?”
“Brilliant, grandma. Where’d you get this?”
“Oh, I don’t fetch it. The fairies bring it for my birthday.”
He laughed, thinking she was joking. But soon, his smile faded.
“Tell me, lad,” she said, “why do you really go door to door? For clean water? I don’t believe you.”
Suddenly, he began speaking against his will:
“No, course not. I buy cheap filters from the shop and sell them for twenty times the price. Sometimes I add things to the water to make it taste nice. People fall for it, and I profit.”
“There we are,” the old woman nodded calmly. “I did warn you—my tea’s enchanted. Drink it, and you can’t lie. Fairies, you say? Aye. They brewed this blend. For your lies, you’ll be punished.”
He tried to protest, but his body was already dissolving into mist, sinking into the copper basin she’d placed beneath him.
“Wanted to be a water spirit? Now you will be. Our river’s been asking for help. Ten years’ service, then we’ll see.”
She lifted the basin and poured the water down the sink.
“Oh, why no reflection, you asked? Because I’m three hundred years old. My daughter hung the mirrors high so folks wouldn’t be frightened.”
She laughed, as if to herself.
“First one was a meter man—now he directs lightning in storms. Air’s his element. Yours is water. You’ll meet him. Next time it rains.”
The old woman walked past the mirror, casting no reflection. Only a shadow flickered across the floor before melting into the silence of the old flat.
