**A Punishment for Greed: The Tale of the Deceitful Water Spirit**
The door creaked open almost the moment he pressed the bell. On the threshold stood an elderly woman, about eighty, her eyes sharp and mocking.
“Good afternoon,” the young man said politely.
“And a fine day to you too, lad,” she replied. “Though you’ve come unannounced! Didn’t even ask ‘who’s there.’ Aren’t you afraid, granny?”
“I’ve been afraid of everything worth fearing in my time, dearie,” the old woman chuckled. “Now, I should be the one telling ghost stories. Come in, then—are you from the council or some such?”
“I’m from a company that makes miracle gadgets, granny. Hook this up, and your tap water becomes pure as a mountain spring. Clean, no chemicals. Like the old days when you could drink straight from a brook.”
“Well, well, the water spirit himself has come 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 keep my shoes on?” he asked, eyeing the rug.
“Oh, leave it be. My daughter will mop the floor later. She’s still young—not like me, an old crone.”
“Nonsense, you’re spry, handsome, rosy-cheeked—ready for a dance this very minute,” he murmured with a practised smile. “Where’s your kitchen? I’d like to show you the product…”
“Flatterer,” the old woman snorted. “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 glanced around and suddenly asked,
“Why don’t you cast a reflection? Vampire, are you?”
“No, no,” the old woman laughed. “My daughter hung the mirrors too high, and I’m a short thing. Can’t reach, even if I jump.”
He set to installing the filter, fiddling with knobs, showing the murky water before and the crystal-clear after. The old woman listened closely, nodding.
“I’ll take it,” she said abruptly. “But first, have a cuppa with me. Don’t like drinking alone. Five minutes—no more. My tea’s special, with herbs.”
She swiftly boiled the kettle and brewed a fragrant, spiced tea. The room filled with the scent of mint and elderflower.
“Got a family?” she asked casually. “Children?”
“No, just me for now.”
“Rightly so. Too soon for you to be a father. How’s the tea?”
“Marvellous, granny. Where do you get it?”
“Oh, I don’t. The fairies bring it for my birthday.”
He laughed, thinking her playful. But soon, his smile faded.
“Tell me, lad—why do you really go door to door? For clean water? I don’t believe it.”
Suddenly, against his will, the words spilled out:
“No, of course not. I buy cheap filters from the shops and sell them twenty times the price. Sometimes I add something to the water to make it taste nice. People fall for it, and I profit.”
“There we are,” the old woman nodded calmly. “And I warned you—my tea’s enchanted. Those who drink it can’t lie. Fairies, you say? Aye. They brewed this blend. For your deceit, you’ll be punished.”
He tried to protest, but his body dissolved into a wisp of vapour, drifting down into a copper basin the old woman had placed beneath him.
“Wanted to be a water spirit? Now you shall be. Our river’s been asking for an apprentice. Ten years’ service, then we’ll see.”
She took the basin and poured the water down the sink.
“Aye, ‘why don’t you cast a reflection, granny?’ Because I’m three hundred years old. My daughter hung the mirrors high so folks wouldn’t be startled.”
She chuckled to herself.
“The first one came to change the meter—now he directs lightning in storms. Air is his element. Yours is water. You’ll meet him. Next time it rains.”
The old woman passed the mirror, casting no reflection. Only a shadow flickered across the floor, dissolving into the quiet of the old flat.
