**A Lesson in Greed: The Tale of the Water-Deceiver**
The door creaked open almost the moment he pressed the bell. On the threshold stood an elderly woman, perhaps eighty, with sharp, twinkling eyes.
“Good afternoon,” the young man said politely.
“And a fine day to you too, lad,” she replied. “Bit sudden, isn’t it? Didn’t even ask ‘who’s there’—aren’t you afraid, Granny?”
“Oh, love, I’ve feared everything there is to fear in my time,” the old woman chuckled. “Now it’s my turn to give folk a fright. Come in then—council sent you, or somewhere else?”
“Actually, I’m from a company that makes miracle gadgets. Hook this up, and your tap water turns pure as a mountain spring, no chemicals. Just like the old days when you could drink straight from a stream.”
“Well, look at that, the water sprite himself comes calling,” she mused. “Fair enough. Come in.”
The young man made a show of wiping his feet on the doormat.
“Mind if I keep my shoes on?” he asked, eyeing the carpet.
“Oh, leave it. My daughter’ll mop up later—she’s still young, not like me, an old crow.”
“Don’t say that, you’re lively, lovely—rosy-cheeked enough to dance the night away,” he muttered with a practised smile. “Now, where’s your kitchen? I’d like to show you the product…”
“Flatterer,” she huffed. “Haven’t looked in a mirror in years, but I’ll take your word for it. This way.”
Once inside the kitchen, he glanced around and suddenly asked,
“Why don’t you cast a reflection? Vampire, are you?”
“Not at all,” the old woman laughed. “Daughter hung the mirrors too high, and I’m short. Can’t reach, even if I jump.”
He set up the filter, twiddled knobs, showed murky water before and crystal-clear after. She listened intently, nodding.
“I’ll take it,” she said abruptly. “But first, have a cuppa with me. Hate drinking alone. Five minutes—no more. Good herbal blend, this.”
She boiled the kettle, brewed fragrant tea. The room filled with the scent of mint and lime blossom.
“Got family?” she asked casually. “Children?”
“Not yet. Just me for now.”
“Good. Too young for all that. How’s the tea?”
“Lovely. Where’d you get this?”
“Oh, I don’t. Fairies bring it for my birthday.”
He laughed, thinking her joking—until his smile froze.
“Tell me, lad, why d’you really go door to door? For clean water? Don’t believe you.”
Against his will, the truth spilled out:
“Course not. Buy cheap filters, sell ’em twenty times over. Sometimes add a pinch of something to make the water taste nice. Folks fall for it, and I profit.”
“There we are,” she nodded calmly. “Told you—this tea’s magic. Drink it, and you can’t lie. Fairies, eh? Aye. They brewed this blend. For your deceit, punishment’s due.”
He tried to protest, but his body dissolved into mist, settling into the copper basin she’d placed beneath him.
“Fancied being a water spirit? Now you’ll be one. Our river’s been needing 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. Daughter raised the mirrors so folk wouldn’t panic.”
She laughed to herself.
“First chap switched meters—now he directs lightning in storms. Air’s his domain. Yours is water. You’ll meet him. Next rainfall.”
She passed the mirror, casting no reflection—just a shadow gliding over the floor, fading into the quiet of the old flat.
**Lesson learned: Cheat the innocent, and the unseen will cheat you.**
