The door creaked almost as soon as he pressed the bell. An elderly woman, about eighty years old, stood at the threshold with sharp, mocking eyes.
“Good afternoon,” the young man said politely.
“And a good day to you, young man,” she replied. “Though you ought to give a body some warning. Didn’t even ask ‘who’s there’—aren’t you afraid, Granny?”
“Dearie, I’ve been afraid of everything there is to fear in this life,” the old woman chuckled. “Now it’s my turn to tell ghost stories. Come in, then—are you from the council or some such?”
“No, Granny, I’m from a company that makes miracle devices. Hook one 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, bless me, the water spirit himself has come calling,” the old woman mused. “That sounds grand. Come through.”
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, never mind that. My daughter’ll mop later—she’s young yet, not like this old crow.”
“Don’t say that, you’re spry as anything, rosy-cheeked—ready for a dance, I’d wager,” 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. This way.”
Once in the kitchen, the young man glanced around and suddenly asked, “Why don’t you see your reflection? Are you a vampire?”
“No, no,” she laughed. “Just that my daughter hung the mirrors too high, and I’m too short to reach, even if I jump.”
He set to installing the filter, fiddling with knobs, showing murky water before and crystal-clear after. The old woman listened intently, nodding along.
“I’ll take it,” she said abruptly. “But first, have a cuppa with me. I hate drinking alone. Five minutes—no more. It’s good tea, with herbs.”
She quickly set the kettle boiling and brewed an aromatic blend. The room filled with the spicy scent of mint and lime flowers.
“Got family?” 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 for my birthday.”
He laughed, thinking she was joking. But soon his smile faded.
“Tell me, lad,” she said softly, “why d’you really go door-to-door? For clean water? I don’t believe it.”
Suddenly, as if against his will, he spoke: “No, of course not. I buy cheap filters and sell ’em for twenty times the price. Sometimes I add a pinch of something to the water to make it taste nice. People fall for it, and I profit.”
“There it is,” the old woman nodded calmly. “I did warn you—my tea’s enchanted. Drink it, and you can’t lie. Fairies, you ask? Aye. They brewed this blend. For your deceit, you’ll pay.”
He tried to protest, but his body was already dissolving into mist, sinking gently into the copper basin she’d placed beneath him.
“Wanted to be a water spirit, did you? Now you shall be. Our river’s been asking for help. Ten years’ service, then we’ll see.”
She took the basin and poured the water down the sink.
“Aye, ‘why don’t you have a reflection, Granny?’ Because I’m three hundred years old. And my daughter hung the mirrors high so folks wouldn’t fret.”
She cackled to herself.
“The first one came to fix the meter—now he directs lightning in storms. Air’s his domain. Yours is water. You’ll meet him. Next time it rains.”
The old woman passed the mirror, casting no reflection—only a shadow flitting across the floor, vanishing into the quiet of the old flat.
Greed, like a leaking pipe, will always drown the one who tries to hold too much.
