The Price of Deceit: How a Filter Salesman Became a Water Sprite
The door to the scruffy little flat in a quiet corner of Sheffield opened almost instantly—as if the old woman inside had been expecting company. On the doorstep stood a wiry, eighty-something pensioner with sharp, twinkling eyes.
“Good afternoon,” the young man chirped, offering his politest customer-service smile.
“And to you, dear,” the old woman nodded. “Come in, then—no use loitering in the draft. You from the council, or one of those energy firms?”
“Oh no, madam. I represent a water purification company. We install the very latest systems—turn your tap water into something as crisp and clean as a mountain spring. Just like the old days, when you could drink straight from the river!”
“Blimey!” She arched her thin brows. “So you’re a water whisperer, are you? Good lad. Well, don’t just hover—let’s have you in.”
The young man wiped his shoes conscientiously on the doormat before stepping inside.
“Mind if I keep my shoes on?” he asked, eyeing the scuffed lino in the hall.
“Course not, love. My daughter sorts the cleaning these days. She’s spry enough; I’m just a creaky old baggage now.”
“Oh, don’t be daft!” he replied automatically. “You’re full of life—look at those rosy cheeks! Now, where’s the kitchen? I’d love to show you the magic in action.”
“Flatterer,” she chuckled. “Haven’t seen myself in a mirror in years—the girl’s hung ’em all too high for me to spot more than my scalp. Come on, then—let’s see this miracle of yours.”
The kitchen was cramped but spotless. The kettle gleamed, and on the sill, a pot of geraniums sat beside a dish of mint leaves. The old woman settled into a chair while the salesman got to work: unscrewing, reattaching, pouring water into jam jars, and enthusiastically comparing the “before” and “after” of his dubious filtration system.
“I’ll take it,” the old woman announced abruptly. “But first—let’s have a cuppa. No fun drinking alone, is it? Tea’s like honey when you share it. Five minutes—promise.”
The man hesitated but nodded. She boiled the newly filtered water with surprising speed and brewed a pot of tea—fragrant, spiced, with a mysterious depth to it.
“Got a family, have you, dear?” she asked, pouring.
“Not yet, no.”
“Just as well. Too young for all that. Tea nice, is it?”
“Brilliant, actually. Where’d you get it?”
“Fairies leave it for me on my birthday,” she said, deadpan.
He smirked and decided to play along:
“Aren’t you worried, answering the door to strangers these days? Con artists everywhere, you know.”
“Oh, pet, what’s left to fear at my age? I’ve outlasted most of my worries. Time I started giving frights, not getting ’em. Especially to the likes of you.”
Just then the man felt an odd lightness in his head. And—against his will—the truth spilled out:
“Who even needs this rubbish? I buy these filters for a tenner and flog ’em for fifty quid. Sometimes I ‘enhance’ the demo water for effect—works a treat on little old ladies. Easy money, really…”
He blinked, aghast at his own confession.
“There we are,” the old woman nodded. “Told you the tea was special. Fairy-brewed. Makes liars honest.”
The man shot to his feet. “What the—what did you—?”
“Nothing much. You said you were a water man, didn’t you? Well, now you are. Our local river sprite’s been swamped—could use an assistant. Ten years cleaning waterways, feeding fish, tidying reeds, and you might earn your skin back. Till then—welcome to the elementals’ union.”
He didn’t even have time to yelp before dissolving—first into a droplet, then mist, then a wisp of cloud that spiralled into the copper washing-up bowl as a silvery trickle.
“That’s sorted, then,” the old woman murmured, tipping the water down the sink. “Found his calling. Last chap who tried to fiddle my smart meter’s directing lightning now. Air division. You two should chat.”
She hummed as she rinsed the teacups, then caught her reflection in the dim glass of the Welsh dresser.
“Why don’t I show up, why don’t I show up…” she mimicked the vanished salesman’s panic.
“Because you’re older than every mirror in this house, you daft thing. Three hundred if I’m a day. My daughter knows—that’s why she hung ’em high. Some truths are too much before breakfast. Me? I just keep things tidy. The elements hate mess.”
She glanced out the window at the gathering clouds and grinned.
“Justice has to happen. Even if you have to steep it in a teapot first.”
