The door creaked almost the moment he pressed the bell. An elderly woman, around eighty years old, stood in the doorway, her sharp, mocking gaze fixed on him.
“Good afternoon,” the young man said politely.
“And a good day to you too,” she replied. “Though you might’ve warned me. Didn’t even ask ‘who’s there’—aren’t you scared, love?”
“Sonny, I’ve seen it all in my time,” the old woman chuckled. “Now, I’m the one who ought to be telling ghost stories. Come in then—you from the council, or what?”
“I’m with a company selling miracle water filters,” he said. “Hook it up, and your tap water runs pure as a mountain spring. No chemicals, just like the old days when folk drank straight from the brook.”
“Well, look at that—the water sprite himself come calling,” she mused. “That’s a fine thing. Step inside.”
He made a show of wiping his shoes on the mat.
“Mind if I keep them on?” he asked, eyeing the rug.
“Ah, leave it. My daughter’ll mop later—young legs, not like mine. Old crone like me can’t be bothered.”
“Don’t say that! You’ve got spirit, rosy cheeks—could go dancing tonight,” he muttered with a forced grin. “Where’s your kitchen? I’d like to show you the—”
“Flatterer,” she snorted. “Haven’t glanced in a mirror in years, so I’ll take your word for it. Come on, then.”
In the kitchen, he surveyed the room before suddenly asking, “Why don’t you have a reflection? Vampire, are you?”
“No, no,” she cackled. “Daughter hung the mirrors too high—I’m short. Can’t reach, even if I jumped.”
He set to work, fiddling with the filter, showing murky water before and crystal-clear after. She listened, nodding along.
“I’ll take it,” she said abruptly. “But first, have tea with me. Don’t like drinking alone. Five minutes—no more. Good blend, this, with herbs.”
She boiled the kettle, brewing a fragrant tea that filled the room with mint and lime blossom.
“Got family?” she asked idly. “Kids?”
“Not yet. Just me.”
“Good. Too soon for you anyway. How’s the tea?”
“Lovely, gran. Where’d you get it?”
“Oh, I don’t. The fairies bring it on my birthday.”
He laughed, thinking she was joking—until his smile faded.
“Tell me, lad,” she said softly. “Why d’you really go door to door? Pure water? I don’t buy it.”
Against his will, the words tumbled out: “No. Cheap filters from the shop, sold twenty times the price. Sometimes I add things—makes it taste better. People fall for it. I profit.”
“There we are,” she said, nodding. “Told you—fairy tea. Can’t lie after drinking it. Fairies, you ask? Aye. They brewed this blend. For your deceit, you’ll pay.”
He tried to protest, but his body dissolved into mist, drifting down into the copper basin she held ready.
“Wanted to be a water spirit? Now you will. Our river’s been asking for help. Ten years’ service—then we’ll see.”
She tipped the basin into the sink.
“‘Why no reflection, gran?’ Because I’m three hundred. Daughter raised the mirrors so folk wouldn’t scream.”
She laughed to herself.
“First one swapped meters—now he guides the lightning. Air’s his domain. Yours is water. You’ll meet him. Next storm.”
She passed the mirror—no reflection, just a shadow gliding across the floor, vanishing into the quiet of the old flat.
