Not To Mention The Mansion...
Posted on 30 Oct 2022 @ 8:12am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Volchok, Trading Center - Ferengi Space
Timeline: Backstory, following ‘Incursion into the Past”
1561 words - 3.1 OF Standard Post Measure
Brek had settled into a tedious but comforting routine. His employer, Mr Asax, was always in conference with his business partners. As for his wife and daughter, they were so busy spending his money that Brek seldom saw them. He knew them awfully well, though, for Mr Asax had a specific book that listed their expenses, and that books, just like all the others, needed some serious ‘cooking’. Thanks to his magical efforts (the quickest way to describe the balancing acts he was performing) Asax’s shareholders were left with the impression that the sky was forever blue and everything smelled like roses.
Things being as adequate as they were, Brek had decided that he should set his mind on buying a house on Volchok. It would be nothing grandiose. Just a quiet place he could call his own, and find solitude when he needed it. The only reason he knew which property to buy was a conversation overhead in Mr Asax’s office: “...Not to mention the mansion,” his employer had said to a mysterious visitor. “It has to go. It is an eyesore. Besides, it belonged to an outsider. A Hewmon. Let’s transform the whole place into a swamp. It will look like our homeland, and bring peace of mind to everyone.”
So it was that, after three consecutive nights dreaming of that stranger’s house, Brek, accompanied by his Ferengi friend Neph, now stood on the ghost of a lawn (little patches of grass here and there and lots of rocks). They were looking, agape, at a three story house that possessed a pointy roof and a multitude of broken windows. It was far from being inviting and Neph had already used words like ‘haunted’, ‘decrepit’ and ‘spooky’ to describe Brek’s future acquisition.
“I cannot believe that you truly intend on spending your warm latinum on that cold pile of rotten bricks,” Neph continued to complain. “This is not even a Ferengi house. It’s Terran. Used to belong to a merchant. One day he disappeared without a trace. Some even say this place is jinxed. In fact I doubt anyone’s bothered going in there for decades.”
Brek, who was already imagining all the improvements he would make in that house (Jacuzzi, holosuit, lavish dining room), smiled. “It’s a good thing, don’t you think? It means that no one is interested in this house and the price should be quite low.”
“Don’t call that thing a house when it’s clearly a ruin, Brek.” Neph grumbled. The way he spoke, one could believe that his own latinum would be spent on this project. “What you should do, it’s to work on a way to leave this hellhole. What do you think will happen when Asax finds that you know a bit too much about his accounts? He will have doubts about your ability to keep your mouth shut, and that will get you into trouble.”
Brek shrugged. It was a little chilly in this remote part of the town, plus he wanted to show that he didn’t care about Neph’s warning. “There’s a clause about this in my contract. I can’t talk about my work in Azax House to anyone.”
“By all that is precious,” Neph threw his arms in the air. “I’ve met a Ferengi who’s putting his faith in printed clauses. Are you insane? That guy gets a new bookkeeper every six months. I’m serious, Brek. You need to leave Volchok as soon as you’ve got enough latinum to travel. Make your nest in a better world.”
“What do you call a better world? I’m not going back to Ferenginar. No way.”
“Risa. That’s where I would go if my roots weren’t here.”
“Risa...” Brek echoed. “The pleasure planet... It’s a place where people go on vacation, not to live, isn’t it? I’m a rather industrious Ferengi, and I want to make latinum, not spend it.”
“Says the bean counter whose goal it is to buy a complete ruin. Besides, I told you, it’s haunted.”
“Haunted...tsst tsst... This is a hewmon concept. I should think we Ferengi are immune to that claptrap. Are we going to be afraid of a handful of spiders, black cats and creaking floors? This house is in this state because it’s been left open to the elements for decades. No supernatural forces could achieve any level of destruction, ‘cause they don’t exist."
"You don't know what you are talking about, Brek. There are spirits in that ruin of a house. Evil ones."
“You’ll have me believe there’s a Great Whangdoodle in that house?”
The two Ferengi stared at each other, measuring their convictions. Superstitions versus common sense. The weight of the past, with all its regrets and remorse against a pristine future, full of hopes and good intentions. Brek was the first one to look away, but only so that he could watch his steps as he made his way towards the house, on an ancient path bordered by mossy stones.
"I am going to explore that rustic house," Brek announced. "And if there's a ghost inside it, I'll dispel. Watch me!"
This is how Brek found himself alone in a decrepit house, whilst Neph, trapped under anxiety, remained on the ghostly lawn. All the ingredients that scared gullible Hewmons were in those rooms. Big fat spiders dangling from thick cobwebs. Creepy-crawlies on dusty floors, scurrying nobody knew where. Furniture so black it looked like there had been a fire in that house. The perfect environment for a spooky holonovel. It was all very ridiculous and Brek grinned, until a door on the top floor slammed.
"Hello? Is there someone up there?" Brek asked, not expecting any answer. A gust of wind had probably closed that door shut. He was now looking at a narrow spiral staircase. There were deep claw marks on most of the wooden steps and dubious stains, which he decided were just mold. Was he afraid yet? Not in the least. Convinced that everything in this house was absurd, he threw caution to the wind and he walked up the stairs as fast as he could.
He stopped, rather out of breath, on the second floor.
"Hello?" He called again. "I am a potential buyer for this house. I intend to renovate it entirely. No more draft and dampness. Under my tenure it will be warm, dry and cosy. You can be sure of it." He placed a hand on the nearest wall, as if the house was some kind of wild pet that needed reassuring.
“It is cold up here, isn’t it?” he added, this time mostly to himself. It was surprisingly chilly, and he didn’t like what had appeared a few feet in front of him. A thin veil was floating in the middle of the corridor, far too new and white to belong to this house. There were Terran symbols on that.. What was it? A shroud? A light cloak? He deciphered a date: 2278 04 15.
Brek wanted to move forward, grab that fabric and pull it to him. Instead he stepped back. Once you started to hallucinate, all hope was gone. You were in with the lunatics. All you said turned to garbage. No one believed your words.
“Things have to be rooted in reality to make sense...” Brek whispered.
Beneath the veil, images started to form. Faint and distorted, with no soundtrack, as if broadcast by old technology. Brek saw a hewmon, male, running away from the house. He was soon caught up by a group of Ferengi. All of them were brandishing knives, long and short and curved. Those blades went up and down several times. The man fell and he never got up. Seconds later, it started to rain. The mob disbanded and the images flickered to nothing.
Now staring at nothing but a black corridor, Brek rubbed his eyes. His impulse to explore the rest of the house had vanished. He went back to the ground floor, and moments later he was with Neph, in front of the house - which now looked more sinister to him.
“Was a hewmon man murdered in that house?” Brek asked, his voice icy.
Neph kicked a stone. “There are a multitude of legends linked to this property, Brek. I wouldn’ know where to start. And there is no reason why I should start. We are talking about old wives’ tales here. You know how they are, always inventing stuff to look more important.”
“I saw something in there... A man, murdered, in ‘78.” Suspicious, Brek turned to his friend. “Did you trick me? Did you go as far as rigging up an old screen on the second floor, to put me off buying this house?”
Neph’s skin had taken the hue of an anemic pumpkin. “I’ve never been in that house. Never will. Come on, Brek, let’s get away from this silly place. Lunch is on me!”
Neph coaxed the bean counter away from the house. This was the last time Brek saw it, but he never forgot its architecture, nor the odd images he had seen on the second floor...
