Not far from the renowned Port Mulgrave...
A classic Buick Regal pulls up near a dilapidated cottage. Mr. Ablegate and his companion, Marcel, emerge.
"Are you sure about this, Ablegate?" Marcel asks, scrutinizing the location with distaste. "It looks… wretched."
His foot bumps against a rock in the ground, nearly causing him to fall. "Fixing this place up will cost more than building a tourist bay."
"Don't rush things," Ablegate retorts. "The value is in the spirit, not the structure."
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A weathered sign catches their eye: THIS PROPERTY UP FOR AUCTION OCTOBER 14TH.
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The two enter the ramshackle cottage. Ablegate gazes at the wind-torn ceiling, a pigeon's nest constructed from paper bags and seaweed. In the corner, a single wooden bed. Next to it, a wooden cupboard. Ablegate opens it. A spiderweb greets him. He reaches in, picks up an old plate, turns it over, then throws it.
Marcel sneezes, rubbing his nose. "I'm allergic to mildew. There's nothing here but the foul smell of rodent droppings."
"You're allergic to everything," Ablegate replies.
They exit the cottage. Marcel heads towards the car.
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"Wait a moment," Mr. Ablegate says.
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He ascends a small cliff, gravel slipping into his polished shoes. He pauses, removes the shoe, and shakes it out. He observes the relentless ocean waves crashing against each other, then looks up.
A hill covered in short grass, resembling a freshly shaven soldier’s head. A cold wind blows, but its sparse vegetation refuses to budge.
He climbs, carrying his shoe. He reaches the summit. Marcel's voice calls from below, "Come on! A storm's coming! We'll get stuck in the mud."
A quarter mile east, tall pine trees, surrounded by a limestone fence. In the center, the dome of a red-tiled house appears.
Ablegate spots it and yells, waving his hand, "Marcel, meet me at the west entrance in the car!"
The two approach the house.
"Looks like the place is inhabited!" Marcel observes.
A voice from behind interrupts him. "How can I help you travelers?" It is Juan, the caretaker.
"We're here about…" Marcel begins.
Ablegate cuts him off, extending his hand in a handshake. "Is this house part of the Cavendish estate, Mr...?"
"Juan. My name is Juan," the caretaker replies. "Yes, it is. If you're here about the property up for auction, it's on the east entrance, past the bend."
"Have you worked here long?" Ablegate asks.
"Almost thirteen years," he answers.
"Have you heard any rumors about a crime that happened in this place?"
Marcel stops petting Juan's dog, and stares at Ablegate in astonishment.
Juan removes a hat from his head and puts it back on. "No, I haven't heard anything like that. Are you with the police?" he asks nervously.
Ablegate looks directly into his eyes, then smiles. "No. We're not with the police. My name is Reginald Ablegate, and this is my assistant, Marcel Cavral. We're journalists, writing sponsored content."
Ablegate approaches the fence surrounding the house, reaching a gate with a rusty lock. He walks slightly past it then turns back.
He takes a bag of chocolate candies from his pocket, offering some to Juan. He sits on a rock and says, "Actually, we heard rumors here and there about a crime that happened long ago in this area. A woman who played the violin, the tale goes, was murdered by someone who beheaded her with her own violin bow then threw her into the sea. It is said that her body floats to the surface in the middle of every night, her ghost screaming: 'Bastards!'—plays a mournful melody, and then sinks again."
"Hahaha!" Juan bursts out laughing. "That sounds like a Norwegian horror movie, heh, heh..." He composes himself. "Sir The Honorable, don't be fooled by appearances. I may seem like an ignorant villager working in a stable, but I actually have a bachelor's degree in electrical engineering. Do you really think I believe in ghost stories?"
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"Mr. Juan, you've got it all wrong!" Ablegate interrupts. "Everyone knows that ghosts don't exist, but... such stories give a place greater symbolic value."
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He gets up, takes steps, stretching his neck over the wall like a horse, examining the courtyard. "We're just wondering if you heard such a story!" He turns back, placing his hand on Juan's shoulder. "No one said you believe in ghosts, and we're certainly not here to question your academic qualifications."
Marcel's phone rings. He answers, "Hello, hello. Who is this? I can't hear you..." There's buzzing and the call cuts off.
"Coverage is bad here," Juan tells him. He lays down, adding, "If you want to call, you have to go back to the edge of the nearby village."
Ablegate looks at his watch, trying to hide his annoyance at Juan petting his dog, then says, "Mr. Evans told me that this place might also be offered for auction if a good offer isn't received at the adjacent site."
"The director hasn't told me that," Juan replies.
"Well, never mind. The connection's bad here. Luckily we phoned him to make sure to confirm, and it looks like a storm will blow up soon… Would you mind if we had a look around?" Ablegate equivocates.
"Of course not," Juan replies. He walks forward, checking a key ring hanging from his waist. "What are those candies called? They have a strange taste. Even Ivy (the dog), who prefers salty food, loved them."
"Do you have any left?" he asks.
"Here," Mr. Ablegate tosses him the whole bag.
Juan catches it and hides it under his hat. "Your friend doesn't talk much," he says, opening the iron gate.
Marcel replies, "Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom."
"I knew you'd say that!" Juan exclaims, then hurries toward him. "Francis Bacon, isn't it?"
Marcel pushes him back, saying, "You smell like rotten Stilton cheese. When was the last time you showered?"
"I don't shower," he replies directly. "In fact, I haven't shaved my beard since…" He turns to ask his dog, "Since when, Ivy?"
"This guy is crazy," Marcel whispers in Ablegate's ear.
"I don't see any harm in injecting some madness into your monotonous life," Ablegate replies.
The three of them wander around the place. Ablegate scans the place, while Juan goes to check a generator behind the house.
Ablegate climbs the steps to the front door, peering through a glass window, then calls out, "Juan! What kind of protective paint did you use on the place? The wood looks vibrant."
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"Owatrol Marine," Juan replies from afar.
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Ablegate turns the doorknob but it’s locked. He turns again. "Could you show us the inside of the house!"
"He didn't show up" he replies.
He heads towards them, wiping his hands with a dirty towel.
"Excuse me!" Marcel says
"Who, didn't show up?"
"The key, Pioneer", Juan replies. "The key didn't come with me this morning." He throws the towel in their direction. Marcel tries to avoid it and falls.
Mr. Ablegate catches it and returns it to Juan, saying, "What a thing to do, what a sin."
Marcel gets up, looking disgruntled, removing his expensive jacket, which is covered in dust, then approaches Ablegate. "That's it! Maybe you enjoy spending time with this clown but I've had enough. I'm leaving."
Ablegate grabs his shirt, pulling him closer. "What got into you this morning? Calm down a little."
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"Let the boy be, Chief. He needs to explore his own places by himself. That suit was choking him," Juan provokes.
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He leans on a rake, turning around. "There aren't any girls living within 20 miles from here, but I have some magazines in the bedroom that might help him."
Ablegate sits on the steps of the house and asks, "Do you travel all this distance on foot?"
"Who do you think I'm, Forrest Gump?" he replies.
Marcel looks at Juan, who is wearing shorts, long boots, and a thick beard that devours his face, and says, "Actually, you look exactly like him."
Juan replies, "Then what do you think about racing after me?"
He looks at Ablegate. "And you, Mr. Supernatural Investigator, you really didn't notice my spaceship?"
He points to a pink Vespa scooter parked at the end of the path.
"Oh!" Ablegate says. "How did I not notice it? You have a refreshing taste in colors."
"Ivy, she chose it herself," Juan replies.
He gets on the bike, and the dog jumps in front of him.
He puts on a white helmet with a red strip that looks like a rooster's comb on his head. "Wait here, I'll bring reinforcements and be back soon," he says, then takes off.
Marcel folds his jacket and sits near Ablegate, looking at Juan, who is slowly disappearing, then says, "I know that mystery is a limb of your joints, but seriously what treasure are we digging for here?"
Ablegate takes a card from his pocket, with an address for a dentist's office, writes today's date on it and returns it, sets his wristwatch.
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He says, "We didn't come for treasure but for the map. And now I will tell you a story..."
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and then Add to home screen.