THE LAST LAUGH
CindyR
[Sequel to "A Dish Served Cold"]
Mawtawk Cemetery was part of a small residential area located on the far tip of Long Island. It was named after an ancient Indian shaman, revered throughout native lore for having summoned nether-spirits during a time of great need, and then forcing them to work in his tribe's behalf against their enemies. The mystic rituals necessary for this task had been performed on the very spot on which the cemetery now sat, and these nether- spirits had been known to revisit the area at regular intervals ever since, their missions more mischievous than helpful. The last time they'd appeared, exactly three-and-one-half years earlier, they'd terrified residents up and down the boundary streets and dropped property values nearly 20%. More recently, mysterious lights and an unearthly wailing had been reported for several days preceding the entities' scheduled visit, something unprecedented in the history of the town. Enraged and apprehensive, the populace had banded together to call in expert assistance.
Pete Venkman unlocked the tailgate of Ecto-1, a reconditioned Cadillac hearse, and paused to glance around at the peaceful landscape surrounding him. The moon was three-quarters full tonight, and lit the cemetery brightly with its silvery hue. The various markers and tombs stood in clear relief among the shadows, and no sound broke the utter serenity of the land save the distant rumble of expressway traffic.
"Boy, this place is really dead," Peter remarked, choosing one of the four proton packs arranged neatly across Ecto's width. "Quiet as a...."
"Don't say it," Winston snapped, nudging Peter aside to collect his own weaponry. "These places give me the creeps."
Peter raised both hands high in the air, his eyes and face going blank. "They're coming to get you, Winston...." he intoned, stalking the black man deliberately.
Winston shuddered and gave him a sharp rap on the arm. "Knock it off, man, that ain't funny." He turned to the two remaining members of the Ghostbusters team and fixed one of them with a scowl. "I should'a never watched that stupid monster movie you rented, Ray. Freddie Does Hollywood." He made a disgusted noise in his throat. "I can't believe that thing grossed over 200 million dollars."
"I read a study once on why people like to scare themselves," Peter commented, slinging a pack across his broad shoulders. "Almost proposed a follow-up study on the subject."
"Why didn't you?" Ray asked curiously, choosing a pack for himself.
Peter shrugged. "Interest died."
Winston rolled his eyes and handed a web-belt and pack to Spengler, who was standing quietly at his right shoulder. "I'm serious, Pete. There's something about this place that I don't like." He studied the region through narrowed eyes, starting slightly when a hand dropped lightly onto his back. "Don't do that, Ray!"
"Take it easy, Winston," Stantz admonished, shaking back a lock of auburn hair from his eyes. "There's never been a report of anything worse than the two Class-5's we're here for. No big deal, is it, Egon?"
The tall blond pulled a meter out of his coverall pocket and flicked it on. "I'm registering our two Class-5's and some ambient PKE," he reported calmly. "Nothing inconsistent with our being in a churchyard."
"Yeah," Venkman piped up. "Our biggest worry is getting stiffed on the bill." He chortled again, earning three answering groans from his fellows.
"Besides, Winston," Ray went on, securing the straps of his pack around his waist, "those movies weren't even real. Whoever heard of stopping a vampire with a formica stake, anyway?" He snorted his opinion at that piece of unprofessionalism, and rubbed at his right wrist. "Although some of the new polystyrenes...."
"I think we're going to have to split up," Spengler interrupted, much to the relief of both Winston and Peter. "We've got one hundred and fifty acres to cover before morning, including the surrounding land, and frankly, I'd prefer to not have to wait another three and a half years for a second chance." He zipped his jumpsuit higher over his throat. "Besides, if I catch a cold, my mother is going to want to spend another week with us." That galvanized everyone into immediate motion
"Egon, buddy," Winston remarked, securing two traps to his belt, "I love your mother like a... well, like a mother, but if she moves in with us again, I'm taking my vacation early if I have to spend it in the Bronx."
"She's not that bad," Ray chided, handing traps to Peter and Egon. "I think it's great when she's around. She's so...."
"Mother-ish?" Peter supplied, stooping to tie his bootlaces.
Ray nodded. "Yeah. I think it's kind of nice."
"You would," Winston muttered, sotto voce.
Egon smiled at his colleagues. "She's very fond of all of you, too, but I think I'll arrange to maintain my current state of health, nonetheless."
Ray paused in the act of rechecking his equipment to eye his surroundings again. "Look at all those graves. Just imagine if all of them decided to come back at once, like in Night of the Living Dead. We'd run out of traps pretty quick."
"We'd really urn our pay," Winston remarked, elbowing Peter in the ribs.
The psychologist grimaced. "Even I wasn't going to use that one," he complained, jabbing Winston back. "But that's the spirit."
"One more like that," Egon snapped, "and you're both coming back here as clients." He turned back to Stantz, who was again absently massaging his wrist while he watched his companions' horseplay. "Is your hand hurting you, Ray?"
Stantz stopped the action immediately, instead drawing his particle thrower and switching the power on. "I'm fine. We'd better get going." He took a single step backward, coming up short against a marble gravestone. "Excuse me."
Peter chuckled. "I don't think he minds very much these days," he remarked, tapping Ray on the arm. "He's kind of laid back... and out."
"Aaargh!" Spengler wailed, throwing up his hands. "That does it. Ray, you're with me. Winston, take Mr. Entertainment there and check out the northwest section. That way."
"Guess you're stuck with Peter's 'black' humor!" Ray chuckled, causing Egon to sigh loudly and mutter, "Et tu, Brute?" under his breath.
Peter stopped to regard the younger man sourly. "Jokes from a man wearing a Beetle haircut?" he retorted, tugging playfully at a strand of Ray's unusually long hair. "What are you doing, trying out for the Punk of the Month club?"
Ray blushed and stepped hurriedly away, then yelped when Peter didn't immediately release his hair. "I forgot. We started working on the new ion tracking device and...."
"You're a fine one to talk," Winston interjected, ruffling Peter's hair in turn. "You with all that mess on top of your head. Man, I could stuff a mattress with this." The psychologist pulled back, growling something uncomplimentary, but was saved the necessity of a formal reply when Egon cleared his throat. Loudly.
"We can discuss your grooming habits later," the blond declared, snagging Ray's wrist and hustling him in the direction of the fence. "Much later, preferably. Let's start with the southern side and work our way toward the center." Ray followed him meekly enough after first passing across the auxiliary PKE meter to Peter, then the two turned along the boundary and disappeared into the trees.
Peter dug a comb out of his breast pocket and ran it through his hair, laughing softly to himself. "That Egon. Never could handle a pun, but plays a wicked practical joke." He grinned in Winston's direction and restowed the comb, then unclipped his thrower and powered it up. "And with that deadpan face of his, he usually carries them off, too."
"Tell me about it," Winston griped, following his companion along a narrow path. "I still haven't forgotten the time he made us all believe he and Slimer were still in each other's bodies. I think we ducked him for two whole days before he finally broke down and told us it was all a joke."
"You mean you ducked him for two days," Peter shot back. "Poor Ray spent the entire afternoon trying to apologize to Slimer!" He laughed again. "You should have seen him in college."
"Who?" Winston interrupted. "Egon or Ray?"
"Egon...." He broke off to navigate his way between two marble cherubs which faced each other across a new mound of earth, jumping the last few feet when the ground beneath him sank several inches. "Uh... You've never heard of a grave actually caving in, have you?" he asked nervously.
Winston shrugged. "Who do I look like, Boris Karloff? Use the path if you're scared."
Peter bristled at that last, but allowed it to pass without comment. "You should have seen Egon in college," he began again. "All sober and grim looking; we used to call him 'Mr. Computer Head,' you know." Winston made noises to the effect that he did not. Peter nodded solemnly. "Yep, true. Naturally, it became my duty to break through that reserve and turn him into a useful, fun-loving human being."
"You mean to make his life as miserable as you could," Winston translated automatically. "Got anything on the meter yet?"
Peter shook his head. "Only that there's something here somewhere." He continued his stroll, Winston at his heels. "Wish you'd been around the time I set him up -- out of the goodness of my heart, you understand -- with Frieda LesMartin. Frieda was maybe the hottest number on campus that year."
"If she was so hot," Winston asked suspiciously, "why didn't you go out with her yourself?"
Peter raised one brow. "Who says I didn't?"
"Oh." Winston fell silent long enough to peek through the grimy windows of a miniature equipment shed, while Peter waited patiently several yards on. Nothing stirred within the shelter and the metal door was padlocked. After a moment, Winston rejoined his companion and they resumed their search.
"Frieda LesMartin," Winston repeated thoughtfully. "Wasn't she the one you kept showing Egon naked pictures of for the week before his big date with her?"
Peter grinned. "He told you about that, did he? Yeah, that was Frieda. Messed his concentration up so bad, he actually made a B-minus on his ancient languages test that Friday. Did he also tell you what happened afterward?"
The older man shook his head. "Can't wait to hear this part, though. I assume Egon actually did go out with Miss Hotstuff?"
"Yep." Peter secured his thrower and drew the PKE meter, giving it an experienced glance. "Over there. Stronger readings from that cluster of bad art over there." He restored the meter to his belt and led the way in the direction indicated. Their boots crunched loudly in the gravel, and both men hurriedly stepped off the path onto the soft grass. "Anyway, Egon not only went out with Frieda, they disappeared for three days. Still don't know where they got to, but the next week, Frieda is showing around naked pictures -- of me. One guess where she got them."
Winston laughed out loud at that. "I'd like to know where Egon got them."
"So," Peter grumbled, "would I. Not that I'm complaining," he added more cheerfully. "It got me dates with half the Omega Chi sorority house."
They strolled on in companionable silence for several minutes, each man alert, senses strained to the utmost for signs of their prey. Winston leaped lightly across a shallow ditch, then turned and unhooked his flashlight, using it to examine the pooled water at the bottom before going on. "You know, Pete," he began nervously, "I really don't like this place. It's kind of... spooky."
That won him an incredulous look. "Spooky?" Peter repeated. "The place is spooky? You want I should explain again just why we're here?"
Though Zeddemore's complexion hid his blush, his voice did not. "Knock it off, Pete. You know what I mean. There's something about this place...." He started at a sound from his left. "What was that?"
"You really are jumpy tonight, aren't you?" Peter asked. He took Winston's arm, turning him to face a small stand of trees from which the flutter of wings could still be heard. "We call them owls, old buddy. Order of Strigiformes."
Now it was Zeddemore's turn to stare. "How the heck did you know that?" he wondered aloud. "Closest I've ever seen you come to a bird is on Thanksgiving."
Peter kicked at a tuft of grass and resumed his walk. "There was this girl back in tenth grade..."
"I should have known," the black man groaned.
"...and she was with this bird watching club...."
"Never mind." Winston waved away the explanation hurriedly. "After Frieda LesMartin, I don't think I can handle another one of your stories right now. Besides, I can guess the rest -- girl, dark night, sound in the trees." He paused. "That must have been twenty years ago; you don't forget much, do you?"
"Didn't forget her," Peter replied dreamily, "or that weekend I snuck off to Fire Island with her birdwatching club. My mother gave me what for, but it was worth...." Just then the PKE meter emitted a loud 'PEEP' and switched itself on. "Game time," Peter muttered, studying the glowing face briefly. "Looks like our target is 40 meters in... that direction."
'That' direction led the two men to several above-ground crypts arranged tastefully beneath a grouping of elms. Peter and Winston approached cautiously, Peter spreading the leaves of a low-hanging branch for a better view.
"There they are," he whispered, upping the switch on his power selector another notch. "Looks like we lucked out and got both of them."
"Think we should radio Egon and Ray?" Winston asked just as quietly.
Peter shook his head. "By the time they got here, these goopers could be long gone." He nudged the other man with his elbow. "Ready? NOW!"
With a double shout the two burst through the concealing foliage, firing simultaneously at the flitting clouds of color which darted among the tombs. One of them screeched loudly, caught in Peter's stream. It swelled, gaining substance, and causing Peter's proton rifle to buck wildly in his hands.
"Yike!" the psychologist yelped, hanging on for dear life. "They're ... stronger ... than we thought!"
Zeddemore ignored him to fire again at his own target. It swooped groundward at the last minute, disappearing into the nearest mausoleum. "Heck, mine ducked out."
"G-good," Peter stuttered, staggering backwards under a particularly vicious feedback. "Give me a hand."
"Roger." Zeddemore added his own stream to Peter's and the entity stopped struggling, helpless in the dual energy web. "I'm throwing out a trap," Winston called, reaching around to his pack.
Venkman braced himself. "Ready!"
An expert toss landed the box-shaped device precisely under the glowing form. Winston stopped, foot poised over the activator pedal to warn "Trap open!" and then brilliant light was cascading upwards, drawing the entity slowly and inexorably down. "Trap... closed!" Winston called, and the entity was gone.
Peter wiped his forehead is sleeve. "One down, one to...."
"Go!" Winston supplied, giving the younger man a shove.
Peter went. The second entity had emerged unnoticed from the crypt, but could be seen bobbing and weaving between and through markers in the distance.
"They probably can't ... leave ... the cemetery," Venkman panted, jumping gracelessly over an open -- and fortunately empty -- grave at the last moment. "If old Mawtawk summoned them...." A squawk from behind interrupted his train of thought, and he turned his head to cast a quick glance over his shoulder, tripping across a tree root in the process. He recovered himself instantly, but this near accident went unremarked by his fellow Ghostbuster, for Winston Zeddemore was gone.
"Winston?" Peter called softly, abandoning his chase for the moment. "Yo, Zed!"
"Right... right here," came a weak voice from below.
Below? Peter advanced cautiously to peer down into the empty grave he'd traversed more seconds earlier. It was dark, but he could still make out the figure groggily pulling itself into a sitting position six feet below. "You okay?" Peter asked, leaping lightly into the pit.
Zeddemore shook his head twice as though to clear it, then groaned. "I'm... not sure," he began through clenched teeth. "I landed on my... shoulder." He cradled his right arm against his chest and groaned again. "Hurts big time."
Peter crouched next to him and ran gentle fingers over the injured appendage. "Dislocated," he pronounced at last. "We're going to need x- rays to be sure."
"Finish getting that gooper first," Zeddemore told him firmly. "I want that sucker to go down bad. I think he led us in this direction on purpose."
Peter took the man's good arm and helped him to rise. "Let's get you out of this hole before we think about anything else," he suggested mildly. He laced his fingers together. "Can you make it?"
"I can make it." Winston stepped into the make-shift stirrup, allowing himself to be propelled out of the grave. Moments later Peter stood next to him.
"Think you'll be okay while I bag us a paycheck?" the psychologist asked, pulling the other to his feet.
Winston nodded. "Go. I'll call Egon and Ray and follow you."
"Right." Giving his companion a bright grin and a reassuring pat, Peter retrieved his particle thrower from its clip and loped off, leaving a disgusted Winston Zeddemore to follow as quickly as he could.
***
CindyR
[Sequel to "A Dish Served Cold"]
Mawtawk Cemetery was part of a small residential area located on the far tip of Long Island. It was named after an ancient Indian shaman, revered throughout native lore for having summoned nether-spirits during a time of great need, and then forcing them to work in his tribe's behalf against their enemies. The mystic rituals necessary for this task had been performed on the very spot on which the cemetery now sat, and these nether- spirits had been known to revisit the area at regular intervals ever since, their missions more mischievous than helpful. The last time they'd appeared, exactly three-and-one-half years earlier, they'd terrified residents up and down the boundary streets and dropped property values nearly 20%. More recently, mysterious lights and an unearthly wailing had been reported for several days preceding the entities' scheduled visit, something unprecedented in the history of the town. Enraged and apprehensive, the populace had banded together to call in expert assistance.
Pete Venkman unlocked the tailgate of Ecto-1, a reconditioned Cadillac hearse, and paused to glance around at the peaceful landscape surrounding him. The moon was three-quarters full tonight, and lit the cemetery brightly with its silvery hue. The various markers and tombs stood in clear relief among the shadows, and no sound broke the utter serenity of the land save the distant rumble of expressway traffic.
"Boy, this place is really dead," Peter remarked, choosing one of the four proton packs arranged neatly across Ecto's width. "Quiet as a...."
"Don't say it," Winston snapped, nudging Peter aside to collect his own weaponry. "These places give me the creeps."
Peter raised both hands high in the air, his eyes and face going blank. "They're coming to get you, Winston...." he intoned, stalking the black man deliberately.
Winston shuddered and gave him a sharp rap on the arm. "Knock it off, man, that ain't funny." He turned to the two remaining members of the Ghostbusters team and fixed one of them with a scowl. "I should'a never watched that stupid monster movie you rented, Ray. Freddie Does Hollywood." He made a disgusted noise in his throat. "I can't believe that thing grossed over 200 million dollars."
"I read a study once on why people like to scare themselves," Peter commented, slinging a pack across his broad shoulders. "Almost proposed a follow-up study on the subject."
"Why didn't you?" Ray asked curiously, choosing a pack for himself.
Peter shrugged. "Interest died."
Winston rolled his eyes and handed a web-belt and pack to Spengler, who was standing quietly at his right shoulder. "I'm serious, Pete. There's something about this place that I don't like." He studied the region through narrowed eyes, starting slightly when a hand dropped lightly onto his back. "Don't do that, Ray!"
"Take it easy, Winston," Stantz admonished, shaking back a lock of auburn hair from his eyes. "There's never been a report of anything worse than the two Class-5's we're here for. No big deal, is it, Egon?"
The tall blond pulled a meter out of his coverall pocket and flicked it on. "I'm registering our two Class-5's and some ambient PKE," he reported calmly. "Nothing inconsistent with our being in a churchyard."
"Yeah," Venkman piped up. "Our biggest worry is getting stiffed on the bill." He chortled again, earning three answering groans from his fellows.
"Besides, Winston," Ray went on, securing the straps of his pack around his waist, "those movies weren't even real. Whoever heard of stopping a vampire with a formica stake, anyway?" He snorted his opinion at that piece of unprofessionalism, and rubbed at his right wrist. "Although some of the new polystyrenes...."
"I think we're going to have to split up," Spengler interrupted, much to the relief of both Winston and Peter. "We've got one hundred and fifty acres to cover before morning, including the surrounding land, and frankly, I'd prefer to not have to wait another three and a half years for a second chance." He zipped his jumpsuit higher over his throat. "Besides, if I catch a cold, my mother is going to want to spend another week with us." That galvanized everyone into immediate motion
"Egon, buddy," Winston remarked, securing two traps to his belt, "I love your mother like a... well, like a mother, but if she moves in with us again, I'm taking my vacation early if I have to spend it in the Bronx."
"She's not that bad," Ray chided, handing traps to Peter and Egon. "I think it's great when she's around. She's so...."
"Mother-ish?" Peter supplied, stooping to tie his bootlaces.
Ray nodded. "Yeah. I think it's kind of nice."
"You would," Winston muttered, sotto voce.
Egon smiled at his colleagues. "She's very fond of all of you, too, but I think I'll arrange to maintain my current state of health, nonetheless."
Ray paused in the act of rechecking his equipment to eye his surroundings again. "Look at all those graves. Just imagine if all of them decided to come back at once, like in Night of the Living Dead. We'd run out of traps pretty quick."
"We'd really urn our pay," Winston remarked, elbowing Peter in the ribs.
The psychologist grimaced. "Even I wasn't going to use that one," he complained, jabbing Winston back. "But that's the spirit."
"One more like that," Egon snapped, "and you're both coming back here as clients." He turned back to Stantz, who was again absently massaging his wrist while he watched his companions' horseplay. "Is your hand hurting you, Ray?"
Stantz stopped the action immediately, instead drawing his particle thrower and switching the power on. "I'm fine. We'd better get going." He took a single step backward, coming up short against a marble gravestone. "Excuse me."
Peter chuckled. "I don't think he minds very much these days," he remarked, tapping Ray on the arm. "He's kind of laid back... and out."
"Aaargh!" Spengler wailed, throwing up his hands. "That does it. Ray, you're with me. Winston, take Mr. Entertainment there and check out the northwest section. That way."
"Guess you're stuck with Peter's 'black' humor!" Ray chuckled, causing Egon to sigh loudly and mutter, "Et tu, Brute?" under his breath.
Peter stopped to regard the younger man sourly. "Jokes from a man wearing a Beetle haircut?" he retorted, tugging playfully at a strand of Ray's unusually long hair. "What are you doing, trying out for the Punk of the Month club?"
Ray blushed and stepped hurriedly away, then yelped when Peter didn't immediately release his hair. "I forgot. We started working on the new ion tracking device and...."
"You're a fine one to talk," Winston interjected, ruffling Peter's hair in turn. "You with all that mess on top of your head. Man, I could stuff a mattress with this." The psychologist pulled back, growling something uncomplimentary, but was saved the necessity of a formal reply when Egon cleared his throat. Loudly.
"We can discuss your grooming habits later," the blond declared, snagging Ray's wrist and hustling him in the direction of the fence. "Much later, preferably. Let's start with the southern side and work our way toward the center." Ray followed him meekly enough after first passing across the auxiliary PKE meter to Peter, then the two turned along the boundary and disappeared into the trees.
Peter dug a comb out of his breast pocket and ran it through his hair, laughing softly to himself. "That Egon. Never could handle a pun, but plays a wicked practical joke." He grinned in Winston's direction and restowed the comb, then unclipped his thrower and powered it up. "And with that deadpan face of his, he usually carries them off, too."
"Tell me about it," Winston griped, following his companion along a narrow path. "I still haven't forgotten the time he made us all believe he and Slimer were still in each other's bodies. I think we ducked him for two whole days before he finally broke down and told us it was all a joke."
"You mean you ducked him for two days," Peter shot back. "Poor Ray spent the entire afternoon trying to apologize to Slimer!" He laughed again. "You should have seen him in college."
"Who?" Winston interrupted. "Egon or Ray?"
"Egon...." He broke off to navigate his way between two marble cherubs which faced each other across a new mound of earth, jumping the last few feet when the ground beneath him sank several inches. "Uh... You've never heard of a grave actually caving in, have you?" he asked nervously.
Winston shrugged. "Who do I look like, Boris Karloff? Use the path if you're scared."
Peter bristled at that last, but allowed it to pass without comment. "You should have seen Egon in college," he began again. "All sober and grim looking; we used to call him 'Mr. Computer Head,' you know." Winston made noises to the effect that he did not. Peter nodded solemnly. "Yep, true. Naturally, it became my duty to break through that reserve and turn him into a useful, fun-loving human being."
"You mean to make his life as miserable as you could," Winston translated automatically. "Got anything on the meter yet?"
Peter shook his head. "Only that there's something here somewhere." He continued his stroll, Winston at his heels. "Wish you'd been around the time I set him up -- out of the goodness of my heart, you understand -- with Frieda LesMartin. Frieda was maybe the hottest number on campus that year."
"If she was so hot," Winston asked suspiciously, "why didn't you go out with her yourself?"
Peter raised one brow. "Who says I didn't?"
"Oh." Winston fell silent long enough to peek through the grimy windows of a miniature equipment shed, while Peter waited patiently several yards on. Nothing stirred within the shelter and the metal door was padlocked. After a moment, Winston rejoined his companion and they resumed their search.
"Frieda LesMartin," Winston repeated thoughtfully. "Wasn't she the one you kept showing Egon naked pictures of for the week before his big date with her?"
Peter grinned. "He told you about that, did he? Yeah, that was Frieda. Messed his concentration up so bad, he actually made a B-minus on his ancient languages test that Friday. Did he also tell you what happened afterward?"
The older man shook his head. "Can't wait to hear this part, though. I assume Egon actually did go out with Miss Hotstuff?"
"Yep." Peter secured his thrower and drew the PKE meter, giving it an experienced glance. "Over there. Stronger readings from that cluster of bad art over there." He restored the meter to his belt and led the way in the direction indicated. Their boots crunched loudly in the gravel, and both men hurriedly stepped off the path onto the soft grass. "Anyway, Egon not only went out with Frieda, they disappeared for three days. Still don't know where they got to, but the next week, Frieda is showing around naked pictures -- of me. One guess where she got them."
Winston laughed out loud at that. "I'd like to know where Egon got them."
"So," Peter grumbled, "would I. Not that I'm complaining," he added more cheerfully. "It got me dates with half the Omega Chi sorority house."
They strolled on in companionable silence for several minutes, each man alert, senses strained to the utmost for signs of their prey. Winston leaped lightly across a shallow ditch, then turned and unhooked his flashlight, using it to examine the pooled water at the bottom before going on. "You know, Pete," he began nervously, "I really don't like this place. It's kind of... spooky."
That won him an incredulous look. "Spooky?" Peter repeated. "The place is spooky? You want I should explain again just why we're here?"
Though Zeddemore's complexion hid his blush, his voice did not. "Knock it off, Pete. You know what I mean. There's something about this place...." He started at a sound from his left. "What was that?"
"You really are jumpy tonight, aren't you?" Peter asked. He took Winston's arm, turning him to face a small stand of trees from which the flutter of wings could still be heard. "We call them owls, old buddy. Order of Strigiformes."
Now it was Zeddemore's turn to stare. "How the heck did you know that?" he wondered aloud. "Closest I've ever seen you come to a bird is on Thanksgiving."
Peter kicked at a tuft of grass and resumed his walk. "There was this girl back in tenth grade..."
"I should have known," the black man groaned.
"...and she was with this bird watching club...."
"Never mind." Winston waved away the explanation hurriedly. "After Frieda LesMartin, I don't think I can handle another one of your stories right now. Besides, I can guess the rest -- girl, dark night, sound in the trees." He paused. "That must have been twenty years ago; you don't forget much, do you?"
"Didn't forget her," Peter replied dreamily, "or that weekend I snuck off to Fire Island with her birdwatching club. My mother gave me what for, but it was worth...." Just then the PKE meter emitted a loud 'PEEP' and switched itself on. "Game time," Peter muttered, studying the glowing face briefly. "Looks like our target is 40 meters in... that direction."
'That' direction led the two men to several above-ground crypts arranged tastefully beneath a grouping of elms. Peter and Winston approached cautiously, Peter spreading the leaves of a low-hanging branch for a better view.
"There they are," he whispered, upping the switch on his power selector another notch. "Looks like we lucked out and got both of them."
"Think we should radio Egon and Ray?" Winston asked just as quietly.
Peter shook his head. "By the time they got here, these goopers could be long gone." He nudged the other man with his elbow. "Ready? NOW!"
With a double shout the two burst through the concealing foliage, firing simultaneously at the flitting clouds of color which darted among the tombs. One of them screeched loudly, caught in Peter's stream. It swelled, gaining substance, and causing Peter's proton rifle to buck wildly in his hands.
"Yike!" the psychologist yelped, hanging on for dear life. "They're ... stronger ... than we thought!"
Zeddemore ignored him to fire again at his own target. It swooped groundward at the last minute, disappearing into the nearest mausoleum. "Heck, mine ducked out."
"G-good," Peter stuttered, staggering backwards under a particularly vicious feedback. "Give me a hand."
"Roger." Zeddemore added his own stream to Peter's and the entity stopped struggling, helpless in the dual energy web. "I'm throwing out a trap," Winston called, reaching around to his pack.
Venkman braced himself. "Ready!"
An expert toss landed the box-shaped device precisely under the glowing form. Winston stopped, foot poised over the activator pedal to warn "Trap open!" and then brilliant light was cascading upwards, drawing the entity slowly and inexorably down. "Trap... closed!" Winston called, and the entity was gone.
Peter wiped his forehead is sleeve. "One down, one to...."
"Go!" Winston supplied, giving the younger man a shove.
Peter went. The second entity had emerged unnoticed from the crypt, but could be seen bobbing and weaving between and through markers in the distance.
"They probably can't ... leave ... the cemetery," Venkman panted, jumping gracelessly over an open -- and fortunately empty -- grave at the last moment. "If old Mawtawk summoned them...." A squawk from behind interrupted his train of thought, and he turned his head to cast a quick glance over his shoulder, tripping across a tree root in the process. He recovered himself instantly, but this near accident went unremarked by his fellow Ghostbuster, for Winston Zeddemore was gone.
"Winston?" Peter called softly, abandoning his chase for the moment. "Yo, Zed!"
"Right... right here," came a weak voice from below.
Below? Peter advanced cautiously to peer down into the empty grave he'd traversed more seconds earlier. It was dark, but he could still make out the figure groggily pulling itself into a sitting position six feet below. "You okay?" Peter asked, leaping lightly into the pit.
Zeddemore shook his head twice as though to clear it, then groaned. "I'm... not sure," he began through clenched teeth. "I landed on my... shoulder." He cradled his right arm against his chest and groaned again. "Hurts big time."
Peter crouched next to him and ran gentle fingers over the injured appendage. "Dislocated," he pronounced at last. "We're going to need x- rays to be sure."
"Finish getting that gooper first," Zeddemore told him firmly. "I want that sucker to go down bad. I think he led us in this direction on purpose."
Peter took the man's good arm and helped him to rise. "Let's get you out of this hole before we think about anything else," he suggested mildly. He laced his fingers together. "Can you make it?"
"I can make it." Winston stepped into the make-shift stirrup, allowing himself to be propelled out of the grave. Moments later Peter stood next to him.
"Think you'll be okay while I bag us a paycheck?" the psychologist asked, pulling the other to his feet.
Winston nodded. "Go. I'll call Egon and Ray and follow you."
"Right." Giving his companion a bright grin and a reassuring pat, Peter retrieved his particle thrower from its clip and loped off, leaving a disgusted Winston Zeddemore to follow as quickly as he could.
***