Ch. 1

"And next up on KOTK Channel 5 news, you are not going to believe this, but a ghost was seen in an apartment building in Northwest Portland actually earlier this evening. One tenant living on the second floor reported feeling a cold presence in his bathroom before turning around to a transparent corpse apparition. And for more we go to Ken Schmidt. Ken…"

"Thank you, Terri. I am standing here outside the Fairmount Apartments with Officer Frank Gatti, one of the officers that came to investigate. So apparently you were sent out here to investigate after the dispatch board was swamped with calls all reporting the same thing?"

"Yes, that's right. Roughly half the tenants on the second floor reported seeing a transparent man with bright red eyes, looking just like a zombie out of a fright flick. When I got to the place there were several apartments in disarray, some tenants in shock and some injured. Security cameras in the hallways actually caught a drawer fly out of a room and down the main hallway. I actually came face to face with another one, a smelly blob-like thing that growled at me. I tried firing my revolver at the thing, but the bullets just passed right through. The blob then chased me down the hallway much like an angry dog. I ducked around the corner and looked back and nothing was there. None of us knows exactly what to do about the situation."

"Well, there you have it. Ambulance crews have arrived and are tending to the injured tenants and those who are in shock from the sighting. Police have actually quarantined off the building until they can figure out what happened. Back to you Terri."

"I can hardly believe it myself. KOTK 5 news will try to get a follow-up on the eleven o'clock news broadcast. And next up, we have the weather…"

Scott cannot tear himself away from the television after hearing such a news report. The twenty-three-year-old college graduate sits staring at his buddy Phil's television. The smell of pasta and tomato sauce drifts into the living room, darting his attention for just a minute.

"Hey Phil, come check this out. There was actually a live documented report of a malevolent inhuman spirit. It terrorized some apartment building downtown. The story was just on the news a minute ago."

The large, boyish-looking metal fan comes quickly from the kitchen, barely able to believe what he'd heard. "What? Something actually made the news! I've seen a few ghosts when I worked as a janitor but never anything this drastic. So what happened?"

Scott replies: "Apparently there were two ghosts spotted on the second floor of the Fairmount Apartments over in Northwest Portland. One of them was a transparent apparition with red eyes and the other was a small smelly blob. The blob attacked a cop."

Phil states, "That building is one of the buildings in Portland that has had quite a reputation of ghosts over the years. There have been a lot of things going on lately. Earlier this week I read a couple of articles in the paper about sightings like that one."

Phil and Scott had been good friends for a couple years. Both share common interests in heavy music and paranormal occurrences. And like Scott, Phil happens to be out of work, having quit his job at an area newspaper a while ago.

"I was playing around on the web the other day, when I found the website of the Ghostbusters of New York City: the originals. Drs. Ray Stantz and Egon Spengler were offering to help people in other cities start up Ghostbusters franchises. I can put my Bachelor's in Business to use, and you can handle the equipment side of things. C'mon, it'll be great! We can be our own bosses, live in an old firehouse, drive around in a teched-out Caddy ambulance, and get famous!"

"We could," replies Phil, "but it would take whole helluva' lot of money to start."

"Let's find out," says Scott as he sits down at the computer, "okay, Ghostbusters-dot-com, here we go…"

The web site displays the images of the Ghostbusters as well as some of their more famous busts, like the battle with Gozer the Gozarian, and a store with themed merchandise. He finds the franchising page. It reads:

If you wish to start your own Ghostbusters franchise in your city or town, we're here to help! To start off you will need:

1) $100,000 investment

2) Proper building—a firehouse, warehouse, or old school building.

3) Positive Attitude

Write or e-mail us at to establish a correspondence and we'll send you the necessary information in a packet in the mail. Happy busting!

Phil asks, "do you have any idea where we're going to get one hundred thousand dollars to fund this thing? I don't have that much money in my account or my trust fund… why are you looking at me like that?"

Scott seems lost in thought as he speaks: "Trust fund… there's bound to be a lot of money…"

"Whoa! No way! Unh-uh! We are not taking from my trust fund for this franchise! I know you. You'll end up cleaning me out. And for an enterprise that might fail. You don't yet have any real-world business experience."

"C'mon Phil, there are generous government grants out there. We can shoot for a seventy-five-thousand-dollar grant by establishing that there is need for our franchise. We can do that by sending them police photos of the recent regional hauntings. I have an old friend who works in the archives department of the Portland Police Bureau and he can get us copies of the photos. Then you'd only have to put up a teeny-tiny portion of your trust fund."

"I'd hardly call twenty-five-thousand dollars teeny."

"But we'd earn it all back eventually. Ghostbusting fees are not small. Besides, think about it. You're always trying to find ways to get in shape. Running around with a twenty pound nuclear accelerator on your back all the time is a great way to drop excess pounds. And think of the fame and privilege we'll get: free dinners at four-star restaurants for getting rid of gluttonous apparitions; crowds of people asking for your autograph after catching the 'phantom of the theatre'; the endless parapsychological research opportunities. And I'll bet I could get a private grant as well."

Phil is trying to say no, but the marvel in his eyes betrays him. "Damnit! Fine, we'll try it, but you'd better recoup all the money you borrow from my trust fund."

And so Scott e-mails the Ghostbusters and two weeks later at Phil's mailbox arrives a packet containing detailed instructions for building proton packs, ghost traps, psychokinetic energy meters, ecto-visors, a laser containment unit, and the roof equipment for a car, as well as tips and tricks for efficient ghost catching. Scott and Phil send the necessary photos and receive the seventy-five-thousand-dollar government grant as well as a fifteen-thousand-dollar small business grant from a local bank. They need only ten-thousand-dollars from Phil's trust fund—initially. Scott again talks Phil into using his trust fund to cover equipment costs. Surprisingly the total bill for the necessary supplies amounts to just four thousand dollars.

They find a suitable firehouse in town: a vacant two-story firehouse on Southeast Seventh Avenue between Harrison and Clay Streets. They have a small basement built to hold the laser containment unit. They even have the fire pole restored. For the laser containment unit, Scott has his computer-whiz friend Sung program the system and install the software from the packet.

"I found the car! I went to a chop shop and found this… a 1975 Superior Cadillac Ambulance. It had been decommissioned by the local ambulance company and was waiting to be stripped and crushed. It only needs a little brake work, some replacement shocks, an oil change, and a new muffler; Plus, a paint job and our modifications. I'll cover this one. My brother is a bit of a mechanic and could easily do the work," states Scott.

Soon their car is ready. The car shines white, with the classic "no-ghost" logo on both front doors. The ghost-tracking and ghost-fighting technology is installed on the roof, and a blue flasher bar replaces the old single red flasher. The siren is drop-tuned to a low moan instead of the normal wail. The rear fenders are painted red stretching from the back doors to the taillights. The license plates read "Ecto-A".

Next came the proton packs. "I was thinking, says Phil, "we should redesign the packs slightly. On this old design, some clever creature could sneak around behind us, pull out some of the wires, and render our weapons useless. The cyclotron would still be the same, as would the generators at the top of the pack. But the middle of the pack would have the wires and tubes encased in metal; sort of like a calculator cover."

"Good thinking. While we're at it, let's angle the neutrona wand handles just a little so they are easier to lift off the pack holsters. And build an additional holster on the opposite side of the pack to hold empty ghost traps."

So four proton packs are built according to the modifications. They are sleeker and more streamlined than the old clunky packs. The neutrona wand guns feel more like true firearms in grip. To accompany the four proton packs, they build sixteen ghost traps, four psychokinetic energy meters, four ecto-visors, and one spectranolyzer—for properly analyzing digital photographs of ghosts. They also purchase several pairs of tan-colored flight suits from an online uniform shop, and several pairs of military boots from the army surplus store.

Phil and Scott put in a week of sixteen-hour-days to get things up and running. At long last, the no-ghost sign on the front of the firehouse lights up, indicating that Portland Ghostbusters are open for business.

Scott had sent e-mail to the original Ghostbusters to inform them that the Portland franchise was almost open. Dr. Ray Stantz agrees to fly out to help commission the new place and give some guidance and pointers. He arrives within forty-eight hours of the message. That first night they hold a small party—using up the last of their petty cash.

To attract business, they had put out a quick ad in the newspaper, and paid for a fifteen-second local commercial. They do not have to wait long for the first call; the following morning, in fact.

At roughly nine o'clock in the morning the phone rings. Scott answers, "Ghostbusters, you spy 'em we fry 'em."

"Hello. I am Mr. Wills, owner of the White Eagle Tavern. Maybe you know this, but our place has had a reputation of being haunted. Well there is this one spirit that in the past liked to touch and push people. Please don't think I'm crazy…"

"Naah; of course not. We handle malevolent inhuman spirits all the time."

"But this thing—this malevolent spirit—has just recently started throwing glasses, plates, and silverware at both employees and our patrons. Last night it scared away all my business. In the past we could live with the mostly harmless things it did, but now it's so bad that it has to go. It damn near killed me with a fork early this morning!"

"That's what we're here for. Just give me your address and we'll be right out. Thank you for calling!"

Dr. Stantz and Phil happen to be within earshot of the phone call and hear everything. Scott writes down the address, and looks up to ring the fire bell only to find both men staring at him like children on Christmas morning.

"This is great!" Says Stantz. "I've always wanted to experience a major phantom in another town!"

"No kidding," says Phil. "It's going to be awesome to take down our first northwest ghost."

"Well what are we waiting for? Let's roll!" barks Scott.

Scott and Phil run over to the two lockers containing their suits and equipment, while Stantz goes to his suitcase for his jumpsuit and then takes a spare proton pack. The firehouse doors slam open, and out speeds Ecto-A, sirens blaring, as they pull northbound onto Seventh Avenue, stopping all traffic they pass. While in the car, Dr. Stantz looks over their equipment, and explains a little bit about the gear. He is quite surprised to find the design variation of the packs.

"These packs don't look like the ones in the instruction packet. What gives?" asks Stantz.

"Well," responds Scott, "We decided to reroute a few tubes and wires, and move some of the vents, and then build a cover over the whole thing. Phil brought up the idea that some clever ghoul or monster might be able to pull out some of the wires if they weren't protected. Also you never know when one of us might back up and catch a wire on something. This prevents that from happening."

"I like your thinking," comments Stantz. "So would Dr. Venkman. He'd say, 'Initiative like that will bring success and women.' But will they work?"

Phil responds, "They should. We didn't change the basic design. We simply rerouted a few things."

A thought causes Scott slow the car down a bit. "You know, we haven't yet had a test of our equipment. It all 'should' work but we really don't know."

"It looks like we'll find out soon enough," says Phil, as the Caddy ambulance pulls up curbside of the White Eagle Tavern.

It is morning and the tavern is closed. The Ghostbusters have to knock on the door to get Mr. Wills to open up. They greet him and ask him where the spook was last seen.

"It was last found to be in the area of the old 'whites-only' brothel upstairs but it has also recently been sighted throwing toilet paper in the women's restroom on this floor," says Mr. Wills.

"Well boys let's bag this sucker and go home," says Dr. Stantz.

Phil puts on an ecto-visor while Scott activates a PKE meter, and they find several entities floating around, the strongest coming from upstairs in the old brothel. All three guys ascend the staircase and charge up their guns.

The whole area is fairly dark, even with light pouring in from a window at the end of the hall. They notice a thin layer of dust on everything and the smell of old wood permeates the air. The sudden flickering of the PKE meter arms interrupts the eerie silence, telling the cautious hunters that their prey is directly ahead. Suddenly, an old vase comes flying at Phil, making him duck. Scott gets the vase right in the ribs. The impact doubles him over.

"The second rule of ghost-busting," whispers Dr. Stantz, "is to lookout for mean ghosts throwing things."

"Noted," winces Scott as he gets back to his feet. "This dumb-ass ghost is going to get it good."

Just then a growling transparent apparition sails right toward them. Phil fires at it out of surprise, and sends a streak of flame across a locked brothel door.The spirit turns and vapors through the floor.

"Be careful with those things," chides Stantz. "They're not laser guns. They generate a concentrated stream of atomic fire, capable of burning plants, animals, and anything made of wood, plastic, or low-grade metal! Don't ever fire one near any of your teammates or at any living thing, except in an extreme emergency! You guys have to get used to controlling the direction of the beam as well. It's something like controlling a small fire hose. Direct it instead of firing it. And never ever cross the streams!"

"Now even I know that one," states Phil. "What about you, Scott?"

Both men look around to find their third teammate nowhere in sight. Phil's walkie-talkie activates, startling both men.

"I've tracked it down here into the women's restroom on the second floor. It hasn't noticed me here yet. It's transparent, dressed in women's clothing from the 1890s. It's hair is done up in a bun. It has no eyeballs and only part of a nose. Its mouth is deformed into a sick grin. What an ugly phantom!"

Dr. Stantz states, "don't try to bag this one on your own. The first rule of ghostbusting is to never go alone. Wait for us to get down there."

The sound of proton fire interrupts the transmission. "Crap! It saw me and grabbed me!" shouts Scott, "I'm going to try to wrestle free--" The walkie-talkie transmission ends abruptly. The other two Ghostbusters charge downstairs toward the women's restroom only to be greeted by a flying phantom in the restroom hallway, which startles them. A few seconds later, Scott wanders out. His head is completely soaked, water dripping onto the collar of his uniform, and he wears the expression of an angered feline.

"Will somebody please get me a towel? First, this thing throws a vase at me and now it decides to be juvenile, stick my head in the toilet, and give me a swirlie," snarls Scott.

By now his dear friend is doubled over laughing at him. Even Stantz is chuckling. "You… got… a swirlie… from… a… ghost?" gasps Phil, before breaking into another fit of laughter.

But the sound of Mr. Wills' voice from the main tavern brings all three men to attention. "Help! This thing has me cornered! It's throwing glasses at me every time I try to move!"

"So what do we do?" Scott asks Phil and Dr. Stantz. "Every time we get near this ghost it runs away from us. It's like the ghost knows we're a threat."

"It's up to you guys to figure out how to catch it," states Stantz. "This is your business. I'm just along for the ride and to give a few pointers. I won't be around forever."

Phil thinks for a minute and says, "If we can keep it from leaving the main room, we'll be able to get it. But how do we do that?"

Scott continues, "In the bathroom, this ghost got mad at me when I touched its toilet paper. I tried to move the toilet paper because I didn't want to light it on fire and burn down the bathroom. Maybe if one of us sneaks up and ties string around the glasses, we'll be able to distract the ghost long enough to catch it by pulling the glasses around on the bar top."

"And as an insurance policy, let's lay down a couple traps around the perimeter of the tavern area," continues Phil.

"Dr. Stantz, please hide in the corner near the staircase," asks Scott. "If the ghost takes off toward the brothel, shoot it. And if you would, please be ready with the traps. And somebody get me a towel."

Dr. Ray Stantz smiles with approval, as the Ghostbusters put the plan into action. They are able to find some string in a drawer near the register at the bottom of the old staircase. Stantz sets ghost traps around the perimeter of the tavern, and hides in the corner, ready to shoot a fleeing ghost. The ghost goes to grab for another glass only to watch it move. The apparition circles the glass once or twice like an angry hornet before attempting to grab it again. The entity is not at all ready for the Proton stream that envelops it. It immediately attempts to flee in its circular flight pattern, only to be caught in a second proton stream halfway through its revolution. Scott and Phil have the spirit entangled. They guide the struggler over to one of the perimeter ghost traps.

"Very good, very good," says Scott, "Remember Phil, don't cross the streams! Steady now, steady… Dr. Stantz, toss out one of the stomp pedals to the trap."

Dr. Stantz rolls out the trap and tosses the foot pedal toward the other two Ghostbusters. After a quick announcement, Scott stomps on the pedal, opening the trap.

Phil and Scott guide the mean ghost, who is now struggling harder than ever, over to the laser field of the ghost trap. Once the spirit is in position, Scott stomps on the pedal again to close the trap. Both men shut off their proton beams and the ghost gets sucked down into the little box, struggling all the way. The beeping of a dial and a small puff of smoke signals that the little beast has been captured.

"That was awesome!" exclaims Phil.

"Now will someone PLEASE get me a towel?" asks Scott.

The three men help Mr. Wills to his feet and then negotiate the fees with him. They settle on three thousand dollars—credit of course. On top of that, the awestruck and appreciative owner promises them free drinks for a month for capturing the mean ghost, including one right then, as well as a towel. They all sit down and talk about the history of the place and all the spirits therein. Dr. Stantz takes notes during the whole conversation. Afterward, they exchange goodbyes and the Ghostbusters leave with the captured ghost. In the car the guys talk about their first bust.

"I'm really proud of you guys," says Dr. Stantz. "There was very little damage, the majority of it caused by the ghost rather than by your fire. That was almost as good as our first bust at the Sedgwick Hotel. Keep practicing and remember the tips that I've given you, and you'll do well at this."

Back at the firehouse, Scott deposits the ghost into their laser containment unit and then bids Dr. Ray Stantz goodbye so Phil can take him to the airport. Stantz leaves a paper of written advice for catching ghosts and for maintaining the business.