Ch. 3
The job at the KWJJ building is pretty standard. The most eventful part is the sheer repulsiveness of the stench that the ghost emits when sucked into the trap. It is so foul that Scott, known for his iron stomach, almost loses his breakfast in the middle of the station manager's office where they cornered the creature. And the large smoldering holes burned into the walls of meeting rooms on floors four, six, and seven.
While traveling to the next call, Scott mentions that he's got them scheduled for heavy firearms training at Fort Vancouver later in the afternoon, to help solidify their skill. Phil protests, but Scott counters with an accurate comparison of a full-stream proton gun to a fire-hose, and reminds him of the damage done so far.
The Ecto 1-A pulls up in front of the Antiques Corner shop, and the guys jump out and get their packs from the rear of the converted ambulance. They head toward the entrance of the building only to find the place locked tight.
"That's strange. The owner placed the call not an hour ago. Let me see if I can trace it and call him back…" says Scott, as they peer into the doors. He reaches into a pocket on his gun belt.
"LOOKOUT!" exclaims Phil as a Ming vase comes flying at them from inside the store, shattering the vase and the glass doors. Alarms go off everywhere. Scott just barely dodges another piece of flying pottery.
Over the ringing of the alarm, the same voice that placed the call was heard, only this time it was blipping in and out of pitch. Both Scott and Phil realize just what placed that call. They draw their neutrona wands and prepare for a fight. As they step in the doorway, three crystal lampshades spontaneously shatter, briefly startling the pair.
"I'd guess at least a class three, probably only a malignant vapor with a tendency toward poltergeist activity. Another one, two-thirty –"
Phil heeds the warning and sidesteps a javelined candelabrum. They both slide on their Ecto-visors. "Now where are you hiding, my pretty?" smarts Phil. Just then, he takes several weak shots to the head in the form of porcelain figurines, before turning and firing in the direction of the assault. His beam misses and shatters a gorgeous crystal glass set.
"M.I. Hummel would be rolling over in his grave if he knew about this!" quipped Scott. "There you are, you sonovabitch." Scott fires at a shadowy figure that appears on the visor like a tar skeleton with glowing yellow eyes. It narrowly dodges the blast, which ricochets off the wall into some very expensive looking Chinese pottery, breaking it into smithereens.
"We have to curb the damage. Negotiate it toward that suit of armor," says Scott, moving toward the armor. Phil fires near the skeletal vapor, forcing it toward the standing suit. Just then, Scott trips on purpose over the large broadsword attached to the suit. The ghost sees its chance to cripple the buster, and moves to topple the suit over on him sword-first. Scott fires at the shadowy ghost, forcing it upward into Phil's proton stream. The ghost struggles to get free, only to be entangled in a second stream from Scott's proton gun.
"Do you want to do the honors or shall I?" asks Phil.
"You take him." Phil rolls out the ghost trap and stomps on the foot pedal to open it. The two carefully negotiate the writhing shadowy skeleton into the trap's field. Phil then closes the trap and the beast is sucked down into the small box. The standard beep and smoke from the trap doors signal the end of the battle. The two Ghostbusters survey the damage to the antiques shop, staring open-mouthed at the mess. The whole place looks like ground zero. Various antiques are tipped over, there are several smoldering broken pieces of pottery and glass strewn about, the shop's curtains are in disarray, and there are faint traces of slime on the walls and on some antiques.
"Let's just call this one on-the-house," stammers Phil.
"Unh huh," mumbles Scott.
Back at headquarters, the guys deposit the two angry spirits into the containment unit before changing into plainclothes and heading out to Fort Vancouver with a pair of proton packs. They had left the afternoon free so that they could get in some weapon training at the military shooting range. Halfway through the session that honestly could be going better, Scott heads to the visitor center for a cold drink. Along the way, he calls Daryn on her cell.
"Hello, Daryn? Scott here. I looked in some more obscure spirit publications for the gigantic black blob with the corpse hands, and still had no luck. We just aren't finding anything. I checked the "Fortean Times", Copperfield's Anthology, and the Mulder Codex. We do have the New York office looking into the case as well. Why don't you stop by after school and we'll see what they found. I'll let you get back to your classes. See you later."
Scott just ends the call when he passes a Native American leaning against a nearby tree. "Wendigo." Scott looks around at the guy. The guy repeats, "Wendigo." He stands roughly five-eight, and is dressed from head to toe in traditional Tillamook tribal costume. The guy speaks again.
"I heard you talking about a large blob… black creature… with zombie hands. It is the first incarnation. My people call it 'Wendigo.' Born from fear of hunters who died lost in the wild many moons ago. It is not in your spirit books because it appears only once every two centuries. Loves the cold. It chooses a maiden of fair skin and pure blood. It bonds with her to resurrect. My people contained it not long ago. The eye of Wendigo is the key."
"That's a neat story," says Scott, as he turns back toward the gift shop. "What time's the show? Perhaps I'll come by--" He turns back and the man is nowhere in sight. Scott looks up and down the field before remembering his thirst and heading back toward the gift shop. While buying his iced tea he comments to the shop clerk at the register. "I don't know who that short Native American guy is, but you guys really got a talented actor for the reenactments."
The puzzled clerk says, "We haven't held any reenactments at Fort Vancouver for a few years. Not only that, but all the Native actors who've worked here over the years have stood at least six feet tall. You seem to have vaguely described the person in the portraits we sell. He's Simpson Wakonago, an advisor to Dr. McLoughlin during the early settlement days. He came originally from around Spirit Mountain. But he's been dead some two-hundred years."
Scott exits the gift shop and smiles coyly to himself, 'Spirit Mountain', and rejoins his partner at the shooting range. As he resumes target practice, Simpson's words echo in the back of his mind. Under the guidance of the military instructor, their aim and precision improve a little in the course of the afternoon.
On the trip home, Phil tunes into 1190 FM for the traffic report. The I-5 traffic is predictably bad, but the weather report is quite strange. The meteorologist says, "As weird as it sounds, colder temperatures are in the forecast and possibly even snow. The city has had snow as late as March, but actually there is a very good chance of snow that would set a new record. We didn't see it coming until only this morning. Tune into Northwest News Channel Eight this evening at six for more information."
"You think it has anything to do with Daryn's," asks Phil.
"NO. No, it's just weird Portland weather," snaps Scott, without faith.
"Yeah, you're right. Weird Portland weather; don't like the weather, wait five minutes," says Phil to himself.
Once again Simpson's words echo in Scott's mind. He decides to tell his partner.
"Phil, let me tell you about a strange encounter I had while walking to the gift shop. I spoke with the ghost of a two-hundred-some-odd-year-old Tillamook tribesman called Simpson Wakonago. And Simpson told me about this creature, Wendigo, and he made it sound exactly like the creature that snatched Raiza."
On the trip back to town, Scott calls Daryn on her cell and arranges for her to meet them at the firehouse. Back at headquarters, Scott checks his e-mail for a reply from Dr. Spengler at the New York office and finds this message:
Scott, I'm pleased to hear that your franchise is a success. Your description of the creature that abducted your friend motivated both Stantz and myself to research it. Unfortunately our search also did not uncover any information on this creature. Even more unfortunately our office is also very busy, and neither of us can come to Portland to work more closely on the case. But my educated guess is that this creature is a Native American evil spirit, probably a Class Eight or higher. Stantz and I thought it would be a good idea to start checking with the tribes in the area. See if you can learn anything from within, even if it is just folklore. Feel free to write if you have any more questions.
Sincerely,
Egon Spengler, PhD
Just then Daryn arrives at the firehouse. She brings with her three teriyaki dinners and so they eat and talk.
"Well as I said on the telephone, we didn't find out anything in the official books about your case," says Scott.
"Tell her about your strange encounter at Fort Vancouver," orders Phil.
"What about the strange encounter at Fort Vancouver?" asks Daryn.
"Well, we had cleared out the afternoon to get some weapons training at the military shooting range at Fort Vancouver," recounts Scott. "And over the course of the training I got thirsty. The nearest convenience store was inside the museum's gift shop, which required me to walk across the campus. Halfway there I encountered what I now believe to be the ghost of an old Native aide of Dr. McLoughlin. He described to me a phantom ghoul called 'Wendigo' that was banished by his people. His description of its first form matched very closely to the creature that you said chased you and abducted Raiza. He also said that it needed a maiden of, um, pure blood and fair skin to be reborn, immortal, unleash hell, and all that jazz. He also said it loved colder temperatures. Now under normal circumstances I would wonder about this. Except that Raiza is pureblooded Russian, the gift shop clerk had old portraits of the guy I spoke to, and the weather report predicts unusually cold temperatures and even snow on the way. And our data – the spike in psychokinetic energy – points to something big on the horizon in the near future."
"But I'm basically pureblooded," states Daryn.
"While there is most definitely pure culture, customs, and heritage, there is no such thing as pure Korean blood. I learned that from an article in an academic journal. I hate to break it to you, but your blood is about as pure as is our native language," explains Scott.
"Maybe the phantom sensed that too, and at the last minute got you out of the way in favor of your roommate," comments Phil.
"More likely it knew from the very beginning and made a half-hearted attempt to kill you so that you wouldn't tell anybody," reasons Scott.
"Great. So in addition to being biased against me because of my ethnicity, it wanted to kill me." A momentary expression of chagrin passes over Daryn's face. She continues, "So it sounds like this nasty thing that came after me and took Raiza is Wendigo. How can you guys stop it?"
"Well, I e-mailed the New York office early this morning, and got a recommendation from Dr. Egon Spengler to start checking with Native American tribes in the area. Since this ghost I spoke with was from the Tillamook tribe, I was going to take a drive out to Grand Ronde to see what I could learn."
Phil adds, "and in between the smaller jobs tomorrow, thank the Lord, I'll go search the city newspaper archives and see what I can dig up on this Wendigo."
"I have a little time between my classes tomorrow. I'll go to the university's library and see if I can find anything there," says Daryn.
"One more thing," she continues. "Teach me to use your equipment. I want to help you guys fight this Wendigo creature and rescue my friend."
"No. Out of the question," states Scott flatly. "The proton pack is a complicated piece of equipment, and we legally can't just bring you on board on a whim. Our tools take time to learn."
"But you learned them quickly enough," retorts Daryn.
"And in addition to having a finger on the pulse of the paranormal for many years before doing this job, we also studied the gear in-depth. Hell, we built all of it!" said Phil.
"If you want to help, research Wendigo and then get back to us tomorrow night," reasons Scott.
Daryn sighs. "All right."
"And now you've got to go. We've got to get to bed and get up early, like at three, to handle a spook that only manifests in the early morning hours. Thanks for dinner, and be careful. Call if any questions spring to mind or if anything weird starts happening in your dorm again," says Scott, while escorting her to the door.
After she leaves, Phil wastes no time heckling his partner. "I don't think your muscles bulged out enough, Superman."
"Aw, shaddup. If you liked her you'd try to appear in control of the situation and you know it."