Janine kept watching as Vigo worked his evil magic in that dim smelly cell. "Ia Ia Ia Utukku Xul! Ia! Ia Zixul Ia Zixul..." He continued to chant for what seemed like an eternity to Janine, who was still worried about her awaiting fate. She was quite surprised when he stopped and summoned for his attendants. But I thought he was a prisoner just like the rest of them, pondered Janine in her head. Like drones, two skinless former humans dragged in another freshly skinned former human. However, this one still had life and was struggling to get free and yelling for help. They wrestled him onto what looked like an operating table and locked him facedown into some kind of head brace. Positioned above him was a gigantic metal skull that resembled those on Vigo's breastplate. Then the eyes of the skeleton emitted two neon-red beams of light that searched the area before locking their position onto his neck just below the hairline.
What followed horrified the secretary to no end. Out of the skull's mouth emerged a long stainless steel rod with a very long, sharp needle on the end that contained a glowing green crystal. This needle started spinning toward the conscious fellow, who was desperately trying to wiggle out of the metal head brace. With a ghastly whine the needle pulsated toward the position outlined by the crimson lights. The poor victim struggled harder when he felt the sudden sting of the speeding, spinning needle. Janine had to turn her head away as she heard the poor wretch's tortured screaming, the high-pitched needle whine, and the soggy squish of metal boring through bloody flesh and raw bone. She then heard Vigo roar with approval. She thought: if that awful butcher regains free reign in our world, God help us all.
…
"This isn't good, Ray. I'm not finding anything in the Spates Database either," stated Egon. "Usually Tobin's or Spates has references on all varieties of spook, ghoul, monster, or demon, but nothing for Cenobites," the bespectacled parapsychologist said from the passenger seat of Ecto-1. He had grabbed his laptop at the last minute before they left and was trying to research the creatures on the way to The World Entertainment Complex.
"Well, have you tried 'Pinhead' or 'Hell's Cenobites' on that thing?" asked Peter. "They've gotta be in there."
"I've tried everything."
"Well if your system is as slow as this traffic, it's no wonder you're not finding anything," said Ray. "This is ridiculous. It's almost as if the cars have been abandoned or something."
Peter and Winston worriedly exchanged glances.
"Man, the cars up here areall abandoned," said Winston. "How close are we to The World, anyway?"
"According to Ecto's navigation system, we're about six blocks northeast. Boys, it looks like we're walking from here," said Ray.
The four boys in gray got out, got their proton packs and ghost traps, and marched toward The World. "I just hope this call doesn't involve any tall buildings with broken elevators," quipped Peter.
"Or terror dogs," chimed in Louis. The Ghostbusters had brought him along with them for his safety.
"Say, has anyone else noticed the sky beginning to turn a purple color?" asked Ray of the others.
"Yes, that often happens during sunset," stated Egon.
"But sunset was a half-hour ago. On a clear night like this, there should be nothing but midnight blue…" continued Ray.
They continued to explore the strangely silent avenues on their journey to The World. Nearby some of the abandoned cars, there were trails of shiny fluid away from the cars in various directions, unidentifiable in the low light. Ray reached down and ran a gloved finger through a trail of stuff and ran it under his nose. "Human blood," he said apprehensively.
"Something tells me we're in for a nightmare," said Winston. "Be very careful guys."
The closer they came to their destination, the eerier the sights became. Pools of gore and various articles of clothing littered the damp streets in chaotic piles near Times Square.
"Anything on the meter, yet, Ray?" asked Peter.
"There seem to be presences near the building itself, but nothing to match the energy signatures from the bookstore," said Ray. "So he's likely been here and either found or not found what he's after."
"Hopefully the latter as opposed to the former," Egon said. Winston shuddered at the thought.
Finally arriving at The World, where should have been lively commotion only dead silence remained. Nothing moved for blocks in either direction. Crimson streaks of blood stained their still surroundings. Bits of scattered debris were strewn out here and there, as a wind from the east flew through the hollow shells of abandoned automobiles and endless rows of mammoth buildings, making them howl through the still night.
"Well, here goes nothing," said Ray.
The four Ghostbusters charged up their particle throwers and entered the decimated front doorway. They found themselves in near-darkness, with only a few untouched lights flickering revealing more crimson stains. They stepped carefully around the fallen bodies and avoided the smashed decorations, noticing the holey walls. The eerie silence was unnerving to the exterminators, who were used to noisy ghosts and busy crowds of people. But they usually arrived before it was too late. The loud pounding of a falling door startled the four a little and they all nearly blasted fresh holes in the wall.
"Lucy, I'm home!" joked Peter in a half-whisper. The other guys glared at him.
The sound gave way to a distant scuffling of feet and thumping on walls that seemed to resonate from behind large set of locked double doors that led into building's main dining area.
"I'm picking up residual traces of that incredible energy signature from your bookshop," whispered Egon. "That entity--Pinhead--was here not long ago."
"Figured as much. What about those other paranormal energies?" whispered Ray, watching his own PKE Meter.
"They're very similar in that they've got that powerful emptiness, but are nowhere near as powerful as those of Pinhead or the other Cenobites," replied Egon quietly.
"I just thought of something. What makes you think our throwers will even work on whatever it is we find in there?" asked Peter quietly.
"He's right. We have no evidence that the beams can even stop those demons," said Winston quietly.
"And it doesn't look like anyone's left to pay you guys either," whispered Louis.
The guys proceeded into the complex. Just then, the banging on these doors intensified to the point that the structure bowed. The pounding on this door was much more intense than that on the unseen door. The creatures were trying to break down the door, which was looking rather flimsy now. It was only a matter of time before the door gave way.
"Looks like we're going to find out real
quick whether or not our throwers work," said Ray.
"Let's
go at a low setting first. If these creatures are physical in nature,
we don't want to have to dodge proton backwash."
"Or unstable nuclear particles of atomized monsters," added Egon.
The doors broke and hit the floor with an earth-shaking crash. The guys exchanged reluctant glances. There were six forms that spied the Ghostbusters and came after them. The first was a former nightclub emcee with a series of compact discs laced through his head like an awful sewing project. The second was an ex-young woman with knives and forks sticking out of her bust in a pentagram pattern. She had a purse full of knives and forks. The third was a very large ex-bouncer a beard and shards of glass stuck in his chest and spine. He also had a large bloody incision revealing his stomach and intestines, in which there were also glass shards. The fourth was a teenage boy completely lacking skin. He seemed to slither and writhe rather than walk. The fifth was a former waitress with alcohol bottles rammed deep into every orifice sans her mouth. The sixth was a large, muscle-bound former man who had his head split even from the top so that his brain was exposed by a crimson perimeter. Ray recognized him as the wrestler known as The Smash Artist. At least he was. This creature had utility knife blades sticking out its fingertips.
The disc-monster threw a sharp compact disc at Peter, who fired and split it into pieces, then turned his beam on the hurler. The creature writhed in pain but kept advancing. The bottled-waitress spat acid at Egon, who dodged and fired at her. Winston immediately blasted the demon-wrestler. Pretty soon, there was total chaos. The paranormal paratroopers were wildly firing proton beams in the general direction of these creatures and dodging frequent knife blades, acid streams, compact discs, and flatware. The whole room was engulfed in a chaotic air show of orange beams and small objects. The Ghostbusters just were not doing much damage. The creatures were pretty good at keeping the four men constantly in motion and unable to aim very well. The creatures kept advancing, the guys retreating. They tried altering the settings on their throwers several times to no effect. Louis, in the mean time, was trying to avoid the chaos. He was moving behind fallen tables and other objects he could use as shielding. On one of these occasions he noticed a faint red light from within an open wound of one of the awful monsters.
"Hey Ray, over here," motioned Louis. "I don't know if it will help, but maybe their glowing red wounds mean something."
At this point Ray was out of options and called for the guys to fire at the wounds. When the ex-wrestler's wound was hit, he melted like cheese on a hot plate. The overpowering stink of melting tissue and bodily fluid made the guys scramble for bits of napkin strewn along the restaurant floor.
"Uugghh," gagged Winston, "That's worse than the time I fell into that pool of slime when we caught those ghost skunks."
"Don't remind me, Zedde." choked Peter. "Like a limburger convention."
Wearing their makeshift masks, the guys took down the creatures one by one. Soon there were two left, the skinless teenager and the disc-thrower. They had no glowing wounds. These creatures began trying to attack the proton packs.
"Now they're trying to wreck our guns!! They play no fair!" smarted Peter. He dodged, narrowly avoiding a blow to the pack from the skinless teenager.
"Egon, did you bring that new weapon you were testing?" asked Ray.
"New weapon?" shouted Peter and Winston at the same time.
"It's called a Proton Concussion Grenade. It theoretically acts toward the ethereal like a standard grenade to the corporeal. But... it's still being tested. I cannot keep it from destroying physical beings, and the entity hanging around the firehouse refuses to be a test subject," said Egon, backing rapidly away from the advancing emcee monster.
"Well do you have it with you?" asked Winston.
"One of them; it is right here..." Egon accidentally fumbled the weapon, which rolled across the room right at the feet of the disc-thrower. The disgusting creature picked it up, activated it and prepared to throw it at the four concerned exterminators with a huge sinister grin. The grenade exploded immediately in the creature's hand. Compact discs shot in all directions and the creature dropped like a lead pipe, convulsing with proton backwash, and died on the spot. The guys dived behind fallen tables and the bar to avoid impaling. Many of those compact discs landed in the skinless teenager, who then took one look at himself in a fallen cracked mirror and ran whimpering out the door.
"That was the other problem," said Egon. "The grenade will not hold a fuse longer than a tenth of a second."
Peter, Ray, and Winston all laughed in relief.
"I guess he had one hell of an explosive temper!" quipped Peter.
Egon again scanned the area with his PKE Meter. This time the device registered no paranormal energy signatures. The tired Ghostbusters headed out the main entrance of the decimated entertainment complex and marched the six blocks back to Ecto-1. They piled into the converted emergency vehicle ready to head home only to find themselves swamped with messages on their car's CB from the firehouse answering service. The list of calls numbered near one hundred.
"It's going to be a long night," said Winston with a groan.
The rest of the night saw the Ghostbusters racing to each call only to find more hideous Cenobite creations and no people anywhere. They came across several former cops who had been violently and viscerally inducted into the demonic ranks. Fatigue was beginning to set in, and by the fifteenth assignment, all four men were ready to quit on the spot. They had never had a night like this before. Worse, they likely would not be paid for any of it.
…
John
Merchant sat restlessly on United Airlines flight 420 to New York. It
would still be three hours before he got to the Big Apple. He tried
to read but could not concentrate very long. He decided to go to the
restroom to wash his face and try to calm his nerves.
I just
hope Pinhead and his cronies have chosen to pursue only those who
used the Lament Configuration. But this nagging feeling tells me that
he has another agenda altogether, said Merchant to his reflection
in the facility's mirror. Hopefully no one's trying to get in
his way. I doubt there is a force on earth capable of defeating the
Cenobites.
…
At Vineland Home for Girls, Kirsty Cotton was sitting in the head nurse's station with a downtrodden look on her face. Martha Crabbe, the head nurse of the institution, was grilling her like a military sergeant.
"Kirsty, you know better than to make outbursts like that! Are you trying to scare the other girls? You know how many of them are traumatized easily. Now tell me just why you panicked like that during our evening meal."
"I can't." forlornly whispered Kirsty. "I just have this feeling..."
"It was a little more than a feeling," said Nurse Crabbe, injecting compassion into her voice. "I understand what you've been through, dear. The pain of losing your family is very difficult to overcome. But the bad man is gone. Your uncle Frank is gone, child. He's not coming back."
"But he's not the one I felt... It was... Pinhead..." Kirsty started sobbing. "He... he's here."
"Now Kirsty, didn't we determine Pinhead to be a figment of your subconscious mind?" said Nurse Crabbe, putting an arm around the distraught young woman. "Remember, it was your psyche giving a face to the horror and grief caused by your uncle Frank."
"No, it wasn't! Pinhead came after me twice!!! I was in hell! Pinhead and the Cenobites are real and they're back in our world again..."
"Ssh, child," comforted Nurse Crabbe, embracing the disturbed young woman. "Maybe if you eat something and go straight to bed, you'll feel better in the morning."
Kirsty knew that she was powerless to do anything else, so she submitted and took Nurse Crabbe's advice. Moreover, she began to wonder if she had dreamed up the Cenobites to reconcile what had happened in her mind and soul. Through the past two years, Nurse Crabbe and the facility psychologists had all but proven to her that there was no possible way for Hell to open up, if there even was a Hell. And they had taken extraordinarily good care of her physical and psychological self. Maybe they were right.