I don't own Ghostbusters, Ghostbusters II, or even a proton pack!
I do, however, own Kitty and Angie, and Remy Safar.
Kitty rested her tired head against the cool metal table, silently cursing Peter for trusting Hardemeyer. That little snake hadn't lied, per say, but he didn't help them like they'd thought. The people down town consisted of a group of men in white uniforms forcing them into straight jackets and making them swallow a variety of rainbow pills that would calm them.
Kitty was left alone again. After hours of protesting, beating on the padded walls and screaming her lungs out, she had given up and simply waited to be let out of her padded cell. The pillow-y walls gave little comfort as she wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling her knees close to her body and silently rocking back and forth. From the outside she looked crazy, from the inside she was screaming for release. Someone let me go, get me out of here – save me!
No one seemed to listen, or if they did they were plugging their ears and going 'lalalalalala!'
It was easily three hours before anybody came to get her, opening the cushy door and letting light in on the dark room. The silhouette in the doorway simply told her "Come on. We've got your friends." She was only too eager to follow him out of the dark room and to her friends.
And that's how she got there. Her head resting on the cold metal table as it cooled her burning forehead.
Ray was tired of the consent questioning, his arms crossed abruptly across his chest as he leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply.
"As I explained before," Ray spat, getting exhausted with the entire process. "We think that spirit of 16th century Moldavian tyrant is alive and well in a painting at the Manhattan Museum of Art."
The uninterested psychologist tapped off the ashes from his burning cigarette as he nodded along, ignoring the details of Ray's explanation of the fifth time that night. He simply raised an eyebrow at the man, sighing deeply before he asked "And are there any other paintings in the museum with bad spirits in them?"
"You're wasting valuable time!" Egon groaned, getting tired quickly at the notion that this psychologist didn't care. He was simply there to make sure that the boys didn't kill themselves while inside and risk a stupid lawsuit.
"He's drawing strength from a psychomagnotheric slime flow that's been collecting under the city."
"Yes, tell me about the slime." He groaned, ignoring the big words and simply reacting to the words he could understand.
"It's very potent stuff. We made a toaster dance with it."
"A toaster."
"And a bathtub tried to eat his friend's baby." Winston tried to explain. The Doc simply wasn't getting it. He looked over to Peter, who, like Kitty, rested his head on the cold table, lifted his tired head. His hair went in different ways, his eyes tired from the questions and nonchalant replies to their pleas. With the questioning look to Peter, the scientist simply shook his head.
"Don't look at me; I think these people are completely nuts."
The iconic yellow taxi pulled up the monstrous building of the Manhattan Museum of Art and screeched to a halt. The two woman inside paid the taxi driver, telling him to keep the change before they both made their way to the Museum. The Taxi pulled away, getting the hell out of Dodge, as Dana and Angie began their ascent up the massive staircase. Dana walked up first, determined to make her way up the stairs while grasping to the railing. Her eyes focused only on the doors to the museum and what was behind it.
Dana had been quiet on the cab ride over to the museum, saying less than three words to both Angie and the driver combined. Her mind was busy with the multiple questions that had to swirling at the time. Oscar was concern number one, and of course he should be. It had to hard for Dana to see her son being stolen by a ghostly apparition of her coworker – shit like that doesn't happen on a daily basis.
Angie and Dana climbed the staircase, ignoring the wild wind seemingly trying to stop them from entering the museum. Whipping around them in frenzy, it seemed like they had entered a wind tunnel before making their way over to the front doors of the museum. Dana pushed them open like she had multiple times before. This time she wasn't there to work, she was there to simply get her son back.
Angie closed the door behind her, the large doors behind her slamming shut shouldn't have been cause for alarm, but the slamming caused a chill to run down Angie's back.
Once inside the museum, the slime had control. It climbed the concrete walls of the museum, covering the tall pillars, the insane stairs and the cute little cherubs that covered the outside walls. It climbed up the walls and incrusted itself around the building, giving the building an outer shell that couldn't be penetrated. Once inside, the girls couldn't escape without Lord Vigo letting them out.
Dana ran straight to the restoration room, where the Vigo painting was held and where she knew that if anywhere, Janosz would be there with Oscar. Her mother's intuition was right. Coming across the restoration room, converted to a makeshift altar to the one and only Lord Vigo. Candles encircled the painting of Lord Vigo posing regally in front of the town that he dominated and plundered. In the center of the altar laid a small bed, a regal purple pillow where he laid, unharmed and unaffected by the change from his mother's arms to the strange foreign mans altar.
Dana stepped over the candles, making sure not to catch her coattails on fire, making her way over the pillow and grabbing her child. "Oscar… Sweetheart…" Dana cooed, swooping her young child into her arms and holding him close. "Oh, I thought I'd lost you." She said, swaying back and forth on her feet. Little Oscar smiled at his mother and her friend as they both diligently looked over the child, looking for any marks or scars. No sacrificial markings and no satanic branding on his skin or clothes; he was good.
"Oh, baby…" Dana cooed, holding her child close to her body, ignoring the small little man as he made his way out of the shadows. Timidly and almost second guessing his decision, he walked up to the candles that illuminated his face. He looked different without the Mary-Popins dress up.
"Hello, Dana." He said, causing both Dana and Angie to jump at the sound of the extra voice in the would-be vacant room. "I thought that you might come."
"You stay away from us, Janosz. I mean it." Dana warned as the two of them backed away slowly. Making sure to step over the candles once more, Dana and Angie slowly made their way back to the front doors where they would be safe from Vigo and Janosz.
"Oh, don't worry, he will not be harmed! He has been chosen to be the vessel of the spirit of Vigo. And you will be the mother of the ruler of the world!" Janosz said, a sinister glint in his eye as he talked about Vigo as some sort of savior. "Doesn't that sound nice?"
"No. It sounds ludicrous." Dana said, backing away from the painting of Vigo and his heavy-accented lackey. "You stay away from him. I mean it."
"Well, I don't think we have a choice here. Take a look – it's not Gainborough's 'BlueBoy', there. Heh, heh. He is Vigo!"
"I don't care who he is!" Dana and Angie turned to leave this wretched place for ever. "You're not going to take my baby!-"
Oscar was pulled from Dana's grip around the small child's yellow onesie as both Dana and Angie where blown backwards to the hallway. Dana screamed loudly as she fought against the invisible force that had knocked both women into the hallway before the force closed the security doors, locking Dana and Angie out of the restoration room.
Dana scrambled to the barred security door and watched from behind the cold metal separators her child hovering in mid air. Slowly, as if with the most grace of a Moldavian tyrant, Oscar was lead back to the pillow in front of the painting of Vigo by the same force that had so violently pushed Dana and Angie into the hallway in the first place. Oscar didn't make a sound, barely cooing at the sensation before he was laid back down on the pillow, his mother cursing from behind bars. "Oh, you bastard!"
Vigo's straight face didn't even budge.
From beneath the street, an ancient evil came bubbling to the surface. The cherry colored slime crawled up the cracks of the asphalt to begin its long awaited terror on the city of Manhattan. Bubbling with the sewer system, it showed its presence in all still water and took no prisoners. With the slime tunnel, known previously as the Van Horne Pneumatic Transit system, flowing without restraint, it quickly spread all over Manhattan, terrorizing the residents in epic proportions.
Globs of the slime fell from a marquee for the 1973 cult-classic 'Cannibal Girls' as it's audience rushed out into the streets. Mobs of people fled to the street, tripping over each other and spilling their seven dollar popcorn. Screaming and cowering in fear, the mob ducked as the purple specter swooped back over the crowd, roaring from its gut at the innocent people before flying off into the nights sky to terrorize someone else.
In Uptown, a woman claimed that her coat ran down the street on its own, three people confirmed. The minks on her coat seemingly coming back to life while the woman wore the coat. In fear for her life she took the coat off quickly and threw it on the ground before watching her coat scamper off down the street.
People dived out of the cars in the middle of traffic, pedestrians on the street made their way into the closest building to hide near Victory Arch. Pandemonium as the people fled from the arch as the ugly Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle growled at the small people below as a phantom crawling through the Victory Arch in Madison Square.
Park benches chasing people in Battery Park; skeleton dinosaurs scaring people on Central Park West ; and even people saying that the Titanic has just shown up at Pier 34, letting off the apparitions of the people who had lost their souls in the iceberg crash of 1912 – it was insanity and no one in power was doing anything.
The men working at city hall had worked through the night and into the next day while the city burned around them. With papers and files, and even a pie chart made up, they couldn't figure out what to do. Every time they thought that they had something down, something new would happen that would throw a spiritual monkey wrench into things. The men of their respective branches of government and public safety had worked tirelessly through the night, as evidence from the thick dark circles under their eyes, the yawns escaped from their mouths when they went to speak and the hundreds of cups of coffee that plagued the meeting room.
For every ghostly event reported, they put another peg into a map of the island of Manhattan. In the beginning this sounded like a good idea, but now as it reached the evening hours the map was now covered in pegs from Inwood and Washington Heights to Little Italy and Battery Park and everywhere in between.
"The battery is swamped! We've had more than three thousand calls since midnight last night!" The Fire Chief exclaimed, his 'I Heart NY' coffee cup in hand as he got a nod of sympathy from the new head of the EPA.
"We've had to remain in uniform on the streets, and I am still short-handed. We've had meter maids chasing ghosts all over midtown." The police commissioner said, the beautiful intern beside him nodding along as she handed him his coffee.
In the center of this madness, Hardemeyer sat at the meeting table, looking over proposal after proposal of how to fix this and turned each one of them down for their sheer stupidity. None of these plans seemed to work and they were running out of precious time.
Public Works Official leaned over the meeting table, handing Hardemeyer another piece of information about the ghosts, this time about a singular building that was targeted out of all the others to be covered in a thick glob of supernatural pink slime.
"There's this shell thing over the Manhattan Museum of Art. We can't make a dent!"
"Have you tried dynamite?" Hardemeyer snapped, a little cranky. The Official retreated, muttering to himself "We've tried everything."
The doors to the meeting room opened abruptly to the sound of the flashing of cameras and the numerous questions by the press as Mayor Clotch walked through the doors. Everyone jumped; the man who could help was finally here, someone over Jack Hardemeyer and had actually dealt with this kind of thing before.
"What the hell is going on?" The Mayor shouted, causing little Hardemeyer to jump up from his seat. "It's pandemonium out there!"
"Yes, I know, we're working on it!" Hardemeyer said, trying his best not to sound like they had just been pissing into the wind all night.
"Great. While you're working on it I'm going down in history as the mayor who let New York get sucked down into the tenth level of hell!" the Mayor paused to gasp for air. Exasperated ad out of options, the Mayor threw his hands up. "All right, we've got no choice. Call the Ghostbusters."
"Wait!" Hardemeyer shouted, earning a little bit more time to think without those pseudo scientists with the lasers come back and possibly ruin the Mayor's chance at reelection. Making his way across the meeting room like the snake is his, Hardemeyer lowered his voice as he suggested "I'm sure there's a better way."
"Jack, I spent an hour last night in my bedroom talking to Fiorello LaGuardia and he's been dead for forty years. Now where are the Ghostbusters?"
Jack had to fess up, otherwise someone else was going to tell the Mayor, possibly with a devious spin on it to make him seem like a bad guy.
"Uh… They're not available."
Mayor Lenny Clotch must not have heard him right. "What do you mean, they're not available?"
"Well, I had them committed to the psychiatric ward at Parkview Hospital."
Lenny stood there stunned at what his assistant told him. The words just simply didn't register that someone would do something so out of the box cuckoo that he must be hearing things again. Maybe Mayor LaGuardia followed him to work this morning.
"You what?"
"They were threatening to the go to the press! I was protecting your interests!" Hardemeyer tried to defend himself.
"Oh yeah?!" Mayor Lenny chased him around the meeting room a little as the little weasel walked backwards in fear of the mayor, his good intentions lost on the raging Italian.
"Well, you can stop protecting my interests. You have exactly three minutes to clear out. You're fired!"
"But – the election!" Hardemeyer protested but his pleads fell on deaf ears.
"Harry, remove this man from the building." The Mayor ordered as the Acting Sheriff grabbed Hardemeyer by the forearm, dragging the unemployed man out by force. "—and get me the Ghostbusters!"
"Mr. Mayor?" The Mayor's Aide called from the window, pulling the power hungry politician from his firing spree to see the newest development on the streets faster than any poll or even police report. "Come take a look at this."
The sky of Manhattan had turned dark. The afternoon sky was covered in a dark blue and purple cloud that hovered over midtown. Lightening strikes and an unearthly growling came form the mass of clouds as the morphed and multiplied over the sky, blocking out the sun as it got darker and darker over the New York skyline until it has completely blocked out the sun. The sunny streets, despite being ravaged by man-hungry park benches, were dark once more.
The officials all stared out the window in awe of the view before them. As if the task of saving New York from diving deeper into an abyss wasn't daunting enough.
"Somebody get me the Ghostbusters."
FUN FACT!: The movie at the theater during the 'Flip City' scene was actually 'Cannibal Girls', a 1973 low-budget movie staring Eugene Levy and directed by Ivan Reitman, the director for Ghostbusters and Ghostbusters II. They implemented a bell system that when a gruesome or overly sexual scene was about to happen they'd ring a bell in the movie, giving you enough time to cover your eyes in the movie theater.
And the doctor uninterested in the Ghostbusters is really Bill Murray's older brother, Brian.
He and Harold Ramis wrote Caddyshack together (and he even has a bit part as the boss of the caddies)
~pure.