On the taxi ride over, Venkman tried to put her at ease with small talk, noncontroversial chitchat, but she was having none of it. "Still too upset from her earlier experience," he decided. "Not the best thing for a chick to find a temple of devil worshipers in among the meatloaf. I know it'd put me off my feed." Deep down, Peter Venkman was still skeptical that what they were doing would work. Even after the incident at the library he wasn't convinced that there was a way to capitalize on this thing. Oh sure, Egon said they could catch and hold ghosts, and he and Ray were certain that the equipment they had built would do the job, but it was a job that no one had ever done before. And staking your life's work and your life savings—or at least Ray's life savings—on Egon's word could reasonably be considered self-destructive behavior. Egon was unconventional, even by Venkman's standards.
Egon was the one who had attempted to nullify gravity by wrapping a high-tension power cable around a playground jungle gym, certain that reversing the polarity of that much steel would propel the object into space. He had succeeded merely in browning out the northern third of Ohio for six hours until someone had discovered his immense electromagnet and cut the line. Granted, Spengler had accomplished a few firsts. He had been the first scientist to hypnotize a hamster by subjecting to it low-frequency radio waves. Peter tried it later and found that it also worked on coeds. Egon, in an attempt to build a death ray, had come up with a sonic gun that had little effect on people but set off soft-drink cans at a hundred yards. After the night that Peter had gotten drunk and taken it down to the local Coca-Cola warehouse, Egon had insisted on dismantling it. On the plus side, the detectors that had registered the presence of the ghost in the library had been Spengler-designed and Stantz-built, and Ray vouched for the soundness of Egon's theories regarding the traps and containments they had designed for the firehouse basement.
"You sure this will work, Mr. Stanz?" Mo asked.
"They'll catch 'em and hold 'em," Ray had assured her. "I'll stake my life on that."
"We all will, Ray." Venkman replied.
"How strong do you guys think this ghost might be?" Sabrina wondered.
"Well, if it can throw books around, I don't think we're talking about Sesame Street here." Cherry replied.
"Sometimes I wonder how I even got mixed up with these guys," Venkman sighed, referring to his close friends. "I've never believed in most of the things those guys take for granted: ghosts, Bigfoot, UFOs, the Bermuda triangle."
Atticus looked like he wanted to say something, but Cherry and Lionel covered his mouth and shook their heads.
"Well, if you're not into these, should we call them, 'implied sciences', then why are you studying this like Ray and Egon?" Cherry asked Peter.
"Guess I'll confess," Peter sighed in defeat. "I only entered the study of parapsychology because grant money had been readily available and because the study of ESP was in its infant stages and therefore formless, malleable. There was no map, no structure, and if a thing has no structure, who's to say that the one you put up is wrong? In fact, until Dean Yaeger had thrown in the monkey wrench, I had had a pretty successful career studying just about whatever I wanted. I'm not a dilettante. I'm just surveying new ground. And as long as a surveyor keeps moving, keeps out there ahead of the builders, I've got a job."
"I guess that's fair enough." Cherry remarked while everyone else agreed.
Dana Barrett's building was a 1920s high rise on 78th and Central Park West, a towering ziggurat of red stone. From the street no one could see the top but sensed that there was some sort of ornate cap. Well, if it was built in the 20s, maybe someone had planned to moor dirigibles to it. The doorman gave the group a funny look as Peter carried the analyzer into the lobby but spoke pleasantly enough to Dana. Good-looking woman, he decided. Intelligent, attractive, sensible, the kind that never falls for me. He stood behind her in the elevator, gazing at the soft wisps of hair curling down over her neck, wondering what she'd be like. Probably thinks I'm not good enough for her. Still in all... The apartment was dark, but he noticed that she had no fear of walking in, switching on the lights, and hanging up her coat. The disturbance had been in the kitchen and she was satisfied that it had stayed in the kitchen. Maybe, but after that fiasco at the library Peter wasn't so sure.
"Have you thought of moving out?" Atticus asked. "At least until this disturbance blows over."
"No," Dana said firmly. "If I moved out now, I'd be acknowledging that what happened was real. I'm not ready to do that."
"Gutsy, that's good, Venkman muttered, looking around the living room for dark corners, hidden secrets, spotting her cello instead. "You play the cello! It's my favorite instrument."
"Really?" Dana asked. "Do you have a favorite piece?"
"I'd have to say Prokofiev's Third Concerto." Venkman said as he picked up the instrument that was lighter than he thought.
"That's a violin concerto." Dana said, carefully untangling his fingers from the strings and putting the instrument away.
"Yeah, but it's got a great cello break." Peter then said as the teenagers rolled their eyes at him.
Dana then turned back to find him peering at the embroidered pillow on her couch.
"Souvenir of Fort Hood, Texas?" Peter asked Dana.
"My uncle was in the army," Dana explained. "Look, you really don't act like a scientist." she then added.
Venkman smiled broadly. "No? What do I act like?" he then asked.
"Like a game show host."
"Thanks," Peter said wryly, unslinging the analyzer. He began to circuit the room, porting on the squeeze-bulb, and watching the dial for any hint of ectoplasmic energy. "Ray had never explained the device, but it seemed simple enough." he then muttered to himself.
"Are you sure you're using that thing correctly?" Atticus asked.
"I think so," Peter said before he peered into the nozzle, wondering whether it was turned on. "I mean, it looks right. What's in there?"
"That's the bedroom, but nothing ever happened in there." Dana explained.
"That's too bad." Peter said, noticing for the first time that she had shed her heavy coat. He had to stop himself from staring.
"What?"
"Nothing. Is that the kitchen?"
"Yes." Dana replied with a touch of apprehension in her voice.
"Well, let's check it out." Peter suggested smoothly.
"I'll wait here if you don't mind."
"Sure." Peter said as he gripped the analyzer at high port, like a rifle, and stepped boldly through the swinging door into the kitchen.
"Man, this place almost looks like my house on Thanksgiving." Thor remarked.
"You're a hell of a housekeeper." said Peter.
"I told you!" Dana called.
"I know, it happened by itself." Peter said as he checked the analyzer again. "Well, if this thing's working, the ghosts aren't. You can come in. There's nothing here."
Dana poked her head through the door, looking chagrined at the mess. "You're sure?"
Peter nodded to reassure her.
"You checked the refrigerator?" Dana then asked.
"No, not yet."
"Well, aren't you going to?"
"This is where we start earning our money." Cherry whispered to the others who nodded in agreement.
"Sure. Why don't you stand over there?" Peter replied as he approached the refrigerator from the side, easing up to it, then moving his body around to shield from any possible reaction. "Well, here goes nothing. The things I do for a beautiful woman." he then muttered as he pulled slowly on the handle and the door swung back. Venkman let out a cry of terrified surprise.
"What is it?" Dana asked out of concern.
"Bologna," Peter said, letting the door open fully. "And processed cheese food, Twinkies. You eat this stuff?"
Cherry stuck her tongue out at the mention of Twinkies.
"Blast it," Dana cried in exasperation. "That wasn't there before."
"I know, it was a temple with flames coming out," Peter replied. "Well, there's nothing there now, and I get no significant readings."
"This is terrible," Dana frowned. "Either there's a monster in my kitchen or I'm completely crazy."
"Yes, you could be going crazy if it wasn't for those eggs on the counter!" Atticus exclaimed dramatically.
"...what?" Cherry asked him flatly.
"I'm trying to be a detective." Atticus explained.
"I think you should stop." Cherry advised.
Peter then followed the woman back into the living room. "If it's any comfort to you, I don't think you're crazy." he then offered kindly.
"Thanks," Dana laughed incredulously. "Coming from you that really means a lot to me."
"I'm a qualified psychologist," Peter remarked. "I've got a degree and everything. I believe that something happened here and I want to do something about it."
Dana crossed her arms protectively and stared back at him. "All right. What do you want to do?" she then demanded.
"I think I should spend the night here." Peter shrugged disarmingly.
"That's it. Get out." Dana then demanded.
"On a purely scientific basis."
"Out!"
Peter looked at her sadly. "Well, I tried to help, I said the wrong thing and now she thinks I'm a geek and crazy." he then said to the kids.
The kids began to follow him then with nothing really else to do.
"You are the strangest man..." Dana began to say to Peter.
"Then I can stay?" Peter asked hopefully.
"No!" Dana glared.
"I want to help."
"I'll scream."
"Don't scream." He hurried to the door, hesitated, then turned back.
"Leave."
"Okay, okay, but if anything else happens, you have to promise you'll call me."
Dana held the door open for him. "All right, but I want to be alone now." she then insisted.
"Okay. I'll go." Peter nodded.
"Goodbye."
Peter leaned forward for a last try. "No kiss?" he then asked.
The door neatly met his nose. Peter Venkman stepped back and smiled. "Wow, I think she likes me." he then said to the young group.
"Oh, yeah. That's how my dad got my mom." Sabrina replied sarcastically.
Peter trotted off toward the elevators, not seeing the two suspicious eyes watching him, the furtive shape entering the hall and move toward Dana Barrett's apartment. A door slammed, but Peter Venkman, in a world of his own, stepped into the elevator and rode down. "Oh no," he said with a smirk. "In love again."
"Again?" Atticus asked curiously.
"It's none of your concern, so leave it alone for now." Cherry suggested.
Atticus simply shrugged at that in response.
A tiny man in glasses watched them go, but he seemed to have his own dilemma. "Oh, no. Locked out again." he then said to himself.
Meanwhile, Spengler was leaning across the kitchen table, an eggroll in each hand, his face a mask of intense concentration. "Imagine, if you will, that this eggroll is equivalent to the total amount of range energy available to the average man. We will call it one... one..." he then started to calculate.
"ER," Stantz suggested. "ER?" "Egeroll. E-R. ER."
Spengler lifted one eyebrow. "We can't call it ER. An eggroll is a thing, therefore a conceptual entity, but it is not a unit of measurement. Eggroll length? Eggroll width? Eggroll what?"
"Call it ERM. Eggroll mass. One ERM."
Spengler was satisfied with that. "Okay, one ERM is the equivalent measurement for the amount of ESP available to the average man. Now," he said, bringing the eggrolls together, "I believe that if you double the amount, to, say, two ERMs, you'd have enough energy to blow the lid off a city the size of New York."
"What lid?"
"The psychic lid. The inbred controls that make even one ERM unavailable to most people." Spengler smiled smugly, popping one of the eggrolls into his mouth.
"Sort of like critical mass at a nuclear reactor, huh?" Stantz asked.
Spengler nodded.
"But how would you join two ERMs? What kind of psychic link would you need?"
Spengler whipped out his calculator, made a few notes on the side of an overturned carton from Hong Fat's Noodlerama, and announced, "Tt could be done. A modification of the visual image tracking headset, filtered through an archetype unscrambler, locked into a psychic potentiometer on a feedback circuit would do it."
Stantz was dubious. "Do we really want something like that?"
"Not unless you've got a powerful grudge against the City of New York. An unbridled psychic link between even two people would pull out the stops. It would be like unleashing all the ghosts that have ever lived in New York," Egon said until he stopped, thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, that scares even me."
Venkman came clattering up the stairs, hung his analyzer on the coatrack, and yawned.
"How was your date?" Ray asked Peter. "We saved you some Chinese."
"Chinese, huh?" Cherry asked as she leaned in suddenly. "I hear Chinese food is big in New York next to the pizza."
"Oh, absolutely!" Lionel nodded, as he and Thor began to salivate.
"Well, we didn't know what you guys would like so it's mostly chicken, shrimp, and rice, is that okay?" Ray asked.
"I guess I'll just have some rice and vegetables then." Mo decided for herself.
"I just hope there's enough chicken and shrimp to go around." Cherry smirked as she even began to feel hungry.
"I just thought you guys would like to feel part of the group since you believed in us." Ray said with a friendly smile.
"Well, that's most appreciated." said Lionel.
"Help yourselves then." Ray said kindly.
Cherry smirked a bit as she took a couple of boxes of both sweet and sour chicken as well as some grilled shrimp to go with a box of white rice.
"It wasn't a date, it was an investigation," Peter told his fellow Ghostbusters as they came to sit and relax for a little while after they visited Dana. "I think something's possible there, but I'm going to have to draw a little petty cash, take her to dinner. Don't want to lose this one."
"Did you see anything?" Spengler asked.
"On the first date?"
"Ghosts. Did you see any ghosts?"
Venkman shook his head, then proceeded to rummage through the ravaged Chinese dinner, picking garlic shrimp out of the rubble. "Didn't see anything. Didn't get anything. Nice girl, no ghost. I don't think she was lying though. Nobody cooks eggs on their countertop."
Stantz and Spengler looked at each other.
This wasn't like Venkman. Something was affecting him. He picked up Spengler's remaining ERM and popped it into his mouth. "Anything happen here?"
They shook their heads.
"Nothing, huh? How's the cash holding out? In English, Egon. Forget the calculator."
Egon nodded. "Sure, in English. If you want to take Miss Barrett to dinner, I'd suggest you make it a Big Mac. This Oriental feast took the last of our money, and until we get a job, we're flying without motors.
"Ray, you said that all the indications were pointing to something big happening soon. You told me that things were going to start popping."
"They will."
"When?"
Stantz looked to Spengler for support. Spengler considered telling Venkman about their ERM theory but he didn't look ready for it. He glanced out the window. It was a clear, red sunset, the darkness coming fast and hard, implicit in a front of heavy clouds hanging low over North Jersey. An omen? A portent? More like an analogy to the coming demise of their bank accounts. That eggroll must be getting pretty full. Something would have to break. It was only a matter of time.
"Soon, Peter. Soon."
"I think I should ask Uncle Drell if he knows anything about this Zuul person." Thor said to his friends.
"That sounds like a good idea," Sabrina agreed. "I'm sure he's heard some things here and there."
"It couldn't hurt, big guy." Lionel smiled at him.
AND SO, SOME TIME LATER...
Janine Melnitz was fed up. She'd never been so bored in her life. When she'd first taken the job with Ghostbusters she'd assumed that it would be exciting. She'd been in a TV commercial with three men who were supposedly going to be catching real live ghosts. She'd seen the money pour into their building, their equipment, the bizarre ambulance that Ray Stantz insisted on calling an Ectomobile. And then they'd waited. And nothing had happened. She wasn't even getting anywhere with that cute Dr. Spengler...
"Face it, kiddo, you've waltzed into another dead end. Best to cut your losses and move on, pick up some takeout, go home, watch Dynasty, read the want-ads." Janine muttered to herself as she snapped off the light and grabbed her purse.
The phone rang.
"Probably the man from Telectronics wanting his money again," Janine then hesitated, then picked it up. "After all, I am a receptionist. It's not my money they want... Ghostbusters?" she then responded.
The voice at the other end sounded nervous. "Is this really Ghostbusters?"
"Yes, it is."
"And they're... they're serious about this?"
"Of course they're serious," Janine said impatiently. Crazy, but serious.
"Oh, good. My name is J.M. Shupp. I'm the manager of the Sedgewick Hotel, and I wish to contract for their services..."
"You do?"
"I... we... have this ghost..."
"You have?" Janine asked as she took down the information with a trembling hand. "It's really, not a con..." she muttered to herself. "They're really going to catch ghosts. Oh, Egon, you're not crazy. Don't worry, they'll be totally discreet." she then said beore she set down the phone, took a deep breath, and laughed. We really got one. We got one. "We got one!"
The alarm bell blasted Venkman out of bed just as he was falling asleep. He stumbled up, pulling on his socks, and ran for the lockers in the kitchen, where Stantz and Spengler were trying to put on the same pair of coveralls.
"You guys got a real call?" Sabrina asked with wide eyes.
"We got a live one!" Ray replied. "Well, maybe not a live one, but you know what I mean."
"Wahoo! A real ghost call!" Atticus cheered.
"I certainly hope so," Venkman replied. He launched himself at the pole, hit, and plummeted into the garage.
"Please don't let this be a false alarm." Cherry grumbled as she came with her friends to go help out Ray, Egon, and Peter.
"Where's my trinocular visor?"
"It's in the car, Ray."
"It's not a car, it's an Ectomobile."
"Whatever you say, Ray." Spengler cried, grabbing the pole and descending.
Stantz looked about him and realized that he was ready. He took a run at the brass pole. "Geronimo!" he cried, but his legs were too far apart and the impact was cushioned by precisely that part of his anatomy he'd been trying to protect. With a surprised whimper he fell through the hole.
Venkman grabbed him and dragged him toward the passenger seat as Spengler, his arms full of traps and detectors, loaded the rear compartment. Janine handed him a clipboard with directions on how to get to the Sedgewick and the nature of the complaint, and then, on impulse, kissed him on the cheek. Egon, surprised, gave her a thumb's up and grinned.
"Will you get a move on here, Egon?" Venkman cried from the passenger side. "You're driving."
"What's wrong with Ray?"
"He dented his bumper. Let's go."
The kids came to join the Ghostbusters in action, going to help as much as they possibly could.
With a blaze of lights the old Cadillac's motor roared to life, the banks of rooftop sensors, antennae, and microwave transmitters swinging to alertness. Janine triggered the door opener, Venkman hit the siren, and they were off.
"I swear you guys if this ghost ends up being from Pac-Man or some crap like that I'm not gonna be happy." Cherry warned her friends.
"I wasn't aware Cherry was ever happy." Salem remarked to Sabrina and the others.
On the way there, Thor started playing an imaginary piano and sang a little song. "~Gonna tell you a story 'bout a little town I know...they had a real big problem with some big mean local ghosts! Those spooks were making the whole city loose control~"
On the second part, Lionel joined in. "~Well, the mayor was frantic, the townsfolk panicked, cuz they had no sense of fear! 'Cuz they knew what they were missin' were those boys with a mission, so they called 'em up right here!"
"~They was boxin' and trappin' and shootin' through the joint! Stepped right in and got down to the point!~" they both sang. "~Those Ghostbusters came in, cleanin' up the town!~"
The doorman of the Sedgewick had seen a lot of strange vehicles in his thirty years on the job, had heard a lot of strange sounds, but the moaning, ululating siren of the Ectomobile brought back childhood memories of Eastern Europe that he had taken great pains to forget, and he instinctively crossed himself. When it screeched to a halt at the curb, his jaw dropped. A radar dish and a microwave tracker swiveled about to point at him, and the old doorman probably would have run had not Shupp, the manager, appeared in the doorway.
"Well, they look professional enough." Shupp remarked as three men and five teenagers in coveralls alighted from the converted ambulance and began strapping on large electronic backpacks and belts bristling with metal implements.
They wore brushed-metal, flip-down visors, boots, and knee and elbow pads over their gray coveralls. The face of one was obscured by a cyclopean headset.
Another strode forward, his hand out to shake. "I'm Dr. Venkman. You are...?"
"Mr. Shupp, the manager. Thank you for coming so quickly," The man replied as he introduced himself. "The guests are starting to ask questions and I'm running out of answers."
They moved into the lobby, people turning to stare at the three outlandishly dressed men. A group of Japanese tourists immediately began snapping pictures.
"Has this ever happened before?" Stantz asked, now fully recovered from his mishap with the pole.
"Well, most of the original staff knows about the 12th floor, the disturbances, I mean, but it's been quiet for years," Shupp explained. "Then, two weeks ago, it started again, but nothing like this."
"Did you ever report it to anyone?"
"Heavens no! The owners didn't like us even to talk about it. I hoped we could take care of this quietly tonight."
Egon shook his head. "Like social disease," he exclaimed loudly. "You think it'll go away if you ignore it, and then, eventually, your—"
"Egon, the job, remember?"
Ray was walking the manager toward the elevators, cleverly distracting him from Spengler's outburst. "Don't worry, we handle this sort of thing all the time."
"You gotta be cool with these people, Egon." Venkman said.
"I was appalled at his unprofessional attitude."
"Well, we're the professionals. That's why they called us."
Ray shook the manager's hand and the man withdrew, leaving them alone in front of the elevators.
"12th floor, huh?" Venkman pushed the button.
Something tugged on his sleeve. It was an old man in an overcoat and alpine hat, carrying a newspaper. He poked Venkman in the chest. "What are you supposed to be?" he then asked.
"Me? We're exterminators," Peter explained casually. "Somebody saw a cockroach on the 12th floor."
Stantz and Spengler smiled.
The old man whistled. "That's gotta be some cockroach."
"Well, you can't be too careful with these babies," Venkman said. "Going up?"
"That's all right. You go ahead. I'll wait for another car."
They had the elevator to themselves.
"I just realized something." Atticus spoke up.
"Your head can fit in the elevator?" Cherry smirked.
Atticus rolled his eyes. "No. You guys never really had a successful test run with any of this equipment." he then explained.
"Oh, gee," Ray realized. "He's got a point there, guys."
"Spengler raised a hand. "I blame myself."
"So do I." Venkman agreed.
Stantz shrugged. "No sense in worrying about it now, right, Peter?"
"Sure. Each of us is wearing an unlicensed nuclear accelerator on his back. No problem."
"Hmm..." Atticus paused as he seemed the most unsure about this.
"Relax," Egon said. "I'm going to switch on."
Before Venkman could protest, the warning light on Spengler's proton pack flared red and the accelerator kicked in with a deep, disturbing hum. Stantz and Venkman edged away as the whole car began to vibrate, dust motes kicking into motion in the suddenly polarized air. The hair went up on Venkman's neck and he felt a crawling sensation on his scalp, as if a thousand lice had begun a breakdown competition among the roots of his hair. He swallowed uncomfortably, noticing that Stantz had curled his lips back and away from his teeth.
"Ray, you okay?"
Stantz shook his head. "Egon, the fillings in my mouth are beginning to heat up."
"That'll stop when you cut in your own accelerator." Spengler announced.
Stantz nodded and switched on. Venkman's eyes were starting to hurt. Here goes nothing, he thought, and kicked in his own unit. Immediately the symptoms subsided as he was surrounded by the proton generator's field.
"Well, Atticus, I dunno about you but I think that maybe these things will work after all." Cherry reassured him.
"Yeah, maybe." Atticus had to admit.
The door opened and they stepped out on the 12th floor, instantly alert for any sign of trouble, but the floor was brightly lit, tastefully appointed, and quiet.
"What do you think?"
Spengler consulted the aurascope on his belt. "Definitely something here."
"Stay on your toes. Don't let it surprise you."
Suddenly a squeak and a clank from behind them. They froze, and then Stantz and Spengler whirled and fired, multicolored streams of supercharged particles ripping out of the induction nozzles. They struck the walls, shearing great ribbons of flaming wallpaper into the air, blowing holes in the carpet, exploding a light fixture. A doorknob spun through the air, striking and then going cleanly through a solid wall. The streams struck a maid's cart, twisting the metal, rebounding in flashes of uncontrolled energy. A box of soap burst into flames and a dozen rolls of toilet paper dispersed, hitting the walls and the terrified maid who crouched screaming on the floor.
"Hold it, you guys!" Mo warned. "Stop it!"
"What the devil you doin'?" called the maid in the sudden silence, slapping at bits of burning paper that were drifting down around her. "You crazy?"
"Sorry, ma'am."
"We'd better adjust the streams." Spengler suggested.
"Yeah," Venkman added disgustedly. "And let's split up. We can do more damage that way." He turned and stalked off down the hall.
"Alright, who's going with Venkman?" asked Lionel. "If this thing's dangerous, it could be a problem."
"I'll go." Thor smirked.
"You're not afraid?" Sabrina asked the warlock teen.
"I ain't afraid of no ghosts." Thor reassured her.
"Gotta love that confidence," Cherry smirked. "What's the worse harm a ghost could do anyway if they're already dead, right?" she then found herself agreeing.
"We might just find out," Lionel mused as Thor headed off after Venkman.
On a lower floor, Venkman, induction gun held protectively before him, was moving cautiously down the hall. "...man, do I feel stupid. Dressed up like Buck Rogers, hunting ghosts. Is this any life for a grown man?" he asked himself, before he stopped beside an unattended room-service cart and consoled himself with an order of shrimp cocktail, not noticing the trail of yellowish stains along the wainscoting.
"Hey, Dr. Venkman!" Thor called as he rounded the corner. "I came to help!"
Peter jumped a bit. "Yeesh, kid!" he exclaimed. "Nearly gave me a heart attack there."
"Sorry." Thor replied.
"Where are your pals then?" Venkman asked as he looked around.
"Oh, they went with the others and I thought I'd help you out." Thor explained.
"Well, all right, kid, let's see what you're made of then." Venkman said as he knew there was no use in arguing.
Ray Stantz was standing very quietly in the center of an intersection, staring at his PKE meter. He had tracked the ghost down to the fifth floor and suddenly the needle was going crazy. Stantz tapped the mike on his headset. "Egon, I've got something. I'm moving in." He headed cautiously down the hallway toward another intersection at the end, around which came the sounds of clinking plates and the faint smell of something old and ugly. He pulled down his induction gun, but held it pointed toward the floor." No sense in blowing away another maid, or some Puerto Rican busboy. Still, the readings and that smell. He turned the corner at the end. Yaaah!"
20 feet away, hovering over a room-service cart, was the object of his search: a free vapor, apparently composed of a series of compacted noxious gases, with a face like a misshapen potato and a pair of spindly arms. Stantz watched fascinated as it rummaged through the dishes, tossing some of them on the floor, and cramming leftover scraps into its mouth. It had to be the one. It matched perfectly with the manager's description.
"Mr. Stantz. Where are you? Are you all right?" came Atticus's voice over the radio.
"Guys, you should see this thing," Ray replied urgently. "It's so ugly."
The vapor raised a half-empty bottle of wine and chugged the remaining contents, the wine pouring through it and out onto the carpet. Satisfied with that trick, it tossed the bottle back over its head and began rooting around in the plates like a hog after truffles.
"Where are you, Ray?"
"Five south, I think. I'm moving in. I don't think it's seen me yet."
This time it downed a mass of half-eaten salad, which was obviously too spicy, for the thing sneezed, spattering the wall with greasy residue. It belched loudly and patted its rudimentary stomach.
Stantz was disgusted. "Ugh, what a slob. I'm going to take him," He snapped the visor down over his eyes and raised the induction rifle. "Freeze, Potatoface!"
It turned toward him and let out a piercing scream as Stantz fired, tearing a flaming crater in the wallpaper. The vapor did a wingover and sped off down the hall, dragging the cart behind it. Stantz took off in pursuit, calling for Egon and Peter to watch for it, but when the ghost reached the end of the hallway, instead of turning, it passed right through the wall. The cart hit directly behind it and overturned, trashing the carpet as Stantz arrived. He peered at the wall, which had turned an ugly yellow. There were drops of ectoplasm oozing in thick, stringy trails from the spot.
"Well, at least I hit it, but where did it go?" Ray remarked to himself.
Venkman was steamed. He had wandered down to three and was leaning against a wall, pulling disconsolately on a cigarette and staring at the ceiling. "This really bites the big one, kid," he then ranted to Thor. "I actually work for a company called Ghostbusters. Not even I thought it would come to this."
"Your meter's still beeping though." Thor pointed out to him.
Venkman looked down at his PKE meter. The red light was burning and the thing was signaling wildly.
Quickly Thor keyed one of the headsets. "Guys, there's something here." he then reported.
"Where are you, John Candy Jr?" Cherry asked.
"Third floor. Get down here." Thor replied as Venkman unshipped the long induction rifle, and braced himself as the accelerator cut in with a whine.
"Sit tight. We're on my way."
"Well, hurry. It's real close."
Suddenly, with a rattle of dishes, a room-service cart sailed past the end of the corridor, followed closely by a yellow-green floater trailing a haze of smog. Venkman goggled at it. The ghost stopped, turned, and goggled back. Venkman felt the blood drain out of his face.
"It's here, Ray," Peter whispered. "It's looking at me."
"Don't move. It won't hurt you."
"How do you know?" Peter demanded as the vapor had begun to undulate from side to side, its attention still fixed on Venkman.
"I don't know. I'm just guessing." Ray shrugged.
"Well, I think you guessed wrong," Peter said as with a bob, the vapor started toward him. "Here he comes!"
"On my way."
"What do I do?"
"Shoot it!"
"Gaaaah!"
Stantz came barreling out of the stairwell, checked his detector, and sprinted down the hallway, screaming, "Peter, hang on." but when he got to the site Venkman was flat on his back, his arms and legs flailing frantically, his body covered from head to belt in thick yellow ectoplasm.
"...gross." Thor remarked.
"Aaaagh, aaagh!" Venkman cried, spitting a glob of the disgusting stuff from his mouth. "He slimed me. The little mother slimed me!"
"You all right?"
Venkman spat again, his face screwed into an expression of extreme disgust. Stantz had never seen him look so angry. "I'm going to get that little grub if it's the last thing I do. Nobody slimes Dr. Peter Venkman! Nobody!"
"Where'd it go?" Atticus wondered.
"That way!" Mo said as she pointed out a slimy trail.
They hurried back toward the elevators and found Spengler peering through the doorway of a banquet room. A sign announced: RECEPTION WELCOMIN THE TOKYO TRADE COUNCIL: 8:00 PM.
Spengler slammed the door and put his back to it. "It's in there. What happened to you?" he then said and asked.
"He got slimed." Thor smiled innocently.
"Great..." Cherry rolled her eyes.
"Who has the trap?" Sabrina then asked.
"I do," Spengler replied indicated a metal box the size of a toaster fixed to his belt and connected to a long coaxial cable. "We ready for this?"
"I am," Venkman growled. "Let's get it."
"Right," Ray agreed. "Visors down, full stream. Geronimo."
"ThunderCats, HO!" Lionel announced as they went off together.
They tumbled into the room, closing the door behind them. It was an ornate formal banquet hall, high-ceilinged and ostentatious, hewn beams converging in the center at an immense crystal chandelier. A long line of buffet tables fronted one wall, piled high with food and a carved ice punch bowl. There was a fully stocked bar.
"All right, this is getting hectic," Cherry remarked. "What's our time look like?"
Stantz looked at his watch. "7:45. Only 15 minutes to do the job before the room fills up with Japanese businessmen. Does anyone see it? he then replied.
"The food," Venkman said grimly. "It'll head for the food. Spread out."
Everyone then did that while Thor looked like he was about to salivate from the spread, feeling very tempted. He was then about to get a quick cup of punch, but then stopped and glared with a growl as he felt something wrong. The liquid in the punch bowl boiled and erupted a stream of yellow gas. The vapor surfaced, glaring at them.
"Guys!" Thor alerted once he noticed that.
"Fire!" said Atticus.
The searing energy bolts smashed the table, blowing food and broken bottles across the room, sending the vapor tumbling behind the bar. Stantz swung and fired.
"No, not the mirror!" Spengler screamed, throwing himself flat as the energy stream diffracted into a thousand tiny fragments, speckling the walls like shrapnel. One of them tore away Venkman's tool belt, making him dive under a table.
"Ray!" called Mo.
"Sorry. Where'd it go?" They scanned the room, trying to ignore the burning buffet tables. In war there were casualties. Venkman heard a muffled pounding on the door. "Battle area, go away," he shouted.
Spengler touched his shoulder. "Peter, there's something I—"
"There, on the ceiling!" Stantz pointed toward the chandelier where the vapor was circling, using the glass and metal fixture for cover. He dropped to one knee and fired, tracking on the ghost, setting fire to the supporting beams. The sprinkler system kicked in. Venkman tried to cut off the thing's escape but succeeded only in blowing half the chandelier to fragments. Stantz fired again and completed the job, the great lighting fixture plummeting down, breaking the back of a large dinner table. Silverware flew through the air.
"My fault," Stantz called. "I'll pay for it."
"It's probably insured. Where'd it go?"
As if it had heard, the vapor peeked out from between the great support structure. Venkman raised his induction gun.
"Wait, wait!" Spengler cried out urgently. "There's something I forgot to tell you."
"What?"
"Don't cross the streams!"
"Why not?" Venkman asked suspiciously.
"Trust me. It would be bad."
Venkman pushed back his visor and rubbed the ectoplasmic residue off his face. "Egon, I'm not your kind of scientist. Precisely what do you mean by bad?"
"It's hard to explain," replied Egon. "Try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously, and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light."
"And that's bad." Atticus concluded.
"Yeah, it's bad." Stantz agreed as his eyes were still locked on the lurking vapor.
"No, that's it. I'm taking charge," Venkman replied. "You guys are dangerous."
They nodded sheepishly.
"Now, nobody does anything unless I say 'Got it.' "
"Got it."
"That goes for you guys too." Venkman then added to the kids.
"Yes, sir." The teenagers replied calmly.
"Let's do it. It's not going to hang around all day waiting for us," Venkman then said. "Ray, take the right. I'll take the left. Kids, stay close behind. Now!"
The energy streams shot out, penning the vapor between them. It moved to slip between but Venkman and Stantz brought the streams closer together and it retreated. As long as they kept them tight, it couldn't get by.
"Good, good," Venkman called. "Nice and wide... move with it... steady..."
Spengler watched, fascinated, as the two streams slowly came together, the vapor caught between them.
"Now, very slowly, Ray, let's tighten it up. Hold it there, it'll come down. Egon..."
"Right here."
"Get ready to cap it."
Egon kicked in his accelerator. "Okay, but shorten your stream. I don't want my face burned off. And don't cross them . . ."
The vapor began to whirl, darting at the stream, and suddenly Stantz was out of control. A cascade of energy began to leap from his stream to Venkman's.
"Back off!" Venkman screamed.
"You're losing it! You're losing it!" Thor panicked as he grabbed Cherry and shook her around, making her rather dizzy.
The vapor slipped free and streaked for the back wall.
"It's heading for the vent. Cut it off!"
Large sections of the rear wall exploded, flaming rubble showering down, turning to mush as the sprinklers hit it. Egon's stream raked across the air vent, driving the ghost back. The pounding on the outer door was beginning to grow violent and Venkman considered blowing the doors off. Let the turkeys see what we're up against. No, they'd just take it wrong if I fried the manager by mistake. He fired, driving the ghost back toward the ceiling as Stantz's beam went wide, exploding the liquor cabinet.
"Ray, on the ball. You gotta catch it."
This time Stantz's markmanship was accurate and they held it where the chandelier had been, tightly boxed in a grid of flowing energy. "Make it quick," Stantz cried. "Almost out of charge on these packs."
"Ready, Egon?"
Spengler hit his belt release and the trap fell to the floor. "Alternately shorten your streams. Force it down."
As they edged the vapor toward the waiting trap, it seemed to realize what was happening and erupted forth with a startling array of belches and gas, each worse than the last. The men recoiled in disgust but held their ground as clouds of the gas contacted the streams and erupted into flares of burning color, Egon poised his foot over the pedal control.
"Okay, lock it in now!" Sabrina cried out.
The streams suddenly separated and shortened, forming a cap over the vapor. Stantz was yelling hysterically, like a kid on a roller coaster. Venkman was not so sure. His charge indicator warning light was winking. "Better get it, Egon. I'm outta juice here."
Egon stamped down on the pedal, opening the trapdoors on the top. An inverted pyramid of glowing charged particles leapt toward the ceiling, cold light that streamed back toward itself even as it exploded outward, pulling the vapor down and in with a thunderous roar like a thousand locomotives. The spring-loaded doors snapped shut and everything was silent, excepting the last poots of energy on Ray's pack as the charge gave out. He switched it off and they stared in awe at the trap, sitting silently in the middle of the floor, a curl of smoke rising from it.
Egon tiptoed forward and checked the valence indicator.
"I hope we didn't hurt it." Thor frowned in concern.
"It's in there," Egon confirmed reverently. "My God, we did it. We trapped a ghost."
Venkman picked up a severely damaged champagne bottle. "That calls for a drink," he said, pouring the remaining bubbly over his head. He looked around at the ballroom.
"Maybe the hotel's insurance company will consider this an act of God?" Atticus suggested as Cherry rolled her eyes at that.
"Come to think of it, the very basis of insurance coverage would probably be changed by what we had done tonight." Venkman remarked.
"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Stantz said happily, pulling off his visor. Venkman turned on him.
"Are you kidding? Look at this mess. We almost got killed," Venkman retorted. "It was about as easy as trying to push smoke into a bottle with a baseball bat, but-"
"But...?" Lionel prompted.
Venkman then looked at Stantz, then at Spengler, and the teenagers. They were staring at him, waiting for his next word, his instructions, and he realized that, like it or not, he was in charge.
"Mr. Venkman, if you really think about it, you're in charge of the Ghostbusters and we helped," Cherry said to him. "For better or worse of course."
Venkman silently agreed before watching the water puddling on the floor from the sprinklers, the burning tables, the ectoplasmsmeared chandelier imbedded in the oak flooring.
"Even if it looks like we wrecked the place." Sabrina had to admit.
"Yeah. Venkman's Wrecking Crew." Cherry smirked.
"Well, this is our first time, but we still caught the ghost." Atticus reminded them.
Venkman's Wrecking Crew. Well, it was their first time and they did catch the ghost.
"This was a bit rough, and we had a few technical surprises, but it'll get easier," Venkman said. "We just have to work out our tactics. Wanna grab that trap, Ray?"
Stantz nodded as he went to do that before they would leave the room and see the hotel staff in the aftermath.
The manager, the assistant manager, the maintenance man, the locksmith, and a flock of Japanese tourists fell back in panic as Venkman pushed open the doors. He raised his hands and announced, "We came, we saw, we kicked its ass!"
Shupp tore his eyes away from the destroyed banquet hall. "What was it? What did you do?" he then asked.
"It's very simple, sir. We busted the ghost." Atticus replied, almost boastfully.
The vapor, in irritation, threw itself against the walls of its polarized prison, sending little displays of static lightning over the surface of the box. The tourists backed off, cameras clicking wildly.
"What was it? Will there be any more of them?"
"Sir, what you had there was what we refer to as a focused, nonterminal, repeating phantasm, or a class-five full-roaming vapor: a real nasty one, too."
Venkman tore the customer copy of the bill from his clipboard and handed it to the manager. "That'll be $4000 for the entrapment, plus $1000 for proton recharge and storage."
Shupp seemed more terrified of the bill than he had been of the original ghost. "Five thousand dollars! I had no idea it would be so much. I won't pay it."
Venkman shrugged. "Fine. We'll let it go again. Ray..."
"No, no. All right. Anything, just leave."
"Well," said Lionel. "Gratitude, so to speak."
And from there, things were on a steady rise.
But before all of that, the teenagers came to see Drell about a certain question.
"You guys met Zuul?" Drell asked in concern.
"Not really met him, but we've heard of him from one of the cases," Sabrina explained. "Do you know Zuul?" she then added.
"Some call him The Gatekeeper or a Terror Dog, he's a demigod and minion of Gozer," Drell informed them. "Be very careful if you ever run into him though because he often looks for a human to host him whenever he finds a chance to get out. I'm glad you kids didn't run into him at least." he then added in relief.
"At least not yet, I have a feeling." Cherry said with a shrug.
"I guess we'll see." replied Mo.
"Just be very careful with your new friends, kids," Drell warned them. "Zuul can be pretty brutal."
"Worse than you?" Cherry asked innocently.
"WHY, YOU!" Drell glared before the kids soon zipped off together until he sighed and leaned back into his chair. "Kids... I don't think I'm gonna ever have any kids, they cause a lot of trouble."
Hilda hiccupped and a bubble flew out of her mouth as she cupped her mouth and glanced around nervously.