Ghostbusters The Return (3 page)

"I said you may forego the litany," Xanthador said. The casual calmness of his tone was shaded with more than a hint of menace.

Geezil choked out his reply: "Sure...thing...boss."

"My agents have failed me, Geezil. I gave rise to fearsome apparitions and asked nothing more of them than to sow terror among the mortals. A simple matter, you must admit."

Still dangling from Xanthador's grasp, Geezil managed a feeble "Uh-huh."

"Then why do I feel no rush of power?" Xanthador snarled. He punctuated the question with an angry sweep of his arm that also happened to send Geezil flying. "Why does the savory elixir of fear not flow over my tongue?"

Geezil smashed into a rocky outcropping and fell to the ground with a grunt. He decided to assume that Xanthador's question was rhetorical.

Xanthador seemed not to notice. The Lord of Fear gazed off into the distance. "How different it is from millennia past," he said. "Now, that was a time, Geezil a time when the merest mention of Xanthador caused the most gallant of heroes to quiver like the weakest of maidens. Ahhhh, how the fear welled up in rich and luscious waves. How it rose from the darkest recesses of humanity. How it nourished my very essence! In those days, Geezil, I strode the Earth like a titan."

The obsequious demon picked himself up from the ground and limped back to Xanthador's side. "And so you shall again, my liege."

Xanthador broke off his reverie. Slowly, he turned toward the demon. He eyed his lackey carefully. "Do you think so, Geezil?"

Trembling under Xanthador's stare, Geezil forced what he hoped was a confident smile. "You bet, o Master!"

In a flash, Xanthador grabbed Geezil by the throat and jerked him up in the air to face him eye-to-eye. "Precisely how do you expect that to happen, Geeeeezil?" Xanthador stretched out the demon's name as he squirmed in his grasp. "My minions may wreak havoc, but havoc without fear is nothing to me! The humans do not fear me, Geezil! Without their fear, there is nothing to fuel my strength! My power is but a shadow of what it once was! How, then, shall I rule? Why do the humans not fear me? Why do they not cringe in the face of my minions?"

Geezil struggled to gasp out a response. "B-because they're. . . stupid ?"

Xanthador flung Geezil to the ground. He hit face first with an unpleasant thud.

"No, Geezil. It is not a lack of imagination that averts their fear. The humans are most imaginative. Indeed, they are almost clever in their way." Xanthador shook his head. "No. I have pondered this question for quite some time. It has consumed the very depths of my being, yet, my meditations have borne fruit. After much consideration, I have at long last reached the answer. Do you know what that is?"

Geezil pulled his head out of the ground, and spat out a mouthful of dirt. He figured that the safest answer was a shrug, and winced at the twinge it brought to his neck.

Xanthador leaned in close. "It is because they do not believe," he said quietly.

"'Believe?'" asked Geezil.

"As their technology has grown, the mortals have turned their backs on the old ways," Xanthador explained. "They have grown so accustomed to the artificial miracles their machines produce that they no longer recognize true mysteries for what they are. The humans no longer believe the truths that lie before their eyes, Geezil. Without belief, there is no reason to fear."

Geezil mulled over the point for a bit. "But if that's true, o Master, then how can we scare them? If they just rationalize everything away, then how will you rise to power?"

Xanthador smiled a nasty smile. "Oh, I shall rise once more, Geezil. My dominion shall again span the Earth, from the heights of the mountains to the depths of the seas."

"But if the humans won't get scared..."

"I never said the humans have abandoned fear, Geezil - it runs as rich and deep as it ever has. It has merely altered its shape and focus. True, the humans' belief is no longer stirred by traditional means. Nevertheless, there are things in which they do believe. Thus, we shall adapt accordingly. The humans' beliefs are different today, and so are their fears. We must respond in kind."

Xanthador reached up to pluck tendrils of ectoplasmic mist out of the murky air. He began to shape the vapor with his hands, molding it into corporeal form as he spoke. "This night is not yet over. There is yet ample time to attempt one more foray before the dawn. Humanity's beliefs shall be our stepping stones. Through them, we shall introduce the mortals to levels of terror that they have never imagined."

CHAPTER 3

The darkened waterfront parking area was about deserted by one o'clock in the morning. Only one car sat with its nose pointed toward the Hudson River, a battered, dark blue Honda Civic that showed every day of its eleven years. Outside the automobile, everything else was as quiet and deserted as New York ever gets.

To the teenage couple inside the car, that was precisely the point. The two of them gazed across the river at the pinpoint lights that twinkled from the distant New Jersey shore. In his most suave, devil-may-care manner, the acne-ridden boy stretched out an arm and laid it around the shoulders of the girl beside him. "Ahhh," he said, "alone at last."

The girl giggled and adjusted her glasses. She looked away shyly. But as her gaze shifted from the dashboard to the shadows outside the car, Marisol Araujo's mood changed a bit. She reached over to the door and checked the lock. Once she saw that it was secure, she settled into the crook of her boyfriend's arm - but she continued to scan the darkness outside. "Danny?" she said in a tentative voice. "Are you sure we should be out here so late?"

"Where should we be?" was the reply. "The couch in your parents' living room? Remember what happened last time..."

"No, I know. But y'know, it's just... There's nobody around so late."

Danny Reitman looked at her and smiled. "I know. Cool, huh?"

She elbowed him playfully in the ribs. "Danny, I'm serious. Maybe we should go back."

"Go back? Marisol, it took me weeks to get my cousin's car! And I had to give him twenty bucks! I thought you wanted to be together."

"I do! But I just... I don't know if this is the best idea. I mean, we could maybe get mugged and stuff."

"Oh, come on. Who's gonna mug us?" He gave her a little squeeze and gestured around at the empty parking lot. "You said it yourself. There's nobody else around."

"I know. I'm just being silly. But..."

"Besides, if anybody did try something, I'd protect you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She smiled, then snuggled up against him. "My hero," she sighed. "Y'know, you're so good when I'm scared."

"You like that, huh?"

"Mmmrnmm."

"When you're scared?"

"Mmmmmm."

They sat there like that for a bit. Danny studied the top of Marisol's head, enjoying the feeling of her body against his. "Scared..." he murmured.

"Did you say something?"

Danny cleared his throat. "Hey, um," he said, trying to seem casual. "Did I ever tell you about the guy with the hook?"

"Hook?"'

"Yeah. It's this thing that happened to a friend of my cousin's. See, he's parked out in a car - I dunno, maybe it was even this car - with his girlfriend. And it's a dark night, like tonight. And they're listening to the radio, and this news bulletin comes on."

She pressed in closer to his side.

"So, the news guy says that everybody should watch out because there's, like, this insane killer maniac with a hook instead of a hand, who broke out of jail."

She buried her face in his neck. "You're making this up. You're just trying to scare me."

He closed his eyes and smiled. "No, really," he said. "The guy told my cousin. So anyway, the girl gets all freaked out by the news and tells the guy to take her home. He doesn't want to go, but he's, like, a gentleman, so he steps on the gas and they go. And they get home and get out of the car, and you know what they find?"

She was squeezing his thigh. In a small voice, she asked, "What?"

"A bloody hook! Hanging off the door handle!"

She gripped him even more tightly. "You mean the guy was. . . ?"

"Right there! He was gonna open the door, just when they hit the gas and peeled out of there."

"Ewwww..."

"Yeah, I know."

Marisol broke away. Anxious, she threw up her hands. "Okay, that's it! We can't stay here! Take me home!"

Danny opened his eyes, startled. "What? But..."

"No, I mean it, Danny! What if there's some psycho around here, too?"

"But you don't have to... It's just a story..."

"I mean it!"

He put a hand on her shoulder to calm her. "Marisol, there's nothing to worry..."

Suddenly, their heads jerked around as they heard a loud thump and the screech of scratching metal coming from the front of the car. Standing there was a disheveled man with a wild look in his eve - and a metal hook in place of his right hand. His clothes and the hook were spattered with blood. Even more striking was the fact that he was glowing.

Danny and Marisol screamed.

"Get us out of here!" Marisol shouted.

"I'm trying!"

Danny struggled to get his hand into the pocket of his jeans. Why did they have to make these things so tight?!

"Danny!"

The figure with the hook was on the move now. He was heading around the front of the car, toward the passenger door.

Finally, Danny freed his keys from his pocket.

"Come on!" Marisol shook his arm in panic. The keys went flying.

Danny's left hand shot out to snatch the keys from the air. He fumbled with them, trying to find the right one.

The maniac was at the passenger door now, banging on the roof and yanking at the door handle. It was a good thing that Marisol had locked the door, but it was obvious that it wouldn't keep him out for long.

"DANNNNEEEEEEEE!"

"I'm trying!"

Over and over, Danny jabbed the ignition key at the slot, struggling to get it inside.

The steel hook smashed through the window. A shower of broken glass rained over the teens.

Marisol screamed.

The engine roared to life.

Danny wasn't thinking about mood anymore. He wasn't thinking about the damage to his cousin's car. There was only one thing on his mind: getting the hell out of there.

He threw the gearshift into reverse. With a squeal of rubber on asphalt, the car peeled out in a curve. He slammed the shift into drive, and the car zoomed out of the parking lot.

Marisol was sobbing as she stared at the passenger window.

Danny glanced over, but it wasn't to see if she was all right.

A glowing, bloody hook dangled from the window frame. As they watched, it melted away into the wind.

"Good morning!" Ray called as he slid down the fire pole to land in the parking bay. Ever since he lost his house covering the group's expenses during the company's third bankruptcy, Ray had taken over part of the second floor as his living space. It wasn't the same as living in the house that had been his home since childhood, but the morning commute to work was a whole lot more fun.

He landed beside Winston, who was standing in front of his locker, putting on his working clothes. "'Morning, Ray," he said with a quick nod and a grin, as he zipped up his beige jumpsuit. An ID patch above the left breast pocket spelled out his last name: ZEDDEMORE; a shoulder emblem matched the cartoon ghost on the Ectomobile. A pair of polished black boots completed the uniform.

Egon and Janine returned Ray's greeting from the first floor office area. "Hi, Ray," Egon muttered, preoccupied. Janine waved.

Actually, it was a bit remarkable that Janine could even wave, considering that she was simultaneously talking on the phone, positioning a paper cup of coffee on her desk, shrugging off her coat, and placing her handbag in the bottom drawer of her desk. Ray guessed that she had probably just arrived herself.

"No, I'm sorry, Mister Milken," Janine was saying. "Doctor Venkman hasn't arrived yet. Would you like to leave a message?"

Egon had clearly been there longer. He was already hard at work, hunched over a computer. The light from the screen reflected off his glasses and illuminated his gaunt, severe features. Combined with his unruly hair, the effect made Egon look like the stereotypical crazy scientist in a 1950s science-fiction movie. Actually, Ray reflected (and not for the first time), the comparison wasn't entirely unfounded.

Ray circled around Egon and looked over his shoulder to see what he was doing. Before he could ask, Egon leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "No mention of any 'Xanthador' in the standard databases. We'll have to check the classical paper archive."

"Yup," Ray agreed. "Time to hit the books."

But as Ray lifted his head from the screen, he saw a grotesque figure swooping straight at hirn. It was pale green, blob-like, and mottled with light brownish spots. The creature had no legs, but that didn't seem to prevent it from gliding effortlessly (if not gracefully) through the air. It looked as though half of its body was taken up by its huge eyes, mouth, and teeth—particularly since it had an entire roast turkey crammed in its mouth. The legs of the turkey stuck out at odd angles as the creature noisily chomped and gnawed at the bird.

Ray gave the creature a high five. "Hey, Slimer."

The creature's reply would have been gibberish even if its mouth hadn't been full.

The two of them proceeded to greet each other with a brief and obviously well-practiced bit of hand jive. They mirrored each others' movements as they slapped the fronts and backs of each others' hands, reached up over their respective shoulders, and pro tended to draw nutrona wands to shoot "ghosts" overhead. They capped the routine off with a mutual, ghostly "Oooooooooo" and burst into laughter.

"You do realize that the name of this little organization is Ghostbusters," said a voice from the parking bay. "We're supposed to get rid of the repulsive little spuds, not adopt them as pets."

"Hey, Peter," said Ray. He casually wiped a few pieces of semi-chewed turkey off his clothes.

"I mean, how are we supposed to maintain any sort of credibility with the public if people come in here and find this...ectoplasmic reject kicking back with a beer? 'Sure. Mrs. Vandergelt, we'll rid your mansion full of wraiths in no time. One hundred percent guaranteed. When the Ghostbusters come in, the spooks stay gone. I'm sorry, what did you say? Oh, that? That's just our mascot!' "

Slimer spit a turkey bone at him.

"Not to mention," Venkman continued, "that, thanks to onionhead over here, we've got a food bill bigger than the national debt. Half our overhead, right there!"

Ray was unruffled. "Dana won't take your calls, huh?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

In fact, Venkman looked like a mess. His receding hair was disheveled, and he hadn't shaved. The dark lines under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept well last night.

With a surly "I'II be in my office," he stomped off to the open office area behind the receptionist's desk. A moment later, he stomped back to point an angry finger into Janine's face.

"And another thing," he told her. "In the future, I'd appreciate it if you'd remember that your job description does not include running around the streets of New York, telling everyone I've been at the movies all day!"

She rose to face him eye to eye. "In the future," she shot back,
"I'd
appreciate it if you'd give me a little advance warning before you decide to make up stories about nonexistent monsters eating the Chrysler Building!"

Before Venkman could reply, the phone rang. "Excuse me," Janine said testily. Her manner changed completely as she answered the phone in a cheery, businesslike tone - well, cheery for her, considering the bored, nasal sound that was her typical greeting. "Ghostbusters. May I help you?" She reached for a pencil and paper. "Uh-huh... How many? And where are they now? Okay, got it. Thank you."

She looked serious as she hung up the phone. "I think you fellas better go."

At the same time that Ray had been sliding down the fire pole, twelve-year-old Jed Isaacs was standing in the middle of a schoolyard, fingering a red, rubber ball. He screened out the backdrop of shouts and laughter that came with the morning recess period, and stared intently into the eyes of the kid who stood opposite him.

The batter stared back into Jed's eyes and shifted the taped-up broomstick on her shoulder. It was bad enough that Esther was the other team's best hitter, but she was also Jed's little sister.

The rest of the kids on the makeshift diamond provided a steady stream of cheers and patter.

"No batter! No batter!"

"Go, Esti! Go, Esti!"

"Home run! Home run!"

"Swish, batter, swish!"

With careful deliberation, fed went into his windup and let fly. Esti swung and missed. With a
thwack!,
the ball struck the brick wall that stood behind her, smack in the middle of the rectangle that had been chalked on the wall.

"Whoo!"

"You stink!"

"Oh, snap!"

"No pressure! No pressure!"

The ball bounced along the ground a few times until Esti picked it up and tossed it back to Jed. He caught it with a smirk. She stuck her tongue out at him before settling back into her stance to wait for the ball.

Jed studied her for a long moment, then reared back and released the ball once again. Esti swung. This time, she made solid contact.

The ball sailed over the heads of Jed and his four teammates. When Esti tagged the discarded box that served as first base, the ball was still going. Two of Jed's teammates raced along in a vain attempt to catch up to it. The ball hit the ground yards ahead of them and took a high bounce. A second bounce off a parked car sent it rolling across the street amid yells of joy and anguish.

Jed was the first to realize where the ball was headed. "Oh, man..." he moaned, scant seconds before it rolled into a storm drain and dropped out of sight.

Everyone stared, wordlessly, at the storm drain. Then, one by one, the other kids looked at Jed.

"How come
I
always gotta go get it?" he complained.

"'Cause you got the longest arms," Esti replied.

"But it's gross!"

"It's our only good ball!"

"Maybe I can't even reach it. Maybe it dropped all the way down to the sewer this time."

One of the other kids was crouching down and peering into the drain. "No, I see it!" he called. "It's stuck right there on the ledge!"

Jed knew he was beaten. "Okay, okay." Resignedly, he made his way across the street.