[ShandorMiningCo]

EDIT: Accidentally left out a chunk in chapter one that actually sets up the story Fixed now!

While waiting impatiently for Frozen Empire to release recently, I started playing around with some ideas of what the gap between the films would have looked like and maybe how I would have liked that story to be told. So I picked up the laptop, opened a Word doc, started hammering some story ideas out... and then saw FE on opening night and immediately had to rewrite half of my story to fit the continuity.

NOTE: Yes, I know Back in Town is supposed to be the actual canon telling of this exact story. I was just too dang impatient for it to hit shelves.

Please enjoy the first chapter of my prequel story Ghostbusters: Nuclear Family and check back for more chapters soon!




Prologue

“Winston Zeddemore - Millionaire financial guru - Pays to have our old gear pulled outta storage, puts in an offer on our old digs, whisks us out here by private jet… But can’t spring for a decent limo?”

The back of the Summerville taxi was cosy, to say the least. The three former ghostbusters sat almost on top of each other; Winston on the left with a proton pack on his lap, Ray Stantz on the right hunched over the partially disassembled neutrona thrower, and Peter Venkman in the middle with his shoulders up around his earlobes.

“We’re lucky we even found this cab, Venkman,” Winston retorted. “The whole town was tearing itself apart in a panic - All hell’s breaking loose out there.”

Ray nodded, still not looking up from the thrower. “Small wonder; Spectral manifestations, psychokinetic weather anomalies, reanimated corpses… All the makings of a classic four-fold crossrip.”

It was clear that all of Egon Spengler’s doom-filled predictions were coming frighteningly true. From the small town in Oklahoma, a Sumerian demigod was once again attempting to fulfill an ancient prophecy to bring about the end of the modern world, with only a select few holding the knowledge and tools to prevent it. In the matter of hours since Ray had received the news of Egon’s passing, he had made the call to the other two remaining ghostbusters, and the trio - along with their dusty old equipment - had made the flight from Laguardia airport to an airstrip near Summerville, all courtesy of Winston’s generous expense account.

A curious Venkman peeked over Ray’s shoulder.

“And you really think these old tinker toys still pack enough of a punch?”

“They’re all we’ve got,” Ray lamented, squinting at the innards of the thrower. “The other two in the trunk seemed okay, this one just needs some minor realignment… And a little luck that the radiation shielding is still holding firm.”

Venkman’s eyes went wide for a moment.

“Swell. But if my back fat starts melting, I’m gonna sue. Just a heads up.”

Winston stared out of the window at the darkening sky above, watching the clouds spin and swirl into a familiar vortex of malevolent foreboding. The last time any of them had experienced something like this, they were a mile up in the sky atop a grand Manhattan apartment building, facing the same threat with Egon Spengler right there next to them.

This time it would be different.

In truth, Winston had thought about reaching out to Egon a dozen times over the last couple of decades, but the moment never seemed to present itself. He wasn’t sure if the blame lay with his busy schedule or his pride, but right now in this single moment, neither of those two things meant anything to him.

He looked down at the Spengler-built pack in his arms.

“Guess Egon was right about this all along,” he said slowly. “We just… didn’t wanna listen.”

“Yeah,” Venkman agreed sombrely. His voice was strangely quiet, and heavy with regret.

Ray said nothing. The guilt he had felt since he’d first learned of Egon’s death had almost doubled with every passing hour, and now it felt like the knot in his stomach may just about explode.

The three men stared straight ahead in silence for a moment.

Venkman sniffed, adjusted his knees to get the blood flowing back into his feet, and nudged his elbows outwards into the sets of ribs on either side of him.

“So - The Goze, huh? This chick wants a rematch with the champs? You two killers ready to go a few rounds?”

“Miller time,” Winston grinned. The two low-fived in what little space they had free between them.

Venkman turned to Stantz.

“Ray, how much further? I’m starting to get a hunchback over here.”

“Not far now,” he replied, slotting the barrel of the wand back in place, “Spengler’s house is only a couple more miles outside of town… Old place the locals call ‘The DIrt Farm.’“

“Cute. Whadd’ya say we stick around after we wrap this up and open up a hippie commune?”

Winston shook his head, smiling to himself. He had almost forgotten how easy Peter made it look to turn a dire situation into something to just be shrugged off.

Ray sighed.

“I just wish we had time to round up some more help. We’re not getting any younger, y’know.”

Winston turned his gaze back to the dark clouds above, but his thoughts were on Ray’s words. Even with his focus having been on his finance corporation in the years since Ghostbusters Inc. had shut down, he had quietly been keeping an ear to the ground, staying apprised of any news on the paranormal - And the facts were clear. Regardless of Gozer’s resurgence in Summerville, reports of supernatural events were still rising steadily around the country over the last few years.

If the world survived the night, it was still going to face new threats. And it was going to need someone new to defend it.

Part I
A Bite of The Big Apple

“It has firepoles?!” Trevor Spengler yelled excitedly as he took his first footsteps into the aged firehouse.

“It’s a fire station. Why wouldn’t it?” Phoebe said dryly, waiting impatiently for him to move out of the narrow hatchway built into the large entrance doors so she could set down the heavy box of clothes.

They were lucky to have made the trip from Summerville without killing each other. It had been a long, stressful journey from their grandfather’s farmhouse in Oklahoma to his old place of business in New York, but they had all agreed the chance was too good to pass up. For Phoebe, it was a place she could belong, learn, grow, and make a difference; For her mother, it was a potentially steady job. And for both it was also to form a connection with the life of Egon Spengler.

For Trevor, it was all these things too. But mainly about the return to civilization.

“I can't wait to check out Times Square,” he said, plopping down his suitcase in the vacant spot the Ectomobile once proudly stood. He already had several tabs on his phone open, all listing the latest NY hotspots. “Hey - did you know there’s a roving rave every Wednesday in a different part of an old, abandoned subway line? So cool.”

“Do they even allow seventeen year olds at raves?” Phoebe asked, already getting distracted by the various outdated bits of equipment dotted around the firehouse's garage area.

“Can the sex and drugs and rock n’ roll wait until after our belongings have actually made it into their new home, please?” Callie said, stepping sideways through the door to allow for the wide box of kitchen appliances she carried. “Thanks for the hand with the heavy stuff, by the way - Very considerate. Super proud of my parenting right now.”

“I think I turned out pretty great actually, given your lack of experience,” Trevor assured her sarcastically.

“Me too,” Phoebe said, picking up an old blowtorch with a glint in her eye.

“Well that makes me feel safe. How ‘bout you two stop scaring your mom for a sec and go pick a room.” She nodded toward the staircase.

Trevor picked up his suitcase and began marching towards the stairs leading up to the next floor.

“I call the biggest one.”

“Too late, Trev,” came a voice from above. “Already called it - First come, first claimed.”

Gary Grooberson descended from the top of the stairs, bouncing down to meet the Spenglers. He had arrived several hours earlier, and the excitement of moving into the ghostbuster’s old headquarters wasn’t about to wear off anytime soon.

“But we do have something of a rustic linen closet with your name on it,” he added, clasping a hand on Trevor's shoulder as he slipped past on the stairs.

“Great,” Trevor replied, “As long as the door’s thick enough to keep out any possessed science teachers.”

Gary winced. I’m never gonna live that down, he thought to himself. He greeted Callie with a kiss.

“So how was the trip?”

“Well, I managed to drive all the way here without murdering my own children, so… successful?”

“I’d say that’s pretty commendable,” Gary confirmed, taking the box of kitchen appliances from her arms. “In fact I think you’re a shoe in for a humanitarian award.”

“Mother Theresa’s got nothin’ on me.”

Phoebe couldn’t help but interject.

“Mother Theresa was a known child abuser, so she has that on you,” she said, head buried deep in Doctor Venkman’s old uniform locker.

“It’s never too late to start playing catch up,” Callie threatened. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder towards the family van outside the firehouse. “Go lift something, phebes.”

Phoebe was about to stomp back out to the car to retrieve more boxes when she caught sight of two familiar figures stepping in through the doorway - The impeccably dressed Winston Zeddemore, the financier of their relocation, and the less-impeccably dressed Doctor Raymond Stantz. Ray was carrying a large cardboard box, but it wasn’t one Phoebe recognized from their car. It was far too new and undamaged.

“A fine New York morning to you all,” Ray said with a warm smile. “Hope you don’t mind us dropping by with a housewarming gift.”

“Winston! Doctor Stantz!” Phoebe was elated to see them.

“Hi, Phoebe.” Winston embraced her with a hug. He turned to the others, happy to see so much life back in the firehouse.

“It’s been too long since there was a Spengler in this building. Now we have three of them.”

He looked around with a sense of pride at the new recruits, before realizing his numbers were a little off.

“Wait - Where's Trevor?”

The sound of screeching metal signaled his return as the young man came shooting down one of the aged, tarnished fire poles. He hit the floor at tremendous speed, the bottoms of his feet starting to throb almost instantly.

“...ouch.”

“Gonna have to work on that landing, kid,” Ray remarked with less than a little sympathy.

Winston winced as he watched Trevor check his forearms for friction burns.

“Well, now that the gang's all here, we can welcome you properly,” he said, gesturing to Ray's box.

“If you're going to be joining the business, you might need some of these...” Ray said, gently placing the large cardboard box on the reception desk. The family stepped in closer.

Phoebe regarded the box curiously. New ghostbusting equipment? Memorabilia belonging to her grandfather?

“What is it?”

Ray winked at her, and nodded towards the box. She reached out slowly and opened the flaps, carefully lifting an item from inside.

“Congratulations, Spenglers… Gary…” Winston beamed at them all. “And welcome to the ghostbusters.”

Phoebe stared down at the muted khaki uniform in her hands. She ran her thumb over the red and black ‘Spengler’ name tag stitched onto the chest.

“It’ll do,” she said with a smirk. “Thanks, Winston… Doctor Stantz.” Her bright eyes looked twice as big through her large, round spectacles.

Winston and Ray both exchanged proud smiles.

Callie and Trevor each picked up their Spengler-labelled suits from the box in turn. Trevor grinned as he held his up, letting the length of the legs unfurl to the floor.

“Cool… Hey, does it come in black?”

His mother thought back to the last time she’d been provided a name tag by a workplace. A run-down firehouse in New York was still a step up from a run-down waffle house in Chicago, she told herself. Still, the gesture was not lost on her. Life as a ghostbuster meant being the last line of defense between the world she knew and the untold terrors that lay beyond it, and even though she didn’t understand that growing up, she had certainly experienced it first hand in Summerville.

She knew she was following her late, estranged father’s legacy, and this felt like another step closer to being a part of each other’s lives.

Gary watched them eagerly, giving Callie an excited look. He stepped forward, rubbing his hands together. He was almost on the verge of pinching himself. He lifted out the fourth set of dull-coloured coveralls and held them up, proudly admiring his own name tag.

His face soon shifted from excitement to confusion and then swiftly to disappointment.

“...Rookie?”

Phoebe failed to stifle her laugh.

“It’s, ah, just until we get you your own uniform made up,” said Ray. “It used to belong to an intern of ours a long time ago - Lotta history in those threads.”

“The stitching place had a bit of trouble with ‘Grooberson’ on the first run,” Winston tried to explain as gently (and inoffensively) as possible. “They’ll send out another batch as soon as their delivery guy gets back from vacation.”

“Well… Couldn’t it have just said ‘Gary’?”

“We’re scientists, not auto mechanics,” Ray said, wiping some dirt off his hands with a nearby oil-stained rag. Gary shook his head, still staring upsettingly at the overalls.

“Bummer,” was all Trevor could offer in the way of support. “Check it out, Phebes. You outrank your own science teacher.”

Callie stepped up next to him, cocking her head to look at the uniform.

“Bad luck, Rookie… Because I’m pretty sure that makes me your supervisor.” She chided, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder. “So grab a broom, will ya? I want my office cleaned by the end of the day.”

Ray and Winston moved off with the others to help collect the rest of the Spengler's belongings, leaving Gary standing alone in the firehouse hall.

“I still get a proton pack though, right?” He called out.

*****

Winston followed Ray down the metal staircase that led into the dimly-lit firehouse basement. The familiar room was as they’d left it years ago, the dust sheets even still hanging over the equipment shelves and workbenches opposite the cobweb-ridden containment unit.

“Aw, It’s been a while since I’ve seen this baby,” Ray said warmly, holding a palm against the front of the unit. He felt the familiar gentle thrumming of the laser system inside, still keeping the inhabitants at bay. He had long since lost count of how many specters, phantasms and ghouls were held within, but he was well aware of the dangers if there were ever another breach.

“Thing always gave me the creeps,” He chuckled. “Any word on your retrieval operation?”

“I just heard from Lars this morning,” Winston replied, “The team in Summerville’s just finished digging up the traps at the farmhouse. As soon as they’re sure it’s safe to move them, they’ll start bringing them home.”

Ray gave a satisfied nod. “And Gozer will finally be locked away forever,” he said eagerly. He glanced back at the containment unit, looking it up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“You think this old box can take a pissed-off demigod?”

“She’ll hold,” Winston reassured his concerned friend. “And just wait ‘til you see the next one,” he added slyly.

He gave Ray a knowing smirk, who shot back one of his own. They would both agree that these were certainly exciting times to be a ghostbuster.

*****

Doctor Hubert Wartzki sighed as his fingers found nothing but crumbs at the bottom of the Doritos bag. He scrunched up the packet and dropped it lazily towards the already-overflowing garbage can under the museum’s modest front desk before turning back to his eBay hunting. He was nearing the end of the pages upon pages of search results with little to no luck for a decent find, and he was starting to think there were no more haunted items left in the country.

The Museum of Occult Antiquities had been open a few months now, and the steady trickle of visitors was shrinking every week. He would still get the odd horror fan popping in every now and then, and sometimes a passerby would be drawn in by the offbeat vibe whilst mooching around the city, but none ever stayed long enough to fully appreciate the displays and pieces in the way Wartzki would demand they do.

The small, basement-level space might soon be for the chopping block if Wartzki’s leaseholders had their way. The place would be turned into a vape shop before he could even roll up the Sumerian prayer mat.

At least he still had his part-time hours at the public library to keep his bills paid at home.

He sat back and sighed, tilting his head back and turning his gaze towards the ceiling to give his eyes a break from the screen. He didn’t even notice the man standing at the desk until he brought his head back down.

“Jesus!” He exclaimed with a fright, “You scared the pants off me.”

The man was tall and shockingly thin, and in the dim light of the museum he looked as pale as a ghost. Wartzki leaned over and flipped on the lamp, casting a warm yellow glow over the man’s face.

He almost wished he had left the light off.

“Forgive me,” Said the gaunt, expressionless stranger in a strange, vaguely eastern European accent. “This is the Museum of Occult Antiquities?”

Wartzki was still catching his breath.

“Yeah… But you’re a little late,” he panted. We, ah, closed a few hours ago I’m afraid.”

“I believe you have in your possession a rather rare and interesting item.” Said the man, ignoring Wartzki’s closing hours completely.

“Well, I mean…” Wartzki gestured vaguely at the various strange obscura and gothic statues surrounding them. “...Take your pick.”

The man continued staring directly at Wartzki.

“Something more obscure. One of a kind.”

“Buddy, everything in here is one-of-a-kind. We’ve got dozens of one-of-a-kinds.” Wartzki lifted his can of Coke to his mouth. Any other time, he would have talked this man’s ear off about every single item in the museum’s inventory like a hyper-fixated toddler. But at the end of a very long week, at midnight on a Saturday, was not the moment to be playing mind games with creepy eurotrash.

“I’m looking for the Weeping Blade of Majus-Ka.”

Wartzki stopped mid-sip. He raised an eyebrow at the man. He’d certainly done his research… That really was a one-of-a-kind item.

“That’s not something most people come here to see,” he said, trying to hide his sudden excitement at meeting another human being who had actually heard of it.

“I have a keen interest in such things.”

Wartzki looked the man up and down before sliding off his stool and moving to the back corner of the room.

“Most people just want to see the ‘Haunted America’ kitsch - Hook hands, taxidermied jackalopes and monkey paws, shrunken pygmy heads… You know, generic horror film memorabilia. So we keep the good stuff - the really good stuff - back here.”

He slowly, dramatically, creaked open the door on the back wall.

“Welcome… To the Esoteric Collection,”

The back room was a good size, though the bizarre grouping of dozens of different objects filled the space with little room to manoeuvre around them. The pieces in here went back centuries, some behind glass cabinets, some framed on the brick walls, some on pedestals of various heights.

Wartzki led the man through the small maze of ancient curios.

“You might be interested to note some of our exhibits here; Over here we have a statuette of the Celtic demon-god Khalil, carved from the skull of what we believe is some sort of rodent of unusual size… Here, a cape belonging to Count Vostok… This is a Carpathian chamber pot from the Von Homburg Deutschendorf dynasty… And here is the piece I believe you’re looking for.”

Framed on the wall was an ancient-looking dagger. It was flat and wide with a leatherbound handle, and forged from a strange pearlescent metal.

The tall man stepped in closely to examine it on the wall, almost appraising the piece like an expert, viewing it from all angles. Wartzki grinned when he could see how impressed the man was with his collection.

“The Weeping Blade. Said to hold the eternal tears of anyone slain by it. Legend says it was forged by ancient cultist blacksmiths using dark, forbidden blood magic for a demon-queen of the undead, if you believe the folklore…“

He leaned in close to the strange man’s ear, partially on tiptoes.

“...And I always believe the folklore.” He whispered, raising his eyebrows for effect.

The man hadn’t yet taken his eyes off of the artefact.

“Lilithea,” He eventually spoke with a sense of great reverence. “The consort of Surtr and mother of the daemon hordes of Hob Anagarak.”

The doctor’s face lit up again upon hearing those words spoken.

“You know your stuff! Not many people have even heard of the Hob, let alone get the pronunciation right.”

“The Witchqueen of Majus-Ka, lama plangatoare…” The man continued, “She who will return to bleed the world dry.”

Wartzki’s smile began to drop slightly. He recognised that last phrase from some cultist writings he had come across years ago whilst researching the blade. It was just before a particularly bad night’s sleep, one with nightmares he had long since forgotten.

“Uh… Yeah.” He became acutely aware of the late hour again. “So, ah, there it is. No photographs, please.”

“I will take it.” the man said, smiling for the first time since he had entered the premises. Wartzki winced slightly when he caught sight of the mouthful of yellowed, rotting teeth.

“It’s, uh… not for sale,” he laughed nervously.

The man turned to him, slowly. Wartzki swallowed hard.

A scream and a giggle from the street outside broke the menacing silence, and the man quickly took a step back from the perspiring doctor.

“My apologies, Doctor Wartzki. Thank you for the tour… Most enlightening.”

He bowed slightly, which Wartzki returned awkwardly to avoid seeming rude. In a flash, the man strode swiftly to the exit, sweeping up the stairs to street level and disappearing out into the night.

Wartzki was left standing in the middle of his backroom in dumbfounded silence.

“What a weirdo.” He said to himself, licking the remaining Doritos crumbs off his fingertips.

He returned to the front desk, shaking his head and plopping himself back on the tall stool at the desktop computer. He didn’t even notice the blade behind him - The Weeping Blade at the far end of the backroom - begin to bleed.

A single drop of dark red blood formed on the edge of the blade, sliding down to the pointed tip.

*****

The alleyway running alongside the firehouse wasn't the cleanest. Or the most spacious. And it certainly didn't have the nicest odors. But it made for an adequate shooting range, enough for the Spenglers to get to grips with the basics.

Trevor stared down the three crudely-drawn wooden ghosts at the far end of the alley, gripping the particle thrower tightly. He planted his feet wide, kept his knees firm, and braced his shoulders for the recoil…

“Two eggs, a sausage, and a pancake walk into a bar…”

Trevor huffed, dropping the wand to his hip.

“Maybe not the best time, Phebes,” he sighed. “Kinda trying to focus on a nuclear accelerator here.”

“I'm putting you at ease with humor. Wink.”

Phoebe watched him give her the side eye. She hopped up on an old crate next to the firehouse’s side entrance and began unfolding a collection of papers in her lap.

“What's that?” he asked, leveling the thrower at the ghosts again.

“Some schematics Doctor Stantz brought over. Did you know the ghost traps employ a muon field to nullify the negative electrons of a ghost?”

“Great!” he said, a little too enthusiastically to be genuine. He exhaled slowly, and let rip a stream of protons that shattered the head right off the first ghost and left the torso a flaming, splintered mess. The garbage dumpster behind fared slightly better, sporting a new scorch mark where the paint had been burnt off in an arc across the front.

“Careful, hotshot,” Ray said from the firehouse doorway, “Mayor Peck doesn't take too kindly to us destroying city property.”

“Peck?” Trevor snorted at such an unflattering name. Poor guy, he thought, going through life wearing an easy target like that. “Well he's welcome to have ghosts running riot all over Manhattan, if that's what he wants - Anyway, aren't you, like, retired or something? Shouldn't you be wearing slippers and queuing for an early bird special?”

Ray chuckled.

“Not on your life, Hoss. Besides, we're only here on a consultancy basis, just until we know you've had the necessary training to handle the job. As soon as you're qualified we'll be out of your hair; back to our boardrooms and book stores.”

A flash of something Phoebe recognised as sadness came over his face. She was about to ask why Ray wasn't joining Doctor Venkman teaching at the university when a shrill ringing came from somewhere within the firehouse. They exchanged concerned looks as the pair headed inside, Trevor waddling behind trying to awkwardly re-sheathe the wand over his shoulder.

*****

The team all formed a wide huddle around the reception desk as Ray picked up the ringing phone and held it to his ear.

“Ghostbusters…” He said tentatively. “Yes, we’re still in business. Uh-huh… Yeah… Got it...”

Winston and the new recruits watched the one-sided conversation intently, hardly daring to breathe. Ray turned to them, phone still pressed to his ear, starting to sound more confident now.

“Not a problem. We’ll send someone right out.”

He plopped the receiver back down.

“That…” He announced to the silent group, “...was a call.”

“A call… Like, a call call?” Gary asked. “A ghost call?”

Ray nodded.

“A security guard at the Fulton Fish Market, up in the Bronx. Sounds like a class four manifestation.”

Winston smirked, but there was a seriousness to his voice. “You think they can handle it?”

“Are you kidding? We used to eat class fours for breakfast and still have room left for pancakes.”

Ray looked at each of the new recruits in turn, then gave Winston a satisfied nod and an excited grin.

“They can handle it.”

*****

Trevor and Gary, now zipped into their uniforms, were hurriedly loading the packs and traps into the back of the recently repainted Ecto-1 while Ray imparted some final words of advice to Phoebe.

“You’ve all been getting to know your equipment, so you’re already familiar with the basics of zapping and trapping, and these refurbished packs were fitted with all-new emitter coils so there's less risk of overheating during capture - But you'll still wanna keep your stream output down to around forty-two kilowatts in a confined space or you're liable to lose a couple fingers. Got it?”

“Got it,” she replied, tugging her elbow pads up her slim arms. Phoebe looked up at him with a face of pure determination.

“Good. And remember; Don't cross the streams.”

She nodded sharply and moved off to help the others finish loading the equipment.

She was a good kid, Ray thought to himself, if a little headstrong at times. He looked over to see Winston walking Callie around to the front of the Ectomobile, away from the others. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but he knew perfectly well what was being said.

“You're sure Phoebe's ready for this?” Winston kept his voice low.

“I think she’s been ready for this since she was rewiring our apartment at age six,” Callie sighed. “She’s smart enough. She's strong enough. She's the only one that knows how to fix a proton pack.”

Winston agreed with all these things. But she was still a child. Trevor had barely even turned seventeen himself, and sending them both out into the field to face potentially hazardous supernatural phenomena was not something that sat right with Winston. Now that the moment for them to leave the relative safety of the firehouse was finally here, he found himself thinking twice about his decision to bring them on board.

“Besides, how many other thirteen-year-olds do you know that have taken down a demigod?”

He would admit that the number did seem low.

“If there's any problems - Any problems at all - You get the kids out of there.”

“We're Spenglers, remember?” she said, climbing into the passenger side of the Ectomobile. “We already are problems.”

Winston mused on the thought for a moment. Would he have even let them take the reins if they weren’t Spenglers? He worried the decision to recruit them permanently was the result of his guilty conscience paying reparations to his late friend and colleague.

Ray moved beside him, sharing his concerned expression. The two men watched solemnly as the Ecto-1 roared to life, the familiar wheezing siren filling the firehouse once more as the new generation of ghostbusters erupted out onto the street.

*****
To be continued!

[ShandorMiningCo]

Part II
Cleanin' Up The Town

Gary rolled the Ecto-1 to a smooth stop at the entrance to the industrial park. Small groups of fishmongers and buyers lined the sides of the road while a larger mass of bodies crowded in the road at the front gates, yelling various unpleasantries at the police officers preventing them from returning to their stalls inside the building.

“Ain’t no ghost eatin’ my profits,” one particularly burly man bellowed.

Another man wearing an apron smeared in calamari guts chimed in. “Ghost, nothing. Ain't no such thing. S’probably another bomb scare from those Greenpeace assholes.”

“Phebes, cover your ears, okay?” Gary shot over his shoulder to the kids in the backseat.

Phoebe looked at Trevor incredulously. “Has he met our mother?”

“It only counts when it’s someone else saying it,” Her brother replied mockingly.

“I wish these assholes would move out of our way,” Callie huffed, oblivious of the volume of her voice.

A police officer squeezed out from the crowd of increasingly aggressive fishermen and came jogging up to the Ectomobile’s driver’s side window.

“You the Ghostbusters?”

All four stared back at him blankly.

“Well, you’d better come inside. We already got a powder keg of a situation out here with these guys, but I sure as hell ain’t dealing with no ghost.”

Phoebe turned her face the other way as the officer squinted quizzically through the open window at her. College students lookin’ younger every day, he thought to himself.

“What are we dealing with here, exactly?” Callie asked, leaning over from the passenger seat.

“Beats me,” said the officer, turning his attention back to the adults. He lifted his police cap to scratch his temple, “A bunch’a these fishmongers started causing a panic earlier after they saw something inside.”

“No-one went inside to check?” Gary asked. The officer broke eye contact.

“We, ah, haven’t had the resources to send anyone in yet. You understand,” he said sheepishly.

Callie gave Gary a sarcastically raised eyebrow.

The officer turned back towards the throng of people blocking the path and shouted over the noise.

“Hey, make some room! Professionals are here!”

The crowd parted to let the hearse through; some people by choice, others steered firmly by the overwhelmed-looking officers. Gary repeatedly mouthed the words ‘thank you’ with a nervous smile and wave as he rolled the Ecto-1 slowly through the odd mix of cheers and boos. An officer on each side of the gates swung them shut again once the car was through and onto the stretch of dockyard leading to the wide, grey fish market warehouse.

Phoebe stared out the rear window, watching the crowd pile up against the gates again as Gary drove on.

“Those people were booing us. They don’t want us to catch the ghost for them?” She asked. Callie and Gary exchanged awkward glances.

Trevor answered on their behalf. “Some people still don’t believe. Their loss.”

His sister’s thoughts turned to their grandfather. Phoebe couldn’t understand why people didn’t share her absolute fascination with the mysteries of life after death, especially when it meant there was the possibility of communicating with long lost loved ones. The ghostbusters weren’t just on a quest to rid the world of spooks, they existed to study the supernatural, to bridge the gap between the living and the dead.

Trevor knew better. He had heard the stories of the antics caused by the original ghostbusters years ago; By the time they went out of business, they had managed to rack up millions of dollars worth of property damage and dozens of lawsuits, with the bill all going straight to the unwillingly generous people of New York. They were lucky the townsfolk didn’t raid the firehouse with pitchforks and torches.

*****

Gary heaved the last proton pack off of the hearse’s rear gurney as Callie slipped a set of chunky ecto-goggles onto her head. He looked her up and down in the unflattering coveralls and cumbersome nuclear accelerator.

“I am so freaking hot for you right now,” he said matter-of-factly.

She stuck her hip out and winked at him seductively.

“Gross…” Trevor uttered as he turned away. Phoebe scrunched her face up.

“What? Mom's hot,” Callie informed them. “Sorry, but she is.”

“She's right - It's true; Smokin’ hot.” Gary nodded.

Phoebe shook her head, trying to banish the quickly-forming image in her head. She grabbed the neutrona wand from over her shoulder and flipped her proton pack on, the cyclotron spinning into life with the familiar high pitched whine.

“Let’s go bust a ghost.”

*****

Trevor wrinkled his nose at the overbearing stench of the fish market.

“Ugh. Smells like the inside of a gym sock.”

The building was a vast stretch of warehouse walls in either direction with tables, crates and pallets lining the sides of the center walkway. Trays of ice covered almost every surface piled high with all sorts of sea creatures.

“A gym sock dipped in old… Feet.” Gary said. It was clear the smell had overpowered his creativity. Callie tried breathing exclusively through her mouth.

“I don’t see anything,” she said, unwillingly taking in a mouthful of trout-air. “Aren’t ghosts usually a bit more… in your face?”

Gary dipped low to check under a nearby row of tables.

“Maybe it’s just an eel that was still alive. Or a big, angry squid.”

Phoebe slipped her grandfather’s PKE meter from her belt and flipped it on. Immediately the little arms raised and the readout flashed an increasing series of positive readings.

“Definitely not a squid. Not a living one, anyway.”

The four spread out slowly, cautiously, and gripped their particle throwers a little firmer. Phoebe waved the PKE over a tray of large lobsters while Trevor tip-toed over to a section of wall that gave way to a loading entrance packed with crates.

Nothing, he thought to himself when something caught his eye across the market. A large, pale blue mass of something was moving amongst a stockpile of tuna.

“Uh, guys…? I think I found it…” He called out over his shoulder.

A large, grotesque fish – or more accurately, the half-rotted corpse of one – was meandering between the crates in a leisurely fashion. It zig-zagged with no discernible purpose or intent, leaving a trail of bubbles and ghostly seafoam in the air behind its twitching, decomposed tailfin.

Its big, blank bulbous eyes seemed to not even register the four ghostbusters approaching slowly.

Gary moved in, motioned for Trevor to step back, and lifted his neutrona wand. He slowly pressed his thumb down on the trigger button.

The shot instantly went wide, and the proton stream snaked up the wall and collided with one of the ceiling light fixtures in a burst of sparks and falling glass as the fish-thing shot off at incredible speed.

“My bad. That one’s on me,” Gary said sheepishly as the remains of the heavy strip lights swung back and forth before the whole fixture came crashing to the ground.

Phoebe was already on the trail of the phantom fish, following the floating foamy bubbles and ducking under several of the taller tables. She shoved the PKE back into its holster and swung her thrower up, firing a blast of protons towards the blue fish. The beam arced up over the fish’s head and blasted a whole tray of carp into the air. The fish reared back around towards the group and let out a hideous, guttural screech.

It zig-zagged back towards them, nearly knocking Trevor into a stack of clam buckets as it swooped past. Callie and Gary both fired, their proton streams nearly colliding with each other as they twisted and warped around in mid-air.

“Bad, bad, bad!” Gary shouted, quickly shutting off his thrower. Trevor had already clambered up onto a stack of pallets but they shifted before he could even get a decent footing. He soon found himself face first down in a trough of slimy trout.

“NIce landing, Trevor,” He berated himself quietly.

Phoebe, meanwhile, had repositioned herself and was already setting up another shot. She breathed deep, shifted her weight onto her back foot, and let rip a proton stream that shot out and finally snagged the fish before it could even react.

The blue spook let out a wet, gargled screech as it thrashed against the confines of the beam.

“Trap, please,” she said calmly.

Gary stared at her in awe. She handled the thrower like a pro already, although he did suppose she had a head start back in Summerville.

“Trap,” he repeated to himself, snapping back to reality. He knelt down, fumbling to release the bulky bit of gear from his belt. With a bit of force it finally came loose, dropping to the floor with a heavy clunk. He snatched it up and, with a massive goofy grin on his face, slid it forward into position almost directly under the spasming ghoulie.


“Phebes - Hold it steady!” Callie shouted as she jogged to a position on the opposite side of the fish. She swung her thrower toward the target and fired, the force of the wild proton stream nearly knocking her off-balance. The others could only watch helplessly as the beam ripped itself out of her control and off-target, cutting a burning swath across the concrete floor… And directly over the cable connecting the trap with its control pedal.

“Shit!” She yelled, furious with herself for not having a tighter hold on the wand. Gary stared open-mouthed at the destroyed cable. He was really, really starting to wish they’d brought more than one trap right now.

Phoebe struggled to hold the large fish as it continued fighting her tether.

“There’s no time to get another!” She yelled over the dual noises of the thrower and the screaming fish. “We have to trap it manually!”

Trevor was watching the whole thing in a panic.

“Manually… On it!” He sprinted as fast as the hefty proton pack would let him, narrowly ducking under the fish as it lashed out with its fins in all directions. He pounced on the trap spread-eagled and flipped himself over to aim it at the fish above. He clutched it as tightly as he could, turning his face away as he felt around for the manual activation knob.

The fish was still clawing at the proton stream, the bony remains of its left fin hooking under it and stretching the tether open, all while swimming higher and higher upwards, away from the peril below.

Phoebe was gritting her teeth against the strain, the thrower nearly being yanked from her grip.

“Now, Trevor!”

His hand finally found the knob and a cone of blinding white light was launched upwards, engulfing the panicked fish just a split second after it had managed to break free of the proton stream.

The force of the ghost hitting the base of the trap almost winded Trevor when the doors snapped shut. The four remained silent for a moment, trying to actually believe what they’d just accomplished.

“Did we… Did we just bust a ghost?” Gary finally asked.

*****

The next couple of weeks were the most fun Gary had had in years. He had been a fully-fledged
ghostbuster for less than a month and had already been out on a dozen calls, got to drive the Ecto-1,
appeared on the front page of the New York Post, and been gooped, gunged, and slimed by a whole
host of different ghostly entities. Not that the last parts had been a particularly pleasant experience
of course, but it was all part of the package of finally getting to live out his childhood dream.

He couldn’t help grinning to himself every time he flipped the siren switch on the way to the next
emergency call.

“Do you have to do this every time? There’s barely even any traffic on the road,” Trevor said,
gripping the dashboard.

“We’re scientists, kid,” Gary replied, whipping the Ectomobile around a slow-moving laundry truck.
“And science waits for no man.”

But the best part of all of this – his most favourite part – was that he got to do it with the people he
loved. He stole a glance at Callie in the rear-view mirror, giving her a quick wink.

She smirked back. “Eyes on the road, hon.”

He dropped his gaze back to the lane ahead just in time to yank the wheel hard enough to avoid a furious DoorDash cyclist. The Ecto-1 screeched past with barely an inch to spare. Phoebe could hear the biker yelling a few new expletives to add to her vocabulary.

“Whoops, sorry - That was - Sorry…” Was all Gary could offer in a way of apology.

Trevor gripped the dashboard a little tighter.

The calls were coming in thick and fast, and Ghostbusters Inc. was once again thriving. Winston had his work cut out for himself dividing his time between the Spenglers, his finance corporation, his family, his various charity foundations, and now his new pet project. He walked the halls of the former aquarium with a buzzing excitement, his hands impatiently playing with the new keycard in his pocket.

He tapped the card on an access terminal at a set of inconspicuous steel doors and they swung open to reveal the new paranormal research center behind them. Dozens of cables ran in all directions between various bits of kit and equipment, some stacked high on tabletops, some scattered around the floor. A lone engineer had positioned himself at a bench in the center of it all.

“Lars. How we doing?” Winston asked, stepping over some thick hoses.

The wiry young man looked up from his workbench, nudging a pair of thick glasses back up his nose.

“Good,” the parabiologist said, sounding quite surprised. “Very good, in fact. Most of the equipment’s been delivered and hooked up now, and the recruitment department’s screening interviewees for the last few vacancies.”

“Glad to hear it,” Winston said, smiling. Lars returned a blank look. The former ghostbuster was used to dealing with the stoic faces of scientific prodigies by now.

“It’ll be a while before we can test the enclosures,” Lars added, “I’m still having trouble narrowing the confinement frequencies on the proton fields.”

“Keep at it,” Winston replied encouragingly, heading for the long stretch of empty fish tanks that would soon house their ghostly test subjects. “You’ll find a way.” He didn’t know Lars yet quite like he knew Egon, but he could still recognise that same spark of genius within the young man. He was confident Lars and his team would have this place up, running, and studying spooks in no time.

“There’s one thing I wanted to mention,” Lars said. “Our estimates may have been slightly low on how much power the new containment grid will need.” He pointed towards a wall of half-constructed containment units, similar to the one in the firehouse basement. Exposed cables and pipework ran all along the ceiling above and into the wall from all angles.

Winston regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“How much more power?”

“Well,” The young scientist mused, crossing his arms, “Somewhere in the region of… three to four megawatts more?”

Winston didn’t know much about engineering, but he knew that sounded expensive. He let out a rather large sigh.

“I’ll add it to the list,” he said, rubbing his forehead. This was becoming less fun on each and every visit.

*****

Gary slammed himself shoulder-first through the stiff delivery doors of the old factory.

“Ow! Sonuva…” He cradled his arm gently. “They never mention this part in the movies.”

“Chin up, Rambo; We’re on the clock here.” Callie moved up beside him, neutrona wand at the ready.

The old steelworks factory was vast, multiple storeys high, with numerous gantries criss-crossing overhead at various levels that cast strange shadows down across the shopfloor. Gary looked up in despair at the size of the place.

“Aw, we’ll never catch up to him now. How come these guys never decide to haunt, y’know… An ice cream parlor? Karaoke bar?”

“Well, your singing sure doesn’t draw in any living listeners…” Callie said with a little too much conviction. Gary tried to laugh it off, with little success.

“Phebes, you getting anything?”

Phoebe entered from the same set of doors, waving the PKE meter in all directions. They had been at this for almost an hour now, having covered most of this industrial park close behind their target, of which they’d had only several fleeting glimpses.

She could feel the gaze of the ghost upon them, watching them from close by. She put the PKE away and unhooked her wand from her belt. She ventured further into the large room, squinting deep into a shadowy corner of the building.

“There,” She said, raising her particle thrower and blasting away a section of pipework next to the ghost.

It turned toward her, roaring, and rearing up on its floating haunches. It was sickly yellow in color, with a small, baby-like body and a huge head, with great ghostly jaws of sharp teeth and multiple thrashing tongues. It did not look happy to be shot at.

“Phoebe!” Gary shouted as the specter charged the young teenager. Phoebe, unfazed, slowly lined up another shot while the beast barrelled down on her.

She was about to fire when Callie tackled her to the floor, the slobbering jaws snapping mere inches from them both as the ghost continued forward, passing right through the wall behind them in a splash of yellow ectoplasm. Gary let out a short sigh of relief.

“I had it!” Phoebe yelled, wriggling out from under her mother’s body, “Now we’ll lose it again!”

“We almost lost you!” Callie shouted furiously, in utter disbelief at how seemingly little her daughter regarded her own life. “You could have been killed. Or do you want to end up in one of these traps too?”

Phoebe was livid.

“People pay us to catch ghosts.”

“They don’t pay you,” Callie fired back. Phoebe rolled her eyes.

”Don’t roll those eyes at me, young lady. I’m serious - You’ve been playing too fast and loose on these last few calls.”

“I know what I’m doing. I’m not a kid anymore - ”

“Oh, you’re not? Then why am I still doing your laundry? When was the last time you filled up the Ecto’s gas tank?”

Gary approached slowly. Experience told him this could get very ugly very quickly.

“I’m the best ghostbuster in this family!” Phoebe shouted, “You need to let me do my job.”

“Hey, we all trap our fair share of spooks. We’re a team, not your backup singers.” Said Callie.

“Then why do you act like this is such a chore and not our family business?”

“Guys!” Trevor shouted from a walkway high above, oblivious to the tension, “I saw it go this way; Up another level.” He disappeared out of sight.

Callie and Phoebe locked stares again. Gary looked between them both, eventually letting out a soft sigh.

“I’ll go. You guys stay here and… Hash this thing out.”

“We’re coming with you.” Phoebe said to him.

“No.” Callie instructed firmly. “Gary, go.”

He nodded and started to slip away. He knew better than to get too involved in the shouting matches between these two, no matter how much he wanted to. Besides, he never felt he knew the right thing to say in those moments anyway. He jogged off into the shadows to find a staircase.

Mother and daughter continued to stare at each other in silence.

*****

“Wartzki?” Ray called out as he ducked under the low entryway from the steps into the Museum of Occult Antiquities. “Got something you might find interesting. A new donation to the esoteric collection… From mine to yours.”

Wartzki looked up at him from behind the front desk with a sullen expression. His eyes followed the item in Ray’s hands as he placed it gently down onto the desk. It was a strange shape wrapped in several layers of tissue paper.

“Is it a full bottle of schnapps?” He asked flatly.

“Better,” Ray said excitedly, “Ever seen a chupacabra skull?”

Wartzki smiled weakly up at his friend. Ray’s expression dropped.

“Something wrong?”

“I appreciate the donation, but it’s not going to fill the latest gap in my collection.” He huffed, hopping off the tall stool. Ray looked at him quizzically as the smaller doctor led him towards the back room. Then he noticed the damage to the door handle.

The inside of the room looked as it had done on Ray’s previous visits. It was cluttered, sure, but he couldn’t see anything amiss until Wartzki stopped at the far end, next to an empty frame on the wall.

“The blade of Majus?”

“The weeping blade of Majus-Ka.” Wartzki corrected him. He almost couldn’t bear to look at the vacant exhibit. “Came into the museum after work yesterday afternoon and found that door busted open and the blade gone.” He let out a heavy sigh.

“Damn,” Was all Ray could say. He knew everything in here held value to Wartzki. And very few others. “Someone wanted this thing pretty bad. Do you know who might’ve done something like this?”

“Of course I do. Not many people come by looking for an artifact like that one.” He sighed again, “But, as is the luck of yours truly, the CCTV crapped out during the guy’s little reconnoiter.”

“How’s your portrait skills?”

“Lousy. I already had a police artist come by after I made the report and leave a copy of this.” He said, unfolding a piece of paper from his pocket. He handed it to Ray who fished his glasses out from his coat pocket.

The face was not one Ray would be pleased to meet. The thin, gaunt look of the strange man was almost malnourished, his sunken eyes sat over sharp cheekbones and a long chin.

“Handsome fella,” Ray lied. “Any leads?”

“Nada. The guy doesn’t exist in any occult communities I’m part of… And I’m part of a lot of those. No-one knows him. One thing’s for sure though; He knew more about the lore of that blade than anyone else in the world.”

Those last words stuck with Ray. He kept them at the forefront of his mind while he looked the odd face up and down again.

***** To Be Continued *****