Book Two: Realization
Transcribed by Ben King and Iain Bennett, GBUK, Dr. Fritz V. Baugh and Dr. Jeff Nash, GBWC, and Dr. Vincent Belmont, GBUKGS
GBI Case File GBI-2004-22/001
May 27, 2004
Twelve Days Until the End of the World
Class had finally ended. Sara Jones was cleaning up what the students had decided to leave on the floor.
“Little buggers don't know how much this equipment costs...Ought'a let them balance the budget for this place.”
Just then, her cell phone rang. Just by the ring, she knew it was her father.
“Hello there kitten, how was school?” her father asked in his usual cheerful manner.
“It was fine dad. The students left everything on the floor again and I'm still picking it up. I think I'm going to have them spar without any padding tomorrow.”
“That's my girl, always thinking of new ways to remind people to take care of their things. So, are you coming over for dinner tonight? Your mother made your favorite, spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Yeah, I'll be coming over in an hour or so, right after I pick this place up.”
“Alright, see you in a little bit, little bit.” he chuckled.
“Alright daddy, bye.”
She hung it up and continued cleaning. It was about twenty minutes later that she got done and locked up. She started walking towards her car, which was farther away than normal because someone had parked in her space before she got there. Oddly enough, the car was still parked there after 7pm.
“Stupid bastard,” she thought to herself, “I'll find out who that car belongs to and break a piece of my mind off in his arse.”
The only available space when she arrived was about 4 blocks up the street. It seemed odd that there was no one else out on the street at 7pm, and she knew there should've been. A surge of paranoia washed over her, and she started walking a little faster.
“If anyone tries anything, I'll be ready,”she thought.
A shadowy figure appeared almost out of nowhere. It was like a great dog, with thick leathery skin and blood red eyes. Two long horns adorned its head like some hellish crown. It moved faster than anything she had seen before, almost like it wasn't stopped by gravity or friction, and flew at her. Right before it made contact with her, she jumped up and over, landing about ten feet away. Suddenly, a voice as piercing as any knife blasted through her head.
“You are feistier than my last host. But your efforts will be futile, just like the last time.”
In the blink of an eye, it knocked down and pinned her on the ground.
“Bloody Hell!!” her lips spat as she hit the ground.
It spoke again.
“It was fun while it lasted mortal, but my time is now!”
Sarah didn't know what to call this beast, but one word sprung to mind before she blacked out: "Terror..."
She woke up half an hour later, only knowing she had made plans to have dinner with her parents.
After finally getting to her car, Sarah got in and drove off still upset about the jerk that parked in her spot. She extended her middle finger at it as she passed. When she had turned the corner, a portal appeared under the offending car and swallowed it, then disappeared. A few minutes later, a smaller portal opened and the steering wheel popped out, and was followed by a belch that shook all the windows for two blocks, and then the portal closed. Sarah, by this time, was half way to her parents house when her cell phone rang. She didn't recognize the tone, but answered it anyway.
“Hello? This is Sarah.”
“Sarah? This is Tommy's mom, Sandy.”
She had to think for a second as to who she was talking to.
“Oh, Tommy Brown. And how are you?”
“I'm fine. I'm sorry to tell you this, but I'm going to have to pull him out of your class. He's gotten so violent at school, and he says that the other kids started it. I hope you understand.”
“Yes I do. You do what you have to to keep him safe and out of trouble. Hopefully he'll be able to rejoin the class when he calms down.”
“I do to Sarah. I'll talk to you later then. Bye,” she said before she hung up. Sarah hung her cell phone up and put it back in it's little cubby hole in the car.
After getting to her parents house, she told them what had happened to make her a little late.
“So there was this jerk who parked his bloody car in my spot, and the nearest spot was four blocks up.”
“So you let him stay in your spot,” her father quipped after he had finished his fork full of spaghetti.
“Of course she did dear, we raised her better than that. It's not like she kicked dents in his doors and broke his windows,” her mother added.
“Oh believe me, I was tempted,” Sarah confessed, “but I controlled myself. I'm gonna find out whose car it is and give him a piece of my mind.”
“You could always use my lawyer and sue,” her father jokingly suggested.
“Don't think I won't take you up on that offer dad,” she responded playfully.
“Now, now children, let's not have what happened last time come back and bite us in the bum.”
“Okay mom. We'll behave, mostly,” Sarah said as she winked at her father.
“Yes dear,” he replied as he winked back at her.
“Well, I should get going you two. I need to get to sleep.”
“Alright honey, we'll see you later, but come're and give us a hug.”
She gave her parents a hug, said good night to the butler, and walked to her car.
She started up her car and drove off. She felt like she had a huge headache when she reached her flat, so she took some Tylenol and practiced some martial arts katas to help her calm down. She never liked to go to bed angry. It caused her rent to go up in repair costs, because for some reason she punched holes in her walls when she slept while she was angry. After she was sufficiently calmed down, she went to her bedroom and changed into her bed clothes, a pair of shorts and a tank top. She then went to the bathroom and went to the bedroom. She suddenly had the urge to watch the news, so she turned on the television and was greeted by scenes of destruction that were coming from Toronto, Canada. Reports were that there was only property damage, no casualties. Not even an injury. And there was so much damage that she couldn't believe that there weren't any dead or injured.
“Oh well, at least there won't be any doctors bills for them,” she thought as she turned off the tv.
Settling in for the night, she wondered if the same fate would befall London or another large city some where else. She wondered this until she fell into a deep, fitful sleep where nightmares reside.
She found herself looking out onto a strange skyline, roiling clouds and strange lightning coming from above and a sea of churning clouds below. Then, she saw it. She didn't know how to describe it, except that it looked like a stairway going up to what looked like a pyramid. An eerie light emitted from the very top of the pyramid. like some collosal torch in the distance. She then looked at the doors, and saw something staring back at her. It was the same creature that she had encountered near her car. It opened its hellish maw wide, and issued forth an infernal bellow.
The sound filled her with nerve-wracking terror. Her body was frozen. She was unable to speak, to move, to scream...
It lunged at her with such surprising speed that it was upon her instantly. She shut her eyes, waiting for the impact, but felt nothing. She opened them and beheld a scene that was yet again unfamiliar to her. She was looking at the same scene, but it was different. The temple was again in her vision, but it was inside a building in a city. She blinked, and her perspective changed again. This time she was in a brightly lit room with the same creature she had seen earlier. There seemed to be only one way in or out, so she made a move toward the door. Before she made it, the door suddenly swung open and in came a beautiful woman in a chair being held by three inhuman hands. She blinked again, and she was in her flat. She moved around and came upon the bathroom mirror and looked. In the place of her face was the same horrible creature. She then let out a scream and ran. She ran into a wall, but instead passed through it as if she were made of nothing at all, and fell into darkness.
She woke up drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. She got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen and a Tylenol from the bathroom. She turned on the light and almost dropped her glass. When the light chased away the darkness of the room, seven cockroaches scurried down the sink drain.
“Dang, that was just plain gross,” she thought.
She went back to bed and back into that dream.
She found herself in place she didn't recognize, but seemed strangely familiar. There was the pyramid again, but this time there were two of the creatures. There seemed to be something else there; something she couldn't see. It sent chills up her spine as the wind blew on her scantily clad body.
Her alarm pierced her senses, startling her awake. As she got up, she wondered what the day had in store for her...
May 31st, England, 8:45 am. 8 days until the end of the world.
Ben King Senior narrowed his eyes as he searched the skies to the west. "I thought he said he'd be here by now..." Dr. Vincent Belmont stood like stone for fifteen seconds.
"He does have to cross the Atlantic, Benjamin. I think he can't be blamed for being ten minutes late..." Vincent smirked. "Besides, I think I see it now...' Ben squinted again.
"Damn you and your eagle eyes, Belmont...I still don't see a thing..." But shortly, a glint did appear. And a growing sound could be heard in the sky. "Either it's him or we're about to be bombed by the RAF..." Ben spoke into his walkie-talkie, sparing a look back in the direction of the converted asylum that now served as the headquarters of Ghostbusters UK's two teams.
"I wouldn't put it past Chaplain at this point...
" the voice of Iain Bennett came back, mostly (mostly) jokingly. "I'll be glad when he gets a look at this--because what little I've picked out is scaring the hell out of me...
" Ben nodded.
"The last few months have been...bad, to be certain..." he said, and nothing more. The glint became larger, and became a vehicle--a small, gyrowinged airplane with the standard Ghostbusters logo emblazoned on the side. As it came in for a landing, Ben could see the letters spelling out "ECTO-4" on the side.
After the craft settled to the ground and the roar of it's engines faded to silence, one of the gull-wing hatches at the side opened up, to allow the sole occupant of the craft to emerge.
He was a tall man, standing some six foot three, with a lanky build and a curious configuration of blond hair that had turned white from about the ears down. A pair of tiny eyeglasses were perched on his nose, framing a pair of blue eyes that held a depth and intensity that had unnerved many a person in the past. He wore a jacket over a blue flight suit featuring pink trim and a nametag on the left chest reading "SPENGLER"
"Professor Spengler...welcome to England..." Vincent greeted him, shaking his hand.
Egon Spengler, legendary founding Ghostbuster, looked back at Belmont with just a hint of bemusement.
Vincent glanced down at Egon's uniform and shook his head.
"Ye should' a stuck with the standard GBI khaki. Baby blue and Pink doesn't suit ye....or is this some fatherhood thing yer goin' for?" Vincent chuckled.
"It's curious how your Scottish accent is more pronounced since you've come back to the Isles..."
Vincent looked a little nonplussed. A slight smirk came to Egon's mouth. "Dr. Belmont rendered speechless? I shall have to tell Peter..." Vincent shook his head and smiled back.
"Your wife has been quite...an influence on you, Sir."
"She tries. And Mister King...a pleasure to see you again, even under the circumstance..." he said, shaking Ben's hand. It had been almost a year since he'd seen Vincent Belmont, but his first--and only--face-to-face meeting with Ben King had been the better part of two years ago. Though the two had communicated regularly ever since via email.
"You too, Sir. Feel free to call me Ben, by the way..."
"Noted, Ben. And you call me by name in the emails, so feel free to do so in person--you're not really that much younger than I am, after all..."
"Well, no...I suppose not...but you're so...well, important..." Egon rolled his eyes.
"Dr. Venkman is the one who gets off on prestige trips, Ben. Besides, you've proven yourself over and again..."
"This way, Professor, if we're all through pattin' ourselves on th' back..." Vincent said, walking toward the asylum. "How is everyone doing back home?"
"Not too badly. Peter's been busy with the twentieth anniversary merchandising, the new comics and novels and such, and of course he's talking about running for mayor again..."
"Twentieth anniversary?" Ben said. "I thought that was last year..."
"Technically yes, Ghostbusters Inc. formed in 1983. But the movie came out in 1984, and GBI was formed at the same time, so there's a lot of confusion about that point. We've finally given up trying to convince people otherwise--which is why we even have been known to say 1984 on the message boards..." Egon wiped his eyeglasses. "And that's nothing compared to convincing some of them that we didn't go out of business immediately after the Gozer incident..."
"To say nothing of the stalkers..." Vincent said simply.
"Um..." Egon said, stopping.
"Touche, Professor..." Vincent said, with a smirk.
"Hm...indeed..." Egon replied.
"Stalkers?" Ben asked, confused. "You don't mean..."
"Mary Sue Gladstone and her ilk. The ones who refuse to face the reality that Professor Spengler is happily married with Twins. You should see some of the names they call Mrs. Spengler..."
"I don't think I want to know..." Vincent grimaced
"You don't" Egon said firmly.
"Um...yes..." Ben agreed, coughing. They reached the doorway and went inside. Ben King Jr. was waiting there.
"I see your father has been taking good care of you..." Egon said. Junior beamed.
"Well, of course he has. It's been great seeing him again. How are the Twins doing?"
"They've managed to avoid trouble for a whole six days. Though we have a running bet as to how long that will last with me out of the country." Egon said, remembering now that he may lose fifty dollars.
"How bad are these children?" Ben asked. "You make them sound like tiny terrors..."
Egon came as close as he was capable of to actually smiling.
"They are the great joy of my life, Ben, as you can sympathize. But you've communicated with my wife--you know that Janine can be...willful..."
"Now imagine the Professor's mental talents and that feisty nature in th' mix, lad." Vincent said.
"Oh my..." Ben shook his head.
"I have no doubt that they'll exceed me one day..." Egon said. "I haven't pushed them the way I was pushed, but they push themselves pretty hard--growing up with someone just as intelligent and determined as each other, someone to by turns compete and collaborate with, will make them formidible in whatever they choose to do." The cheery conversation was interrupted by the arrival in the room of Dr. Tommy Simpson, the GBUK's leader. Egon paused and turned to beam at Vincent with a more then obvious smile from ear to ear.
"If that is the case, then, Professor Belmont, then the world must hope that you and Miss Valentine do not reproduce..." Vincent turned several shades of red, stopping at what seemed to be a dark maroon.
"Touche, Professor..." Vincent muttered, and continued to walk again. Vincent smiled. "I miss these little repartees...but it seems that I have become lax. I will be on my toes."
"Then from you, Vincent, I expect an actual challenge." Egon retorted.
"Sorry to break this up, Sir...but maybe you'd better come on ahead and see the book..."
Egon's face returned to it's accostomed look of scientific intensity.
"You are quite correct, Thomas. Lead on."
Tommy, Vincent, Ben, and Egon went to a room to the right of the entrance area. "LAB: BENNETT" read the sign.
Inside was demonologist and RAF Flying Officer Iain Bennett. He stood by a table on which sat, surrounded by various instruments, a somewhat disheveled hardback book.
"Professor Spengler! Glad you could make it..." Iain said. Egon grunted a pleasant noise, but his brain was already at work on the curious object that had brought him accross the Atlantic. He pulled out a box with a handle on it, and flipped a button. Error: PK Level Exceeds Sensor Tolerance Parameter.
"Sure beats having it blow up on me..." Egon deadpanned.
"So that's the new Model 3.0..." Iain whistled. "Beautiful piece of kit." Spengler pulled a pair of surgical gloves out of one of his pockets, and put them on after removing the jacket and placing it on a counter.
"You say you found this..inside this asylum?" "Hmmm..." Egon said, as he picked up the book and flipped it around and about. "I'd guess at least seventy years in age...not necessarily cared for well...but not abused either..."
"We think perhaps one of the former inmates had it..." Ben noted.
Egon opened it.
"That's what we suspected, Professor." Vincent said. "I'm not as proficient in the language as you are, and frankly what I could pick out of the title and the first few pages...as well as some of the diagrams were enough concern to call you on..."
"So...what does the title say?" Iain asked.
Egon cleared his throat. "It means...the Chronicles of the Great Destructor, The Formless Traveller..." Egon looked at them, his eyes their most intense. "The Destructor. The Traveller. Vuulgus Zildrohar. Or, as he's know to this day and age...Gozer."
Ben King Jnr entered the lab, just as Professor Egon Spengler glanced up from the large tome.
"Excellent...just when I'd expected it to arrive." Dr. Spengler commented, he slid the metal stool over to the edge of the workbench, pulled off the rubber gloves and accepted the warm cup of coffee. "Thank you." He replied, he took a sip as Ben handed Iain a similar cup. As he drank the liquid, Egon grimmaced slightly. "I had forgotten the difference British coffee had, it is a drink that comes with an aquired taste." He replied, setting the cup down.
"How is the work going?" Ben Jnr asked as he held the tray at his side.
"With slow progress, which is to be expected from a artifact of such complexity...my Sumerian translation skills may not have seen much use since the late 90's, but I still get the gist of it." Egon replied. "From what I've been able to translate so far, the book has made reference to some previous incidents involving Gozer, depending on which alias the deity has gone under dictates which period in history the event occured...apparantly his influence goes back as far as the destruction of Atlantis."
"Atlantis is real?" Ben Jnr asked with a low whistle.
"Well, apart from the fact the question is in the standard GBI employment questionnaire...but there has been significance to prove the legend true, whether the city was known as Atlantis, or it inspired the myth we know today is yet to be decided...Vincent, however, is insistent that Atlantis may be the continent of Mu." Egon continued, taking a moment to study his notes. "The book also makes some vague references to a 'female concubine of green isle decent...' However Sumerian is nothing short of vague in itself..."
"'Green isle'? Could mean Ireland." Iain ventured.
"That is most possible Mr. Bennett, however we will need to translate more before we have a definate answer I believe." Egon mused.
"What shall I tell the others?" Ben Jnr asked.
"That presently only a few answers have surface, I'd wager a guess we won't receive any definate information until it's almost midnight, but until then normal duties should continue until something of grave importance arrives."
"Right." Ben Jnr replied, he then turned and left the lab.
"There's something else, isn't there?" Iain asked, looking up from a illuminated magnifying glass. Egon released a tired sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose, careful to replace his glasses in the proper position.
"I didn't want to mention this, not until I was totally sure...but this book hints at something big...I'm not sure as I'm still yet to decipher the text...but it could mean trouble, real, big, trouble." Iain reguarded Egon for a few moments.
"I can see how someone like Dr. Venkman may consider your words a doomsaying." Iain replied.
"Indeed." Egon replied, a slightly amused glint in his eyes. "Whatever happens here...we must find out where this book originated from."
"Easier said than done...but if it did belong to one of the inmates then we'll need to find out where he might've gotten the book."
Click Click. Tommy stared at the screen and frowned. He'd been given the task of tracking down the inmate who had occupied the room upstairs in the derelict part of the East Wing...and it was prooving to be as bad as looking for a needle in a haystack. However, it was only the second hour he'd worked on the project, the first had been to try locate the Asylum's Records, which thankfully enough had been left in the basement of the Asylum...but looking through the building's impromptu files room wasn't an easy task, none of the files or folders were in order...only the fact that the corresponding dates and years had been written on the boxes and files had prevented Tommy from having a nervous breakdown.
He'd eventually located most of the inmates who'd been confined to the Solitary Confinement block within the last five years of the asylum's operation, now he was trawling through the online NHS records in order to find out which inmates were still alive...if any and where they'd heralded from, it was an added bonus that the files were put on post-mortem...it would've been near impossible to find the inmate if it hadn't been decided that the Patient/Doctor confidentiality priviledge ended at death.
"National Health Service - Staffordshire
Search Criteria: Hospitals and Asylums
Southall Sanitarium (1900-1987)
Alyisson Rosenberg 1982-1984 (Deceased April 1997)
Angelina Croft** 1976-1978 (Deceased March 1978)
Angelus Boreanez 1979-1984 (Deceased April 1997)
Andrew Mellows* 1980-1982 (Deceased January 1985)
Brent Matthews 1929-1954 (Deceased Nov 1956)
Buffy Geller 1981-1984 (Deceased April 1997)
Buster LaMarch* 1963-1983 (Deceased February 1983)
Connor Kartheiser 1979-1984 (Deceased October 2003)
Daniel Bradford** 1970-1973 (Deceased July 1973)
David Beddingfield* 1975-1975 (Deceased June 1975)
Edward Hopper 1962-1974 (Deceased February 1974)
Frank Jones* 1963-1983 (Deceased March 1983)
Jonathan Stanford* 1934-1984 (Deceased June 1983)
Jimmy Sommerset** 1943-73 (Deceased November 1973)
Katherine Hollows** 1930-1974 (Deceased February 1974)
Kirstin Carter** 1942-1973 (Deceased December 1973)
Kurt Bishop 1983-1984 (Transfered to Southampton Mental Facility) (Deceased March 1989)
Lorenzo Welker* 1963-1983 (Deceased April 1983)
Maurace Music* 1963-1983 (Deceased January 1983)
Nicholas Harris 1923-1935 (Deceased January 1936)
Paul Dudding** 1945-74 (Deceased March 1974)
Samantha Reynolds 1980-1984 (Deceased January 2003)
Sarah Summers** 1980-1982 (Deceased October 1982)
Sarah Wright* 1933-1934* (Deceased August 1934)
Stuart Head 1945-1965 (Deceased July 1967)
Willow Hannigan 1982-1984 (Deceased May 1998)
*=Patients who died of Natural Causes within the medical facility.
**=Patients who died of Unatural Causes within the medical facility.
After noticing the June 1983 death date beside Jonathan Stanford's name, Tommy clicked on the name and was transferred to a small medical file concerning Jonathan Stanford.
Name: Jonathan Stanford
Current Age: 84
Date: January 23rd, 1982
Period of patient's duration: 1934-Present
Medical Examiner: Dr. Matthew Lucas - Psychiatrist
The case of Jonathan Stanford is an interesting one...he was admitted to Southall Sanitarium in 1934 under the care of my predessor. However upon examing his notes and reports on Jonathan's progress when he retired in 1945 has yeilded a bizzarre case of delusional paranoia. Apparantly Jonathan had been a demolition worker since 1923 but after an incident at a quarry in 1934 was made redundant by the quarry foreman along with his fellow quarry workers. During the next year his fortunes became worse as he obssessed over a strange book he'd found upon the site. Jonathan finally developed acute paranoia and was eventually incarcerated within the walls of Southall Asylum in November of 1934. During the 11 year period between 1934 and 1945 he was under the care of Dr. Nathaniel Masters...whom I have replaced. During December of 1934, Jonathan tried desperately to convice Dr. Masters that he was perfectly sane...however this eventually degraded into the standard case of delusion upon the discover of a book within his cell...there was an investigation into whether a staff member had brought the book in...but none of the present staff admitted to bringing the thing.
NOTE: Jonathan has been allowed to keep the book by his side due to his ferocious protectiveness...after an assault on an orderly and failed attempts to remove it (Jonathan somehow managed to retrieve the book and would never reveal how he did so).
From 1934 to present he has collected data from newspapers and books while incarcerated within Solitary Confinement in the Third Floor of the East Wing of the Sanitarium. His cell contains strage drawings that he has scrawled on the walls...he seems perfectly happy with his book and seems happy to explain the details of his theories...sometimes being heavily detailed and extremely well thought out...including some rather worrying premonitions. A psychic and a paranormal investigator were contacted by the asylum staff and gave mixed reviews on the circumstances of Jonathan and his book. Both concluded that he wasn't psychic...but that he supposedly had access to some higher power which allowed him to be given these delusional premonitions...however I remain skeptical over the exact involvement that Jonathan may have with "higher powers." Of recent, there have been some complaints from the night staff of hysterical shoutings and ravings from Jonathan's cell...garbled comments including: "...the four defenders...", "...gozer...", "...the formless destructor is coming..." and "...ghost fever..." However as of this moment...I can only conclude that these are some of the delusions which form Jonathan's unusual case. I shall endeavour to continue reporting on Jonathan's progress as time moves on.
Note: Mr. Stanford is mentioned as of dying on June 8th, 1983. Only one year before Southall is officially closed down."
Tommy looked at the bottom of the page and saw a second link.
"Associated Files." Frowning at this he moved the curser over the link and clicked on it. Within a few minutes the page changed to a report written presumably by a second person.
"Staffordshire Police Force
Incident: Multiple deaths under strange circumstances.
Location: Southall Sanitarium, Burton on Trent, Staffordshire.
Date of Incident: July 24th, 1986.
Investigating Officer: Chief Inspector Caroline Maxwell
This is a first hand report of the incident I experience at Southall Sanitarium. At 7:54PM a call was made to the local Police Station in Burton on Trent by a man named Gerald Wilkins (28). Mr. Wilkins apparantly had a pale and nervous appearance when he approached one of the station constables. Once he had gotten the attention of one of the constables (PC Andrews (35)) he explained a fairly shocking story about an encounter he had within the Sanitarium's basement. For this record I have included a transcipt of the interview transcript:
Wilkins: I...I don't know how to explain this.
Andrews: Just start from the begining...do you want some coffee before we begin?
Pause as Wilkins cleared his throat.
Wilkins:...I...I want to report my employer...I...I think...I think he's been burning people in the sanitarium incinerator.
Andrews: Mr. Wilkins...I am legally bound to inform you that this is a serious accusation...do you have proof of your employer's supposed crimes?
Wilkins: I...I do...he was...
Andrews: Just start from when you entered the sanitarium celler.
Wilkins: Yeah...I was dispatched down to the basement to collect something for one of the doctors...Dr. Bishop had apparantly left a portfolio in the morgue when she'd performed an autopsy that day...so I went down there. The celler of the place isn't used much due to most of the patients eventually leaving the place cured of their problems...though...there was some mention that more people were dying...even some talk of people dissapearing...
Andrews: Dissapearing? From their cells?
Wilkins: Yes...but sometimes it'd be a staff member...this one guy...Dabb...he used to work on night duty until one morning they found his post empty and no sign of him...
Andrews: Please continue with what happened in the celler.
Wilkins: Sure...so I take the lift from the ground floor to the 'Corridor to Hell'...
Andrews: 'Corridor to Hell'?
Wilkins: It's a small injoke we orderlies have...there was this rumour the place was built on a hellhole...and this corridor took so long to push a cart along that it felt like a journey to Hell...
Andrews: I see...so you were in this...'Corridor to Hell'?
Wilkins: Yes...I entered the morgue, nothing out of the ordinary there and I made my way over to the Coroner's work area to grab the portfolio, but as I moved I heard a voice...so I creep along to the heavy swing doors which leads to the incinerator which can only be accessed via the morgue...and I can see this man through the windows in the incinerator room doors...he's naked from the waist up but he's covered in this red stuff...I could've sworn it was blood...
Wilkins: I can only assume it was...the windows were kinda murky so I could'nt totally see clearly
Andrews: Then how could you tell it was your employer?.
Wilkins: His voice...it was crazy...but I'd recognise it anywhere...most of the staff do.
Andrews: Understood...please, continue.
Wilkins: Okay...so I'm in the celler watching my employer doing something strange with the incinerator...and at one point I could've sworn it was the flames of Hades itself inside that machine...so I'm hiding behind this door...and suddely the man turns around and walks through the door...and out into the morgue...thankfully enough he didn't see me. So I hide in a locker until he returns and once he's back in that room I took another look...then he turned around...and God almighty did that man scare me...And it was Sanitarium Administrator Forrestor...if that red stuff that covered him was blood I could've swore he was covered in it like a newborn baby...and he had this insane grin on his face...and a far off look...like he wasn't there.
Andrews: Did he say anything?
Wilkins: Yeah...I had a right time trying to work it out...something to do with a 'formless one'...a 'traveller'...sounded like the right nutjobs we had upstairs in the solitary confinement wing if you ask me...sounded like this one guy we had a few years back it did...
Wilkins pauses for a moment...apparantly collecting his thoughts.
Wilkins: I'll say this, he hadn't seemed all that strange to begin with...nice chap...talked to staff and patient alike, no-quarrel...but he seemed to change sometime after June 1983...like he'd gone on holiday and some new bloke took up residence in his mind...he seemed less inclined to talk to people and spent god knows how long in his office...at all hours...some people barely saw him at all.
Andrews: You will have to understand, while we will investigate this accusation...you must bare in mind that if this does appear to be a hoax you will be charged with wasting the Police's time.
Wilkins: I swear on the life of every poor soul in that sanitarium...my employer has gone insane.
End of Transcript
Based on the orderly Wilkin's report several officers were dispatched from the local police station, including myself. Once we had arrived at the Sanitarium we questioned the staff in reception where Administrator Forrestor was, one of the reception staff went to Forrestor's office but came back without him...apparantly he had vanished. Accompanied by two Orderlies and Forrestor's second-in-command, a female psychologist named Stephanie Lauwence we investigated Forrestor's last known steps. We began the investigation within his office, careful to catalogue any evidence that would prove useful. The investigation then led to the celler of the asylum which Orderly Wilkins had informed us had been the last place he'd seen Forrestor before leaving to inform the police. Splitting the police team and orderlies in half to cover both the building's lift and staircase we descended into the dark lower levels of the asylum. Once we had reached the celler area it was noted that there was a strong smell of smoke and blood in the air. As we slowly moved towards the Incinerator Room (As indicated by Lauwence) several officers including myself overheard disconnected words shouted from where we believed the incinerator was held. Once we approached the door after passing through the main part of the morgue two of my officers extracted their truncheons and peered through the small windows and informed us that there was indeed a half naked man shouting wildly within the room...we could not confirm if he was covered in blood due to the light cast by the fire and the overall condition of the window glass. Upon my order and the arrival of the second half of the arrest team we entered the Incinerator Room to the mad cries of the man. Hearing us, he turned around and Ms. Lauwrence raised a hand as not to gag...it was indeed...from a file photo we had seen...Administrator Thomas Forrestor...his upper torso and face appeared to be covered in blood and he had a leer on his face which was similar to the description offered by Orderly Wilkins. After a short incident where Forrestor attempted to escape he was captured and handcuffed. Once we had returned to the asylum reception Forrestor began to rant and rave...in which he said the words: "You can't have my special place...I've hidden it away...you can't find it...it's protected by the formless one in my office". Acting on this two of my officers returned to Forrestor's office and began to examine the contents in more detail...eventually discovering what could only be described as a 'blasphemous shrine' to some mystic god probably invented in the obviously unstable Forrestor's mind. I ordered my officers to destory it on sight as it offended nearly everyone who saw it...Forrestor was then sedated and taken to the Police Station where he was confined to a cell until he could be charged with murder...how many people he may have murdered cannot be determined...he may have killed dozens depending on how long he has been acting like the way he was when captured, there is always the possibility he may have always been like this but hasn't shown these symptoms before, his condition will be reviewed by a specialist when one is required.
A man going by the name T. Forrestor is noted to having comitted suicide in Parkhirst Prison, Isle of Wight in 1988 with a stolen belt. He was dead from hanging when found in his cell by Prison Guards. To this day nobody has been able to clearly work out the exact number of patients possibly murdered by Thomas Forrestor during his time as Administrator of Southall Sanitarium...Southall Sanitarium was closed down in January of 1987.
Tommy rubbed his chin in thought and then re-read the article. It certainly sounded too close to be a simple coincidence...and so if Jonathan Standford was the man who'd owned the book they'd found in the abandonned part of the East Wing...then where exactly did he find the book? The file made mention to a quarry which had closed down around 1934...which didn't narrow it down a great deal...he could only hope that he could trace Stanford's history back from the asylum records.
"Hmmm." Ben King Snr mused as he stared at a definately complex-looking shot. It depicted a room from a stately mansion, which featured a floating ghost in Edwardian dress and a levitating dining room set...including the chairs and tables. The thing which had bugged Ben about this particular picture which had been posted on the internet ten days ago was the composition...the room had been taken by someone who wasn't a professional...that was easy to detect...and the furniture truely looked like it was floating...whoever had posted it had been clever enough to do some sever blending and blurring to hide the telltale signs...but to Ben it felt like a fake...the ghost seemed just too sharp in the photo...like it had been a person in costume who'd posed for the shot...then edited onto the backdrop of the realistically floating furniture...even the slight glow effect looked realistic...but the sharpness of the spectre just didn't seem right. With this opinion and evidence at the click of his mouse he began to post the details on how it was a fake...still, there were some pics which did still baffle him, for a good time the picture of the Hampton Court spook had had him puzzled for nearly a week before he noticed some definate signs it wasn't a real ghost.
Ben looked up at the door which led out of the lab and into the corridor.
"Enter." He called back and a few moments later the door opened and Rosey Collins, the team's second female civilian worker entered the room.
"Hey." She greeted.
"Hey." Ben replied, taking the opportunity to pop a few cricks in his neck and shoulderblades. The resulting cracking sound made Rosey wince.
"Must you do that?" She asked warily.
"Sorry." Ben replied with a slightly apologetic grin. "Is there something I can do for you?" He asked.
"Yeah...kinda. One of the guys in Iain's lab wanted you to take a look at some woodcuts in that book Iain found...said it might be interesting." She informed him.
"Sure." Ben replied. He then stood up, causing the desk chair to scoot along to the desk on the opposite side of the photography study. He then left the room and made his way to Iain's Lab where Egon, Iain and now Vincent were making notes and observations on what the book had yeilded so far. He leaned on the doorframe as he watched the scholars working away. "I swear, this must be what the research wing of the National Archives must look like." Ben joked, gaining the attention of all of the occupants in the room. "Where's this woodcut you'd like me to see?" He asked as he moved over to the book.
"Here." Egon replied, he slid hiw own stool over to the workbench. Then carefully, he lifted up the book for Ben to see. On one page was a large woodcut depicting a large pyramid, swathed in fog and lighting. The temple held three figures...two dog-like creatures and a third...a humanoid.
"Hmm...from the descriptions of what I've heard it looked like...I'd say that looks like the Temple of Gozer."
"Exactly." Egon replied. "However...there is something written in the text that worries me." Egon added, ajusting the overhead magnifying glass to give Ben a better view of the book. "Do you see the text...here?" He indicated a passage in the text.
"Yes." Ben replied, straining to see the unusual writing.
"What worries me...is that portion of text, translated into English translates as: '...a second doorway was formed...a second coming for the Formless One...'." Egon read aloud.
"That is something to worry about." Ben commented as he rubbed his chin.
"Agreed...if the translation is precise...then this could mean that the Temple of Gozer above the apartment complex of 550 Central Park West may not be the only one of it's kind...if this truely is the second coming of Gozer then it would only be appropriate that a second Temple of Gozer existed...only problem is..." Egon explained.
"We don't know where it is." Ben finished.
Vincent Belmont and Professor Egon Spengler sat in Iain's lab as they continued to write long and extensive notes on the passages they'd deciphered during the previous hour's work of translation from Sumerian to English...it was their hope to eventually publish an abridged version of thier notes for a report on the case...should a report be written on whatever events were to transgress.
All possible avenues of events had to be assessed...if things continued to develop both in outside events and from translation the Ghostbusters could be on the threshold of another apocalypse...however the term 'apocalypse' and what it meant didn't always come across as strongly as it used to be these days.
Iain Bennett drank from a cup of coffee as he watched the two Ghostbusters slaving away to try get a transcipt ready for review by midnight...every fifteen minutes of so they'd take a break from their writing to trade notes and ideas...Iain didn't mind being excluded...he may be a demonologist but he knew when there was stuff that was just too far complex for him to solve...that's why he was glad they had access to people like Vincent and Egon to do the downright cosmically difficult stuff.
He turned and walked across the hall to the break room, inside sat the remaining members of the Day Shift and Graveyard Shift of Ghostbusters UK...until further notice, all jobs had been suspended pending rescheduling if they were to stop whatever big bad might happen...sometimes a Hell Mouth in southern California was the easy deal when you worked as a Ghostbuster. The day had progressed fairly slowly for those not involved in any of the impending duties...Ben had been set to work studying some copies of the illustrations in the book, Tommy was busy tracking down who owned the book and may've had it and brought it to the asylum...Egon and Vincent were preoccupied with their translation work and Iain himself was taking a break from checking the equipment. Inside, Roger Kenedy, Leon Vega, Adam Bestler, and Jill Valentine were playing a game of cards at the card table, Rosey Collins was grabbing a cola can from the vending machine and Eric Rose was dozing in one of the arm chairs. In the background the news summary from the Channel Five news blared from the unwatched television set.
"How're things going?" Adam asked, pausing between asking the dealer for two more cards.
"Slow...Vincent and Egon are working as fast as they can...and I'm yet to hear from Tommy on how his research is going." Iain took a quick swig from the cup. "And Ben...well...he's doing his studies of the images from the book. "Say Adam...where's Molly Ann?" Iain asked in reference to Adam's non-present girlfriend.
"Town." Adam replied. "She went out to do some shopping...said something about the fridge getting bare..." Adam replied flippantly as he returned to his game, he paused and looked back at Iain. "You look...y'know...like you got something better to be doing but can do it." He commented.
"It's just...it's ridiclulous...I'm a bloody expert!!!" Adam looked at him with slight worry. "I really haven't had much sleep lately, I mean... hell I decoded a prophecy regarding an apocalypse in Iraq of all places. I think it's just... well a bad day for me"
"Iain...bud...even the heroes have a bad day and get cranky...don't take it personal...take a chill pill...or as I like to call them...beers, and get yourself some down time while we can still have it." Adam suggested and then went back to his game once again.
"Iain." Iain turned to face Dayshift's leader, Dr. Tommy Simpson.
"Yo." Iain greeted, saluting which his coffee cup.
"I need to go over some things with you." Tommy replied.
"Sure." Iain agreed, he then followed Tommy back to Tommy's office which was housed in the West Wing of the building. They entered the office and moved over to the computer set up on Tommy's desk.
"Okay...I did some research on the NHS's website...try see if I can locate the guy who had that book. Now apparantly it belonged to some guy brought here in 1934...and eventually died in 1983...apparantly he was some quarry worker who went loco and they threw him in here...for the next half a century he's treated here and dies in 1983...thought I wonder if the administrator who went nuts had something to do with that book...it says he was ranting about stuff to do with a 'formless one'." Tommy supposed.
"Wouldn't be surprising." Iain replied thoughtfully before taking another swig from his coffee cup. "Any word on where matey-boy came from before he lost his marbles?"
"Not really...I can have a look upstairs...see if anything else was left...we'd be lucky if there was anything...nothing online has given me an idea of where he came from...not even the name of the quarry."
"Keep at it anyway...whatever you can find can't be anything but helpful." Iain replied, clapping a hand onto Tommy's shoulder.
"Sure." Tommy replied. Iain then left the office to the sound of keyboard keys clattering.
Tommy opened the metal door which blocked off the abandonned third floor corridor of the East Wing and entered the gloom, the place could sure use the remodeling...even if they were simply left empty...it would ease his mind if he knew the roof of the East Wing wouldn't come crashing down...if there was time he'd discuss it at the next budget meeting.
He dodged the junk and rubble until he reached the room Iain had discovered the book in...the decaying remains of a rubber padded solitary confinement cell...Tommy sniffed the air and winced...there was a musky smell...possibly the rubber...but it barely masked the other smell which smelt vaguely like human waste. He knelt down and extracted a penlight from his field belt...the team had taken to wearing their jumpsuits on and off duty since they'd been informed that Professor Spengler would be arriving...though the suits had understandably become slightly crumpled from the continual use since that morning. He twisted the end of the penlight and then pointed it into the patch of darkness Iain had revealed...at first he saw nothing except bare wooden beams and boards...but as he poked and prodded the light further into the darkness he saw something...it was pale and looked like it was a large bound folder...or possibly a book.
At first he tried to reach for the object but found that his arm was just too short for the distance that it was from the hole...looked like whoever had put it there had deliberately slid it as far as possible, as he extracted his arm he found that the board and rubber section directly in front of the object was loose...and within a few moments three rubber squares and half a floor board were lying scattered around the cell as Tommy removed the object...it was a book, it had been originally white...or grey but was now stained tan in some places...probably from water.
He heaped the book onto one knee and illuminated it with the penlight as he opened the page. The pages were filled with long scrawls which varied in quality...some bits he could read fairly well...but some others were badly rushed and he couldn't be sure. One thing he did know for sure...within the first two pages he had read the words: Jonathan Stanford, and if those words were in the book then it must be connected. He switched off the penlight and put it back on his belt, he then quickly left the cell as he made his way to show the new discovery to the research team downstairs in Iain's lab.
"And you say you found this in the same place that Iain found the book?" Egon asked as he studied the smaller note-pad/book/collection of assorted papers that Tommy had found stuffed further away under the rubber padding of the confinement cell.
"Yes." Tommy replied.
"Interesting." Egon commented in reply. "It appears this book contains many listings of events that your patient, Jonathan Stanford, believed to be prophecies which had been hinted at by the book." He commented as he studied some of the scrawls of writing within the yellowing pages. "It appears he has made reference to some fairly large events that have and will happen."
"You think he was a seer?" Iain asked.
"Not neccesary, it's probable that the book gave him hints at what was yet to come at that stage and what is yet to come in our stage...there's a mention to something about a figure known soley as 'Romulous' which I am yet to identify in any recent events which have occured over the last century. However it would seem that Mr. Stanford was attempting to chronicle the prophecies as each one came true." Egon added.
"Looks like he's still prohesising now after his death...it probably seemed like it was our man after he died on June 8th, 1983." Tommy replied.
"It does seem to be that case." Egon agreed.
"How is the work on the book going?" Tommy asked. Egon took the moment to rub the bridge of his nose before replying.
"Slow...but worthwhile." He commented. "We have a little under a third of the book translated and if we can continue this we should have the book finished around June 2nd."
"I assume nothing has yet yeilded itself in relation to the location of the second temple?"
"Trust me...if I knew where it was you'd be the first to know."
June 1st, 2004
Dawn broke outside of the GBUK HQ building. Oddly enough the place was quiet, for a Ghostbusters HQ that is. Due to the shifting of duties since the book had arrived the Graveyard Shift were now operating on the same hours as the Day Shift, which did nothing for their sleep patterns. Currently Adam Bestler sat in the Break Room nursing a nasty case of insomnia...that is until the phone in reception started to ring.
"Ben...get the phone!" He shouted, after a few more moments when there was no answer he got up, mutting seven shades of hell as he went and finally answered it.
"Ghostbusters UK...they don't pay us to sleep." He muttered grudginly into the phone. "Yeah...uh-huh...well yes...I'd say that is unusual...but the problem is we're not taking any...oh...yeah? I see...erm well...if you really want to...yeah...uh-huh...let me get that name...uh-huh...Sarah Jones? You'll be on the eight-fifteen from Marylebone? Okay...okay...I'll tell them when they get up." Adam hung up as he jotted the details down on the notepad. He then looked over at the brushed-metal button which would activate the building's alarm. He paused for a moment while in contemplation, shrugged and then pressed the button. "They were never gonna get any decent sleep anyway." he supposed as he waited for his fellow Ghostbusters to arrive.
"Well...you did ask me to ring if I needed anything." Adam replied as he watched the a collection of Day Shift and Graveyard Shift team members trudge down the main staircase.
"Adam." Tommy began. "Is there a reason you'd like to tell us before we all tear you limb from limb?" He asked. Adam could see murder in his boss's eyes.
"Yeah...we got a woman coming in...a..." He took a brief moment to study the notes he'd made, continuing in a mock French accent. "Sarah Jones...she said zat she 'as a problem of ze paranormal persuasion." Adam explained.
"And did you explain to her that we're not taking any calls right now?" Iain asked, not finding the tone humorous. He was also in the mood to kill.
"I did...but she was very persuasive." Adam replied. "Besides...after what she told me we need to see her."
"Adam." Vincent began as he rubbed his forehead and ajusted his glasses. "I swear to God...if you're using this as an excuse to flirt, Scotland Yard will be receiving you in more than six pieces."
"While it pleases me to hear that my role as Romeo in this building hasn't gone unnoticed..."
"More like stalker." Ben King Snr replied grimly.
"...I'm not openly going after our female clients...she said something about a beast she encountered a few days ago..." He again looked at his notes. "Black...ish...leather skin...horns...blood red glowing eyes...lots an lots 'o teeth...looked a bit like a dog with nasty hygene problems." he went on.
"Sounds like a rough description of a Terror Dog." Egon replied thoughtfully.
"Which is why I allowed her to persuade me into letteing her come here. Tomorrow she's taking the eight-fifteen train from Marlybone...in London? Anyone know when that gets here?" He asked.
"About nine fifteen." Rosey Collins replied helpfully.
"Okay...thanks Adam." Tommy replied. "Okay folks...looks like we're starting a little early today...let's get dressed and down to work." The team of Ghostbusters and civilian staff workers grumbled a little at the early rising but went off in the directions of their personal quarters to get dressed.
"You think this might be connected with the book?" Tommy asked as they walked back upstairs.
"The chances of a coincidence are so astronomically high that there's a better chance that Peter and Slimer would give up their corresponding differences and become the best of friends." Egon replied with a slight hint of amusement.
"And if that happened then it would definately be the end of the world as we knew it." Vincent replied with a slight hint of a smile.
"After the break we will bring you a disturbing report of an unprovoked attack on a police force in..."
"What's new this morning?" Roger Johnson asked as he joined Adam Bestler on the sofa in front of the TV in the Break Room.
"Nothing that's totally interesting...something about an attack on the police."
"What else is new?" Roger asked. They waited as the ad break ended and the news returned.
"We have received reports of an unprovoked attack occuring in Little Atherton,near the town of Penkridge, members of the local Police Authority were called to the scene in order to move a group of youths who had been seen drinking and acting disorderly when a man appeared on the scene and attacked them...we will be going straight to the scene with our outside unit. Gary...so what are the circumstances exactly?" The screen changed to display a man in a suit and microphone in a park location.
"Well Michelle, at around ten 'o' clock last night a report was called into the local Police Station of a group of youths who were reported to be drunken and disorderly, so on standard practice a small team of policemen and women were dispatched to intercept and disperse the group, however they were attacked by an unknown assailant who has hospitalised almost every member of the team."
"Do they believe the assailant was with the youths?" The female newsreader asked.
"Not at present, however they aren't rulling it out at this time either." The male news reporter explained.
"Is it true that there is actual footage of the incident as it occurred?" The newsreader asked.
"That is correct...a documentary team shooting a program called 'On the Beat with Britain's Police' were working with the police when the incident occurred. They are due to give us a copy of the footage in..." The man paused as someone said something off-screen. "Okay...this is a Breakfast News exclusive...we are about to broadcast the footage unedited...we do warn viewers to look away if they are easily shocked." A few moments of darkness were eventually replaced by the park...obviously darker and much more densely packed.
"Just stay behind me..." A policeman instructed the cameraman as he and a few fellow officers approached the group. "Excuse me sir...but do you know what time it is?" The policeman asked a thug in a hoodie and tracksuit.
"No." The thug replied with an evident slur.
"Well you and your friends are in breach of the public disorder act and unless you go home we will have to book you for this charge."
"And what if we don't?" The thug asked...not having heard the policeman, however before the policeman could respond a voice shouted.
"My master will be victorious! You all shall perish in flames from the wrath of the formless one!" The newcomer shouted in what sounded like exultation.
"Oh great...another one." A second policeman spoke.
"Go apprehend him." A policewoman replied and two policemen went over to arrest the man who had slicked back brown hair and glasses. The cameraman, obviously finding something more interesting in the newcomer then the thugs began to follow.
"Calm down sir..."
"You are under arrest for breaching the public disorder act...you have the right to remain silent, you do not have to say anything but if you do it may be used against you in court..." Suddenly the man sent a policeman tumbling to the ground, followed by the second.
"Bloody hell...get your batons out!" The policewoman shouted as four policemen were despatched to apprehend the newcomer, each one was dealt with in turn.
"Oh god...my arms! The b*****d broke my bloody arms!" A man cried in pain, the swear words edited out with audio 'bleeps'.
"S**t..." The policewoman swore and she went over to apprehend the subject...she was only able to get one hit on hip before she was sent down. The camera, now violently shaking was sent to the ground as the cameraman and the youths fled the scene. The man walked over in the direction of the camera and got a fairly-good side shot of his face. Then a moment later he vanished through what could only be described as a portal. Both Adam and Roger were left nearly dumstruck at the ferocity at the attack.
"I think we need to tell the others about this." Roger finaly spoke.
June 2nd, 2004; 6 days until the end of the world.
"Ms...Jones?" Ben King Jnr, now manning his desk asked as a woman in her early 20s with red hair and blue eyes entered the foyer of the GBUK HQ. Slung over her shoulder was a blue duffel bag and she wore what could be described as a combination of clothes a student might ware, a set of jeans, trainers and a white T-shirt with a blue shirt on top.
"That's me." She replied. "Where to?" She asked.
"Just wait here...I'll phone someone in a moment." With that said Ben turned his attention to the reception desk, sat next to the phone used for reciving calls was a second phone system which was being trialled for inter-office communications. He studied a quick note of paper which was taped to the upper ledge of the desk and pressed the button which corresponded with Iain's Lab. "Yeah...Iain...tell the Professor she's here..." He then hung up. "Someone will be here shortly." He explained to Sarah who was sat on one of the benches in the recption/foyer area, her duffel bag lay beside the bench.
"Thanks." She replied. After a few minutes Iain exited through one of the frosted glass doors which led to the foyer.
"Ms. Jones?" Iain asked, Sarah turned to see who had spoken.
"That's me." She replied.
"Could you follow me, please?" Iain asked.
"Sure." Sarah replied as she picked up her duffel bag and got up to follow Iain.
"Thanks." Iain led the way to his lab. "My name's Iain Bennett, I work as a Demonologist here...we're hoping an outside expert who we have here at present can help shed some light on...err...your situation.
"So do I...it's not every day you dream the thing's I've dreamed." Sarah replied honestly. They entered Iain's Lab and made their way over to where Egon and Vincent were hunched over the book. As Iain led Sarah looked around at the odd equipment which stood around the lab. When Iain had reached his destination he coughed loudly and both Egon and Vincent looked up.
"Ah...good...you've arrived." Egon spoke as he rotated the stool he was on to stand up, a few moments later Vincent was also on his feet.
"Ms. Jones...I'd like you to meet the leader of our night time operations, Dr. Vincent Belmont and our external specialist and company founder Professor Egon Spengler." Iain introduced.
"I apologize but we must shorten the formalities." Egon explained.
"Um...okay." Sarah replied a little uncomfortably.
"Iain...could you bring the psychological activity scanner?" Egon asked.
"Sure." Iain replied and vanished off in the direction of the far side of the lab.
"Miss Jones...what we'll be doing first is performing a cranial scan while Mr. Bennett over there asks some standardized questions in relation to your problem...do you have any objections to this?" Egon asked.
"No." Sarah replied.
"Understood." Egon replied. A few moments later Iain wheeled over a cabinet which had what looked like a TV built into it. He slid it over to a power socket on the wall and plugged it in, a few moments later he began to plug in a series of rubber probes and suction cubs, a miniaturised version of the helmet adaptor which Egon had used in 1983 to diagnose Dana Barrett.
"Okay Ms. Jones. What Mr. Bennett will be doing is hooking up a series of sensors to this machine which will scan the patterns and waves of your brain and convert them into a 3D model of your brain...now in an ordinary case your face would be displayed on this screen shown in differing colours depending on your brainwave activity." Vincent explained as Iain started to stick some of the sensors to Sarah's forehead and scalp.
"Okay." Sarah replied.
"Do you have any objections to this session being taped?" Iain asked.
"No." Sarah replied after a moment.
"Okay, thanks." Iain replied and then set up a video camera on a tripod.
"Ready?" Vincent asked.
"Ready." Iain replied, he then flicked on the machine and as the screen warmed up they could see Sarah's face coloured in varius splotches of colour ranging from green, red and blue. Once the screen had booted up Egon slid a stool over to face Sarah and he placed on a stethascope with a light attached to it.
"Mr. Bennett, if you would be so kind as to ask miss Jones here some questions while I perform some examination on her."
"Sure." Iain replied and sat down on the stool to face Sarah, he took a moment to start the video camera rolling. "Okay. Does your family have any history of mental illness, such as schitzophrenia?"
"Not that I know of." Sarah replied. Vincent made some notes as a slight red tinge shot across the model of Sarah's head on the monitor.
"Okay...are you using stimulants...drugs...alcohol?" Iain asked.
"No." Sarah replied.
"That's good..." For a moment Egon cast a look at Iain...as if expecting what question might've come next...if the person asking the questions was someone else.
"Okay...how long have you been experiencing these dreams?" Iain asked.
"About a week and a half now." Sarah explained.
"What do you see in them?" Vincent asked.
"I'm in a car park...it's the car park of the Dojo I work at...it's dark and I'm running." Sarah began.
"From what?" Egon asked this time.
"This thing...this...terror..." Sarah began, a slight tremble in her previously steady voice.
"It's okay...continue when you're ready." Iain reassured.
"Thanks." She replied with a hint of a thankful smile. "This...terror...it's a great big thing...black...or very dark brown skin...and the stuff was leathery...but it's head...it was like...a dog's...but squashed and with a pair of horns...but the thing which frightened me and keeps lingering with me are it's eye...they're glowing red...soulless...evil things...but I can see myself in them." She paused as she licked her lips and swallowed. Her throat had gone dry. "What does this mean?" She asked.
"We believe you may be suffering from a stress related psychic episode." Egon explained.
"Which is making me see this...'terror'?" Sarah asked.
"It's possible." Vincent commented. "We believe the creature you are witnessing in your dreams is something that Professor Spengler here tackled about 20 years ago in New York." As Vincent explained Iain slid his stool over to a filing cabinet, rustled around in one folder, extracted a piece of laminated paper and slid back over to Sarah.
"Okay...I'm going to show you an illustration of the creature Professor Spengler fought...is this the same creature you're seeing in your dreams?" Iain asked, he flipped thepicture card over and the side that faced Sarah displayed a computer illustration of a Terror Dog, it's name spelled out in bold below.
"That's it...that's the thing I'm seeing in my dreams." Sarah replied, for the first time Iain could see a hint of fear in her eyes and immediately felt bad for her.
"Ms Jones...I'd like to perform some hynotism...if there's anything more to this then simple visions it may reveal something." Vincent asked.
"Sure." Sarah said. Vincent nodded in understanding and walked out of the lab. Five minutes later he returned with something in his hand.
"What I will do is use this pocket watch to send you into a hypnotic slumber where we can ask your unconcious mind specific questions...we can use this to see if you may be possessed by this creature." Vincent explained as he let the gold pocket watch hang at the end of it's chain by the fob.
"Okay." Sarah replied, a little reluctantly. "Will I remember any of it?" She asked.
"Absolutely not." Vincent reassured. "Follow the swing of the watch..." He began to swing the watch like a pendulum until Sarah followed it's swing with an almost catatonic gaze. "When a click my fingers you will be asleep and your subconcious mind will be ready to answer questions." Vincent instructed, he then clicked his fingers and Sarah's head lolled down as if she were staring at the floor. "Sarah...can you hear me?"
"Yes." She replied dully.
"Okay Sarah...I want you to have a look around...are you there alone?" There was a pause and Iain noted that Sarah's eyes moved about under her closed eyelids, REM or Rapid Eye Movement.
"Yes." She finally replied, then her face creased into a frown. "There's something here with me...it's...it's talking to me..." Iain studied her face as she continued to talk.
"Sarah...what does it look like?" Vincent asked.
"It's...it's horrible! It's...it's coming right at me...it's--!" Sarah was cut off, presumably by whatever she'd seen.
"Sarah?" Iain asked. "Are you okay?" He added, leaning closer in case she spoke quietly.
"You shall not stop me!"
"Ya!" Iain cried out in surprise and toppled off the stool and onto the floor.
Suddenly one of the scanning consoles in the lab of the Firehouse began to beep wildly as the screen zoned out for a second.
"What the hell was that?" Winston Zeddemore asked in surprise as both he and Dr. Ray Stantz stared at the monitoring device in question. It had been centered on London, England.
Sarah hissed as her eyes popped open, they were blood red and glowing. Vincent gasped as he studied the monitor, replacing Sarah's brainwave pattern was that of a Terror Dog.
"You shall not stop the destructor!" Her voice was not of her own, it sounded heavy...possesed.
Vincent clamped his hand on her forehead and waved his hand over the other.
"Dormite!" Vincent shouted.
As quickly as it had appeared it vanished and her eyes returned to normal. Her eyes closed again, but remained so for only a moment.
"Wha...what happened?" She asked as if surfacing from a bad dream.
"Something that we didn't want to see...but confirms some of our theories." Egon explained as he removed the stethoscope. "Miss Jones, I'm afraid you will need to be kept here until we can can assess the extent of the possesion."
"I thought that's what might happen." She indicated the duffel bag. "Just show me where I'll be staying until...well...whatever it is which is wrong with me is dealt with."
"We'll make the arrangements as soon as possible."
"There's..." Sarah paused, as if making a hard decision. "...another reason as to why I came here...there's this man...he came into the Dojo I work at yesterday...he seemed so..." She laughed a little as if she'd been fooled. "I seriously thought he was interested..."
"What did this man look like?" Egon asked.
"Tall...blue eyes...glasses...slicked back brown hair..." Sarah described the man. "He said his name was...Hicks, Jeremy Hicks...the reason why I'm telling you about him is he got involved in a fight with the police this morning...and he...sorta...vanished." Sarah explained.
"Hmm...this changes some details...could you remain here for the moment." Egon asked.
"Sure." Sarah replied and Egon, Vincent and Iain walked over to the corridor to discuss matters.
"I can say this...if the dreams weren't a giveaway then I think the Sleepy Hollow bit was." Iain replied.
"A classic case of possession...almost textbook in comparison of the New England case." Vincent mused.
"The one which made the film The Exorcist?" Iain asked.
"Precisely." Vincent agreed. "I can only assume 'dissapeared' is layman for 'used a portal'." Vincent supposed as he reponded to Egon's conversation with Sarah.
"Indeed." Egon agreed. "Even if she hadn't mentioned Jeremy's name the description matches his appearance...even if vaguely."
"Well we'll need to communicate this discovery to the New York office...if the missing West Coast member is indeed claiming to be and has the power of the Key master then we have a dangerous situation on out hands." Vincent agreed.
"I read about that...Richard Roy sent a franchise-wide message that someone from that franchise was to be arrested because he'd gone AWOL, using company credits for unauthorized uses." Iain replied.
"Jeremy Hicks." Egon confirmed. "The Franchise CEOs of the West Coast Ghostbusters had made some reports that Hicks' seemed almost distracted after a job involving a pyramid in Downtown Los Angeles."
"A pyramid in L.A.?" Vincent mused with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "It sounds closer to something at the Hollywood movie studios then the Downtown area." Vincent commented.
"Quite..." Egon replied. "They believed that Hick's odd behaviour was partially caused by the loss of one of their team members and the return to position of NOMAD leader by Dr. Ron Daniels...though it seems apparent that those played small parts in his eventual disappearence."
"If he's really the embodiement of the Key Master...then he might be heading straight for here." Iain commented.
"If he knows where the Gate Keeper is." Egon replied. "While it seemed that the Gate Keeper and the Keymaster shared some form of primal telepathy...we must keep in mind that the circumstances aren't exactly the same as the last time this occurred. For whatever reason, be it accidental or deliberate the Gate Keeper, Zuul, is not the dominant life form within Miss. Jones' body, it's possible that with the Gate Keeper remaining dorment that Jeremy Hicks, possesed by the Key Master may not be able to 'lock on' to the Gate Keeper's unique essence." Egon explained.
"So he may not be on his way here?" Iain asked.
"It is only a theory." Egon replied. "Never assume when in this type of situation." He warned.
"Okay...so we may have the significant other of 'fluffy' on his way here to utterly destory us and claim his bride." Iain replied.
"Like a bitch in heat..." Vincent deadpanned.
"So...on top of the stuff we've already done...we now also have to remain on duty in case we're attacked from two sides...the Hell Hole downstairs and the human embodiement of a Terror Dog." Iain asked.
"Precisely." Egon replied.
"...this is just another day at the office for you Egon, isn't it?" Iain asked with a slightly tired expression.
"The number of times that combination of events have potentially come up is more then I would prefer...certainly." Egon replied honestly.
"Okay...I'll get Ben's son on to arranging a place for Sarah to stay and I'll tell the others that we may be expecting company." Iain explained and vanished off in the direction of the reception area.
"You ever get the feeling we're getting a little left behind here?" Adam asked as he dealt our a new hand of cards to the three other people playing at the card table.
"What do you mean?" Roger Kennedy, team accountant asked.
"You know...Tommy's the guy looking up the guy who owned the book...Ben's handling the illustrations...Vincent and Egon are the translators and Iain's busy keeping the equipment in check." Adam replied as he adjusted his hand so that all of the cards were in their respective suits.
"Well..." Roger began. "They're really the experts in those fields...even Eric's busy fixing some bits of the equipment in case we need them."
"And last I checked..." Added Roger Johnson. "Being 'class clown' was not a field of expertise they needed." He replied with a grin as he picked up two cards.
"Laugh all you want, art boy." Adam replied as he dropped one card and picked up another.
"Besides," Leon began, "The opportunity for you to fulfill a place in our current...predicament...will surely open up sooner or later."
"To hell with you and your mystical philosophies Vega." Adam replied. "Bust." He replied in annoyance and threw down his cards.
"I've come to find that my...'mystical philosophies' have come to serve me well, Adam." Leon replied...with the ghost of a smile touching the edges of his mouth. "Now...do you want to pick up those cards, deal again and try win or shall I let Roger pummel you?" Leon asked, causing Adam to look at him quizzically.
"What in the hell was THAT supposed to mean? Sometimes I don't know whether you're a human or a machine Leon...I swear." Adam replied.
"Sometimes it can be neither." Leon replied as he looked over the top of his sunglasses. The luminous quality of his eyes sent a shiver down Adam's spine.
"Would you not do that already? It's bad enough when we get up for 'brealfast' at eight in the evening and the light's weak enough for you not to wear those shades."
"C'mon Adam...you bring it on yourself each time you remark about them." Roger Johnson replied curtly. "You know it's been your 'thing' since that little escapade with that nutball from the Sun."
"Hey! How was I to know that Sarah Lionheart was a nutcase?" Adam asked.
"Err...the restraining order the guys are trying to get put on her ever since she came here." Roger Kennedy added.
"Oh yeah..." Adam replied.
"Everything in check?" Iain asked as he trained a Proton Gun on the large black void in the floor.
"So far..." Eric replied as he studied his PKE Meter and a few instrumental panels. "No recent activity...it looks like eveything's clear." He reported. Both Iain and Eric stood in the ruins of the old church beneath the GBUK HQ, the Hell Hole which had caused so much concern in recent months stood near the stone alter, it's rim eternally stained brown from numerous sacrifices.
"Good." Iain commented as he clipped the gun back onto his Proton Pack. "Last thing we need are the forces of darkness stopping by for dinner with all that's going on at present."
"I hear you." Eric agreed. He set the instruments back onto unmanned scanning and they both exited the Sub Basement. "You ever think about concreting over that thing?" Eric asked as Iain locked the room down and reactivated it's PKE proximity sensors. They dropped off the Proton Pack in the armoury and left the room.
"We did at one point...but this thing could be like the well discovered in Amityville, Long Island...it could go on forever." Iain explained as they walked back towards the lift. "Besides...the budget wouldn't cover it."
"Heh." Eric chuckled. "We have just enough money to cover equipment and basic living costs...but not to cover anything too flashy."
"We work with what we have." Iain supposed. They remained in silence for a few minutes until the lift arrived at the ground floor with a soft ping, a moment later the doors slid open.
"Yeah well I still think we need to start buying some extra power cells in case anything goes down here...and some Proton Turrets in the Sub Basement would be nice." Eric mused.
"When you invent it then we can put it into the budget meeting...bare in mind there's several other things yet to be bought as well." Iain replied
"I know...still I'd like to start putting some new stuff together...I feel we're falling behind the other franchises," Eric added, "Vincent's franchise in Manhattan has some kick ass gear...but it has wierd wiring, arcane doohickeys, and other strange stuff that only he and those other magicians can put together."
"Well...I know that Ben has something in the works...plus I have a few ideas myself. But we can see what becomes available...okay...I'm gonna type up all the boring reports...by the way...how's that trap coming?" Iain asked.
"It's...uh...out of commishion." Eric reported. Iain meanwhile had put both of his hands on his hips.
"You've dismantled it...haven't you?" He asked, knowing better.
"Erm...yeah." Eric replied.
"Just as long as it's back in one piece before the month's over then I don't really care."
"Right." Eric agreed and they parted.
Ben tapped the end of the pencil against the keyboard as he contemplated what to do next, finally deciding on something he booted up the computer and then logged onto the internet. He loaded up the AOL Instant Messenger system and checked the list of online contacts.
"Good." Ben approved. "He's on."
Kingpin1055: Good to see you online, Richard
GBIExecutive: Ben...good to hear you...seems all of GBUK will be needing me one of these days.
Kingpin1055: Yeah...we're kinda having some fairly big goings on...I was wondering...could you do me a favour?
GBIExectutive: Depends on the favour
Kingpin1055: I need you to page Dr. Stantz to log onto the new system if that's possible...I'd like to ask him if he could send me the structural details of 550 Central Park West
GBIExecutive: Central Park West? This have anything to do with Vincent's request for Professor Spengler a few days ago?
Kingpin1055: More then you'd imagine.
GBIExectutive: I'll see what I can do...no promices though.
Several minutes passed before Richard returned to the messenger.
GBIExecutive: Okay...he's agreed to go online...he should be online in a few minutes.
Kingpin1055: Thanks Richard...I owe you.
GBIExecutive: A lot of people seem to these days...
With the conversation rounded up Ben logged off of the AIM chat system and onto GBI's, making sure that it was a secure chat area. After a few moments a single contact appeared in the online user's window.
BenKingSnr has been sent a private instant message from:
Ben clicked on the obvious option and was taken to the chat window.
DrRayStantz: Ben, it's good to hear from you...in an instant messenger sense of course.
BenKingSnr: It's good to hear from you too si...err...Ray.
DrRayStantz: Richard said something about a request of structural details on the Shandor Building?
BenKingSnr: That's right...I've been set the tast of checking the woodcuts in the book...and one of them contains a woodcut of something which looked remanescent of the temple in New York.
DrRayStantz: I see...
BenKingSnr: So I wanted to get a look at the architectural blueprints of the building in New York so I could see if the two are identical...would it be possible if you could get me some scans of the blueprints/plans?
DrRayStantz: I'd have to pull some favours with the people at the Hall of Records...they weren't exactly happy about the plans ending up in the lockup the last time they were out....but I think I can get them fairly easily.
BenKingSnr: Thank you so much Sir.
DrRayStantz: But I need two favours in return.
DrRayStantz: First, stop calling me 'Sir'...call me Ray.
DrRayStantz: Second...if you spot any Captain Steel and/or Dr. Who stuff going for a very cheap price, then put it among Spengler's things to take back home when he leaves
BenKingSnr: I'll see what I can find
DrRayStantz: Okay...this will most likely take a day...I'll send the scans to your company's email when I'm done.
DrRayStantz: Until then wish Egon luck from us here.
BenKingSnr: I will.
DrRayStantz has logged off.
Ben then logged off and shut down the computer...he was going to have a lot of work set ahead for him to do.
Los Angeles, California
June 2nd, 6 days until the end of the world.
It was late in the day and the sun was setting on the horizon as the white and orange former S.W.A.T. van known as the Ecto-1S cruised down the highway, on the way to another job. Michael Chad manned the driver’s seat, while beside him sat South Team leader Kyle Stevens, rifling through some paperwork in his lap. In the back of the van, Peter Kong was stretched across a bench, napping, while on the bench across from him sat Jeff Nash, fiddling with a large, round yellow object, a type of Ghost Trap that for Dr. Nash, also doubled as a shield. At least one person in the van was also wondering how Kong could sleep through the blaring of Chad’s rap music.
Dr. Nash tried to take his mind off the lyrics about slapping prostitutes and wearing excessive amounts of platinum jewelry, and focus on the job at hand. It was then that it occurred to him that he didn’t actually know what the job was. “So what’re we up against?” he called out. The ‘music’ was so loud that Jeff had to lean his head between the front seats and yell to ask the question and be heard.
Kyle chose to avoid yelling, actually reaching for the volume knob and turning the noise down. Chad looked over at him, seemingly offended. “What’s up wit’ the hatin’? Those’re my tunes, dawg!”
Dr. Stevens ignored him completely, holding a sheet of paper up to the dome light that was allowing him to read as the sky grew dark. “According to the worksheet, one of the lions at the zoo mutated or something and escaped. It grew wings, spiny protrusions all over its body, and a human-like face. Hmm...must be a Manticore.”
Jeff blinked a few times, wondering if he’d heard him right. “How did you know that? I should be the only one able to name a creature like that from memory. Come to think of it, you’ve been beating me to the punch like that a lot lately. Spill it, Stevens. How does a surgeon rival an occultist in monster knowledge?”
Kyle smiled knowingly. “I’ve been studying.”
Jeff just rolled his eyes and sat back. “So what else’ve you got there? It’s not more work is it?” With that, he let out a groan to express how displeased he would be at the idea.
Dr. Stevens looked at another sheet of paper in his pile. “Nah, just some paperwork I have to look over. Standard reports faxed in from other franchises. You know what? You’re not doing anything important, right? Would you mind looking at some of these for me?”
“Anything to take my mind off Chad’s music and Pete’s snoring,” Jeff joked. Kyle handed him a few sheets of paper and he turned on one of the lights in the back of the van so he could read. After a few minutes, Jeff’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward to get Kyle’s attention again. “Look at this, Kyle. Correspondence from Dr. Jackson up at the ‘home office.’ They liked my proton pistol redesign so much they’re implementing it up there too.”
“Congratulations, Jeff. I know how hard you and Otter worked on that thing. Must feel very gratifying to have something you’ve designed become standard equipment, huh?”
Moments passed and Jeff didn’t respond, so Kyle leaned back, wondering what had caused the pause. He could see a grave expression on Dr. Nash’s face. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
Jeff swallowed hard and read from the sheet in front of him. “’On May 27th in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, Doctors Walker and Davis of freelance GBI team E.C.T.O. Canada encountered an unidentified man roughly five and a half feet tall with slicked back curly brown hair, eyeglasses, and a slight overbite, who appeared to have knowledge of GBI equipment and protocol...’”
“That sounds like Jeremy! They’ve found him? What’s he doing in Canada?”
“You’re not the only one who thinks so. The letter actually gives positive ID: Jeremy Hicks. There’s more,” Jeff went on, a grave tone in his voice. “He summoned a horde of demonic creatures resembling Terror Dogs to his service and was heard making mention of ‘the coming of the traveller,’ and referring to himself as...” He froze.
“As what?” Kyle asked desperately.
Jeff looked up at Kyle right in the eyes to emphasize the seriousness of what he was about to say. “...as ‘The Keymaster.’”
That little nugget of information caught even Chad’s attention. “Oh snap.”
Kyle turned at Chad, and in his most serious tone began barking orders. “Turn the van around. Turn it around!” He pulled out his cellphone and began immediately dialing Dr. Venkman’s number.
“But what about the Manti...thing?”
“It can wait,” Jeff agreed, the same tone of desperation in his voice as was in Kyle’s. “We have to get back to the Warehouse. NOW.”
Bystanders would’ve been stunned at the sight of the big, bulky van suddenly doing a U-turn right in the middle of an overpass, sirens blaring and tires screeching as it raced off back in the direction it came, twice as fast. Peter Kong was certainly stunned when the violent swerve sent him rolling right off his bench and woke him up with a crash.
“Aww man...I landed on my Gameboy!”
“And you’re sure it was Hicks?”
Peter Venkman sat in his office at GBWC headquarters, leaning forward with his hands folded in front of him, instead of his typical lying back with his feet up on the desk pose. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and swimming trunks, as he had just come from lounging on the beach as soon as he’d received the call from Doctor Stevens. Stevens and Nash now stood in his office, addressing him. Co-C.E.O.s Fritz Baugh and Joey Williams were also present.
“The description seems to match,” Jeff confirmed. “Furthermore, Michael and I accessed his GBI Supercard records, and according to the receipts, he did indeed purchase a plane ticket to Toronto late last month. And most recently, he bought a ticket to England. For what reason, I don’t know, but it can’t be good given what he did in Canada.”
“Well that tears it, then,” Williams sighed, “the little guy’s possessed.”
Dr. Nash arched an eyebrow. “By Vinz Clortho? But how? The temple in Central Park West is gone. I remember seeing it on the news when I was a kid, the explosion was gi-normous.”
“Well that’s one way of putting it,” Venkman chuckled. He tried to ignore the reminder of his age inherent in what the nearly thirty year old occultist had just said. “Guys, there’s something I should tell you. I didn’t think it was important until now, but it looks like it just became our business.”
“What is it, sir?” Dr. Baugh asked, his tone stoic as ever, despite the situation.
“A few days ago, the UK team found a book in the old asylum they’re using for their HQ. It was written in Sumerian and the name translated to roughly ‘The Book of Gozer.’ Spengs left for England the next day to take a look at it.”
Fritz nodded his head in understanding. “That cannot be a coincidence.”
“So what do we do now, Peter?” Joey asked, a deep sense of worry creeping into his voice.
“We’ve got to get to England,” Stevens chimed in. “Jeremy’s our responsibility.”
“Correction,” Fritz retorted. “Mr. Hicks is our responsibility. He was a member of North Team, North Team should go. We need people to stay behind and take care of business here.”
“If I may offer a suggestion,” Jeff protested, “North Team doesn’t have anyone nearly as knowledgeable in what we’re dealing with here as myself, and we also use several pieces of equipment that only Otter, Robert, or I would know how to repair. You also have a rookie member who is unprepared for a confrontation with a Class Seven entity, and with the recent roster changes, we need more than five people to stay behind and pick up the slack.”
“So what’re you suggesting?” Joey prodded.
“I say we send a small group of us to England, based on what skills we have to offer that may be necessary there.”
“Alright, so who am I takin’?” Venkman asked, shrugging his shoulders.
“Well,” Jeff continued, “We’ll need a leader, so Joey, me for obvious reasons, Fritz is as smart as they come, and...we’ll need a guide around Britain, so I suggest Griffiths.”
“Everyone okay with that?” Venkman looked around the room, gauging their reactions. Everyone seemed to nod their heads in agreement.
Joey stepped out the door, calling “I’ll let Rob know and have Chelsea book the flight” back to the group.
“You can count on me to take care of things here at home, sir,” Dr. Stevens all but saluted. “I won’t let you down.”
“Good man,” Peter got up and patted him on the back, then casually tossed a hand through his hair and gave the others his trademark Cheshire Cat grin. “Pack your bags, boys. We’re going to England.”