By Elaine M. Batterby

Dr. Peter Venkman lay unmoving on the ratty green carpeting of the third floor of the old Heathley house. His limbs were straight and his brown hair was neatly in place, but there was a dark tinge of blue to his lips, and his hands were cold. The Ghostbusters uniform he was wearing looked pristine, but his proton pack was missing. His eyes never opened.

"Peter!" Dr. Raymond Stantz, charging up from the second floor, stopped in his headlong flight for the attic stairs, and gaped in horror at his friend. "Winston, what happened?" he demanded of the black man who emerged from the stairwell in a clatter.

Dr. Egon Spengler, who had joined them from the first floor, took one last frowning look at the erratic readings on the PKE meter in his hand, shut it off, and stowed it away. Patting the black man's shoulder awkwardly, he said distractedly, "Take it easy, Winston," as they all leaned over Peter to see if they could determine what was wrong. "Peter? Peter, can you hear me?" Egon put two fingers carefully to the side of Peter's throat.

"He is breathing, Egon," Ray said with a worried frown, "but he's so cold! And how did he get down here if he was up in the attic?"

Winston gestured helplessly. "I saw it happen," he said, "and I don't know. He said something about getting his foot caught, so I went up to see what was wrong." He grimaced. "All of a sudden, there was a hole in the floor, and he slid through before I could grab him. Peter's pack is still up there, wedged between two beams in the slope of the attic ceiling."

Spengler's blue eyes were troubled behind the red-rimmed glasses he wore as he looked up at the ceiling, then back down at his prostrate comrade. "We need to get Peter some help," he said somberly, "right now. And then, Winston, I think we had better hear exactly what occurred, from the beginning."

Jonas, the last of the Heathleys and an elderly recluse, died on a cold gray Monday morning in a small town north of New York City. No one knew about it, of course, until a young neighbor girl who had wanted to sell him candy happened to tell her mother about all the newspapers neatly stacked by the big front door that Heathley never answered.

The old man's will directed that the house be sold and the resulting monies divided among several charities. Jonas had let maintenance around the house go some in his declining years, so his executor, an old friend named Arthur Hart, decided to spruce the place up a little before putting the house on the market.

Three days after the first contractors began work on the old house, Arthur Hart called the Ghostbusters.

Hart, a tall man, had a full head of snowy white hair and a youthful face that belied his seventy-three years. His expression as he unlocked the front door of the Heathley house for the Ghostbusters was a mixture of concern and annoyance. "If you'll forgive me for saying so, gentlemen, I have never believed much in things that go bump in the night. However... the contractors I hired, the Mayfairs, are highly reputable people, and the workmen I met seemed steady and reliable," he said, ushering them into the foyer. "Not at all the sort to be spooked, er, disconcerted, by the normal sounds and sights of an old, slightly run down house - that's what I'm trying to say."

"We understand that, Mr. Hart," replied Egon, forestalling Peter's inevitable quip on Hart's unintentional pun. "What specifically made you decide to call us in, if I may ask?"

"There had been a number of minor incidents, I believe," Hart said with a frown. "But yesterday, one of the workmen fell from his ladder. He could have been quite seriously hurt. And the fellow insists that someone - or something - grabbed his ankle and pulled, or he would not have fallen."

"And none of the other workmen were close enough to have done it?" Winston asked, as Egon scanned the readings on the PKE meter he had pulled out as soon as they were inside the house.

"Cogburn, the foreman of this group, says that the nearest person was across the room," Hart answered simply.

"Wow!" exclaimed Ray as he looked around at the magnificent staircase and wooden parquet floors of the foyer. "This must have been quite a house! I mean, some cleaning and a little paint, and it could be really beautiful!"

"My thoughts exactly, Dr. Stantz. I felt I owed it to Jonas to put the house on the market in a state a little more closely approaching its original condition."

"You said there were other incidents, Mr. Hart," said Egon, pushing a lock of white blond hair off his forehead. "Where did they occur?"

"All through the house, I believe. But yesterday's mishap happened here on the first floor, in the rear."

"What did the other incidents entail?"

"Mostly things they discounted at first, from what Cogburn told me - things seen out of the corner of the eye, odd sounds... But then they ran into patches of intense cold -"

"In August?" Winston interrupted.

"Quite," said Hart. "Two of the men also say they saw marks being made in the plush carpeting in the library, as if something were being dragged across it."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I love this gig already, guys," he declared.

"Do you know anything about the history of the house, Mr. Hart?" Ray asked eagerly.

Hart spoke slowly. "If you mean, do I know of any murders or suicides here - no, I don't. But I can ask Miss Whittier at the library. I'm certain she knows nearly everything there is to know about this neighborhood."

"That would be very helpful, sir," Winston told him with a polite smile.

"Well, we can take a look around the place, Mr. Hart," said Peter, "but we'll really need to interview the workmen, you know."

"I anticipated your request, Dr. Venkman. The men will be at my office this afternoon at 1:00. My secretary, Elaine, is setting up a conference room for you to use." Hart reached into his suit pocket. "Here's my card. If you need anything else when you get there, please just ask Elaine."

Peter took the proffered card. "Great! We'll see you this afternoon."

"Good day, gentlemen," Hart said, "and good luck."

As the door closed behind their current employer, Egon said, "Does everyone have his radio?" Upon receiving a reply in the affirmative, he continued, "I propose we split up, but keep in contact. I'll take the first floor. Ray, why don't you take the second, and Winston, the third."

"Oh, great," Peter interrupted in a loud, complaining voice. "Give ol' Peter the attic with all the creepy crawlies. Geez, Egon, just because I told Janine when you slipped on the stairs..."

"Cheer up, Pete," Winston chimed in. "He could have given you the first floor and told you to climb the ladder to see what would grab you!"

"Nah, that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun as thinking of me having to climb up four flights of stairs, now would it, Egon?" Peter said, nudging his physicist friend.

"I assure you, Peter, no such thought entered my mind when I made my suggestions," Egon said virtuously. He didn't fool anybody.

"I could take the attic, if you like, Peter," offered Ray. "I don't mind cobwebs so much."

The psychologist regarded his auburn-haired teammate with affection. "Sure, Ray, and have Egon's next idea be even worse? No, thanks. I guess I'll just have to suffer through it," he sighed dramatically. "So, come on," he added, "what are we standin' here for? Let's get this show on the road!"

If the other three had had anything they could have thrown, Peter would have been pelted but good. Instead, they satisfied themselves with cuffing his arm or his shoulder as they moved out to go to their separate floors.

"Come on, Pete," Winston said. "The stairs are waiting."

"Not to mention some huge creepy crawlie thing just plotting how to get at my tender flesh," Peter muttered gloomily as he started up the first wide flight of stairs.

"Everyone be careful," Egon admonished before disappearing from the foyer into the main part of the house.

"Yo, Ray," Peter said as they reached the second floor landing. "That means you, you know."

"What?" Ray asked as he looked up from the PKE meter he had already activated. "Oh, I'm always careful, Peter."

"Yeah, right," the psychologist said, sighing and continuing up the next flight of stairs, "and I'm the Queen of May."

As Peter left Winston on the third floor and started up the narrow steps to the attic, he said with a wiggle of his eyebrows, "Are we having fun yet or what?"

Winston grinned and waved his friend on. As he cautiously began to explore the third floor, he could still hear Peter's complaints from the attic, even without benefit of the radio.

"Gah! Oh, yuck!" sputtered Peter. "I told you there'd be cobwebs!" He made spitting sounds. "Egon, I'm gonna get you for this!"

Winston shook his head, smiling at the continued mumbles from above, in counterpoint to the creaky sound of footsteps across the attic floor.

The third floor was definitely part of the house that had been let go for a while. The frayed carpet looked like it should have been replaced years before, and the sickly green paint of the corridor walls peeled in patches near the high ceiling.

As Winston opened the first door along the corridor, he heard a loud thump from upstairs, a few extremely impolite words, then silence. The black man looked at the huge cabbage roses on the wallpaper of the empty room with one ear cocked for the resumption of noises from the attic above.

He didn't have long to wait. "Oh, ugh!" he heard. "Not in my hair!" Peter wailed, then trailed off into unintelligible mumbles.

Winston smiled in amusement again, closed that first door, and moved along to the second room.

"Oh, Win-ston," Peter caroled from above. "I could use a little help here..."

"What's up, Pete?" Winston said concernedly into the radio.

Peter didn't use the radio to reply. He just called down a little louder. "I got my foot stuck, that's what up," he said disgustedly. "And I, uh, dropped my radio..."

Winston chuckled. "I'll be right up."

"Something wrong, Winston?" the radio said in Egon's worried voice.

"Nah, Pete just got his foot stuck in something and dropped his radio. I'm going up to get him loose in a minute," the black man replied, looking around the second room, which was also empty, with hideous wallpaper.

"Poor Peter!" exclaimed Ray. "He's not having a very good day, is he?"

"He'll survive, Ray," Winston said wryly as he closed the second door. "I'm on my way up there right now."

"Keep us posted, please," Egon instructed.

"Gotcha." Winston headed back down the corridor to the narrow attic stairway. "I'm coming, Peter," he called as he began to climb.

"I am so pleased to hear that," Peter replied in semi-strained sarcasm.

When Winston reached the top of the stairs, he was a little surprised at what he saw. From the sound of Peter's earlier footsteps, he had expected a finished floor, but instead he found fuzzy pink insulation visible between beams. And where were the cobwebs Peter had been moaning about? Winston saw very few.

The psychologist was on the far side of the attic, next to the steep slope of the roof, stuck in a very awkward position. His left foot was caught on something Winston couldn't see; his arms were flung out to help maintain his bent-back, slightly twisted position, and his proton pack was stuck between two close-set ceiling beams. He was also liberally festooned with cobwebs, and Winston thought he could see several small, dark somethings moving in Peter's brown hair.

"Uh, Winston, do you think you could possibly hurry a little?" Peter begged. "I really don't want to be eaten by this thing..."

Winston began stepping carefully across the attic to his friend. "Eaten?" he echoed in confused surprise. "What thing?!"

Peter's face was pale, and his green eyes were huge. "You don't see it?" he asked in a small voice. "Right in front of me? Come on, tell Peter you can see it."

Winston was almost there. "No..." he said, squinting past Peter, and trying to move faster.

"Oh, wonderful," Peter groaned. "My own personal apparition... This is fun," he said brightly. "I can't reach my thrower, and you can't zap what you can't see."

Winston knelt down next to Peter's trapped foot, still shooting quick glances around to see if he could see what Peter was talking about. "Pete -"

"Whoa!" the psychologist interrupted. "I guess it doesn't like you, Winston. It backed off when you got here."

"Good," Winston said emphatically. "Here, take my radio, and talk to Egon and Ray."

Peter took the proffered radio and raised it to his lips. "Hi, guys. Whatcha doin'?"

"I'm at the back of the house," Egon answered promptly. "I've found the contractor's ladder Hart spoke of, and I'm taking readings. Peter, are you all right?"

"Oh, if Winston can get my foot free, I'll be just hunky-dory," Peter told him mock-cheerfully. "Once I get the spiders out of my hair, that is. And the cobwebs off my face and my uniform and..."

"I have one more room to look in, Peter," said Ray. "Do you want us to come up?"

"Well, it might not be a bad idea if you started heading this way," Peter said. "I think you'd find the experience instructional."

"We'll be there shortly, Peter," Egon said.

"How'd you manage this, m'man?" Winston asked, his brow furrowed as he looked at Peter's left foot. If he tilted his head and squinted, he could almost see something semi-translucent that covered the entire top of the foot.

"It wasn't easy, believe me!" the brown-haired man replied in an attempt at his usual flippancy.

"And what on earth is it?" the black man muttered, half to himself as he tugged experimentally at Peter's leg.

"Dipped if I know!" Peter said. "I can't exactly see it real well from this position, for one thing. Say, ye olde nasty didn't move off that far, so a little dispatch would be appreciated here. Can you move whatever is holding my foot?"

"Not so far." Winston tugged again, to no avail.

"Well, if you don't think you can get my foot out quick, why don't you try to free up my pack? Or hand me my thrower maybe, so I can zap this thing myself."

"Is it moving again?" Winston asked in alarm, standing up.

"Nah, it just looks hungry," Peter shrugged.

"Man, this thing is wedged in tight," the black man commented sourly after trying vainly to free Peter's proton pack. "I tell you what - you slip out of it so you can stand up straight, and I'll put your thrower in your hand. You'll still be close enough to the pack for that."

"That sounds like a plan to me," Peter said. "Although you'll probably hear this awful noise when I try to straighten up..."

Winston did as he had suggested, then knelt next to Peter's trapped foot again. The psychologist straightened up with a theatrical groan, and began dislodging cobwebs and spiders from his hair and shoulders with appropriate comments of distaste. "Hey, what did you do?" he asked suddenly. "I can move my foot a little!"

Winston, who had not been able to do anything yet, was nonplused. Before he could figure out what to say, Peter cried out again. "Ouch! I think one of those little suckers bit me!"

An odd, grayish hole began to appear around Peter's trapped foot. "Uh, Pete," said Winston uneasily, pulling at Peter's foot, "something weird is going on here..."

"Brilliant observation, Zeddemore," Peter said dryly, shaking his finger. "Uh-oh, old nasty is getting restless," he added nervously.

"What does 'old nasty' look like?" Winston asked apprehensively as the grayish hole slowly widened. He tried harder to pull Peter's foot from the spot.

"What do I hate most in the whole world?" Peter retorted.

Winston took his radio back. "Egon? Ray? We got something weird up here. I think you better come quick."

"I'm on the stairs now," Egon replied.

"Me, too," said Ray. "Is Peter all right?"

"Yeah, but his foot is still trapped," Winston answered. Then he turned a forced grin on Peter. "As for your question, that's real hard to say, Peter." He grunted as he tugged even more vigorously at the psychologist's lower leg. "You complain about so many things."

"Cute, Winston. Real cute," Peter said distractedly, aiming his thrower over his friend's head. "And what have I been complaining about ever since we got to this mausoleum?"

"Spiders?" Winston grimaced. "Wait a second - there! Move your foot, man, quick!"

"Winston, look out!" Peter cried, pushing the black man aside and activating his thrower.

As Winston tried to regain his balance, Peter's thrower stopped firing and fell from his hand. The psychologist's limp body started sliding slowly, feet first, into the nebulous gray hole in the attic floor. Zeddemore lunged to catch his friend, but Peter slid through his arms as insubstantial as smoke.

"Peter!" he cried. He got a quick glimpse of ratty green carpeting through the swirl of gray, then the irregular foggy patch had vanished, and Winston was left staring at a normal attic floor.

The three Ghostbusters didn't wait for an ambulance, but loaded Peter carefully into the back seat of Ecto-1, with his head on Ray's lap. Egon rode shotgun, and Winston drove fiercely, blue lights flashing and odd siren wailing, weaving through traffic on the way to the hospital. As they rode through the streets, he told the other two everything he could remember of what Peter had said and done before they found him, cold and quiet, on the dingy third floor carpeting.

He had finished up his tale just as Peter, surrounded by Emergency Room personnel, disappeared from their sight on a gurney into Treatment Room #4. Now they just had to wait.

The waiting room off Emergency had cracked plastic furniture of indeterminate color and piles of old magazines. Ray sat slumped in one of the chairs, pale, hands in his lap, looking at nothing. Winston sat on a nearby couch, aimlessly flipping through a year-old issue of SASSY. Egon got up from where he was sitting across from the auburn-haired occultist, walked over to peer at the door the doctor should come through, then went back and sat down. Two minutes later he did the same thing all over again.

"I should have known when he said 'instructional' that something was wrong," he berated himself. "I should have headed upstairs immediately."

"It's not your fault, Egon," Ray said miserably. "I should have taken the attic. Peter really does hate spiders."

"Oh, come on, Ray," Winston exploded, flinging aside his magazine. "Peter was enjoying himself with all that complaining. Besides, do you think it would be any better for us if it were you in there instead of Peter?"

The younger man flinched at Zeddemore's tone, but he leaned forward and reached out a hand to the black man, saying, "It wasn't your fault, either, Winston. Egon and I both know you did the best you could."

"Fat lot of good that did," Winston muttered mirthlessly.

"Winston, Raymond is right," Egon said sternly. "Blaming yourself is not going to help Peter." He walked over to stand in front of their dejected friend. "You did tell the doctor about the spider bite. That at least gave her somewhere to start in figuring out what's wrong."

"You really think that's going to turn out to be what happened?" Winston asked skeptically. When the physicist didn't answer him, he sighed, shifted position in his chair, and said, "One of us ought to call Hart. It doesn't look like we're going to be there at 1:00."

"No," said Egon reluctantly, "I think at least one of us should go. Those contractors may have valuable evidence for us, and there's a good chance Mr. Hart may already have spoken to Miss Whittier about the house. The more we can find out about the Heathley house and its history, the better the chance we have of finding out how to aid Peter." He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You're right, Winston - I think the answer is much more likely to be in our realm than in the medical. I have the bad feeling that it is imperative we gather data as hastily as humanly possible in this instance."

"I'll go, Egon," Ray volunteered as his friend slipped his glasses back on. "I know you'll want to stay here with Peter."

Egon and Winston both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, but a voice from behind them spoke first. "Dr. Spengler? I'm Dr. Venkman's physician, Dr. Li."

The three Ghostbusters turned to see that a slender, weary Oriental woman had approached them while they weren't looking. Ray and Winston stood up, and they all spoke at once.

"How is he?"

"Is Peter going to be all right?"

"What can you tell us, Dr. Li?"

She stood, looking from one to the other of them, hands in the pockets of her white jacket. "Your friend is in very serious condition, gentlemen. His vital signs are stable, but at a much lower level than I would like." She looked at Winston. "We did find a tiny mark on one finger that may be the spider bite you spoke of, Mr. Zeddemore, but I really don't think that could be the cause of Dr. Venkman's condition. Not if the description you gave of the spider is at all accurate. In any case, he is deeply unconscious, and not responding to anything we've tried." She sighed. "I'm sorry, but I really can't tell you very much else. We're still running tests at the moment. We'll be transferring him to Intensive Care shortly."

The three men looked at her with downcast faces. They had not expected any better news, but humans almost always hope, despite the odds.

"What if he had more than one spider bite, Dr. Li?" Winston inquired slowly. "He did have spiders in his hair..."

She shook her head slightly. "We'll check his scalp, of course, but I don't think that's going to be the answer. I'd expect a different reaction entirely if it were simply an allergy. Still, if one of you could find the type of spider that bit Dr. Venkman..." The doctor let her voice trail off, her eyebrows raised.

The Ghostbusters exchanged uneasy glances. As far as Winston had been able to tell, most of the spiders in the attic had disappeared at the same time that Peter did. "We'll see what we can do, of course, Dr. Li," Egon declared.

"Can we see Peter?" Ray asked wistfully.

"Not right now, I'm afraid, Dr. Stantz," she stated firmly. "Perhaps after he's settled in ICU, you could go in briefly, one at a time. But that likely won't be for two hours or more." She changed position, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I have to get back."

"Of course. Thank you, Doctor," Egon said heavily.

They stood in silence for a moment, then Winston shook himself and said, "I better go see about finding a spider."

"Wait a minute, Winston," Egon said, catching his arm. "No one should go back in that attic alone. We need to think this through."

"If Dr. Li won't let us in to see Peter, I can't just sit here and do nothing," Zeddemore said flatly.

"I know how you feel," Ray said, his face miserable. "But Egon's right - we need to figure out the we things to do to help Peter."

"So what do you suggest?" Winston asked in a defeated tone.

"I think all three of us should go looking for that spider," the occultist declared after a moment.

"I agree." Egon nodded firmly. "Then I'll go to Mr. Hart's office and speak to the contractors. While I'm there, I'll also ask if Mr. Hart has drawings or blueprints of the house." He turned to his auburn-haired friend. "Ray, perhaps you should go back to the firehouse and check in Tobin's Spirit Guide." He hesitated. "You'll also need to tell Janine what has happened."

"Oh, gee, I hadn't even thought of that yet!" Ray's voice was chagrined.

"And what about me, Egon?"

"If we find one of those spiders, you'll have to bring it back here to Dr. Li," Spengler told the black man.

Winston winced a little at that 'if', but all he said was, "All right. Let's go."

Peter lifted his head off the floor, and peered around. He shook his head to clear the fuzzies away and rolled up on one elbow. "Hey, what's happening here? This doesn't look like the attic to me!" He sat up, and winced at the brief, sharp pain in his head.

He gazed around at his surroundings again, then up at the ceiling. "How'd I get down here?" he said plaintively. "No proton pack, no radio, no guys..."

Peter sighed, and decided it was time to stand up. "Oh, this is really a blast," he muttered, holding perfectly still with his eyes closed until the dizziness passed.

"Guys? Anybody around?" The psychologist walked over to the bottom of the stairs leading from the third floor up to the attic. "Winston?" he called up the stairs. "Are you still up there?"

There was no answer. He frowned. "This is getting weird, guys." He shook his head. "Getting weird? What am I talking about? It's been weird since we walked in the door here this morning!" A sudden shiver racked his frame. "Man, I've heard of air conditioning, but this is a bit much! When did it get so cold in here?"

He walked over to the stairs leading down to the rest of the house. "Ray? Come on, buddy, are you down there?"

There was no sound from below, no sound at all except his own breathing. "Okay," he said, standing with his hands on his hips. "Now do I go downstairs or upstairs? Good question..." Peter was not a happy camper.

"Upstairs sounds like a good idea, Petey ol' boy," he told himself brightly. "This place is weird, and your thrower should be up there, right? So let's go back up into the attic." He headed over toward the attic stairs.

The three men drove back to the Heathley house in silence. When they arrived, they donned their proton packs and entered the house, grimly prepared. But their march up the four flights of stairs was uneventful; there were no odd sounds, no patches of cold, no indication of anything ghostly.

"This is most peculiar," Spengler said, frowning over his PKE meter as they stood just inside the attic door. He tapped the side of the device.

"What's the matter, Egon?" Stantz asked anxiously. "What kind of reading are you getting?"

The physicist shut off his meter, and stowed it away. "Let me see yours for a moment, Raymond."

The occultist handed over his PKE meter, and watched Egon activate it and frown again.

"Come on, Egon," said Winston in a worried tone, "give. What's it show?"

"Nothing," replied Egon flatly. "Not even a residual reading from what happened to Peter," he said grimly.

"That doesn't make sense..." Ray looked puzzled, but then his eyes widened as a thought occurred to him. "Egon, did you think to take a PKE reading of Peter?"

Spengler's expression was bleak. "No. I recorded fluctuating levels as I was climbing the stairs before we found Peter, but I'm afraid I neglected that step upon discovering Peter's condition."

"I didn't think of it, either, Egon," Ray said mournfully, patting the blond man's arm in commiseration. "We'll have to do it when we get back to the hospital."

"Of course." Privately Egon wondered if they might not be too late, but said nothing of his fears for the psychologist's safety. Ray and Winston more than likely had enough of their own.

"Man, I don't like this." Winston looked around the dingy attic. "I shoulda thought to ask Pete what the floor looked like when he first came up here."

"That's right," Egon said, his eyes narrowed as he looked around as well, then glanced down at the floor. "Where is the insulation you said was showing, Winston?"

"That's what I don't like," the black man replied. "If this is a trap, how do we retrieve Pete's pack and radio without triggering it a second time? Or was the insulation part of the manifestation, like to throw me off so I wouldn't help Peter?" He poked unhappily at a cobweb. "I could get a spider from right here, it looks like, but maybe it would be better to try finding one over there where Pete's foot was caught..."

"I believe that would be best," Egon agreed. "Since you were here, Winston, you should best be able to ascertain where not to put your feet."

Zeddemore looked dubious but resigned. "Uh-huh."

Spengler powered up his proton pack and pulled out his thrower, then nodded to Ray to do the same. "If you see Peter's apparition," he said to the black man, "or anything out of the ordinary, stop immediately and tell us where it is as exactly as you can. If you kick something you can't see, back off at once. Do you have the vial for the spider?"

"Right here." Winston brought a small vial out of his pocket and held it up.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." He took a deep breath and headed off across the attic floor.

"Be careful, Winston," cautioned Ray, standing braced and ready.

"I was born careful. But then I applied for this job as a Ghostbuster..."

First he picked up Peter's radio and clipped it to his belt. He continually glanced nervously around that end of the attic, but he kept moving.

A small spider was descending on a thin line of webbing from Peter's wedged proton pack. Winston scooped it into the vial, then made very sure the vial was tightly closed, and returned it to his pocket.

"Are you still all right, Winston?" asked Ray as he and Egon stood guard.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the black man replied. "No spiders any bigger than our little friend here," he added, patting his pocket, "and no ghoulies, either."

"Let us hope such propitious circumstances continue," said Egon, adjusting his glasses with one hand. "Can you retrieve Peter's proton pack?"

"I'm not sure. It's pretty thoroughly stuck, and I don't know if I can get much leverage without standin' awful close to where Pete was." Zeddemore stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing the device in question.

"You know, right about now Peter would probably say something like, maybe we shouldn't tempt fate any more," Ray observed sadly.

Egon blinked. "He might well be correct," he said after a moment, then frowned thoughtfully. "Winston, is Peter's pack activated?"

"Nah, I did at least one thing right this morning," Zeddemore answered in a sour tone. "I shut it down before I left the attic."

Egon sighed quietly, but didn't know quite what to say. Peter was the psychologist, not he. "Then it should be all right here for the time being. Hart is not allowing anyone in the building until we give him the all clear, so it is highly unlikely anyone will disturb Peter's pack before we return," he stated. "The spider is really what we came for, so let's get out of here, all right?"

"Fine with me," Winston retorted as he retreated quickly across the attic floor.

"Ray?"

"Let's go."

As Peter started up the rickety attic stairs, something about what he had just seen on the third floor of the old Heathley house nagged at him. He stopped for a second, head cocked to one side, thinking about it; but he couldn't place exactly what it was, so he continued up the steps. "Winston, if you're up there playing hide and seek, I'm gonna be awfully upset with you," he called.

"Whoa, Nellie!" he exclaimed at the top of the stairs. Eyes wide, he looked around the attic. He blinked, and looked again. "I'm losin' it," he muttered to himself. "Definitely losin' it..."

Three things were immediately evident: Winston was not there; Peter's proton pack was not stuck between two beams, or anywhere else in the Heathley attic; and the once-empty floor was half-covered with boxes and trunks.

"Somehow I don't think I'm in Kansas any more..." He headed slowly back down the attic stairs to look at the rest of the house.

When Ray walked into the old fire station they used as a base, the Ghostbuster's redheaded secretary was waiting for him, arms folded across her chest and one foot tapping. Slimer, the green ghost who was their mascot, bobbed in the air above and behind her left shoulder, arms folded in an echo of her posture. "You've got some explaining to do, Buster," Janine Melnitz declared, her Bronx accent very evident. "What's with the taxi? Where's Egon? And Winston? And how come I had to find out from some stranger on the phone that Dr. Venkman is in the hospital?" Her voice rose with each sentence.

"Peter hurt?" asked the ghost anxiously.

Ray could see that Janine was really upset. He started to say, "I'm sorry," but when she mentioned the hospital and a phone call, he interrupted himself. "The hospital called? Has Peter's condition changed? What did they say?"

The secretary, obviously trying to control her waning patience, picked a message slip up from the desk. "The message was from a Dr. Li. She wanted you guys to know that there were no spider bites on Dr. V's scalp, and she wanted to ask if you knew why his room would be cold -"

"Oh, no!" Ray exclaimed, looking stricken. Then a thought occurred to him, and his face cleared a little. "Winston should be back there by now..."

"Ray Stantz, if you don't tell me what's going on right now, I'll ... I'll quit!"

"Me too, me too!" squeaked Slimer.

The occultist hurriedly told the redhead and the ghost everything that had happened that morning as they followed him up the stairs. "I've got to check out Tobin's," he concluded. "Then I have to get back to the hospital."

"Let me know when you're ready to go, and I'll drive you there," Janine said. At Ray's look of surprise, she added, "Well, it's not as if you're going to be going out on any more calls today. Let 'em get the answering machine."

"Yeah, answering machine," echoed the little ghost. "Slimer come too!"

Ray and Janine regarded him in dismay. The doctor would most likely not be happy to have a ghost in her hospital, but neither had the heart to tell the little spud 'no' - for some reason, he was very attached to Peter.

"You can come, Slimer - but only if you promise not to slime anything," Janine said sternly. "No scaring the nurses, either."

"Slimer be good, uh huh, uh huh," the ghost assured her as Ray activated his computer.