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San Diego, California
October 31, 1995
"Grrrrr!"
"That's great, Ben." Melanie Carmichael laughed as she applauded her son's impression of a bear. "The costume is just great."
"Where's your brother?" Skip Carmichael put his arm around his wife's shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.
"He's still gettin' ready," replied the eight-year old.
"I'd better see what's taking him so long." Skip turned and headed up the stairs toward the boys' room.
Melanie grabbed her Polaroid off the nearby counter and focused on her youngest.
"Okay, Ben, let's have the growl again. We have to get a good picture to send to Massachusetts, so your sister can see how scary you are."
Ben obliged, raising his fur-covered hands and showing off his claws. Just as the flash went off, Skip reappeared, followed closely by a smaller figure, seemingly wrapped head to toe in black.
"Hey, don't use up all the film on the shrimp, Mom!" Peter protested.
"There's plenty to immortalize you, too, Pete," his mother assured him, turning the camera and illustrating the point by quickly snapping off a shot of her oldest son in ninja costume.
"Aw, Mom, I wasn't ready!" Peter complained.
Melanie exchanged a grin with her husband. "Then you'd both better get over next to the pumpkin and give me a good shot."
The two boys obliged, and Melanie took two pictures before a car horn sounded just outside.
"That's Mrs. Hanley," Melanie informed them. "Now you boys behave and do what she says and when you get back, we'll have all the extra treats waiting."
"Thanks, Mom." Peter pushed down the cloth that covered his mouth to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.
"You watch out for your little brother, Pete," Skip admonished.
"Oh, Dad!" Ben groused. "I'm not a baby."
Skip leaned close and whispered in Ben's ear. "I know that, son, but if we let Peter think he's looking out for you, it'll make it easier for you to look out for him. You know how much trouble he can get into. I'm counting on you to keep him in line tonight."
"Yes, sir." Ben beamed with pride.
Grabbing their plastic pumpkin buckets, the boys raced out the door. Melanie waved at her neighbor as she watched the boys climb into the car with their friends.
"Okay, we have about an hour while they go trick-or-treating to get this party together," Skip reminded her.
"Don't worry. Everything's taken care of. The food's in the kitchen and the punch and sodas are in the refrigerator. Just a few last minute touches, so the boys'll be surprised and we're done."
"I'll get the sack of decorations out of the garage," Skip offered, as his wife moved toward the kitchen.
Just before she stepped inside, a noise, like clinking metal, coming from near the front door, caused her to turn back. What she saw made her catch her breath.
"Skip!" she cried. "Skip! Hurry!"
The ex-astronaut tore into the room and came to a screeching halt next to his wife.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, grabbing her shoulders.
Melanie seemed unable to speak, but she managed to point a shaky finger toward the object of her fear. When Skip turned to see what she was pointing at, his mouth dropped open so far, he thought his chin might hit the floor.
Standing a few feet before them was a wispy white form, not solid because the door was visible through it, in a vaguely human shape. Wrapped around it, almost covering its body and arms, were massive chains. Attached to the chains were huge padlocks and iron weights. The apparition began to move slowly toward them, dragging even more weights and chains in its wake.
"My God, Skip!" Melanie gasped. "It's... it's a ghost!"
"Or a pretty good imitation of one," Skip returned, but despite the skepticism of his words, his voice was none too steady and he trembled slightly as he wrapped his arm around Melanie protectively.
It was at that moment that the ghost moaned, a long trembling cry, straight out of a Boris Karloff movie, Skip thought. Taking a deep breath, he shouted at the specter.
"Whoever you are, this isn't funny! You're frightening my wife!" Not to mention me, he admitted to himself.
As if in response to Skip's words, the insubstantial figure began to take on a more distinct form, features of its face coming slowly into focus. But before the change was complete, it addressed the frightened couple.
"You aren't the one," it intoned in a low and almost whispered voice. "Where is he?"
"Where is who?" Skip questioned.
"You aren't the one," the ghost repeated, almost sadly. "I have to find him." By now, the countenance was almost completely formed. Beseeching eyes looked directly at Skip, as the ghost shook his head. "Not the right one," he said once more, then began to turn away. As he did, a flash went off, and Skip almost jumped out of his skin until he realized Melanie had managed to grab the camera. The ghost paid no heed and proceeded to walk right through the closed door.
Melanie and Skip stood frozen for all of three seconds before they both leaped toward the entrance. Skip flung open the door and almost had a heart attack when he was confronted by a group of sheet-clad ghosts, a witch and an assortment of other colorfully costumed children crying, "Trick or treat!"
Skip turned quickly away, his hand to his chest as he tried to get his breathing under control. Melanie recovered enough to grab the bowl of candy off the entry table and place an offering into the bag of each child. As the children left with cries of "thank you," she closed the door and moved back into the room with her husband.
"Are we both going nuts or did we just see a ghost?" she asked.
Skip shook his head. "I don't know, but I think we just saw a ghost, and," he took a deep breath, "I think I know who it was."
Melanie looked at him in alarm, then suddenly, she remembered the camera. Extracting the prints from the compartment where they were stored, she flipped through them until she came to the last photo. As she stared at it, Skip's hand reached out to pull the picture a little closer to him for a better look. The image had been caught just as it turned. A rather large man with gray hair, but the aged face was clearly visible.
"I... it can't be!" Melanie stammered as she realized, just as Skip had, who their Halloween visitor had been.
Skip nodded as he looked at the snapshot. "It's Uncle Jake."
Denver, Colorado
November 23rd
"Sherry, that turkey looks wonderful!" Amanda Stetson announced as her friend and cousin-in-law pulled the roasted bird from the oven.
"I just hope it tastes wonderful," Sherry Michaels cautioned.
Amanda laughed. "Oh, come on, Sherry. You're one of the best cooks I know." She shook her head. "In fact, you're the best I know at just about anything you try!"
"Jack of all trades, that's me!" she joked. A roar of laughter overshadowed her own chuckle and the two women exchanged knowing glances.
"Those two!" Amanda shook her head. "I wonder which childhood prank they're retelling this time.
"Who knows!" Sherry replied. "There are so many to choose from. Why don't you go tell them dinner's almost ready and maybe you can find out."
Amanda offered Sherry a predatory grin. "Ah, going behind the lines in enemy territory! Hope I haven't lost my knack."
Sherry assured her she hadn't as the former government agent headed for the living room. Sitting on the sofa, both apparently collapsed in weakness from the round of laughter, were her former partner, now husband, Lee, and his cousin, Sherry's husband, Murphy.
"Okay, guys, what's so funny? I thought you were going to phone Skip and talk for a while since they couldn't make it out here."
"We did," Murphy managed as he caught his breath before falling back into giggles again.
"And that's why you're laughing hysterically?" she wondered.
Lee nodded as he took several breaths to steady his voice. "That's what's so funny! Skip has always been the practical joker of the four of us. But I think he's losing his touch."
"Why do you say that?" Amanda asked, sinking down in a chair next to Lee's end of the couch.
"He tried to tell us a ghost story!" Lee fought against losing it once more. "And, get this: he wants us to believe he was haunted by Uncle Jake! On Halloween of all nights!"
Amanda frowned. "That sounds more scary than funny."
"Oh, the funny part is that he managed to act reluctant to tell us, then he pretended he was mad when we didn't fall for it!"
"I still don't think it's all that amusing," Amanda repeated. "There's something just not... right about making fun of someone who's passed away, even if he was... well..."
"Uncle Jake," Lee replied. "That's the only way to describe him. You know he managed to tick off everybody at one time or another. None of the family were exactly fans of his."
"Maybe so, but I refuse to believe anyone in a family as great as yours could be all bad, even Uncle Jake. I'm sure he had some fine qualities."
"Just hidden really deep!" Murphy suppressed a grin.
"Oh!" Amanda got up and tossed a pillow at her cousin-in-law. "You're both impossible!"
Just as she turned her back on the two men, a movement from across the room caught Amanda's eye. As she focussed on it, it began to solidify.
"Lee?" she called in a slightly shaky voice.
"What is it, honey?" He'd caught the wrongness in her tone. He stood and moved beside her, then followed her gaze to the amorphous shape before them.
"What the..."
By this time Murphy had come up next to them and he too, had seen the apparition. None of them said another word, as the ghost became more solid, its face more discernable. It raised an entreating hand toward the three of them and shook his head as he spoke.
"He isn't here. You aren't the one, neither of you. Where is he?"
"Oh, my gosh!" Amanda whispered as her hand flew to her mouth.
Without waiting for a reply, the ghost turned. Dragging a trail of chains and heavy weights behind him, he disappeared through the wall, leaving his audience frozen and gaping at the empty space he had just occupied. They still stood paralyzed until Sherry rushed into the room in response to Amanda's startled cry.
"What is it?" She looked from their astonished stares, to the wall, and back again. Puzzled, she took hold of Murphy's arm. "What's wrong?" she asked again. "You three look like you've seen a ghost."
Amanda chuckled nervously and slowly found the chair she'd just vacated. Lee and Murphy stared at each other, their mouths still gaping. Lee was the first to find his voice.
"I... I think we owe Skip an apology," he stated simply. Murphy nodded as they both sank down on the sofa.
New York, New York
December 19th
"Hey, anybody home?" called Yvette Michaels, as she and her husband, Nick, entered the apartment of her father, Robert McCall.
"Just us old married folk," answered Lia McCall. She stepped into the living area from the hall leading to the bedrooms.
"Ah... we didn't interrupt anything, did we?" Nick asked with a grin.
Lia responded by tossing the rag she had in her hands at the young attorney. "I was just dusting," she informed them. "Scott went out to get some groceries, so I thought I'd tidy up the place a bit.
"Doesn't Uncle Robert have a maid come in for that?" Nick reminded her.
"I know, but we're family, not guests. I thought it was only right we do our share. After all, with Robert gone, I'm not sure the maid's been in the last couple of weeks."
"I sure hope he makes it back soon. I'd hate to think we wasted a trip to see him."
"He'll be back day after tomorrow," Scott McCall announced as he walked in the door behind them, laden with two large paper bags. "I talked to Mickey today and he said Dad was wrapping up his case." He dropped the groceries on the entryway table and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek. He cuffed his cousin's shoulder, then stepped around them to pull his wife into an embrace, giving her a much more passionate kiss.
"I'm glad we decided to do this." Yvette smiled at her brother and his wife. Scott nodded in agreement. It had only been three months since their double wedding. Both couples had made their home in Los Angeles, but since they were sharing the majority of the holidays with friends and family there, they'd decided to spend the week before in New York with Scott and Yvette's father and celebrate Christmas a little early.
Both of Robert McCall's children had lived most of their lives away from him. Scott had been raised by his mother after his parents divorce. He'd been estranged from Robert for many years until, as a young man, he'd begun to get to know and learn to respect his father. Yvette was the daughter Robert hadn't known existed until she was in her twenties. It had been a slow process, but finally they too had come to enjoy a closer relationship. The half-siblings hadn't taken nearly as long to develop their own connection to each other. Now, with Yvette's marriage to Scott's cousin and close friend, Nick, she had begun to feel an even stronger sense of family.
"Well," Scott laughed, "it looks like we're on our own for the next day at least. Why don't we fix ourselves some dinner and plan our day tomorrow. We are, after all, in New York at Christmas time, and this is one city that knows how to do a holiday right!"
"Oh, there was a message on the machine when I came in from collecting the mail," Lia remembered. "It was from your cousin Lee. He was calling Robert, but he said he needed to talk to him about something to do with your grandfather."
"Something about Grandpa?" Scott frowned in puzzlement. "I wonder what that could be about? Hope it wasn't urgent. No telling how long that message has been on the machine. Dad's been out of the country since Thanksgiving."
Lia glanced around the room sharply. "What was that?"
"What?" Scott glanced at his wife in concern.
"I thought I heard something," she told him, still peering around the room.
"I didn't hear..."
A clanking sounded, drawing all four young people's attention to the hallway Lia had come down. There, stepping into the room, was a man... or so he appeared, except that he was transparent. Loaded down with his iron chains, he slowly made his way into the room and stared at the shocked occupants of the apartment.
"Grandpa Jake?" Scott gasped, clutching his wife to his side.
"It's not possible..." Nick gaped in disbelief.
The ghost nodded his head once then spoke. "I can't find him, boys. Where is he?"
"Who... who are you look... looking for?" Scott asked.
The ghost shook his head, then turned and continued to walk toward the fireplace. There, on the mantle above, stood a row of Christmas cards, apparently put out by the maid as they arrived in McCall's absence. The specter seemed to be gazing at each until his eyes fell upon one in particular. His nebulous hand reached out to lift the card off the mantle, open it and read the contents.
"At last! I've found him!" he exclaimed. He gave his grandsons and their wives a final look before walking out the living room wall next to the window.
"My God!" cried Lia. "Did that really happen?"
"I never thought..." Yvette stammered. "I mean, I never really believed in ghosts, but..."
"Oh, there are ghosts," Scott assured them. "If you'd lived in New York, you'd probably have seen one or two. They seem to like this city"
"What do you suppose he wanted? Who is he looking for?" Nick wanted to know.
Scott moved slowly out of Lia's arms and picked up the Christmas card that had fluttered to the floor out of the ghost's grasp.
"It's from Andy and Cait," he informed them. He turned back to face them and continued. "He must be looking for Andy!"
"Do you suppose this is the reason Lee wanted to talk to Uncle Robert?" asked Nick.
"There's only one way to find out." Scott grabbed the phone and quickly dialed. After a few minutes conversation with Lee, he hung up and related the story of the previous visitations to his older cousins.
"So he must have been searching for Andy all the time," Yvette concluded. "But why?"
"I don't know," Scott swallowed, still in awe of what they'd witnessed.
"Don't you think we should call and warn them?" Nick suggested.
"Maybe, but I want to talk to someone else first and get a professional opinion." He reached for the phone book and searched out the number he needed before lifting the receiver again.
Lia moved to his side and put a hand on his arm. Nick and Yvette stepped closer to them and Nick leaned over to look at the yellow pages ad Scott had found.
"Who ya gonna call?"
Christmas was always a busy time for the Ghostbusters. Next to Halloween, the December holiday seemed to be a favorite for their ectoplasmic adversaries. The four men had just returned to the converted firehouse that was their headquarters, from a rather harrowing bust at the ice skating rink at Rockefeller Center. They'd collapsed in the second floor television room in exhaustion.
"I hope these guys give us a break soon. I'd hate to have business spoil our plans for Christmas," Winston Zeddemore groused, leaning his head back on the couch.
"You know, I think we should get out of the city early next year," suggested Peter Venkman. "Let the little creeps have their fun for once and just relax."
"Aw, Peter, we couldn't do that," Ray Stantz exclaimed. "Look at all the people whose holidays would be ruined if they had to put up with a ghost or a demon." He smiled. "Besides, we'd miss all the fun."
Peter shook his head. Leave it to Ray with his childlike enthusiasm to see all this work as fun.
"It would be rather uncaring of us to desert the city at a time when ectoplasmic manifestations are at their peak," Egon Spengler advised his friend.
"I guess you're right," Peter conceded. "And besides, look at all the money we'd lose if we weren't around when so many of them decide to cause trouble." Peter grinned as if he were seeing dollar signs before his eyes.
"Mercenary!" Egon accused, but with a twinkle in his eyes that revealed his affection for his friend.
"Well, I for one still plan on spending some time in New Jersey with my folks this weekend," Winston stated. "And your cousin, Sam, has gone to a lot of trouble getting your relatives together at her farm this year, Ray. She'd be very disappointed if you didn't make it."
"I know," Ray replied. "I'm supposed to drive up there with Aunt Lois on Thursday, but I hate to leave you guys in the lurch."
"Peter and I can handle any small jobs that come up," Egon reassured him, "and besides, you'll both be back on Christmas Day.
"Of course you will." Peter smiled. His friends knew all too well that Christmas had never been easy for the psychologist and they always took great pains to see that he didn't spend it alone. Regularly they arranged their family celebrations for the early part of the holiday so they could all be together to celebrate on Christmas Day. This year, Egon's mother had gone on a tour of the holy lands with her sister and a few other friends of theirs, so the physicist wouldn't be gone at all.
"I still think it would be great if you guys would come out to the farm with us," Ray suggested, not for the first time.
Peter shook his head. "And miss Noel in the big city?" he objected. "Couldn't do that, could we, Spengs?"
"Of course not." Egon shared a knowing look with Ray. In all the years they'd known the psychologist, he'd never taken them up on their offers to join their family celebrations. He'd told them once that being around a big happy family always seemed to make him even more lonely, reminding him of the kind of Christmas he'd never had with his ever-absent father. After many years and the support of his friends, Peter had finally come to find some enjoyment in the holidays, but it was still a rough time for him and his friends understood that.
Just as Ray seemed to be about to say something else, the phone rang. Winston, who was closest, answered.
"It's for you, Pete." He handed the receiver to Venkman.
"This is Dr. Venkman," Peter answered formally.
"Peter? This is Scott McCall. I don't know if you remember me, but Dana Barrett introduced us a few years back... when we were both playing with the symphony."
"Scott? Oh, yeah, you played the fiddle."
"Er, yeah, the violin"
"So what's up, kid?"
"I think we have a problem in your line of work."
"You got a ghost?" Peter inquired.
"Well... yes."
Hearing the reluctance in the younger man's voice, Peter dropped his frivolous tone. "It's okay, Scott. We get a lot of calls this time of year. That's what we're here for. So... what can you tell me about this guy?"
"It's... my grandfather," Scott admitted.
"Go ahead. Take your time and fill me in on all the details," Peter instructed. Grabbing a pen and paper, he took notes as Scott related everything about the appearances of Jake Michaels.
"Okay, Scott," Peter said when he was finished. "Here's what we're gonna do. It sounds like your grandfather is long gone from your father's apartment, but we'd like to take some readings anyway. Would it be all right if my friend Egon and I come over right now? The sooner we get there, the stronger the residuals will be."
"Sure," Scott agreed. "I'd really appreciate it."
"Hey, for a friend, we'll even give you the discount rate."
Scott laughed. "Thanks, Peter." He gave the psychologist the address.
"I take it we're going out again?" Egon sighed.
"Yeah, well, I couldn't say no, Egon. It's his grandfather's ghost and he's a nice kid. I remember him. Dana told me he had a kind of rough childhood himself, with his father gone most of the time, and well..."
"Sounds like someone else we know." Winston smiled fondly at Peter.
"Then, let's get going." Egon levered himself off the sofa.
"Thanks, Spengs," Peter replied.
"You are welcome, Peter." Egon patted his friend's shoulder as he moved toward his lab to pick up the necessary equipment.
A half hour later, the two Ghostbusters stood in the middle of Robert McCall's apartment. While Peter got further details from the four nervous witnesses, Egon scanned the room with his PKE meter.
"What ya got, Egon?" Peter asked.
"Class two residuals," the scientist responded. "Very strong on this one card. I presume it's the one he inspected?" He looked over the red rims of his glasses at Scott.
"Yes, it is,"
"And you say he's appeared twice to other members of your family?"
"Twice that we know of," Nick replied.
"I wonder why those particular members of your family," Egon mused aloud. "The geographic divergence is highly uncommon."
"Well, four of my older cousins all grew up together. They spent their summers at Grandpa Jake's ranch and they've always been really close... more like brothers than cousins."
"So if your grandfather was searching for one of them, he might be drawn to the others... not quite able to distinguish their biological signatures apart until he actually manifested before them," Egon postulated.
"Huh?" Nick frowned.
"If your cousins are really close and your grandfather's experiences with them were mostly together, it might be difficult for him to separate their auras. He would have to locate each one in his search for the one particular one. Process of elimination," Peter translated.
"But why is he looking for Andy?" Yvette wondered.
"Was your grandfather particularly close to this Andy?" Peter inquired.
Scott laughed. "Not exactly. If anything, he picked on Andy more than any of the others. They never got along."
Peter shot a glance at Egon.
"What is it?" demanded Lia, who hadn't missed the exchange.
Peter turned to the four young people. "There are several reasons why a spirit is unable to move on to a higher plane of existence. If they die violently, sometimes they don't realize they're dead. From what you've told us, that probably isn't the case with your grandfather. Another reason could be something he feels he has to do. Something unfinished, for example. Usually the need for completion is tied to some strong emotion. If your grandfather didn't get along with your cousin, he could be carrying his dislike into the afterlife."
"You think he might hurt Andy?" Yvette was appalled at the notion.
"We don't know," Egon answered quickly. "It may be something totally benign. But it would be wise to warn your cousin."
Scott grimaced. "I'm not sure Andy'll believe any of this. I talked it over with Lee. Skip had told him and Murphy about Grandpa's appearance, but they thought it was just a practical joke. And Andy isn't exactly the type who's going to accept the idea of a ghost. He's a pretty down to earth guy."
"What we'd really like to ask, is that you go down to the ranch and investigate yourselves, but we have a problem here." Nick stood up and stepped closer to the other men. "On the one hand, we don't want to take a chance that Andy or his family could be harmed. They have five small children. But on the other hand, none of us likes the idea of your trapping our grandfather and putting him away in your... whatever it is."
"The containment unit," Egon supplied. "But I assure you, when we deal with ghosts of formerly living persons, we only trap them as a last resort... if they've become evil and dangerous and there is absolutely no other way. With this type of spirit, it is often possible to get them to peacefully de-resolve. Dr. Venkman is a psychologist and is quite adept in such situations. We need to find out why your grandfather has remained on this plane and help him to settle whatever he feels he has left unfinished."
Scott and Nick looked at each other for a moment, then Scott nodded. "All right, would you consider going to New Mexico immediately and see if you can talk to him?"
Peter hesitated. "You have to understand. We'd like to help you, but this is our busy season."
Nick smiled. "We understand that, but we'd be willing to pay you a very substantial fee, plus all expenses. My other grandfather is not exactly lacking in funds, so money wouldn't be a problem. And if you can wrap it up quickly, we'll make sure you can get back to New York in time for Christmas. If necessary, I'll call for the Foley Foods corporate jet."
"Foley Foods?" Peter gaped. "Your grandfather is Foley Foods?"
Nick laughed. "As a matter of fact, he is. Although these days, my Aunt Marva handles most of the day-to-day business."
Peter looked at Egon. "Give us a moment, guys." He steered the blond man into the kitchen. "What do you think?"
"I don't know," Egon replied. "There is a very good chance if Jake Michaels didn't get along with Andy Travis that his intentions now are not good. On the other hand, there are a lot of ghosts right here in New York that will need our attention."
"I know, but we haven't had anything that couldn't be put off until the first of the year. If we have the kid's corporate jet at our disposal, if something major does happen, we could fly right back to the Big Apple. This is a class two, so the two of us should be able to handle it. That way it wouldn't cause any interruption in Ray and Winston's plans. Besides, it sounds like we'll be doing more talking that blasting."
Egon studied his oldest friend closely for a moment. "You feel a real affinity for Scott McCall, don't you?" His voice was gentle.
"Well, yeah," Peter admitted. "Kids with wayward fathers have to stick together."
Egon smiled. "Okay, we'll go."
"All right!" Peter held up his hand, palm toward Egon, but the scientist gave him a tolerant look and ignored the offered high five.
"We'll be ready to leave tomorrow afternoon," he told the others.
"Thanks," Scott replied. "Now, all we have to do is think of how we're gonna explain this to Andy and Cait!"
Glorieta, New Mexico
Caitlin Travis sat before a dusty trunk in the attic of the ranch house and weeded through the old clothing. Her mother-in-law had told her that this particular steamer contained dresses that had belonged to Andy's great grandmother and she was anxious to see what treasures she could find. As she pulled out yet another turn-of-the-century outfit, she heard the phone ring downstairs. She listened for a moment to be sure Andy would catch it. When, after the second ring, there was silence, she returned her attention to the trunk.
A sound came from behind her and she turned to see what it was, expecting to find her husband coming up the stairs to tell her about the phone call. The person she saw was not Andy.
"Sweet Mary, mother of God!" she exclaimed, her Irish accent becoming more pronounced with her fright. Hovering near the stairs in mid-air was a cloudy form in the shape of a man. As she watched, transfixed, the shape coalesced, its features coming into sharper focus. Cait's hands flew to her mouth as she suddenly recognized the face before her.
Downstairs, Andy slowly replaced the receiver. Scott had been on the phone and Andy was worried for his younger cousin's sanity. All these tales of ghosts! Scott had insisted there could be danger and wanted to send down a pair of those Ghostbusters that had been working in New York for some years now. Andy remembered seeing them on television and wondered how those charlatans could get away with those scams. He told Scott, in no uncertain terms, that he didn't believe in such things and he was sure the young man had been the brunt of some macabre practical joke. When Scott told him of the visitations to Skip, and to Lee and Murphy, he'd been more perplexed, but he still couldn't bring himself to accept something so utterly fantastic.
He was just about to head up the stairs to tell Cait about the strange phone call, when he heard a scream followed by the sound of footsteps running down the stairs.
"Cait!" He bounded up the steps two at a time. When he reached the second floor landing, he met his wife as she emerged from the door to the attic staircase.
"Cait, what's wrong? What happened?" he asked in alarm as she fell into his arms and clung to him for all she was worth.
"Up there," she panted. "Up in the attic. It was... I don't know. I was so scared, I just closed my eyes and rushed past it to get to the door."
"What was it?" Fearful knowledge twisted in his stomach.
Cait leaned back so she could see his face. Her own, he noted, was white as a sheet.
"I saw a ghost, Andy. Honestly, it was a ghost."
He laughed, but it sounded stained even to his own ears. "You're kidding, right? Did Scott call earlier and set this up?"
"What? What does Scott have to do with this?" she asked. "I haven't talked to him in a month. Andy, what I saw was a ghost. I know it."
"There's no such thing as ghosts."
She shook her head. "Maybe you've never seen one, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. Back in Ireland, there were lots of stories about things that people could never explain away."
"That's just folklore," he replied. "Have you ever seen a spirit before?"
"No," she admitted, "but I have now!"
Andy looked into her eyes and he knew she was being completely serious with him. She was honestly frightened, and it took a lot to scare the strong young woman he'd married.
"Come downstairs." He guided her toward the steps. "We need to have a talk."
"I mean no offense, Dr. Spengler, but I don't believe in this stuff." The two Ghostbusters had just arrived and were beginning to unpack their equipment in the family room. Andy looked across at Cait sitting on the sofa. "I know my wife truly believes she saw something she thinks was a ghost, but I think this is just someone trying to pull a hoax."
"I assure you, Mr. Travis," replied Spengler, "we took readings in your cousin's apartment in New York and our instruments definitely registered residual psychokinetic residue from a class two entity."
Andy shook his head. "It all sounds like a bunch of hooey to me."
"Hey, pal, it isn't hooey. You got an unhappy relative hanging 'round," Peter advised him. "We deal with this sort of thing every day. Maybe you ought to open up that closed mind of yours a little."
Andy's face grew red with anger. "How do I know the both of you aren't part of this sham?" he demanded. "I'm sure you're very good at gettin' money outta people once you get 'em to believe they need your services!"
Peter turned to Egon. "I knew we should've brought the spud along. One look at Slimer and this guy'd become a believer."
"Peter," Egon warned.
"Andy, don't." Cait crossed the room to take hold of her husband's hand.
"I'm sorry, honey, but whoever is behind this is tryin' to harm us. They frightened you so bad you came flyin' down those steps. You could've fallen and been really hurt. This isn't funny. After all the things we've been through, I won't stand for anybody hurtin' you again."
Cait wrapped her arms around her husband's waist. "I know, and I love you for that. I never thought I would ever be this happy and it's all because of you. But you have to believe that what I saw wasn't faked. I've been around and I've seen a lot of things. You yourself looked all over the attic and you didn't find any kind of projector or anything that could've made that thing appear. Let these men look. Scott trusts them. We should give them the benefit of the doubt."
"Mr. Travis," Egon began calmly, "we've had plenty of experience at hoaxes as well as the real thing. If this is a fake, we'll know what to look for, but I seriously doubt this has been perpetrated by someone living. Your cousins in New York were not the only members of your family to observe the specter. Do you believe so many of your relatives could be fooled? And to what purpose?" He shook his head. "I want to take some readings in your attic. Perhaps you could show me around while Dr. Venkman interviews your wife. We need all the detail we can get of this most recent manifestation."
Andy was about to object, but Cait squeezed the hand she still held. One look into her pleading eyes, and he sighed in surrender. "All right," he nodded, "this way."
Cait watched them disappear up the stairs, then took a deep breath and turned to face Peter Venkman.
"Skeptics!" Peter shrugged elaborately.
Cait laughed at his display. "I'm sorry Dr. Venkman. Andy is a very good man. He just has a little trouble believing in something he's always thought was fantasy."
"We run into a lot of closed minded people, Mrs. Travis," Venkman replied. "If his uncle's ghost manifests itself again, he'll become a believer pretty quickly, I assure you."
Cait grimaced.
"Did I say something wrong?" Peter asked.
"Closed minded." She smiled wryly. "Maybe in this instance, but Andy is really not at all like that. In fact, that's what he always thought of his Uncle Jake. The man could never accept the things Andy found important in life. He always put Andy down because of his work in rock 'n roll radio. And that was just one of the things they disagreed about."
"Didn't get along at all, huh?"
Cait shook her head. "I always thought it was such a shame. Jake had a way of alienating people. He was intolerant and bigoted. He even drove his own son away. J.J. died before his father was able to make amends for that and I believe that ate at him. He was never able to admit he was wrong, because if he had been wrong he would have had to accept the guilt."
Peter looked at her appraisingly. "Pretty good for an amateur psychologist. Or am I addressing a colleague?"
She chuckled. "No, Dr. Venkman, no degrees here. Just a lot of experience with human nature. I didn't exactly have your normal upbringing."
"Hey, join the club," Peter chuckled.
"Andy and his family are the only real family I've ever know, outside of my brother, and we didn't find each other until we were adults. That's why family is so important to me. If Jake is still here, even as a ghost, maybe it's not too late for some resolution between him and Andy."
"I understand what you mean," Peter told her quietly. "The guys... Egon and Ray and Winston... they're my family. I had a pretty dysfunctional one when I was a kid. Maybe we 'abnormal' psychologists should stick together?"
She couldn't suppress a grin at the crooked smile he gave her.
"I'll just bet you're a lady killer, Dr. Venkman."
Peter stood a little straighter, as he offered her a cocky expression. "Let's just say I don't have much trouble finding a date for a Saturday night. And, by the way, my friends call me Peter."
"And mine call me Cait," she replied, extending her hand. Peter returned the handshake, retaining possession of her hand.
"Don't worry, Cait. We know what we're doing. We'll take care of Uncle Jake."
The sound of footsteps drew their attention and they both noticed the look on Andy's face as he saw Peter still holding Cait's hand. The psychologist gave one more gentle squeeze before releasing her.
"So what did you find, Spengs?" Peter purposely avoiding the stare from Andy Travis.
"Due to the amount of time since the appearance, the traces are very weak, but I did detect the same readings we found in the McCall apartment. I'd say the same spirit who appeared in New York has made his way here. The lack of site specificity is intriguing. Since this was Jacob Michaels' home, I would have expected him to manifest here first. But if his impetus for remaining in our realm is so strongly related to Mr. Travis, and he didn't expect to find him here, perhaps that could explain the anomaly."
"What he's saying is, this dude must really have something to settle with you," Peter translated.
"So what do we do now?" Cait asked.
"Basically, there's not much we can do until he decides to put in another appearance. Considering how much trouble he's gone to, I don't think we'll have to wait long."
"So you just plan on hanging around until he shows up?" Andy laughed dryly as he shook his head. "I would've thought you could at least come up with a seance or something entertaining!"
"Andy!" Cait offered her husband a disapproving look.
"Well, I suppose we could whip one up if that's what you really want!" Peter shot back hotly.
"Peter!" Egon's tone and expression toward his friend mirrored Cait's. "You're not being helpful."
"Sorry," Peter apologized, but with little conviction. He looked at Cait's pleading expression and sighed. "Okay, I am sorry. Why don't we grab something to eat. I don't know about Egon, but I'm starved. Then we could talk. You can tell us all about this guy. Maybe if we're all talking about him, he'll decide to join the party."
"That sounds like a plan," Cait agreed before Andy could say anything. "I can have the stew on the table in no time if someone will make the salad. How about a cup of coffee in the meantime?"
"I make a mean salad," Peter volunteered.
Giving Andy one last silent admonishment, she headed for the kitchen.
"Mr. Travis, I realize how difficult all this is for you to believe. We often encounter people who have had no like experience in their lives and have trouble accepting the existence of ghosts. But we are not frauds. Both Peter and I were formerly faculty members at Columbia. We are serious scientists." He glanced at Peter. "Even if one of us does have a tendency to speak before he thinks."
Andy had to laugh despite himself. "Well, I certainly can't fault a guy for that. And I can fly off the handle myself pretty quickly, too."
"Really? I hadn't noticed," Peter replied, straight-faced, but then a hint of a smile broke through. "Truce?" He held out his hand.
Andy hesitated, looking from one man to the other, before taking the offered hand. "Okay. I'm not ready to believe in this stuff just yet, but I'll try to keep an open mind."
"That's all we ask," Egon answered.
December 23rd
"Cait, this is the best stew I've ever had!" Peter exclaimed as they sat around the Travis' dining room table.
"I never would have noticed you liked it, Peter," Egon observed. "Considering how quickly you put away two large bowls full."
"I'm used to making enough for an army. With five kids..." Cait shrugged. "I'm glad you like it, Peter."
Peter caught her wistful expression. "Miss 'em, huh?"
"Well, tomorrow is Christmas Eve and they haven't even gotten to decorate the tree."
"I think it was a good idea getting them out of the house," Egon mentioned to Andy, who'd resisted Cait's insistence that the children be sent away until the ghost was dealt with.
"My folks don't mind keeping them for a couple of days, but it is awfully quiet around here without the tribe!" the rancher replied. "I'm with Cait. If something's gonna happen, I wish it would hurry up and get it over with."
Egon exchanged a glance with Peter. They, too, had plans for Christmas and could understand why the Travises were upset over their children being absent so near to the big day. But somehow, Peter didn't think they'd have to wait much longer. He often had feelings he couldn't explain when they were on a job, and right now, he had a feeling everything was about to come to a head tonight.
"You were saying about your cousins," Egon prompted, and Andy was about to launch into another story when Cait interrupted.
"Why don't we go into the family room. I have a fresh pot of coffee and hot apple pie? We can continue this in there."
"Great idea, hon," Andy agreed.
"Hot apple pie?" Peter's eyes lit up.
"Honestly, Peter, sometimes you're as bad as Slimer," Egon noted.
"Hey, at least I don't leave green sticky stuff all over the place!" Peter responded.
They all took their coffee and pie and made their way into the family room. Prompted by Peter, Andy talked more about his uncle and the problems the inflexible older man had had in his relationships with his family. It was almost midnight as Cait refilled their coffee cups.
"There are things he did that are unforgivable," Andy told them. "Like J.J.'s wedding and the way he treated Rose... they're Nick's parents. Rose's mother was Japanese and Jake had been a POW in the Pacific during the war and couldn't get past his hatred."
Peter nodded. "That could be quite revealing. There's probably no way we can ever understand what it's like to have to survive under those conditions. Prisoners of war often use hatred for their captors as a focus to get through their imprisonment. While it doesn't excuse the man's behavior, it does give us some insight into why he reacted so strongly."
"Yeah, I guess so," Andy conceded, "but it wasn't just the Japanese he hated. Before he met Rose, J.J. had been involved with a young Hispanic woman. She ended up pregnant and Jake paid her money and forced her to leave without even telling J.J. she was carrying his child."
"Wow!" Peter exclaimed. "Did J.J. ever find out?"
Andy shook his head. "We never would have known, but Cait started digging around in the attic right after we moved in and found a letter from Jake." He proceeded to relate the story of their search for their lost cousin and its happy conclusion.
Peter sighed. "It seems the old man left this world with a few things he should have set right."
"Amen to that," Andy agreed.
The psychologist considered for a moment. "Andy, can you think of any reason Jake would focus on you? Anything he could have wanted to settle with you?"
Andy shook his head. "He never treated me very well when I was a kid, but he did a lot worse by a lot of other people in this family. I don't see why he wouldn't be haunting them instead." He stopped himself, then added, "If, of course, I really believed he was haunting anyone."
"I don't think you'll be doubting it much longer." Egon raised the PKE meter he had been monitoring all during their conversation. It had started to beep.
"Got something?" Peter slid over to the side of the sofa next to his proton pack and powered it up. While he didn't plan to use the thrower on Jake, he didn't want it too far away, just in case.
Egon pointed the meter across the room toward the foot of the stairs and the beeping became louder.
"Andy!" Cait jumped to her feet, her hands grasping his arm. As the rancher turned, he saw what the others had already seen. A wispy cloud was beginning to form, growing slowly more dense and compressing into a vague shape.
"What the hell..." Andy's eyes were glued to the apparition.
"From the readings, it's the same entity that manifested in the McCall apartment," Egon reported.
"Beginning to believe?" Peter quipped, shifting the pack to rest on the sofa and gripping the thrower, but not aiming it.
Andy didn't reply. His eyes were saucers and his mouth had dropped open as the form grew more recognizable as human, or at least formerly human. Arms and legs and head were clearly discernable, as were the heavy chains that burdened him. The face was beginning to sharpen into familiar features.
"My God!" Andy exclaimed. "It is Uncle Jake!"
As if in response to the speaking of his name, the ghost's eyes focussed on his nephew. Cait's fingers dug into Andy's arm and she moved fractionally closer to him.
"I found you." The spirit's voice sounded almost relieved. "I didn't expect you to be here."
"What do I do?" Andy asked, his voice unsteady.
"Talk to him," Peter whispered.
"But he's dead."
"He's also here and to ignore him would be rude, don't you think, especially considering how hard he's been looking for you."
Andy met Peter's gaze, then he looked back at the ghost. "Why have you been looking for me?" he asked, although his tone indicated he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"I need to know why," Jake said as if that explained everything.
"Why what?"
"Why you hate me."
All the air seemed to rush out of Andy's lungs. He looked at Cait, who shared his puzzlement, then at the two Ghostbusters. Egon was still monitoring the readings, but he had moved back and taken the thrower from Peter as the psychologist took a step forward. At Andy's dumbstruck expression, Peter edged closer to the rancher and his wife.
"Why do you think Andy hates you, Jake?" He kept his voice calm and soft.
"Who are you?" the ghost questioned.
"My name is Peter. I'm a friend of Andy and Cait's and I'm a friend of your grandson, Scott. He was worried after you appeared in his dad's apartment. He thought maybe I could help you."
"No one can help me now," the ghost replied sadly.
"I think maybe we can," Peter told him. "Why do you think Andy hates you?" he asked again.
"I felt it," the ghost told them. "And I don't understand."
"Do you know of any reason Andy might hate you, Jake?"
The ghost shook his head. "He's my sister's son. He's my blood. I don't know why he should hate me."
"But you say you can feel it?"
Jake nodded.
Peter turned to Andy, his eyes asking the unspoken question. In response, Andy looked back at Jake.
"We never got along, that's true. Nothing I ever did pleased you. Of course, nobody else could live up to your standards either, but it always seemed you singled me out. You asked why I hate you? I should be asking you that question. Why did you hate me?"
Jake shook his head. "I never hated you. You were Katie's boy. I only wanted to help you. You needed discipline... you were rebellious. What I said or did, I always did for your own good, but you never understood that and you hated me."
"For my own good?" Andy sputtered incredulously. "How can you say that? You were always right, weren't you, Uncle Jake? You never did anything wrong in your life, but the rest of us did. Especially me. You never cut me any slack when I was a kid, did you? Why? Was it because I was the smallest? Was I the easiest to pick on?"
"I don't know," Jake answered with surprising honesty. "Maybe it was because you had a such a temper as a kid. You never did anything you were told without talking back. You just made me so mad!"
Peter placed a hand on Andy's other arm for a moment, then addressed the ghost. "Jake, from what your family has told me, you had some trouble relating to a lot of people."
"I guess that's true. I never was the easiest man to get along with. I know that."
"Do you feel anyone else hated you?"
He shook his head. "No one else that counted."
That caught Andy by surprise.
"Who counted, Jake?" Peter asked.
"My family," came the instant reply.
"And Andy is the only member of your family you feel hated you?"
"Lots of people didn't like me, even my children, but they didn't hate me."
"But you think Andy did, and that's important to you?"
"Yes."
"Why?" The question came from Andy.
"Because you're Katie's boy. Katie and I fought like cats and dogs, but I always knew she loved me."
"And that's why you've remained here?"
"Where else can I go?" he asked.
Peter took a deep breath. "Jake, do you know what happened to you?"
"I died," he replied.
"Yes, you died. And after you die, you can't live in the world you knew anymore. The time comes for you to move on to somewhere else. Sometimes people feel they must do something before they can move on. Is that why you stayed? To find out if Andy hated you?"
"I know he hated me. I want to know why."
Peter's gaze narrowed. "You have no doubt that he hated you?"
The specter shook his head again.
"And if he hated you and tells you why he did, what will you do?"
"I don't know."
Peter glanced back at Egon before continuing. "Do you want to hurt Andy, Jake?"
"No!" He seemed surprised by the question. "He's family. I wouldn't hurt him."
Peter relaxed a bit. "That's good, Jake. You don't want to hurt anybody, do you?"
"No."
The psychologist seemed to be considering what he'd learned for a moment before he spoke again. "Jake, are you afraid?"
The ghost looked like he was going to deny it at first, but then he nodded and Peter's expression became more sympathetic. "You're very serious about needing to know why Andy hates you, because you have to know if you've done something unforgivable, is that right?"
He nodded again.
"You don't want to move on, because you're afraid of where you might be going?"
Jake locked eyes with a very stunned Andy, then dropped his head in silent acknowledgement.
"I don't hate you," Andy said quickly, shaking his head, his expression softened considerably. "I don't think I ever really hated you, Uncle Jake. It's just that the things you said and did when I was a kid... well... they hurt, and I got angry. I've always had a temper, you said that yourself. I guess I never really liked you much because of some of the things you did, but I never hated you."
"But I felt it," the ghost protested.
Peter spoke again. "Jake, perhaps what you felt was Andy's anger. Anger is a much more fleeting emotion than hatred. It can be spent as quickly as it sparks. And anger is a very common defense mechanism that some people use to shield themselves from being hurt." The psychologist shot a quick glance at Egon and saw the knowing look on his friend's face. Peter smiled. "I've had personal experience with this one, Jake, take my word for it."
"Are you still angry?" the ghost asked Andy.
Andy started to deny the feelings immediately, but hesitated. "To be honest, yes, I guess I am. You hurt a lot of people. Maybe you never meant to, maybe you didn't know how to act any differently, but you still hurt people. I guess I wish just once you'd have admitted you were wrong and were sorry."
"Is that so much to ask for, Jake?" Peter prompted.
The ghost shook his head. "No, I guess it isn't. I'm sorry, Andy. I was wrong." He looked around him. "I've seen what you've done with your life, with your family and even with this ranch. I could never make it profitable, but you are well on your way to do just that. I'm sorry I didn't see the potential in you." He hesitated a moment, then looked at Andy very directly. "I'm proud of you, son."
A smile broke free on Andy's face. "Maybe it shouldn't matter what you think, but I guess it does. I've always loved this place, but I was a little hesitant to accept Scott and Nick's offer to manage it. I knew you would never have agreed to it and, after all, it was your home."
"It's your home now." Jake brought himself up straight. "See that you don't muck it up!"
Light flared in Andy's eyes, but died almost immediately, turning into a smile.
At that moment, Jake tilted his head and seemed to be looking at something off in the distance.
"What is that?" he asked. "A light?"
"It's time for you to move on, Jake," Peter advised him.
The ghost turned and looked at the psychologist as he continued. "I can't promise what's ahead for you, but your time here has passed and you'll have to find the courage to face whatever your future holds."
Jake nodded, a quiet resignation settling into his craggy features.
"Merry Christmas, Uncle Jake." Cait spoke for the first time since this strange interview had begun.
"Merry Christmas to you, child," he said quietly, "and to you, Andy."
"Merry Christmas, Uncle Jake," Andy whispered.
As they watched, the ghost started walking toward the outside wall. He still bore the weight of several chains, but somehow there didn't appear to be as many as before. Just before he reached the wall, he turned back to regard his nephew once more.
"Just one last thing," he said, his expression taking on the old familiar gruffness. "For God sakes, get a haircut!"
Andy's jaw dropped.
Jake Michaels smiled, a twinkle in his eye, then disappeared through the wall.
"Why you old..."
"Andy!" Cait called.
"No, Cait, don't stop him," Peter told her. "For once, I agree!"
"...hosepail!" Andy finally concluded.
"Hosepail?" Peter cried. "What in blue blazes is that?"
Egon and Cait all dissolved into laughter. After a moment, Andy and Peter gave in and joined them.
Christmas Eve
Egon Spengler sat back on the old sofa, sipping a cup of his special cocoa and smiled at the scene before him. The four older Travis children were busily hanging ornaments on the Christmas tree, in a hurry to make up for the lost time that they'd been away. And right in the midst of them was one more child, somewhat taller, using his height to his advantage and obviously having a wonderful time.
"Peter!" cried six-year old Danny. "It has to be higher."
"Okay, here?" asked the psychologist.
"Perfect!" applauded Trina.
Cait Travis smiled happily. "This is wonderful hot chocolate, Egon," she told the physicist. "I'm glad we convinced you and Peter to stay for a little while."
"So am I," he agreed. "It's good to see Peter enjoying himself so much. He's definitely in his element."
Cait laughed and Egon remembered the excitement of the Travis children upon learning that two of the Ghostbusters were sharing Christmas Eve with them... and the reaction of one particular Ghostbuster who always loved being recognized for the celebrity he saw himself to be.
"You know, I'm actually sorry you guys have to leave tonight," Andy added as he sank onto the sofa next to his wife, with baby B.J. in his arms.
"Ray and Winston will be back tomorrow morning," Egon reminded them, "and we have our own family celebration to get to."
"Peter told me you guys are really close," Cait recalled.
"I've learned over the years that family is, well, as Peter might say, more what's in your heart than what's in your arteries!"
"I learned that, too." Cait leaned her head on Andy's shoulder.
Egon turned to the couple. "You gave your uncle a wonderful gift, Andy."
"Maybe," he murmured. "But I think he gave me one too." He looked around the room. "This is finally really home."
Peter joined them, dropping into a chair with an exhausted sigh. "How do you guys keep up with five kids?"
"How do you guys keep up with all those ghosts?" Andy threw back.
Peter's eyebrow went up as he looked at Andy. "See, I told you you'd become a believer."
Andy laughed. "Yeah, I guess I have." His expression became more serious. "I don't know how to ever thank you."
Peter shrugged. "All in a day's work." He looked out at the kids and the Christmas tree. "You really want to thank me? Just keep doin' what you're doin', being a great dad to these kids."
Andy and Cait both noted the warm expression that passed between Peter and Egon just after he spoke.
"I promise," Andy assured him.
"Good," the psychologist leaned back in the chair, a contented look on his face for a moment, which was slowly replaced by the familiar cocky grin. "Other than that, just make sure Nick pays the bill I send him!"
"Peter!" Three sofa pillows struck home at the same time.