This is an amateur, non-commercial story, which is not produced, approved of, or in any way sponsored by the holders of the trademarks/copyrights from which this work is derived, nor is it intended to infringe on the rights of these holders. And so it goes.


a Real Ghostbusters tale by Mary Morris

The tall man raced down the street, breathing hard. He should never have ventured into the shopping district, he knew now - for all the good that would do him. SHE had spotted him, and had immediately given chase. Not that he didn't mind being chased by a pretty woman; however, he knew by experience that this one had murder on her mind. Long, slow murder, with lots of physical and mental anguish.

In the years since the movie had come out, his life had been Hell. In recent months she'd resorted to phone calls, nasty letters, threats, and threatened legal action. He was starting to cringe at the mere whisper of a Brooklyn accent.

Frantically, he glanced around. She wasn't in immediate sight, but that didn't mean anything. There had to be somewhere safe he could go, hide out until she gave up... Pushing himself even harder, he ran west two blocks, into the third building on the left, up three floors, and started hammering desperately on the second door on the right. "Danny! Let me in! LET ME IN! SHE'S AFTER ME!"

The door opened suddenly, and he fell into the room. Scrambling quickly to his feet, he quickly relocked the door and immediately glanced around for a large, heavy piece of furniture to push in front of it.

"I thought you were going to take care of this little problem," he accused his companion breathlessly.

The pudgy man shrugged. "I sent her two dozen roses. They came back shredded. I sent her a check. It came back shredded. I tried talking to her employers; they're on HER side." He moved to the window and glanced at the street. "Looks clear - for now." The other collapsed onto a sofa. "Unless she's coming up the fire escape. I don't understand - why doesn't she go bother Bill, or Ivan, or Annie? Why us?" "THEY didn't write the script," his friend pointed out.

"You wrote it! All I did was revise!"

"But YOU'RE the one who thought the scene would be funny..." "They signed a contract! How the Hell was I supposed to know she wouldn't like it - she liked the first movie!"

They paused as the sound of high heels echoed rapidly down the hallway outside, followed by an incredible pummeling on the door.

"AYKROYD! RAMIS! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! Just wait until I get my hands on you, you double dealing HACKS! I'll show you what the REAL Janine is like! Come on out and fight like men, you washed-up excuses for comedians..."

The two friends looked at each other with tired resignation. "Do you want to call the cops, or should I?" Danny offered. "Pity the poor cops. They've got enough to handle already - easy stuff like rapists, dope dealers, and street gangs."

Outside, the screaming continued. "...and I want you to know THE BLUES BROTHERS STANK! So did STRIPES!..."

Harold shrugged. "Can I use your phone? I need to call home and let them know I'm going to be late - by about a year."

It was going to be a long night, indeed.