“Guys!” said Ray Stantz, rushing into the room holding a video cassette, “wait till you see what I got for us!”
Winston Zeddmore scowled. “This better not be another Benji movie, because…”
“What’s wrong with Benji?” said Ray, scratching his head.
Peter Venkman groaned. “I told you to get Lesbian Cannibal Stewardesses VII!”
“And I told you to ignore Dr. Venkman and get something culturally enriching,” said Egon Spengler looking up from the half-disassembled ectoplasmic sensor on his workbench.
“I happen to find lesbian zombies highly enriching,” sniffed Peter.
“Don’t worry guys,” said Ray, slipping the cassette into the VCR, “the guy at the video store said it was an art movie, but it’s kinda weird too, horror or something.”
All four of the team of ghost-hunting professionals known to the world at large as the Ghostbusters turned to watch the screen with varying degrees of hope and skepticism. For a few seconds there was only static.
Then it started.
After the last strange image faded from the screen into snow, the Ghostbusters could only stare at each other, totally dumbfounded. It was Peter Venkman who broke the silence first.
“What… the hell… was that?”
“I don’t know, I think the spinning chair was really well done,” said Ray, smiling brightly.
“Were those horses?” said Winston, scratching his head.
Egon blinked behind his thick glasses as a thin stream of smoke coiled out of the ectoplasmic sensor in his hands.
At that moment, in the front office of the old firehall the Ghostbusters used for a headquarters, their secretary Janine Melnitz was answering the phone.
“Ghostbustahs,” she drawled. She listened for a moment. “Uh-huh. Yah, okay, I’ll see they get that.” She scribbled something down on her notepad.
“Never, ever, give Ray the Blockbusters card again,” said Peter. Janine entered the room silently, glanced briefly at Ray, who had a hangdog expression, handed Egon the memo, and left.
“What is it?” said Winston.
Egon stared at the memo, then flipped it around as if to see whether there might be something written on the back.
“All it says,” said Egon, raising an eyebrow, “is: seven days.”
At the end of the week, who walks away from this confrontation?