...And there was chocolate. And the spirit saw that it was good. OK, more than good, it was down right tasty. Delicious, heavenly...to be consumed of kings, what no mere mortal should touch.
This, of course, was a problem, especially in this day and age, many centuries after the spirit saw the chocolate, and that it was good. Seeing chocolate abused by commoners made the spirit *very* unhappy...
* * *
The Firehouse was empty, except for one lone occupant. This one lone occupant, as he was wont to do, slept deeply, wrapped up in two comforters and any number of blankets. At least, that is how it appeared to the other three Ghostbusters when they left to run some errands.
That suited Peter Venkman just fine. He always enjoyed it when he successfully pulled down a chore shirking.
So he continued enjoying it, relishing the warmth of his blankets with the acuity of the true connoisseur. Then, after several lazy minutes, his stomach grumbled. He was not concerned, for as a bedtime junkie extraordinare, he had a secret munchy stash hidden beneath his pillow for just such occasions. He snaked one hand underneath the pillow and rooted around for a moment, bypassing the small bag of Cheetos and the single-serving Chips Ahoy in favor of a Ghiradeli's chocolate raspberry truffle.
Peter made a satisfied mumbly noise and carefully unwrapped the truffle. He shoved the wrapper back under his pillow.
Just as he was about to pop the truffle into his mouth, he heard a strange, bubbling growling noise. He waited a second; but he heard nothing more, so he moved to eat the truffle again. And again, there was that noise, something like a cross between boiling water and slurping pond scum.
Not a pleasant sound in the least.
Concerned, Peter snuck a finger out of his blanket cocoon and pushed it down enough so he could peek out. There was something there. Startled, he blinked a couple of times, to clear out any sleep that might have clung to his eyes. The something was still there. It appeared to be a rich brown ghost, with little white swirls on its smooth, round surface. It looked a little Aztec or something Central American like that. Peter narrowed his eyes, then, just as a test, he put the truffle between his teeth, as if to bite down.
The ghost fairly roared. Peter realized a second too late that he had accidentally pushed the ghost too far. Dropping the truffle, he scrambled to get out of his covers, but too no avail. The spirit rushed the enshrouded Ghostbuster, soaking every inch of his bedding and jammies with hot chocolate. He squealed in surprise and shock; fortunately the chocolate was not too hot, just about the perfect temperature for a shower.
The ghost gurgled, "Perhaps *that* will teach you not to touch the sacred chocolate." With a satisfied harumph, the spirit floated away, leaving Peter struggling to extract himself from the sopping wet blankets.
A half-hour later found Peter in the exact same condition, howling in frustration. He had so thoroughly bound himself up in his cocoon that he was trapped. And of course all his vain thrashing had only served to bind him more tightly.
When the other three Ghostbusters returned, they heard Peter's cries of distress and rushed to help him. Winston was the first to arrive, and he was nearly bowled over by the almost overpowering scent of chocolate. It was like living smack dab in downtown Hershey USA. He stumbled a bit, causing Egon and Ray to crash into him, which in turn forced the fumbling three-some to the floor in a heap.
Ray looked up from his perch atop the pile of Ghostbusters and started laughing. Peter was still shouting in frustration, but...Ray just couldn't help it. It looked like he had been encased in a living, writhing mass of chocolate. When Egon and Winston managed to extricate themselves enough to see what Ray was laughing at, they joined in as well.
This only caused Peter to howl the more, this time in embarrassment as well.
* * *
It took a few hours for Peter to speak coherently after his ordeal. For that time, his communication was limited to growls and various and sundry vocalizations of distress and frustration. After the three Ghostbusters had peeled the soaked blankets off of him (and after Slimer had made his contribution to Peter's general foul humor by attempting to rid the sheets of the chocolate), Winston had made the obligatory "it melts in your mouth, not in your hand" remark, while Ray had wondered aloud of the pros and cons of chocolates with Peter flavored centers.
After it all, however, he felt fully justified in eating that truffle he had dropped, chocolate ghosts be damned.