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Ghostbusters: Ectopia

Chapter 02

(Stumptown)

Written by Leo_Todrius

Supported by my Patrons

[170 Years Ago]

The skies quietly churned as dark clouds made their way across the Oregon territory, releasing their bounty of precipitation across the landscape below. The air was full of the sound of rain, but it wasn't the sound that Byron had grown up with. It was not the gentle hiss of droplets diffused by leaves and needles of a wilderness extolled by the Lewis and Clark expedition, no. The sound Byron heard was more water adding to the sloppy, messy, murky mud that had laughably once been called a road before the citizens had been forced to jump from tree stump to tree stump to get past without soiling their clothing.

The young man stood on a raised boardwalk outside of the general store, the late evening breeze ruffling through his well maintained mutton chops that gave his otherwise boyish face a fair amount of maturity. Pale bluish-gray eyes looked out at the ruined landscape that so many of his fellow Oregonians accepted as the new normal. Too much land had been cleared too fast, so fast that the stumps had been left behind as memorials marking where nature could no longer hold back the shifting of the Earth.

“Mister Elledge, you look right ready to pitch a fit… Are you sure I can't tempt you with some anti-fogmatic?" The kindly, though tempered voice came from the doorway of one of the shops that sat next to the general store. The young man turned to regard the speaker, seeing the man in his late thirties leaning against the doorframe, his hairy arms crossed over an apron that protected his clothing from the various goods within.

“I am surprised there are not many more people pitching such fits." Byron said with a refined accent that had clearly made its way across the Rocky mountains. The merchant raised one grizzled eyebrow.

“Over this drizzle?" he asked with a light chuckle. Byron was not amused.

“They are content to push on across lots, hopping from tree to tree like some demented game of hopscotch. They are walking on the gravestones of nature itself." Byron said earnestly. The merchant's face tightened a bit.

“The thing about nature is that it grows back… We clear it here, it grows over there. Isn't it God's right that we be here, using what he left for us?" The merchant asked. Byron took a long breath and forced a smile he did not feel.

“Of course, we all must acknowledge the corn." Byron said, keeping his mask of civility on, “I am sorry to be a bother, Clarence, but did my package from New York happen to arrive?" he asked. The merchant's eyes widened behind his glasses in recognition and he slapped his knee.

“I must be a damned coot, came in this morning. I just hadn't sorted it all out yet. Just a moment, I'll grab it for ya." The merchant chuckled as he dusted off his hands and moved back into his shop. There was the sound of odds and ends being moved around and manipulated, a few heavy thumps and then Clarence returned with a box wrapped in brown paper and khaki twine. He offered it over expectantly to Byron who accepted it in his gloved hand before extracting a coin from his pocket for a tip.

“I am most thankful sir." Byron replied. Clarence chuckled again, accepting the coin graciously.

“A mighty long way for something to travel, and it ain't a picayune expense. Just who is this Shan-Dor fella, anyway?" Clarence asked. This time the mild smile crossing Byron's lips was more genuine.

“Ivo Shandor was my mentor… He taught me a great many things before I came west." Byron said, his single hand supporting the underside of the box as if it contained the heart of his enemies. Humans as a whole were short sighted, weak and pathetic fools… But a single person could have great potential to see beyond the veil and the power that existed on the other side.

[Present Day]

Light and shadow played through the trees, the branches and boughs fluttering up and down in the subtle breeze. Pine, sequoia, a few oak and apple trees. It was a verdant space, left to the utter chaos of nature. It also just happened to be the perfect backdrop for a before and after video Cliff wanted to put up on SPECTR. The young lumberjack moved through the trees, his boots crunching through layers of desiccated leaves and dried out needles. His bright orange shirt was just as much for safety as it was to celebrate his college football team, the OSU Beavers. His camouflage pants contradicted the bright color though, blending into the scenery in shades of green and brown. Likewise, Cliff's short buzzed hair peeked out from the underside of his yellow hard hat. It was the color of healthy wood, a reddish brown that matched the freckles on his face and arms. His eyes were obscured by wrap-around Ray Ban safety glasses. The only thing truly visible were his handsome cheekbones and a winning smile that had landed him quite a few followers.

Finding the perfect position for the camera normally would have been a challenge. Part of what made videos compelling on SPECTR were the snap cuts, but Cliff's day job had paid off. Finding a satisfactory knot to rest the phone on, Cliff pulled out his laser level and figured out the exact angle of the camera. Adjusting a little, he found his favorite angle that made the edits easy. With just a little bit more setup, the phone was set to record and Cliff took up his position. In the utter absence of music, his movements seemed almost absurd. Previous generations would have considered dancing to be unmasculine, but Cliff's generation had found that the bravado needed to put oneself out there combined nicely with the sensual thrusts and curves that accentuated that Cliff was a young and eager provider, fit and strong. His biceps pressed against the cuffs of his shirt, his ass filled out his pants, and there was a distinguished bulge that he ran a hand over as he put on the performance.

'Measure twice, cut once' echoed in Cliff's head as he performed the dance two more times, ensuring that he wouldn't have to come back in case of an error. The trip wasn't so much a burden given that his work crew was setting up shop for a long project, but there simply wouldn't be the same forest lined back drop for long. Cliff walked back to the tree and reached for his phone, but a sudden nearby owl hoot startled him and he bumped his fingers into the edge of the case, sending the device toppling down into the roots of the tree instead.

“Fuckin'..." Cliff muttered, looking up to ensure the owl wasn't an endangered species that might delay their work further. The owl regarded him impassively with sleepy eyes. Cliff puffed out his chest a little, “Damn right, you better go back to bed." he said before he knelt down, trying to see where his phone had landed. It had apparently submerged into a layer of the dried out leaves. He brushed them back, making a furrow with two small piles on either side. The screen of the phone had gone black as the camera was against the ground but he found it by the glossy beveled edge of the case. As he lifted his phone, however, Cliff was startled to see a face emerge from the phone screen - a carved, artistic face.

Cliff had been startled again, his heart racing a little. He calmed down, seeing that the carved wood seemed to be some sort of weathered piece of art. He reached down, finding the edges. It wasn't a part of the tree, though it had been fitted in neatly. Knowing what fate was coming for these trees, it wasn't like he could just leave it. It'd be destroyed forever, crushed. Cliff slid his phone into his pocket after ensuring the recording was off and then grasped and grabbed at the carving with both fingers. It was amazing it had not deteriorated more in the rains and snow, though it must have made the wood swell tight against the roots. Cliff gritted his teeth, pulled a little more and then grunted.

The carving popped free, landing Cliff on his backside. He grinned, looking at the artwork, though his grin turned into a frown as a plume of blue energy erupted out of the tree roots. It rose like a geyser before collecting, accumulating and swirling into a mass. It was bulbous and round, a misshapen sphere that soon developed arms and legs, then a head and a… top hat? It was humanoid, though exaggerated. A massive beard dominated the man's face, a monocle resting over one eye. A pocket watch chain dangled from the pocket of his petticoat and while his legs seemed to graduate into nothingness, Cliff had a feeling his shoes would have been fancy as well.

“My, my, my… Just look at all this lumber." The ghost murmured with a deep, gravely voice. His one unobscured eye turned, regarding Cliff. His swirly beard curved into a grin, “And who might you be, fine gentleman?" the ghost questioned.

“Cliff? Cliff Wheatley?" The bewildered worker said. The corpulent ghost let out a small sound before he noticed the image of a beaver emblazoned on Cliff's shirt,

“By chance, mister Wheatley, are you a lumberjack?" The ghost asked. Cliff smiled a little despite his fear.

“I am, my crew is setting up to clear these trees for a new construction project." Cliff said. The ghost reached up and stroked his long beard thoughtfully.

“Ah, but there must be some kind of mistake. You see, this is my property. Paid quite a fortune for it, especially for territory land… That must mean, you work for me now." The ghost said, looking back at Cliff. The sun shone off his monocle, the light refracting off of Cliff's safety goggles. An immediate sensation of pleasure began to pour through Cliff's veins. It was the sort of strained, satisfied pleasure that came after a good workout. Cliff's muscles were feeling better and better, although the ache in his backside was starting to feel a lot sorer.

Cliff sat there almost dumbly, feeling his upper lip slowly pushing forward. The ivory glint of two long teeth began to descend outward over his lower lip, coming down like the flat blades of an ax. As the teeth grew in, Cliff's upper lip darkened with suddenly sprouting reddish-brown fur. It wasn't quite a mustache, it was too soft and dense, but it grew in so fast and thick that it curved down across Cliff's upper lip and down the sides in a perfect horseshoe shape. As it passed his lower lip and the horseshoe extended to his chin, more fur started to sprout. The space between his eyebrows grew together, the invisible hairs on his arms filled in a dark brown and then grew so thick that it covered his freckled skin. The fur spiraled out from the collar of his shirt, coating his chest and seeping across his shoulders.

“Yes, a good foreman I think. Although, it looks as though you got a woody of your own." He smirked. True enough, the handsome bulge Cliff had sported had lifted up into an almost obscene tent. As if he'd been given permission by his new boss, Cliff grabbed at his pants. He fumbled and struggled, unbuttoning and unzipping. His apparent lack of underwear became apparent as his cock sprung forward unbidden, rising up above balls that were rapidly being covered with brown fur. Cliff grabbed on with one hand, his knuckles growing hair that became fur. As he started to stroke himself off, he moaned and groaned. His nose darkened, the nostrils becoming black and rubbery while fur crossed the bridge of his nose and surrounded his eyes. The perfect taper cut of his buzzed hair disappeared as the hair and fur grew into one another and became indistinguishable.

“A fine start, lad, but I think you need more…" The ghost chuckled, looking at him again, making the monocle flash. Cliff grunted, falling forward onto one hand and his knees. The new position made jacking off easier, but it also freed his sagging pants to slink down away from the reddened, irritated, furious flesh above his ass cheeks. At first it seemed swollen and unwell, but as the flesh began to press outward and flatten into a unified wedge, the pain diminished. New muscles stretching out into the burgeoning flesh.

Cliff's face was lost in pleasure as he worked the growing log between his legs, but hollow sounding pops and snaps came as his face began to push forward. His rubbery black nose and blunt teeth became more prominent, his lips growing puffy and thick beneath the fur that still resembled a robust horseshoe mustache despite being surrounded on all sides by his new natural coat. As his face elongated, it took on a pleasant almond shaped muzzle. Fur continued to seep down across his back and stomach, filling out along his legs, even coating the feet that were growing uncomfortably tight in his work boots. A faint blue glow shimmered along the ground as the fat ghost circled around his pet project. He nodded in appreciation, watching that swelling, stretching mass of flesh extruding out behind Cliff. His healthy reddish brown fur ceased where the tail began, leaving the skin to take on a firm, scaly texture as the flesh continued to darken.

“I see the hunger in you, boy… The hunger for progress, yes. The hunger for pleasure, of course… but the hunger for wood. Go forth, fulfill your natural imperative!" The ghost demanded. Cliff reared back, letting out a groan of pleasure as he suddenly came, ejaculating a spurt of human seed before far thicker gooey white ectoplasm began to spray forth from his body. As he came, his tail suddenly filled out behind him, growing longer, fuller, and far wider. It draped down like a curtain to the ground, scraping against the leaves. As Cliff finished coming, he smacked his dark lips, feeling an empty ache in his teeth. His eyes looked around, blinking before he settled on a particularly poorly placed tree.

Lunging up to his large booted feet, Cliff all but ran at the tree, sinking his teeth through the bark. He began to gnaw and chew, working it back and forth, cutting through the fibrous material. He grabbed onto the trunk, his furry ears perking a little as he listened to the tree for fractures, breaks, cracks and creaks before he went back at it. He kept chewing until he'd wedged out a gap in the tree. This time, he listened carefully and then backed up. The tree started to tilt, to drift, and then fall. The silent stillness came to an abrupt end as branches caught other tree limbs and the long timber fell to the ground in a crash.

“Fuck yes…" Cliff shuddered, feeling power surge through his body as his chest and stomach filled out a little, his orange shirt straining over beefy, furry muscled arms.

“I believe you said your work crew was nearby?" The ghost asked with a sly smile, “You better go help them get ready…" The ghost all but purred.

“Right away, sir!" Cliff said, his voice affected by his two big front teeth. He turned and headed back towards camp, leaving a trail of boot prints in the dirt smoothed over by the scaly tail of the biggest beaver to ever inhabit Oregon.

****

Every dream Jovani could remember had been fascinating, though hangover dreams usually were the wildest. The way obscure parts of his life crashed into fantastic ideas was tempered by the dark edge of nightmare. Jovani wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed when his slumber was pierced by an incessant chirping from his wrist. His brow furrowed as he reluctantly opened his eyes. His forehead remained creased with confusion as the sunlight wasn't at the angle he expected. It had barely started to creep through the blinds of the trailer at all.

“Fucking alarm…" Jovani grunted in disdain, lifting his wrist to snooze the chirp. As his Ectotech watch came into view, however, it wasn't the alarm that was going off. The rectangular display was pulsing with amber light in time with the chirping tones. The words 'ALERT' faded in and out on the display, offering no other context. The non-sequitur sobered Jovani as much as anything could. He swung his legs out of bed and sat up, his white tank top clinging to his muscled chest with the dew of sleep sweat.

Jovani grunted in realization that he'd slept in his jeans, though it made it easier getting up. He tugged his boots on and hastily tied the laces, glancing back at the Ectotech watch. The screen continued to pulse with amber light, though he tapped the crown button with his thumb to silence the chirping. Jovani hesitantly eased the door to the trailer open and looked out at the fledgeling work camp. A gasp of shock was pulled into his lungs, his brown eyes widening in both confusion and horror.

While this particular logging crew was good, few rose any earlier than they had to. The camp was a bustle with activity and Jovani was clearly the last one up. Equipment had been pulled out and readied, though no work was being done. Every logger was busy eating messily, drinking plentifully, or engaging in far more lewd activities. Wet kissing came as burly men pulled at one another, their lips wrestling. Hands slipped down behind belts and into the flies of each other's pants. Those that had been macho now looked at one another flirtatiously or coyly… but more than that, more than anything, they were clearly becoming eager beavers.

Jovani watched his foreman's red plaid shirt pulling apart from a furry chest, revealing a swelling belly as he chugged down a bottle of beer. A leathery black tail descended from the waistband of his pants as his boots pried apart. Their newest hire Lyle was a few feet away with a completely unintelligible look of bliss plastered on his face as he wrapped one hand around a rapidly growing cock on his left and the other hand around an equally large member on his right. He jerked both of the bearded beavers off happily as his own blunt teeth grew into his deforming and stretching face.

Grunts, moans and shudders of pleasure rippled through the gathered lumberjacks. The air was rapidly smelling more and more of sweat, salt, musk and bark dust. It defied the laws of physics as their bodies grew taller, broader, thicker and denser. Their very essence was being overwritten by something - something that Jovani's watch was working to protect him from. Jovani swallowed, realizing how long he'd been staring. He glanced down to see that the screen on his Ectotech had gone from amber to red. The device was struggling to keep him intact and the effort was draining its battery fast. Panic ripped through the young man like a lightning bolt. He reached into the trailer, grabbed his keys off the hook and bolted out of the trailer, heading for their makeshift parking lot.

“Jovani!" A deep, booming voice cut through the air after him. His foreman grinned a wicked smile capped by two long, blunt teeth. A thick black beard was unspooling from his face in waves and curls that completely hid his neck, his yellow hard hat looking almost comical on his short, oily black fur. “You're late, but I'll let you make it up to me… I've got a log I need you to take care of." he grinned.

“I'm taking a sick day boss, sorry!" Jovani shouted without looking. He'd nearly made it to the collection of trucks and vans when he nearly crashed into a pair making out against the portable generator. They looked up, eyes dreamy and content, their mouths hidden by mustaches so thick that they were practically curtains over their mouths. Their leathery black noses sniffed a little and one raised a fat, meaty arm up to reveal a forest of fur beneath.

“Vani, you look cold. We got room for a third. We'll warm you right up." The beaver cooed. Jovani nearly stumbled.

“Christian? You've got a wife!" Jovani said, regaining his footing as he headed for his truck. The beaver he left behind looked confused but seemed to think it wasn't worth the brainpower as Jovani left the range. He turned back and resumed making out with his partner, pressing their huge furry bodies together.

The old door to the umber yellow truck clicked and whined as it was pulled open. Jovani hopped up into the truck, started the engine and tried his best to peel out. The heavy truck resisted at first, but as it got its bulk moving it seemed to gain speed quickly. Jovani finally glanced into the rear view mirror, seeing the seething mass of horny beavers shrinking away into the distance behind him. His chest rose and fell rapidly with concern, but he raised his wrist again to look at his Ectotech. The screen was dim, the red light now little more than a faint blood red tinge. The last of the energy had been used to protect its wearer, but it finally went dark, completely drained.

“That was too close…" Jovani murmured, still breathing hard. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, navigating along the hastily carved dirt path that led to the work site. It had been close, but nearly twenty men had been turned into beavers overnight. More than that, they had become perverts too… Something had to be done. Ectotech had protected him which was great, but something this severe called for professionals and Jovani knew exactly who he was going to call.

****

[169 Years Ago]

Rain beaded and ran down the tall, narrow windows, a backdrop to the cozy afternoon inside the thick walls that held the weather at bay. Dark wood walls, floors and shelving nearly gave the illusion that one had been ensconced inside a great and mighty tree. Even the globe that sat plaintively by the large, high backed chairs had been made out of fine wood inlay. Candles flickered from a few lanterns, though some electric lamps had been set up as well to offset Stumptown's notorious drab grays. Byron sat in one of the chairs, his face contemplative as he read through a collection of poems for the fourth time.

“Mister Ellidge…" A deep and stern voice came chrome across the room. Byron looked up to see one of the other members of the club, a portly man in a top hat and suit, his pudgy face framed by a short but well kept ginger-brown beard. He seemed to be staring at Byron through the monocle on his left eye.

“Mister Miller, good day to you." Byron said, trying his best to smile. The man did not return the favor.

“Mister Ellidge, is that, by chance, 'Leaves of Grass'?" Miller asked. Byron's face tightened a little, trying to constrain his natural enthusiasm for the subject.

“It is, sir." Byron replied. Miller exhaled slightly with apparent disappointment.

“You are aware that the 'man' that wrote that may be a sodomite? I do not think that type of reading material reflects well on any respectable member of our society. I would not care to see it in this club, nor should I care to see you here if you continue to read such… filth." Miller said. Byron slowly closed the book, rising to his feet. Despite being far leaner and younger than Miller, his height and the broadness of his shoulders gave him enough stature to impose his presence back on the other man.

“Mister Miller, if I am not mistaken, you are not a member of the board of directors for this social club… though, if you were, I would seriously question your concerns over an alleged sodomite conflict with the club's restriction on allowing any female members. It seems that such a gathering of only male members might lead to some form of attachment." Byron said, a rebellious glint in his eyes. Miller's jowls only sagged as his mouth turned into a frown.

“This issue is a lot larger than your standing in this social club. Every piece of lumber that passes through Portland was owned, processed, traded or inspected by one of my businesses. I quite literally built this town. I will not stand to have deviants here." Miller responded. Byron ran his tongue along his teeth, trying to decide to give into his baser instincts or to remain diplomatic.

“I have long found that those who protest the most vigorously are often trying to hold back the tide from themselves. Whether or not that is true in your case, I have decided that this social club no longer meets my needs or expectations. You will not see me, nor my reading material here again. Good day, Mister Miller." Byron said, tucking his book under his arm before excusing himself.

It was only a few paces and two sets of doors before he was back out on the street and the crushing weight came crashing back in again. Efforts had been made to stem the tide of the merciless muck and erosion that had earned Portland the nickname of Stumptown, but it stretched out in every direction. Clear cutting, over logging, and a complete disregard for the natural equilibrium. Byron had been mistaken to think that he could find solace in the comfort of another man, at least in this life. The world wasn't ready. Portland simply wasn't weird enough to support his world view. Worst of all, he'd made a powerful enemy in Miller, but it had felt so good to storm out.

Byron stood there, feeling the wind against his mutton chops, playing with the thick, coarse hair. He wished it was instead the caress of another man's fingers, appreciating his body as well as his mind. He knew that carnal longing was wrong, that it was against the drive for life itself… but there was more to life than life itself. He had to prepare, to get ready, and to practice what his mentor had taught him. If Portland was going to become a place that respected nature, both the nature around and the nature within, he'd have to give it a guiding hand of his own.

[Present Day]

Blue and teal lights spiraled and shone out of the roof rack of the Ecto-11, its all terrain tires easily gripping the dirt road. Seth couldn't help but appreciate that using an Explorer as the frame for their vehicle had given them advantages on the rare times they had to head out of the city center. He kept his eyes peeled, hands on the wheel, his long goatee hanging down along the chest of his tan jumpsuit. Next to him, Grayson kept looking back and forth between the PKE display in the dashboard and the tray of wristbands he was modifying en route. He chewed on his lip as he tried to calibrate with small screwdrivers, the expression bringing a smile to Seth's face as he caught it out of the corner of his eye.

“If we're going to be facing giant beavers, it better not be a possessed mascot or something. It'll set a bad precedent and I don't want to have to fend off giant ducks from UofO." Nico said with a sigh, feeling a little reluctant that he'd chosen the black jumpsuit with as hot as it was getting outside. Still, it went better with his dark hair…

“I'll be interested to see which type of beavers they are." Eli grinned, flipping through an encyclopedia he'd grabbed from the firehouse before they'd left, “American, Eurasian, mountain, giant."

“From what our client said, I'm pretty sure they are Giant." Gray said without looking up, watching with satisfaction as the last arm band snapped on with a glowing white light that fit the black steel frame, keeping it more consistent with the look of their equipment. Gray started handing out the bands. Nico and Eli accepted theirs, strapping them on.

“As long as they aren't nutria. I hate nutria." Seth said with a slight shudder, “Rage incarnate if you get on the wrong side of them."

“When did you get on the wrong side of a nutria?" Grayson chuckled. Seth opened his mouth to answer but he had to swerve suddenly to avoid a falling tree. The Ecto-11 shook and shimmied as it left the dirt road for true open terrain, the top branches of the tree scraping the passenger side of the vehicle. Seth brought the Ecto-11 to a stop and looked around quickly. On the dashboard, the PKE energy began to climb rapidly.

“Looks like we're here." Nico said before he hopped out of the Ecto, moving around to open the hatchback and pull out the equipment racks. Wary of any more potential dangers, it didn't take long for the four Ghostbusters to sling on their packs, strap on their traps and meters and power up. The familiar hum of the cyclotrons powering up filled the open space, the red pulsing lights strobing on the back of their packs. Eli took a little longer, bringing up his slime pack and making sure the harness was secure on his chest. While proton packs were well and good, they were dealing with haunted humans and the less-than-lethal approach was generally important.

“Is anyone else concerned by the fact that Jovani said he only had a few minutes to get out of range before his Ectotech gave out?" Eli asked, catching up to the others. Seth was leading the way towards where the tree had fallen to block their path, his blaster already poised.

“The commercial Ectotech models have batteries rated for civilian use. They're not meant for ghosts this powerful or incursions this large." Grayson said. Eli glanced down at the new gadget on his wrist.

“And ours are?" he asked. Gray shot a glance over his shoulder.

“Given our rather… extensive… experience with ghosts affecting our physical selves, these have a fairly powerful battery. That being said, if they start running out of juice, they're going to prioritize our minds over our bodies." Gray explained.

“So we might still transform, but we can think our way out of trouble?" Nico asked.

“That's the goal." Seth replied grimly. In a strange way, being devoured by the man trap had given him a blank slate. After walking on a dead world, he'd been more susceptible to the transformations ghosts had inflicted on them. He'd been turned into a gargoyle, a bug and a half dozen different things. Each change had started to stack up. The man trap had scoured all of that from everything but his memory. Seth's brow furrowed.

“Has anyone ever stopped to ask why almost every ghost we fight are corruptors? I mean, yeah a lot of ghosts transform the humans they go after, but we deal with way more than the national average." Seth said, leaves crunching under his boots.

“They also are a lot more sexual than average… Not that I'm complaining." Nico grinned a little. Grayson's face soured a little. It was as if the subject had been unspoken, simmering beneath the surface for so long. Now that it was out in the open, it was like an itch begging to be scratched.

“Not just sexual, but clearly skewed to our… particular interests." Grayson said.

“That's a fancy way of saying gay, love." Seth said softly. Gray smirked slightly, though it faded back to concern.

“There may be some sort of focal point, something tipping the scales. Whatever it is, it's been here longer than we have. We've been dealing with these types of ghosts since we started." Gray said. A sudden deafening cracking sound came from their right as another tree started to fall. Eli brought up his slime blower, fingers flicking it to slime tether mode. With two quick shots, a stringy web of green slime hit the falling tree at the midpoint and another tree nearby. Eli fired several more tethers, anchoring it and holding it in place.

“Talk about safety violations, no one even shouted timber." Nico muttered.

“Hey, you're out of uniform!" A voice bellowed from nearby. The four busters turned to see two seven feet tall, five hundred pound beaver men striding toward them in hard hats and safety vests, dragging wide tails behind them. One's muzzle was framed by an incredibly bushy beard while the other seemed to have three long braided plaits coming down from his chin. As they approached, soft warning tones began to come from the wristbands the Ghostbusters wore.

“I think we're going to need more slime packs." Gray said. Eli stepped to the forefront and opened the valve, sending out a spluttering spray of green neutralizing ectoplasm. It showered down across the beavers, making them stumble and slip. When they brought their heads back up, though, they bore their huge blunt teeth and charged, tromping through the leaves, unaffected.

“We're going to need something more than that!" Eli winced, switching to tethers to try and stick them to trees or impede their movements. Gray looked at the furry juggernauts, unable to shake the questions that had percolated to the surface before their attack. Just what was acting as a focal point to draw in ghosts that reshaped humans this much? What force had been there beneath the surface for as long as they had been fighting ghosts?

[167 Years Ago]

The full moon watched over the trees, its normally warm creamy light seeming somehow colder tonight. The hoot of an owl echoed through the boughs and branches, warning the small creatures to stay out of sight, tucked away cozily. It was only the end of a freshly lit cigar that sizzled and burned as Miller inhaled from its thick length, drawing smoke back into his mouth just long enough to appreciate before expelling it outward. The tendrils of smoke curled and danced along the edges of his well groomed beard, contrasting his sallow looking face. His fine shoes clashed with the brittle fallen leaves, though at least there wasn't mud. Miller walked along, stretching his legs, his nightly routine as predictable as it was sacred.

Miller's walk had become something of a ritual, especially in the last year. It almost felt like he was surveying his kingdom, supervising all the land and resources he controlled. This particular copse of trees was more out of the way than most, but he had plans. There was so much one could do with the boundless frontier. Portland could grow into a city to rival New Orleans, Philadelphia, even New York if left under Miller's guidance.

Miller was nearly grinning ear to ear as he imagined that bright metropolis of the future and his role in it. There would be statues of him, of course, as well as several streets named after him… No, not streets, banks! Schools! Gentleman's clubs… All of it was his legacy. That broad smile froze when Miller spotted the silhouette of someone leaning against a tree ahead. Even Miller's cigar was halted, halfway to his mouth. Miller's mouth turned into a grimace when he recognized the long tailed coat, the gangly arms, and those damned mutton chops emerging from the cheeks of a particularly youthful face.

“Mister Ellidge, I could have sworn I had you banished from my fair town." Miller drawled. Byron grinned almost maniacally.

“Oh you did, my good sir." Byron replied with all the acid he could inject the word with.

“Then what in the seven hells are you doing here in my forest?" Miller protested. Byron still leaned against the tree, his arms crossing over his chest.

“That's the thing, Edison Miller. You can't own nature, and you can't own the souls of men." Byron replied. Color began to build in Miller's plaid cheeks.

“The hell I can't! You own land with deeds and contracts and claims. You own the souls of men with money, with their livelihood." Miller fumed.

“And with blackmail?" Byron asked. For the first time, Miller went on the defensive. His posture didn't change, but his attack reigned in. Byron gave him a moment and when he didn't speak, the young man continued, “I know how many others you had banished from 'Stumptown'. Queers, deviants, sodomites. You're trying to build your perfect utopia, blind to the fact that there are hundreds of other entrepreneurs and businessmen trying just as hard as you to come out on top. The problem is, you keep poisoning the well. How many of the men whose lives you ruined slept with you first? I could have sworn I warned you that you protested too much."

“I won't stand for this! I will not let…" Miller hesitated, feeling a wave of nausea and malaise settling over his body, “Let you… disparage and… and…" he murmured, feeling cold and clammy all of the sudden. Byron stared right at him, seeing the moonlight glinting off that stupid monocle.

“You won't stand anymore, Edison Miller. You are unfit to be a member of this society. You are a deviant. You hurt people I care about. If there is any solace for you, it is that I know definitively that there is life… after life." Byron said.

Miller's face contorted into a half dozen different expressions of rage, confusion, disbelief and fear. His body tottered and then toppled to the ground, collapsing in a heap as the poison did its work. Even then, even at the death of his enemy, Byron didn't move. He remained exactly where he was, watching as the night air seemed to coalesce, pulling together dust and dew to form a shimmering blue form. While the figure was large and fat like Miller had been, it wasn't exactly like him. Yes, the top hat and the monocle were there, but there was an ageless quality to the spirit. It was as if all the ages he had lived had been amalgamated into one. Byron finally stepped away from the tree he'd been leaning against, walking over. The spirit looked confused and hesitant, floating there.

“What… what is this?" Miller asked. Byron reached up, slowly drawing his hand along the perfectly groomed beard the ghost had. As he touched it, the ectoplasmic hairs seemed to grow out, becoming wilder and unkempt, bushier and unrestrained.

“You are a ghost, Edison Miller. You were never able to finish your work in life. You are a conflicted spirit, unable to move on." Byron said softly. Miller shuddered as his beard grew out, his body swelling slowly as his life of gluttony took on a metaphysical edge. He shuddered again, feeling what had to be some sort of an erection, but with no blood or body to speak of it was so much more.

“I… I never understood. I didn't realize what it meant to be.." Miller hesitated.

“Like me?" Byron asked, looking up at the ghost with a cold and dangerous stare, “You'll have plenty of time to think about that, as well as your many, many other mistakes. I've made sure of that." Byron said, withdrawing a small wooden carving from his pocket before pressing it to the ghost's chest. A sudden surge of pressure began to pull and tug at Miller, stretching out the ghostly image of his legs and feet into a formless whisp, drawing him towards the tree Byron had been leaning against.

“What?! What are you doing?!" Miller howled, his voice hollow and echoing at the same time. He tried to break free but more and more of him was being sucked towards the trunk.

“The afterlife is meant to be a gift, but you have not earned that right. You are the energy of the mind and soul, the echo and after image. Thought is malleable, so perhaps there is hope for you in time… but for now? I am leaving you at the mercy of nature itself. If this fair forest should be culled before you've learned your lesson, your eternal soul may be forfeit. After all, I would not care to see a deviant such as yourself in my city." Byron said.

Without being able to protest any further, Miller's spirit was sucked into the roots of the gnarled tree. Byron moved over to crouch down, returning the carefully carved piece of wood he had hewn from the tree itself to its resting place. There was a faint flash of light that erupted outward from the tree as the ritual was completed. Byron took a few steps back from the tree and turned to admire his handiwork. The tree had become a living prison for Miller, something to contain and trap his essence and keep him from harming anyone else. Byron sniffed the air and looked down at Miller's body and the cigar that had fallen from his fingertips. He stepped over, using his shoe to snuff out the cigar before it could start a fire.

[Present Day]

The piercing crackle of ionized proton streams arced out to cut along the ground between the Ghostbusters and the beavers, trying to hold back the swarming behemoths. The neutralizing slime had not cut through the effect in the slightest, forcing the Ghostbusters to rethink their strategy. The one thing that had worked was the PKE shielding, though even their industrial strength batteries were depleting fast. Nico had been the first one to reach the Ecto, climbing onto the hood and then the roof to open up the control box. They were going to need to do something on a larger scale if they had any hope to get to the root cause of the corruption.

Grayson was running toward the Ecto to help, feeling the weight of his pack slamming against his back as he moved. He could only imagine in horror how much he was going to hurt after this mission. He'd nearly made it back to the Explorer when the weight of the pack suddenly disappeared, as did the ground beneath his feet. Gray grunted, realizing he'd been picked up like a doll. He was turned around, coming face to face with a huge, burly bearded beaver. The beaver tilted his head, bringing his muzzle to Grayson's face and pushed his tongue inside. Gray reached out to try and pry the beaver's head away from his but it was no use.

An angry beeping came from the band on Grayson's wrist as the power cells were rapidly depleted. The glowing white screen turned orange as it used what power was left to preserve Grayson's mind at the cost of his body. Black hair blossomed along his jawline, growing out into a thick chin strap beard. The kiss became more awkward as Gray felt his front teeth grow numb, stretching outward, thickening and blunting until he had two thick front teeth like the beaver forcing himself on him. Even Gray's jumpsuit began to bloat and stretch behind him, growing tighter and tighter, stretching and billowing until seams began to split and burst and tear. A huge, flat tail burst out of the back of his uniform, coming down to slap along the backside of his legs.

Grayson grunted and grumbled into the lewd kiss, feeling his body slowly sagging to the ground as he got heavier and heavier and the beaver couldn't keep him aloft anymore. While the Ectotech kept him in his own head, he still felt the rush of blood running to his groin, pumping up his cock. He felt it swell longer and longer, but for every inch it extended outward, it grew equally wide. His balls sagged and bloated as black fur covered them, his dick begging for attention as it turned from a blunt stump into a tree trunk in its own right. Even the tears in his uniform weren't enough to relieve the strain of the tent he'd pitched before him.

The transformed Ghostbuster gasped for breath as the beaver finally set him down, apparently under the belief that he would now willingly join their logging detail. Gray's chest heaved with breath even as it swelled larger and fuller, his pecs expanding and his gut rounding. He looked down, able to see his nose darkening and rounding between his crossed vision. His face tingled as his chinstrap beard grew longer and longer, hair starting to sprout from his knuckles and across his arms. Gray shuddered a little, hoping the wristband wasn't giving out… because this new body felt so damn good. A soft, wet sound came a split second before Gray saw the beaver before him yanked backwards by a thick slime tether. The furry beast went sprawling across the ground as it retracted. Gray turned to look back at Eli.

“Thankth…" Gray said with a lisp before realizing he was the proud owner of beaver teeth. He reached up to run his fingers along them before he turned back towards the Ecto, intent on helping Nico finish the modifications to the PKE array. As he moved, Eli fell into step beside him.

“Do you know where Seth is?" Eli asked. Gray's brow furrowed.

“I think he's trying to find the source. If we can't get the array to broadcast, that's going to be the only chance." Gray said.

****

It wasn't exactly easy for a man standing over six feet tall and wearing a licensed nuclear accelerator to move stealthily through the forest, but Seth had done his best. As he followed his PKE meter into greater and greater concentrations of dangerous ghostly energy, it was not lost on him that his protection would erode faster the closer he got to the source. He could already feel his backside swelling, his feet growing larger in his boots, his front teeth feeling weird. Still, they were ill prepared to take on that many haunted humans with the equipment they had. He had to find the source and neutralize it.

While it would have been easy for most to get lost among the trees, Seth was a true Oregon boy. He'd grown up visiting the national parks, the coast, tromping through the woods. That was what made that particularly old, gnarled tree stand out ahead… and why it seemed like the perfect spot to find the source of the corruption. Seth brought up his proton blaster as he approached, catching sight of an erie blue form between the trees. As he got closer, it all came into view.

Edison Miller's ghostly visage was reclined along the trunk of the tree, his legs tapering into a ghostly tail. His ethereal beard had grown as wide as his shoulders and the tapered point of the beard tickled the root of his enormous blue cock. One hand held a ghostly cigar to his lips as he puffed away, monocle glinting in the sunlight while another hand guided the hard hat covered head of a beaver up and down the length of his dick. As Miller moaned and groaned, the beaver before him only seemed to swell. His tail alone had to be nearly four feet long, draping across the beaver's haunches like a cape. While not as impressive as Miller's beard, the beaver's was visibly growing longer and fuller by the second. Seth stood there, realizing that part of the corruption had to be just as significant as them turning into beavers. Still, he had to make his move.

There was only a split second snap-hiss as the roton blaster opened fire before the red, orange and blue plasma stream cut between Seth and Miller. Miller knocked the beaver off of him just as he was struck, the energy crackling across his immense form. Miller swooped up into the air, trying not to escape but to charge his aggressor. As he leaned into the plasma stream, it started to wrap around and ensnare him. Miller grunted at that before he reached out, grabbing at the plasma stream and yanking it like he might a rope. Seth was launched forward off his feet. He disengaged the proton stream to avoid burning his own face off as he landed roughly. Seth grunted, bracing his knee pads before him before he pushed himself upright, but by then Miller had already closed the distance.

Long, fat blue fingers slowly coiled around Seth's long goatee. They stroked down from his chin, following all eight inches of the hair Seth gasped, hearing the warning tones as the band on his wrist hit critical energy levels. New beard growth began racing up his cheeks and looped over his upper lip, filling in the rest of his face that he normally kept well maintained. His upper lip began to push forward as two buck teeth began descending down in front of him. Miller licked his lips slowly, bringing that ghostly cigar to his mouth. He took a long drag and then exhaled blue smoke at Seth. The smoke swirled and seeped around his head, sinking in, forcing his nose to darken and round, his jaw to ache as it began pushing forward into a muzzle. Seth's sleeves grew tighter as fur began coating his arms, spiraling up across his shoulders, spilling down his chest and back.

“I have to admit, I like how many men of this time have let their beards grow out… Such unique styles, too… It'll give me something nice to look at while you work my lumber." Miller grinned. Despite the pleasure radiating through his body, especially as his erection began to fatten wider and wider across his lap, Seth glared.

“Your time has passed. You don't belong here. You have two choices. Move on to the other side, or I'll put you away for good." Seth said. Miller chuckled, letting go of Seth's goatee to grab onto his proton blaster. He lifted the weapon up, keeping his eyes locked on Seth's. As he tightened his hm, sparks erupted out of the positron collider as the chamber was crushed. Power relays overloaded and the readouts on the base went dead.

“Any good tradesman knows you need the right tools for the job… Thankfully you have all the tools you need to work for me now." Miller said, reaching out to caress Seth's beard, coaxing the hairs to fill out wider and fuller, letting it dominate his face, growing well beyond the constraints of any normal grooming. As his beard grew and grew, his face continued to groan and creak and stretch into a beaver muzzle. It felt good, so right, so manly, but Seth knew he couldn't give in.

“The thing about Ghostbusters is… they always have tools for the job." Seth said, using his left hand to depress the foot pedal of the trap that was coiled up and attached to his hip. The yellow and black striped doors snapped open and a fountain of glowing white light shot out sideways from him. While it missed the bulk of Miller's fat, hairy body, it did snag the tip of his blue tapered tail. Miller's one visible eye flashed a bright, blinding white light of its own.

“No! Not again! I refuse to be imprisoned, I-AHHHHH!" Miller snarled, letting go of Seth as he was tugged back. His fat hands grabbed onto the leaves and soil, trying to claw his way to freedom, to continue to exert his will. The translucent blue energy simply slipped through them without affecting the detritus as if he wasn't there at all. Miller's tail was absorbed up to his waist, the trap still working hard to pull him in. “This isn't fair! I was just starting to understand what he meant! I could have brought so much joy, I could have finally-" Miller's words were cut off as the rest of his immense body lost its grip and he went flying into the trap, fully engulfed in the ion field. The striped doors snapped shut and the light indicator at the end snapped to bright crimson light. As the trap blinked steadily, one last wisp of smoke billowed from the trap, wafting into the afternoon air where the sunlight danced through the particles.

Seth sank into himself, relieved and worn out at the same time. He nearly jumped as the leaves rustled a few feet away, but a young man in his early twenties slowly sat upright, wearing only a hard hat and a vest, his nipples dark against the caramel brown skin of his chest. The lumberjack had returned to his original height and stature, his other beaver qualities fading as soon as Miller had been trapped. Seth shifted a little, still feeling the weight of his beaver tail. He reached up, running a hand over his more robust beard before he looked down at the band on his wrist. A slight sigh escaped his lips as he reached for his radio, clicking it on.

“Gray, by chance do these Ectotech things slow down our change back if they fought to keep us from changing in the first place?" Seth asked. There was a bit of a delay before the radio crackled back.

“I am assuming you caught the ghost at the center of all this?" He asked. Seth nodded to himself.

“Yes, I believe so." Seth replied. Again, another delay.

“We should have Nico and Eli do a sweep of the area, make sure the locals are okay and there aren't any other threats while you and I explore your theory." Gray replied. Seth started to grin a little, unable to keep his hand from reaching to the erection in his jumpsuit.

“Grayson, my love… Are you saying you might have gotten some beaver fever?" Seth asked. He could practically hear Gray blush on the other side of the radio.

“Don't make me regret my offer. The bands only delayed our reversion." Gray snapped back. Seth pushed himself up to his feet, grinning wider.

“I'm on my way." he grinned, tucking his broken proton blaster back onto the clip as best he could before heading back toward the Ecto-11 at a quick pace.

****

The steady yellow light glowed up through the floor grate of the firehouse basement, contrasted by the bright red paint that covered the trapezoidal containment unit. Nico's feet came down the stairs as he carried the trap over, holding it in one hand as he drew down the cover and ejected the core of the trap into the receptacle. Closing the latch, he entered the correct sequence and pulled the lever, flushing the trap clean. When the display flashed green, he retrieved the core and took it over to the charging port on the wall, hanging up the gear shell. When Nico turned around, Eli was standing there, his arms crossed. Nicro frowned a little.

“What?" he asked. Eli shook his head.

“Nothing, I guess I just… I needed to see him go?" Eli asked softly. Nico moved over, moving up two steps so he could get as close to his partner as possible. He reached up to rub Eli's shoulder.

“What is it?" Nico asked. Eli gave a weak smile.

“Most of the ghosts we fight, they're like… things from another dimension or realm or whatever, the spirit world. When we come across a ghost that used to be human, I wonder about what that means." Eli said. Nico nodded a little at that.

“I mean, most humans move on to the other side. The ones that get stuck here either had something tragic happen and we help them, or they were the ones causing the tragedies… Murderers and stuff." Nico said. Eli didn't seem entirely convinced, though he didn't seem to want to belabor the point.

“What do you think about what Gray was saying, about something guiding all the ghosts we've fought?" Eli asked, making room for Nico to follow him back up to the garage. The two ascended as Nico considered.

“I don't think that whatever it is has been consciously guiding them all. I mean, I could be wrong and I have been before, but maybe its like… tainting it all, having an influence on the style." Nico said. Eli reached the garage level and headed over to a mini-fridge by the desk, retrieving two cans of sparkling water.

“Is it weird that I don't really mind?" Eli asked. Nico chuckled at that.

“You don't mind? Even the fact that we were nearly digested not once, but twice by two different levels of cosmic entities?" Nico smirked, accepting his can and cracking it open with his black painted nails. Eli chuckled sheepishly, reaching to brush his blond hair out of his eyes.

“Well, I mean… Compared to some of the nameless horrors the OGB fought, we've done pretty well. Sure, we might grow tails and stuff from time to time, but we've come out ahead alright." Eli said. Nico made a 'hmm' noise at that, taking a sip.

“You might even say some of them were enjoyable." Nico concluded, slowly looking up towards the ceiling in the direction of the room Grayson and Seth shared. Eli blushed and sipped his own drink, not wanting to comment on such things.

****

The curtains had been drawn, though daylight filtered through the fabric into the otherwise dim room. The door was locked. Their jumpsuits, dirty and torn, had been cast aside. Seth stood there, the muted light playing across his well tanned skin. His arms were covered in fur from his elbows to his wrist, a jagged patch of fur covering his chest and back. Likewise, his legs had fur from the knees down to his ankles, his feet oddly webbed and discolored. A long, flat tail stretched down from his waist to the floor, textured like dragon scales. His usually long goatee had stretched down to his navel and the rest of his face had filled in with a dense and short beard. Two buck teeth stuck down from his upper lip, his nose rounded and rubbery, black against his otherwise normal flesh. His brown hair seemed oily, glistening, as if it would be water repellant… and where his human cock had once been, a dick as thick as his forearm wobbled outward, turgid and erect. The foreskin had grown to nearly encompass all of it, leaving the head peeking out with a wide urethra.

Just looking at Seth was enough to cause Grayson's own corrupted dick to start drooling clear precum. While Grayson had grown, he hadn't gotten as close to the epicenter as Seth had. His chinstrap beard was thick and soft, his buck teeth prominent, his beaver nose bulbous. His tail wasn't quite as long, but it was full and wide. Gray found it even easier than before to bite his lip with his blunt teeth. He suddenly switched from admiring Seth to charging, pushing against him, trying to knock him down. When the sturdy beast didn't fall, he began climbing him instead. Seth wrapped his arms around Grayson, helping him up, holding his lover. It didn't take long for Gray's legs to slip around Seth's waist, for that pert and muscled ass to slink down and for an incredibly large, hungry, rubbery sphincter to find Seth's cock head. Gray began to bounce and wobble, sinking himself down. Seth began to pant, thrusting upward, sliding into his lover.

At first the movements were ragged and unexpected, but soon they fell into a natural timing of thrusts, of grinding, of movement. Grayson sank down on Seth's huge cock and the two leaned in, kissing one another and embracing. Gray kept one hand on Seth's shoulder, but he used the other to caress his newly grown beard. Seth shuddered, goosebumps rising up on what little flesh hadn't been covered in fur. When Gray got a hold of his goatee and began to tug, Seth couldn't help but start slapping his beaver tail on the floor.

Sensing his partner's excitement, GTray kept at it, riding the cock that rearranged his guts as it sank in deeper and deeper, all the while using his hand to stroke and fondle Seth's huge goatee. Seth's eyes rolled into the back of his head. It was as if his beard was an extension of his cock. He had been right. The ghost that had created the beavers had a fixation on facial hair, on beards… Seth knew the word, pogonophilia. It manifested in their corruption, giving them the same fixation… a fixation he'd always had deep down.

Seth grunted hard and carried Gray to the bed, lowering him down until he was on his back. He grabbed onto Gray's knees and spread them again, then grabbed onto his partner's waist. He slammed in inch after inch, shaking Gray and the bed both. They weren't human anymore, at least not at the moment. Seth was a massive beaver man, bearded and furry, his tail able to flatten a table. Gray was so handsome with his beaver teeth, his dark beard. Seth threw his head back and let out an odd chitter as he slammed in as far as he could get and began to cum. Gray gasped and then moaned, feeling not the modest spurt of human seed but a thick fountain of ghostly semen. Seth's huge rod pumped quart after quart into his ass, leaving him feeling well lubricated and maybe even well nourished.

Seth watched in pride as Gray's belly began to bloat and stretch, rounding and filling out, taut and stretched tight like a water balloon. It even sloshed with the power of his thrusts… but Seth was even more delighted when Gray's huge, fat dick began to spray and spurt its own tainted seed. Seth opened wide, catching as much as he could in his mouth. Realistically though, most of it dribbled down into his long, full beard. As it did, the hair began to shimmer in the dull light. If this seed was in fact mood slime, then they were charging it with a potent mix of lust and love. It was a feedback loop of everything that drew them together. The Ectotech had protected them from falling under the mental influence of the ghost they had caught, but Seth hoped they'd remain under the thrall of their beaver bodies for just a while longer.