"We should never have set up that website."

"The World Wide Web is the future my friend."

Ray looked sourly at Egon. "New York didn't run out of ghosts you know, we had plenty of work back home. Right Venkman?"

"I'm sorry, I'd reply, but my eyes are about to explode like grapes in a skillet."

"So," Ray went on complaining. "Here we are, in the Sahara desert, being cooked like jerky, all because some Arab Sheik's grandmother had a vision that a demon is about to rise from beneath the earth and eat the sun."

"He did pay for an executive jet, with caviar and champagne laid on, to bring us across here," Venkman pointed out. "I have to say that as a class of client, the super-rich are a group we should be encouraging."

"The sun is going down," Egon said. "The prophecy says now is when the demon will rise, while the sun is low in the sky, where he can reach it."

"Anybody else thing this prophecy is a load of..." The ground started to shake, interrupting Ray and the team scrambled to their feet, pulling their weapons. Sand fountained upwards, while Venkman prepared the trap.

"Of course," Ray conceded as a great dark shape, black and flaming and bloody erupted from the sand. "I could be wrong."