The Buda Pest is a ghost from the Ghostbusters RPG's Tobin's Spirit Guide (RPG).

Tobin's SummaryEdit

This is one of the most unnerving and annoying "nuisance spirits" we have cataloged. Begging for food is not a reprehensible thing to do, if one is truly in need and has no other means of support, but the way the Buda Pest goes about it is enough to give beggars every where a bad name. The spirit appears as a dirty, smelly, dishevelled, nondescript middle aged man. It may be noticed huddled on a curbstone oi sitting up against the side of a building, or it may be shuffling weakly down the street toward its intended quarry. When the target comes close enough, the Pest grabs onto a sleeve, a trouser leg, or the hem of a skirt and begins wailing softly and muttering in broken English: "Help me, please. I nearly dying from Hun-ga-ry. Give me food!" Once the Pest has singled out a victim and gone into its wailing and moaning routine, the victim finds it impossible to be rid of this most insistent beggar until it has been given at least a morsel of something to eat. If the victim ignores or refuses the Pest's plea, he prompts the spirit to follow him, continuing to cry out for food, probably causing onlookers to think he is the most cold-hearted person on the face of the earth. The longer he resists, the longer and harder the Pest persists. The longer he wait for food, the more food it requires before being satisfied. As an illustration of the extremes to which the Pest goes, we relate the case of one Sir Wilfred Uppercrust, formerly a member of London's social elite. But when he visited our offices to tell his story, his reputation had been shattered and his spirit broken. Here is an abridged transcript of what he had to say about the day when the Pest came into his life: "I tossed the cretin a shilling, but he let it lie where it felt. 'Not food,' he said, and he kept dogging my steps, walking about three paces behind me and pleading with me to feed him. "As you know, a gentleman does not make a habit of carrying fruit in his pockets. I tried to tell the beggar as much, but he would have none of it. He just kept repeating himself. 'I very sick from Hun-ga-ry. Please give food!' "I hurried, but for the man who was supposedly sick he did a remarkable job of keeping up with my pace. Two or three times I considered turning and rapping him about the head with my walking stick, but I am not a violent man. If there had been a shop along my way, I would have bought him a bun or an apple just to get rid of him. Now I regret that I did not take a small detour to do such a thing. "I got to the club, dashed inside, and slammed the door in the man's face, thinking myself finally rid of him. I knew that if the beggar tried to get inside, the servants would throw him out bodily if need be. "Imagine, then, the shock that ran through me when I walked into the usually empty dining room, on my way to join the fellows in the lounge, and saw the beggar sitting in my place, utensils in hand, smiling-and drooling all over the table linen! "I panicked and darted into the kitchen; the first thing I could think of was enlisting the help of the cooks and getting the man hustled out the back door before anyone else could see him. As soon as I crossed the threshold to the kitchen, he was right behind me again. In absolute exasperation, I grabbed a slice of cheese and threw it at him, saying, 'There's your food! Now leave me alone!' "The man gobbled it in one bite and, without so much as a thank-you, said,'Hun-ga-ry still! More!' "At that point I have must gone temporarily insane, for I remember nothing of the next few minutes. The cooks testified against me at a hastily convened tribunal, and if they are to be believed, then this is what happened: I allegedly ran about the kitchen, grabbing pieces of food from the meal in preparation and hurling them in the general direction of the beggar, who ate everything as fast as I could throw it. Finally, when all of the food had been consumed or ruined, the head cook claims I collapsed in a sobbing heap while his subordinates ran to the lounge to alert the other members. By the time they returned, I was again lucid, but I have no recollection of the events they insist transpired, and the beggar was nowhere to be found. "Despite being a member of long standing, I was summarily dismissed from the club by unanimous vote. Now, for the last eight days, people who had been my fast friends refuse to acknowledge me on the street. My humiliation knows no bounds. Can you help me, good sir?" With that question, his narrative ended. I did my best to comfort the man, but I had to tell him that my avenue to the paranormal is in research and not action. I can only hope that my catalog might be the cornerstone upon which relief from such malevolent spirits might be built.

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