Peter Parker sighed as he examined the rusted hinges of the door before him. The old mansion loomed ominously in the darkness, its broken windows and jagged roofline silhouetted against the faint light of the moon.
"This is theworstidea you've ever had," Peter muttered, adjusting his backpack.
"Come on, Spidey!" Wade Wilson, a.k.a. Deadpool, exclaimed, kicking open the creaky door. "You have no sense of adventure. Or irony. Or humor, for that matter."
"I'm full of humor," Peter grumbled, following Wade inside. "I just don't see whythisis where you wanted to spend the night."
Wade spun dramatically, his arms spread wide. "Why not? It's got everything! Creepy vibes, ancient curses, and, if the rumors are true, at least three ghosts! Plus, it was cheap."
"It was free, Wade," Peter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because it's abandoned."
"Exactly!" Wade said, slapping Peter on the back. "It's basically a B without the second B. You're welcome."
Peter groaned. "I swear, if you try to turn this into some kind of horror movie parody—"
"Me? Never," Wade said, his mask hiding what Peter was sure was a grin. "Now, let's explore! Ghosts, beware! Deadpool and Spider-Man are in the house!"
The mansion's interior was exactly as expected: dusty furniture covered in sheets, broken chandeliers, and cobwebs in every corner.
Peter clicked on a flashlight and scanned the room. "This place is falling apart. The floorboards are rotting, and I'm pretty sure there's asbestos in the walls. You know, all the fun stuff."
"Pfft," Wade said, climbing onto a decrepit piano bench. "Asbestos is for wimps. I'm basically immune to everything." He pressed a key, and a loud, discordant note echoed through the room.
Peter rolled his eyes. "Can we not antagonize the creepy old house?"
"Too late," Wade said, grinning. "Come at me, spooky ghosts!"
As if on cue, the piano suddenly began playing on its own, a haunting melody that sent a chill down Peter's spine.
"Oh, wow, self-playing piano," Peter deadpanned. "I'm so scared."
Wade leaned against the piano, unimpressed. "You call this a haunting? Weak. I've seen scarier stuff in a discount Halloween store."
The piano abruptly stopped, its keys slamming shut with a flinched, but Wade just laughed.
"Nice try, Casper," Wade said, waving dismissively. "Now where's the minibar?"
As they moved deeper into the house, the air grew colder. Peter's Spider-Sense prickled faintly, though nothing felt like an immediate threat.
They wandered into a long hallway lined with cracked mirrors and flickering sconces. The mirrors seemed to distort their reflections, twisting their faces into grotesque shapes.
"Creepy," Peter said, glancing uneasily at one of the mirrors. His reflection's eyes glowed red for a moment before snapping back to normal.
"Aw, look at that," Wade said, flexing in front of a particularly warped mirror. "Even my reflection thinks I'm hot."
"Your reflection is melting," Peter pointed out.
"Yeah, it does that sometimes," Wade said nonchalantly, walking past.
Suddenly, a shadow darted across the hallway behind them. Peter tensed, his Spider-Sense flaring slightly.
"Did you see that?" Peter asked, turning around.
"See what?" Wade asked, munching on a granola bar he'd pulled from... somewhere.
Peter gestured to the hallway. "The shadow. It moved."
"Oh, big deal," Wade said, waving his hand. "Shadows do that. It's called lighting. Don't be such a scaredy-bug."
Peter sighed. "You're impossible."
"Thank you," Wade said with a mock bow.
The hauntings escalated as the night wore on.
Doors slammed shut behind them. Books flew off shelves. Once, a ghostly figure appeared at the end of the hallway, moaning and dragging a heavy chain.
"Boo!" Wade shouted, throwing a stale bagel at the ghost. It passed harmlessly through the apparition, which let out a frustrated sigh before vanishing.
"You're really leaning into this whole 'unbothered by ghosts' thing, huh?" Peter said, brushing cobwebs off his shoulder.
"It's called professionalism," Wade replied. "Besides, we both know the real horror here is the state of this wallpaper."
Peter groaned. "Can you please takesomethingseriously?"
"I am taking it seriously!" Wade said, picking up a broken chair leg like a sword. "Seriously kicking ghost butt."
Another door creaked open on its own, and Wade peered inside. "Oooh, maybe this is where they keep the cursed treasure!"
Peter rolled his eyes and followed him.
By midnight, even Peter was starting to feel less scared and more irritated. The constant slamming doors and eerie whispers were no longer unsettling—they were justtedious.
"Okay, this is getting old," Peter muttered as a vase shattered against the wall behind him.
"Right?" Wade said, ducking as a chair flew past his head. "Like, we get it. You're spooky. Move on."
The ghosts, seemingly unfazed by their lack of fear, ramped up their efforts. A bookshelf toppled over, blocking their path.
"Oh, come on!" Peter exclaimed, pulling the shelf upright with his enhanced strength. "Can't we just walk through the house without something falling on us?"
A disembodied voice growled, "LEAVE THIS PLACE!"
"Nope," Wade said, popping thep."We just got here. And unless you're offering room service, we're staying."
Peter shot a web at a floating candlestick, yanking it out of the air. "Seriously, you're starting to ruin the whole 'haunted mansion' aesthetic. Take a break."
The growling voice groaned in exasperation, and the room fell silent.
"Thank you," Peter said, dusting off his hands.
The last straw came when the ghosts tried to scare them in the kitchen. As Wade rummaged through the cabinets, a set of knives levitated, pointing menacingly at them.
"Really?" Peter said, crossing his arms. "Knives? That's your big move?"
Wade grabbed one of the knives out of the air and examined it. "These are dull. You should be ashamed of yourselves."
The knives clattered to the ground, and a faint, ghostly sob echoed through the room.
"Well, now I feel bad," Wade said, pulling out a loaf of bread. "Want some toast?"
Peter stared at him. "How are you so calm about all of this?"
"Easy," Wade said, tossing a slice of bread into the toaster. "I've been to hell, fought demons, and stared death in the face. Ghosts are, like, a 3 out of 10 on the scary scale. Now, if they had a demon clown with a chainsaw, I'd be impressed."
"Please don't give them ideas," Peter said, rubbing his temples.
Eventually, the hauntings slowed down. It seemed even the spirits were tired of trying to scare two people who just didn't care.
As the sun began to rise, Peter and Wade sat on the front porch, munching on toast and sipping coffee.
"Well, that was underwhelming," Peter said.
"I dunno," Wade said, stretching. "I had fun. Free entertainment, free toast, and I didn't even have to fight anyone. A solid night in my book."
Peter shook his head, laughing softly. "You're unbelievable."
"And you love me for it," Wade said with a wink.
Peter didn't respond, but the faint smile on his face said enough.