"WARFSTACHE TONIGHT"

An audience just out of the line of sight cheered in absolute exuberance as the man with the pink mustache turned to face them, opening his mouth into a wide smile. "Warfstache Tonight" was now officially on the air.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and of course all other configurations of be-ing!" the star, the host, and the sensation of the show announced. "My name is Wilford Warfstache, and tonight I intend to provide you wonderful invisible audience goers with a journalistic experience that will tickle your eardrums and punch you in the bellies in the way only Warfstache can."

He waggled his trademark mustache in the way they all came to see, and the audience cheered. He seemed to revel in the attention, beaming almost stupidly back at the invisible crowd.

"Tonight we bring a very, special guest star," he went on. "She's ghoulish. She's girlish. She's been twelve years old since the start of the Cold War. She built a massive house in the middle of nowhere without any form of government licensing. She puts the Spook in Spooktober! I give you...!"

With a dramatic pipe organ solo a small blue phantom floated up out of the floor, bobbing in the air above the chair set opposite of Wilford's. Her skin was translucent and pale blue, her hair the same color. She wore a dress that was tattered at the bottom, with only wisps of some ethereal vapor trailing beneath her instead of feet. She beamed wide at the audience, looking thrilled to be on the show.

"Hello!" she exclaimed, her voice rattling with a supernatural echo. "I am Spooky. You might have heard of my House of Jump—I mean, my Jump Scare Mansion."

The audience cheered ecstatically, which caused her to cock her head. The lights flickered and a made a strange sparking noise, making the same audience members gasp at the sudden fright. This seemed to please the phantom child much more, and she resumed smiling normally and bobbing happily in place.

"Ha ha," Wilford laughed dryly, bobbing his head back and forth. "Ha. What a trick. I''ll tell you, it's great to have you on the show. We don't get nearly enough BOO's on the show of late."

"It's an honor to be here, Mr. Warfstache." Spooky replied. "I've been a big fan of your show since I first discovered it through the spider portal."

"Always nice to have a fan on the show," Wilford said, putting two fingers to his mouth and blushing with improbably rose-colored cheeks. "But we're not here tonight to talk about ol' Wilford! That segment's on Thursday, aha ha!"

The audience laughed uproariously at his joke. Spooky didn't react.

Wilford thrust the microphone towards the ghost girl. It phased partway through her chin. "Now, why don't you tell us a little bit about what shenanigans you get up to at your House of-"

"Jump Scare Mansion."

"-at your Jump Scare Mansi-onne?"

"Well, a lot of it is very classified," Spooky explained, her smile never fading. "Because my true goals are wrapped up in a secret multinational conspiracy that have left thousands dead. But since I'm a fan, and since you're so huge on the spider portal, I think I can tell you. One paranormal being to another."

"Fan-tastic!" Wilford exclaimed, smiling excitedly at the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, and all other configurations of being, it appears we are going to, for the first time ever, receive the complete inside scoop on the adorable going-ons in the Jump Scare Mansion."

"Oh... it's not very adorable." Spooky remained smiling, but as the audience observed her eyes narrowed and her grin widened to show her teeth. A chill radiated out from her, similar but opposite to the heat of a furnace. "We lure adventurers in using ads in the spider portal, and rumors of treasure and deep lore. And then when they come to find cheap spooks and fuel for intricate fan theories..."

"You invite them to a slumber party!" Wilford exclaimed, beaming like a wide-eyed ten year-old. "I haven't been to a slumber party in age-es. Ah, you should have seen it. We had our mats out on the floor, we pulled glass of water pranks on each other, and I had a long-running pillow fight with Tiberius."

He paused, stroking his mustache. "...although, I was later told it wasn't a pillow I'd hit him with at all, but instead a pillowcase containing $15 million in diamonds from the Bank of Perth. I didn't hear him complain, though."

Spooky floated in place, staring at him with a put out expression.

"...no," she said finally, her echoing voice showing a hint of irritation. "No, there aren't any slumber parties in the Jump Scare Mansion. What I was going to say is... once they're lulled into a false sense of security, I release Specimen 2. He then-"

"Tickles them!" Wilford interrupted, closing his eyes mirthfully. "Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen and all other et cetera et cetera? Spooky of Spooky's House of Jump Scares-"

"Jump Scare Mansion," the ghost girl said bitterly, frost creeping up the walls around her.

"-has just admitted to luring new friends into her pillow fort in the woods and tickling them with her friends. Isn't that just the cutest thing you've ever heard?"

The audience became a chorus of "Aww"s and Spooky felt hundreds of eyes staring at her. Not in fear, or in shock like they always did when she'd just murdered someone. They were the same adoring eyes that might have been given to a playful kitten.

"Stop awwing," she commanded, to no avail. Wilford had now cupped his hands over his cheeks and was cooing at her.

"Stop that," she said more sternly, pursing her lips into a flat line as she floated towards him. "Stop playing games with me!"

"You want to play games with me?" Wilford asked, gasping in faux shock. "That is adorable."

"Wilford, I know what you're doing," Spooky accused. Her cheeks slightly puffed out as a result of her annoyance. "I saw your interview with the Slender Guy. You're trying to get on my nerves for the show. Well, the joke's on you. I don't have nerves."

She was right up in his face now—at least, she was off and on. He squinted at her curiously from behind her, appearing back in his seat before she or the audience seemed to notice.

"So... let me get this straight," he said, stroking the pink ends of his mus-tache. "You have a problem with the way I choose to run my show."

"I do when it's me you're making fun of," said the glaring ghost girl. "I'm not some tall ghost who stares at kids in the woods, or that Mark Plier guy. I am Spooky. I am an icon of horror."

"Well so am I!" Wilford protested, but Spooky talked over him.

"I've gone through a lot of trouble to build my image," she informed him. "To show the world that I'm not cute. That I'm something they should be afraid of. That image is too important to let you turn it into a joke for your channel."

Wilford stared at her for a long time, before rolling his eyes dramatically. "Alright, alright," he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's clear to me now that I have been disrespectful to tonight's guest. Wilford Warfstache may not take shit from nobody, but Wilford Warfstache also doesn't give a shit to nobody. You can quote me on that."

The audience was quiet for a change, and Spooky smiled once more.

"Thank you," she said, her voice resuming its normal bubbly tone. "I knew you'd understand. We all have things that are important to us."

"Yes, we do," Wilford replied, nodding solemnly. "Some of us like scaring people. Some of us like shooting heroin. Some of us like marketing plain-colored but ethically sourced brands of hoodies! We're all different deep down inside, but, what's important is that we respect the things that matter to one another."

Spooky smiled wider. "You know, I think that's the wisest thing I've ever heard on your show. Deep down inside... I think you're secretly very deep."

Wilford laughed. "Aha, haha. That's right. And I do love to get important messages out there, when we have impressionable little kiddies on the show."

He pinched her cheek as he said it, and his audience erupted into a deafening chorus of "Awww"s once again.

Immediately incensed Spooky burst into black flame, the entire room icing over. Without a word and with a single swift motion she materialized a knife out of thin air, stabbing Wilford right in the chest.

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

PLEASE HOLD

Wilford woke up in a mysterious room with no memory of how he got there, which was weird because...

...

Actually, who was he kidding. That wasn't weird at all.

He sat up groggily, jiggling his mustache back and forth in deep thought before grabbing a note sitting on the table beside him.

Dear Wilford,

Oh dear. Letters that started that way never turned out well for nobody. Just ask Celine.

It turns out you're a little bit immune to stabbing.

Really? Huh.

I guess I should have seen that coming.

Who could? Wilford certainly couldn't. He'd ignored gunfire before, but obviously bullets and knives were entirely different animals.

I can't kill you, but I also can't just ignore the way you made fun of me. I've spent decades trying to make people afraid of me. Letting your jokes slide would put that all in jeopardy.

Wilford loved Jeopardy.

So instead... I'm putting you here, in my mansion of a thousand doors. You'll be right at home here.

Wilford hadn't been 'home' in years.

In fact...

The next line took a while to sink in, as he looked around at the stone walls, and burning torches around him. And yet the writing was unmistakable. It said...

You'll make a fine specimen.

TO...

BE...

CONTINUED.

...

...ACTUALLY...

...PROBABLY NOT...

THIS IS A PRETTY BAD IDEA FOR A STORY...

AND THE SETS FOR THE MANSION WOULD BE RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE...

AND NONE OF THE CHARACTERS ARE LIKABLE...

JUST PRETEND DARKIPLIER BREAKS HIM OUT OR SOMETHING.

THIS HAS BEEN "WARFSTACHE TONIGHT"!

We close as we began—with Wilford beaming at the audience, waggling his mustache and knowing damn well he just wasted Spooky's, the author's, and the reader's time.