Mario's horror movie comedy
The Haunting of the Meatball
The silence that followed Samara’s departure was thick enough to choke a Chain Chomp. SMG4 stood in the center of the lobby, his hat slightly askew, staring at the damp patch on the floorboards where a literal death-spirit had just decided that eternal rest was preferable to five more minutes of Mario’s "constructive criticism."
"Mario," SMG4 said, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and sheer, unadulterated frustration. "You are a statistical anomaly. You just bullied a supernatural entity into a premature retirement."
Mario didn't look up from his plate. He was currently chasing a rogue meatball around the ceramic rim with his fork. "She was rude, SMG4. She didn't even say thank you for the hair advice. Do you know how much people pay for a makeover? Mario gave it to her for free! Wahoo!"
Meggy stepped forward, her Splat-gun still gripped tightly in her hands. She looked at the TV, then at the puddle, and finally at Mario. "I’ve fought ink-monsters, rogue AI, and literal gods, but I have never seen anyone treat a cursed video tape like a bad Yelp review. Mario, she could have killed you!"
"Pfft," Mario scoffed, finally pinning the meatball and shoving the entire thing into his mouth. "She couldn't even handle a little honesty. If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Or the well. Whatever."
Luigi, who had been hiding behind the velvet sofa, slowly peeked his head over the cushions. His teeth were still chattering like a wind-up toy. "Is... is she really gone? Is the scary lady not going to crawl out of the toaster and eat my soul?"
"She's gone, Luigi," Tari said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, though her own robotic arm was whirring nervously. "I think Mario... uh... broke her spirit. Literally."
Bob, meanwhile, was on all fours poking at the damp spot with a stick he’d found outside. "Yo, does this water sell for anything on eBay? 'Authentic Ghost Juice.' We could make a killing. I bet some weirdos would pay top dollar to drink this stuff."
"Bob, no!" SMG4 yelled, but his attention was quickly pulled back to the television.
The screen, which should have been showing the DVD menu, began to flicker. The static was different this time—not the white noise of a finished movie, but a deep, pulsing violet. A low hum began to vibrate through the floor, making the chandeliers rattle.
"Oh, great," SMG4 groaned, rubbing his temples. "Now what? Did you offend her so much she’s bringing her boss?"
"Maybe she's coming back for the spaghetti!" Mario said, his eyes lighting up. He held out his plate toward the screen. "Hey, Sally! You want a meatball? Mario is feeling generous!"
Instead of Samara, a different image began to form through the distortion. It wasn't a well. It was a dark, cramped room filled with VHS tapes and old monitors. A figure sat in a swivel chair, their back to the camera. The figure was wearing a purple hoodie and had a very familiar, bulky silhouette.
"Wait a minute," SMG4 said, squinting. "Is that... an SMG?"
The figure turned around. It wasn't an SMG. It was a hooded figure with glowing red eyes, looking incredibly stressed. He held a clipboard and was frantically checking off boxes.
"Listen up, you red-clad idiot!" the figure barked through the TV speakers, his voice distorted by static. "I am the Superintendent of Supernatural Scares! I’ve got Samara in the breakroom crying her eyes out! Do you have any idea how much it costs to maintain a 'Terrifying Aura' permit? You destroyed her self-esteem in under ten minutes!"
Mario tilted his head, a single noodle still stuck to his chin. "Who are you? Are you the guy who sold Luigi the movie? Because I want a refund. Not enough explosions."
The Superintendent slammed his fist on his desk. "I don't care about your refund! You have violated the Sanctity of Spookiness! By refusing to be afraid, you have created a vacuum in the local Fear-Economy. If the residents of the Mushroom Kingdom aren't terrified of the supernatural, my department loses its funding!"
"Sucks to be you," Bob shouted from the floor. "Maybe you should try making better movies! Have you tried 'Bob’s Sexy Adventure Part 4'? It’s got a 0% on Rotten Tomatoes but a 100% in my heart!"
The figure on the screen ignored Bob, focusing his glowing red eyes entirely on Mario. "Since you find our current roster of horrors 'unimpressive,' I am invoking the Clause of Constant Creepiness. If you won't fear her, you’ll have to live with her until you learn some respect!"
"Wait, what?" SMG4 asked, his eyes widening.
Suddenly, the TV screen didn't just show the room—it began to bulge outward like a balloon. The glass stretched and groaned until, with a sound like a wet sponge being slapped against a wall, a figure was ejected from the monitor.
Samara Morgan hit the lobby floor with a damp *thud*. She looked even more disheveled than before. She was clutching a small, spectral suitcase and wore a very tiny, very angry-looking hat that Mario had apparently manifested through pure willpower.
The TV screen went black, and the Superintendent's voice echoed one last time: "No returns! No exchanges! She stays until she gets a scream out of you!"
The lobby fell silent again. Samara slowly stood up, her joints clicking. She looked at Mario, then at the suitcase, then at the grand staircase. Without a word, she began to drag her suitcase up the stairs, her wet dress leaving a trail of slime on the expensive carpet.
"Mario," Meggy said, her voice dangerously low. "Did you just get us a ghost roommate?"
Mario beamed, waving at Samara’s retreating back. "See? I told you she needed a hat! It looks great on her! Hey, Sally! Don't go in the master bedroom, that’s where SMG4 keeps his secret stash of 'special' memes!"
"MARIO!" SMG4 screamed, lunging for the plumber's throat. "You didn't just insult her, you adopted her! We have a vengeful, water-logged spirit living in the castle now! Do you know what this is going to do to the insurance premiums? We’re already blacklisted because of the 'T-Pose Virus' incident!"
"Relax, SMG4," Mario said, easily sidestepping his friend's frantic grab. "She’s harmless. She’s like a pet, but she doesn't need to be walked and she probably eats ghosts or something. It’s fine!"
Upstairs, the sound of a door slamming echoed through the halls. A moment later, a ghostly, distorted moan drifted down, followed by the sound of someone trying to use a vacuum cleaner and failing miserably.
"She's trying to clean," Tari whispered, her eyes wide. "Mario, you told her she was dirty, and now she's... she's tidying up the guest room."
"See?" Mario said, crossing his arms proudly. "I’m a genius. I turned a horror movie into a maid service. Mario is the best."
The rest of the evening was a surreal nightmare. Every time someone tried to go up the stairs, they were met with a blast of cold air and a glimpse of matted black hair peeking around a corner. Luigi refused to leave the sofa, having wrapped himself in so many blankets he looked like a oversized burrito.
Meggy and SMG4 sat at the kitchen table, trying to figure out a way to exorcise the castle without accidentally blowing it up.
"Okay," SMG4 said, pointing at a diagram he’d drawn on a napkin. "If we use a vacuum, a bag of salt, and a very loud recording of Justin Bieber, we might be able to irritate her enough to make her leave voluntarily."
"Or," Meggy suggested, sharpening a wooden stake for some reason, "we just tell Mario to go talk to her again. Eventually, she’ll get so annoyed she’ll move to another dimension just to escape his voice."
"I heard that!" Mario yelled from the living room. He was currently sitting on the floor, staring at the TV again. "Hey, Sally! Come down here! The weather channel is on! There’s a 90% chance of rain! You love rain, right? It’s basically just well-water falling from the sky!"
A wet, heavy object was suddenly thrown from the upstairs balcony. It landed directly on Mario’s head. It was a soggy, moldy pillow.
"Ha! She wants to play!" Mario laughed, throwing the pillow back up. "Pillow fight! Wahoo!"
A series of terrifying, inhuman shrieks erupted from the second floor. The lights in the castle began to flicker violently. Pictures flew off the walls. The air temperature dropped to sub-zero.
"Oh no," Luigi whimpered. "She's mad! She's really, really mad!"
Samara appeared at the top of the stairs, her body twitching in a strobe-like fashion. She raised her arms, and the shadows in the room rose up like tidal waves, forming into giant, clawed hands. The very walls of the castle began to bleed black ichor.
SMG4, Meggy, and Tari huddled together, certain that this was the end. The "Sanctity of Spookiness" was being restored with a vengeance.
Mario, however, just stood his ground. He looked at the giant shadow claws, then at the bleeding walls, and then at Samara. He let out a long, exaggerated yawn.
"Is that it?" Mario asked, picking his nose. "Shadow hands? Really? Bowser does that every Tuesday. And the blood on the walls? That’s just messy. Do you know how hard it is to get stains out of stone? You're just making more work for yourself, Sally."
The shadow hands paused. Samara froze mid-twitch.
Mario walked over to the wall, dipped a finger in the black ichor, and tasted it. "Blegh! This isn't even blood! It’s black licorice! Everyone hates black licorice, Sally! If you want to be scary, use something people actually fear, like... taxes! Or a diet without carbs!"
The dark energy in the room flickered. The bleeding walls suddenly stopped, the ichor retreating back into the cracks as if embarrassed. Samara’s shoulders slumped. The terrifying aura vanished, replaced by an aura of profound, soul-crushing defeat.
She sat down on the top step and buried her face in her hands. A soft, wet sobbing sound filled the lobby.
The crew stared in disbelief. They had just witnessed a horror icon have a complete emotional breakdown.
"Mario," Tari said softly, her heart breaking for the undead girl. "I think you went too far. You broke the ghost."
Mario blinked, his expression softening slightly. "Wait, she’s crying? Oh, come on. I was just giving tips! Mario is a critic! A connoisseur of the creepy!"
"You're a jerk, Mario!" Luigi shouted, finally finding his courage through his sympathy for the spirit. "Look at her! She just wants to be scary, and you're making her feel like a failure!"
Mario rubbed the back of his head, looking genuinely guilty for the first time that night. "Oh... uh... sorry, Sally. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just... I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff, you know? It takes a lot to impress Mario."
He walked up the stairs, his heavy boots clunking on the wood. He sat down on the step next to the sobbing spirit. He reached out and, after a moment of hesitation, patted her on the back. It still felt like touching a cold, wet fish, but he didn't complain.
"Look," Mario said gently. "Maybe you're not 'The Grudge' scary. But you got some good stuff going for you! The whole 'crawling out of the TV' thing? That’s top-tier! Very creative! And the clicking sound you make? It’s very catchy! It’s like a beatbox!"
Samara looked up, her one visible eye red-rimmed and watery. Mario gave her a thumbs up and a wide, goofy grin.
"Tell you what," Mario said. "You stay here, and we can practice. I’ll help you work on your routine. We can find something that really scares people. Like... putting pineapple on pizza! Or telling SMG4 that his computer is broken!"
Samara tilted her head. A small, wet clicking sound came from her throat.
"There we go!" Mario cheered. "That’s the spirit! Literally! Now, come on. Mario is hungry again. Let's see if we can find something in the fridge that’s scarier than you. I think there’s some milk in the back that expired in 2015."
As Mario led the ghost down to the kitchen, talking a mile a minute about the different types of pasta shapes that could be used for ritual sacrifices, the rest of the crew stayed in the lobby.
"So," SMG4 said, leaning against the wall. "We have a ghost roommate now. And Mario is her life coach."
"Could be worse," Meggy said, holstering her gun. "At least the castle will be clean. And hey, if anyone tries to invade, we can just send her out to critique their fashion sense until they cry."
"I just hope she doesn't find my stash of gold coins," Bob muttered, already heading toward the kitchen. "Hey, Sally! You want to help me with a scam? It involves life insurance and a very convincing 'death' scene!"
From the kitchen, the sounds of laughter, clicking, and the clinking of silverware echoed through the castle. It was a strange, terrifying, and utterly ridiculous end to the night.
Mario had set out to overcome his fear of horror movies. In the end, he hadn't just overcome it—he had annoyed it into submission. And as he sat at the table, sharing a bowl of very old milk with a girl from a well, Mario decided that horror movies weren't so bad after all.
As long as you had enough spaghetti and a very thick skull, there was nothing in this world—or the next—that could truly stay scary for long.
"Wahoo!" Mario shouted, holding up a spoonful of milk. "To new friends and better hair days!"
Samara clicked in agreement, and for the first time in seventy years, she didn't feel like killing anyone. She just felt like she needed a really long nap and maybe a better hat.