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Episode 1: Ghosts Ain't Real

He only applied for the job because he thought it’d be a laugh. 

It was the summer holidays of his final year as an undergrad, and there was certainly no need for him to apply. As had been the case every year since he graduated high school, he’d had his summer internship at Stark Industries to keep him entertained (“Out of trouble,” Mr Stark said, as though Peter wasn’t regularly getting himself into trouble anyway). But SI had been touting a four-day work weeks for two years now, and sometimes, Peter just wanted to see what else was out there. Discover something interesting he could do during his three-day weekends.

Because, you know, he just couldn’t help himself.

Which was what led him to that very moment, sending a half-hearted application off to an equally half-hearted job description on Craigslist, mostly out of sheer curiosity than any true desire for additional employment.

CAMERAMAN WANTED The ad read.

Must be free to work late nights. A strong constitution is required. 👻👻

SORRY, THIS IS NOT FOR PORN!!!!

No ghosts need apply for this position

It was vague to the point of deliberate obtuseness, the stipulation that it wasn’t for porn spoke of past experience, and the ‘ghosts’ comment couldn’t be anything but a joke, surely. It didn’t even mention how much the pay was.

And, rather tellingly, the listing had been published four weeks ago.

Still… it was enough to grab his attention. Enough to have him fill in a few missing gaps in his resume, including his brief stints in the photography club in high school (eight months), and his even briefer stint in the film maker’s club at college (four months). He didn’t bother attaching any evidence of his work — the job request didn’t even ask for one. So he sent it off, took a screenshot of the application to send to Ned and MJ for a bit of a laugh, and promptly moved on with his life.

In fact, he almost forgot about it entirely, until he got a phone call three days later from a private number during his lunch break at SI.

He answered mostly out of reflex: Matt or Jessica sometimes called him on burner phones (although Luke maintained that they weren’t burner phones if they just burnt through their phones faster than spark in a powder room) so Peter had fallen into the habit of answering his phone whenever it rang, even if it resulted in him having to deal with the occasional scammer or telemarketer.

“Hello?”

“Is this Peter Parker?”

He frowned at the voice. He thought perhaps they were vaguely familiar, but not enough for him to pin a face to name.

“Who’s speaking?” he asked, voice lined with caution. The voice on the other side snickered, and again his tingle itched at the familiarity. But try as he might, he couldn’t think of why. It was frustrating. Peter was usually very good at recognising voices, even those of people he’d only met once before.

“Cautious, I like it. This is — uh — Wade Wilson? You applied for the position of cameraman?”

He snorted, annoyance forgotten— much like he had that stupid job application. “Right. The one of the not-porn variety?”

“The very one.”

“There a reason you had to specify that?”

“Ugh. Let’s just say, the original request didn’t quite gather the calibre of applicants I’d envisioned. More Shaggy than Daphne. The shaking didn’t make for great cinematography. And they had some weird choice in angles.”

Peter sipped his coffee in thought, lips twitching with amusement. It wouldn’t do any harm to ask more questions. “What kind of calibre of cameraman were you looking for?”

“The kind that aren’t afraid of ghosts.”

He choked on his drink. It turned into a full on coughing fit, because of course he inhaled his mouthful of mediocre, overpriced coffee.

He supposed that answered one of his questions.

“You okay?”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” he rasped without much thought.

“Says who?”

“Um. Says science?”

“Ah yes, the science that’s given us greatest hits like the Incredible Hulk, and mon Capitaine. You really think in a world where we’ve got wormholes opening up in the sky, there ain’t no ghosts out there?”

“Well, there’s no proof.”

“Ahh, see now Petey, that’s exactly what they want you to think. There’s a shadowy cabal of anti-ghosters out there who want you to believe their pro-life rhetoric.”

There was silence as Peter contemplated his sanity. His and Wade’s. 

“You still there?”

“Yeah. Um. So. What would this — uh — job entail?”

“Well, Petey. You ever watch any of those ghost hunter shows?”

“Um. Not really?” He couldn’t say the genre ever really grabbed his interest. MJ adored them — she said she loved puzzling out the charlatans from the true believers — but Ancient Aliens had been Peter’s preferred poison when it came to pseudo-scientific bullshittery. Not to mention it was wildly more amusing: he had laughed until he cried at one particular episode that theorised the pyramids of Giza were actually giant microwaves.

“Well, you’re off to a great start. You can expect some late nights. Or all nighters, really. Possibly a few jump scares. Really, you’re better off just watching a few examples before you start.”

He blinked. “I start?”

There was a long pause over the line, layered with disbelief. “Well… duh? You applied, didn’t you?”

“I mean, yeah? But like, aren’t you going to — I dunno — ask for my portfolio?”

“Do you have a portfolio?”

“Um.” He coughed in embarrassment. “No.”

“I didn’t think so, Mr I-was-in-the-film-club-for-a-month.”

“It was four, actually.”

“Same difference. Anyway, I’ve seen those pictures you’ve taken of Spider-Man. It’s a fuckin’ inspiration. I don’t know how you manage to make his ass look even better than IRL, but—” he made a throaty sound of appreciation that had Peter’s cheeks pinking, “you’ve got talent. If you can manage half as much magic with a video camera on me as you do Spidey, I’ll be a happy gal.”

“Um.” He didn’t really know what to make of that. He supposed he should have expected the man to Google his name, and it wouldn’t exactly take much effort to find the pictures the Daily Bugle deigned to publish of his alter-ego. “You’ve seen Spider-Man’s ass in real life?”

He nearly fell of his damn chair. Did he really just ask that?

Wade didn’t seem to much care. “Oh yeah. I took up Spider-chasing before the Ghost hunting biz. But that guy’s like a damn cryptid — I dunno how, ‘cause every farmer and his mom has a story about him. I only managed to come across him once.” A wistful sigh blew through the phone. “It was glorious.”

Peter was disturbed to learn that he’d been stalked. He couldn’t remember being followed in the past few months though, and his Tingle was pretty good at catching even the most subtle of observers.

“Right,” he managed, trying to get a hold of the situation once more. “Well. I can’t make any promises as to quality. There’s a difference between a cameraman and a photographer.”

 “Look, Peetaroo, as much as I have dreams of grandeur, I’ve got to the point where I’ll take what I can get. I’m not looking for the next film genius. So long as you can keep the camera steady and know how to work the right angles on us, I’ll take you.”

He ran his thumb over the sharp plastic lid of his coffee cup as he thought. He could still pull out now. He didn’t know this Wade guy, and he didn’t really understand why he’d be so desperate to find a cameraman for what seemed like low budget public broadcasting shlock. For all he knew, this could still be some kind of very strange scam — the whole Craigslist thing wasn’t helping him in the legitimacy field there — but something made him think this was genuine. And anyway, if it was a scam, it’s not as if Peter couldn’t fight for himself. He wouldn’t even need to use his strength: Matt had been teaching him a few choice moves recently that relied far more on his agility than his super-strength.

“Would I need my own camera?”

“Nope! We’ve got our own from the first — uh — applicant.” His eyes narrowed. Wade, as if sensing his suspicion through the phone, hurried to clarify. “The guy left it with us when he ran off. We tried to give it back but he refused to answer our calls.”

“Right… and the pay?”

“Five-hundred a night.”

Had not finished his coffee, Peter’s sure he would have spat it out. “Five hundred!”

“Eight hundred if you actually catch us a ghost.”

He felt lightheaded. It was surely too good to be true. “And uh — how many nights is this meant to be?”

“We’ve got five locations, possibly two nights each, planned over the course of the next six weeks. Give or take. Probably give.”

Five-thousand for ten nights of work? When he didn’t even have to bring his own gear? He nearly swooned at the prospect. He may be paid for his internship, but while SI paid on the higher end of the scale, an internship wage was still an internship wage. Peter still lived with his aunt and along with his internship, helped pay the bills by selling the odd picture of Spider-Man to the Daily Bugle. But $5000 was more than enough for him to save towards eventually moving out into his own place. Still… the proposal sounded too good to be true. Not to mention there were the whole Spider-Man responsibilities to consider.

Maybe he could get Miles to help… his summer holidays would come up in a few weeks. He knew he could ask the Defenders to cover for him, but things with that motley crew were definitely a give-and-take kind of relationship. Any of them agreeing to take care of his territory while he was off was a favour that would be collected on with impunity. And in Peter’s experience, returning their favours were rarely pleasant.

But… $5000…

It was an offer that was hard to refuse.

He cleared his throat. “I’m, um, I’m interested. But I want to meet you first, just to… uh, you know…”

“Make sure I’m not an axe wielding murderer? Don’t you worry about that, Pete, my axe-murdering days are far behind me.”

Peter wondered if that was meant to come across as comforting. If anything, it just seemed more suspicious. But he soldiered on. “I’m assuming you live in New York?”

“Sure do. Mostly, anyway. Used to travel a bunch for work, but I’m on indefinite hiatus. Name a place and I’ll find you.”

Again with the unsettling phrasing. “I work in Manhattan.”

“That’s cool. You wanna meet today? When are you off?”

“Um…” he glanced at his watch and did the math. Most of the work left for him to do today was administrative. If he stayed focused he could get everything done with time to spare. “Probably around half-four.”

“Make it five. Where?”

Peter rattled off the name of a diner that was inexpensive (for Manhattan) and far enough away from Stark Tower that he could create a respectable distance.

“Perfect!” Wade exclaimed. “I’ll be there with the contract, Petey-Pie!”

And with that, he hung up. Peter blinked at his phone, as though it might somehow offer an explanation for the conversation he’d just had.

Still though… 

Five hundred a night…

There was a lot he would tolerate for five hundred a night.

“Well,” he said to himself as he slipped the phone into his pocket. “Let’s just hope the Parker luck doesn’t strike.”

A stupid thing to say, in hindsight. The Parker luck knew when to strike best.  His meeting with Wade Wilson would prove to be no better.