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Beetlejuice Again	By : LuckyJester82 Category: 1 through F > Beetlejuice Views: 1424 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own "Beetlejuice", in any of it's formats, nor any of the characters. I do not make any money from this. This is an original work of fiction, and is not meant to bear any resemblence to real people.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 1
Beetlejuice Again
Part 1

Moving day. Stressful and tiring, for anybody. But for Lydia Deetz, it was doubly so. Mainly because her dad’s wife Delia, was nuts. Sure most artists have some eccentricities. Lydia herself was strange and unusual. Delia was beyond that though, in Lydia’s opinion. They had no sooner moved in, and she and her friend Otho were already planning horrible renovations to the old house. Lydia thought the old house was fine as is, especially since the whole point of the move was a change in atmosphere. The fourteen year-old defiantly refused to move from the armchair she was occupying as the moving men hauled furniture. Equally undeterred the moving crew simply moved the chair regardless, girl and all. Camera in hand, Lydia slowly began to explore her new home. It felt like every room had a story. Except the attic. She felt like that had secrets. Lydia eagerly made her way to that space, to discover those secrets.
She was not disappointed. Hidden away in that space was a beautiful model of the very town just down the hill and across the bridge. But something was . . . . Wrong. All the little houses, all the tiny trees, every headstone in the miniature cemetery was painted wrong. They were all black and white striped. Curious as to why the model was made this way, Lydia approached. The young girl was shocked to see movement within the miniature landscape. In the graveyard was a tiny man, who was wearing a striped suit to match the surroundings. He seemed to be atop another figure, and they were both lying on the ground. When she bent over and really focused it became obvious. The two in question were screwing. Seeming to sense there was an audience, The man in the suit stopped his motions, and rose upright onto his knees and looked at her expectantly.
“Nice fuckin’ model, huh?” He greeted her coarsely, gesturing as he did not to the landscape; but the prone body still beneath him. Now uncovered she could see that it seemed inanimate, like a doll. A doll fashioned to look exactly like her.
Lydia’s eyes snapped open. Another damn dream. She wished she could make them stop. It was perfectly normal for a fourteen year old girl to have hormone fueled thoughts, and even dreams. It was NOT perfectly normal for those dreams to center on a creepy, gross . . . No, gross wasn’t a good enough word. She searched for a moment: repugnant. THAT was the right word. Repugnant ghost. It had been two months since everything had happened, and things had settled down. School was out for the summer, though only a couple weeks remained of vacation. Her dad and Delia had begun learning how to coexist with Adam and Barbara, and there had been no sign of any other . . . Entities. Except the old woman. Juno had been her name. She’d come to brief the Maitlands on the new situation, and to leave a copy of the book “The living and the dead: Harmonious lifestyles and peaceful co-existence”. She hid outside the attic door and caught bits of the conversation.
“Don’t worry about him” She heard the woman say clearly, though much of what followed was harder to hear. Lydia strained to catch what snippets she could.
“Shackled . . . Forbidden to cause serious harm . . . . But just DON’T say his damn name! Even you two and those idiots downstairs ought to be able to handle that!” The last was easier to hear as the woman’s voice rose to a gravelly and exasperated crescendo.
Now the Maitlands were gone again, to wait for a meeting with a different caseworker, for a different “department” of the afterlife. Adam found something in the handbook for the recently deceased concerning “temporary relocation of spectral manifestation”. They hoped it was the equivalent of a vacation. They had no idea how long they’d be gone, as time seemed to pass differently on the other side. Her parents were often gone on a business trip or art exhibition, so Lydia was left to her own devices. She wandered down to town and photographed the Cemetery, and some of the older buildings in town. She developed them in her new darkroom in the basement. She wrote poems. She began learning how to make miniature landscapes from Adam. She even snuck into her dad’s liquor cabinet one night. But neither her photography, writing, even booze; nothing stopped the dreams from occasionally plaguing her. She decided more drastic measures were needed. She went down to the basement, the part that wasn’t now occupied by darkroom. She searched around until she found what she needed. She used it occasionally but never left it in her room, for fear her parents would misconstrue what it was there for. Or even worse, correctly guess what it was there for. Finally she located where she’d stashed it last time, on the top shelf of a rarely used cabinet. A length of old rope; half inch thick, about eight feet of it. She brought it up to her room and set to work. She looped the rope over and then under her headboard and stripped off her black pajama bottoms before climbing onto the bed. The teen had discovered that the rope was exactly the right length for the kind of play she indulged in. When she tied the ends to her wrists and laid down at the right spot, she could reach one hand down to her nether-regions to play with herself. But when she did so, it pulled the other hand (the end that went under the headboard) to be pulled up and over her head. It was perfect. Once everything was set she got to it. Closing her eyes, Lydia imagined a man had broken into the house. Big and strong, he’d overpowered her and tied her down. Helpless to stop him, he touched her everywhere. Her hand moved in her panties as her imagination took off. His hands seemed to be everywhere, rough and callous on her sensitive pale flesh. He smelled of death and decay. Wait, why did he smell like that? Lydia stopped her ministrations cold. Her fantasy had been so vivid she almost could smell the rotten odor. Hastily she untied herself. She practically jumped out of bed and pulled her bottoms back on. Stuffing the rope quickly under her bed she decided she needed to put the crazy thoughts out of her head, once and for all. Well the NEW crazy thoughts. Lydia was an artist, and crazy sometimes came with the territory. But not this, not HIM. She stormed down the hall and up the attic stairs. The room was still, and exactly as Adam and Barbara had left it. The model dominated much of the free space. Lydia approached it purposefully, pushing the memory of her dream from her mind. The cemetery looked completely unchanged. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Looking for somebody, babes?” A Gruff voice called out behind her. Lydia whirled around, stifling a gasp and a jump. The voice had come from a table against the wall. Sitting on the table was the small landscape Lydia had been working on, under Adams’ tutelage. It was a cemetery, but with much more “scary” detail than Adam‘s. More dead trees, the tombstones made to look older and more decayed, and even a couple mausoleums, the entrance facades visible, but the rest disappearing into a hillside. It was to match the creepy mansion she’d already completed and set up in her room. And casually leaning against a tiny tree, smoking a cigarette, was the object of her preoccupation. Beetlejuice.
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Beetlejuice Again