Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am but a penniless amateur aiming to please the hungry masses, and hopefully feed my own demons.

A/N: Happy Halloween! Sorry, it's a day late! Those of you who follow my Lydia RP blog on tumblr(xxx-strangeandunusual-xxx) may recognize bits and pieces from that as I've definitely recycled some material for the sake of getting this out to you guys. These prompts were chosen from BD-Z's Halloween Drabble Challenge on tumblr. Some are movieverse, some are toon, most are ambiguous so you can decide which universe you'd like to place them in on your own.

Thirteen Bits of Candy

1. Spells

Witch; that's what they would have called her had she walked the Earth while he was still breathing. Betelgeuse would know. He was the one who had been responsible for purging his small Austrian village of Satan's harem. Who else possessed the sadism needed to wrench "confessions" from toddlers? Now, centuries passed and mind cleansed of archaic religious doctrine, he was able to recognize her power for what it was.

Magic. Clean, pure, good magic- not the convoluted, stolen "juice" that coursed through his nonexistent veins. It was there in the way she instinctively knew which scent of incense would calm him from his latest tantrum, in the way her shadows were deeper, darker than everyone else's, and yet her light blinded.

Witch, they would have called her, and they would have been right.

2. Trick or treat

"Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating?" Lydia, grin faltering and happy flush fading, pulled her expectantly open bag of treats just a bit closer to her chest- softer and more rounded than it had been the previous year. "We only give out candy to children at this house."

Without a further word of explanation, the slightly plump middle-aged woman shut the door in her face. It didn't slam. There was no anger in her actions. Just succinct fact paired with sanctimonious judgment; You are too old. You are no longer welcome. This is not for you anymore. Go away.

She thought she was so adult, so grown up- with her drooping neckline and clinging skirt, styles that would have looked silly and wrong on her in the past. Even Betelgeuse, who normally reserved his more salacious behavior to slake on whores when he thought she wouldn't hear about it, had been dropping suggestive lines all night, jade eyes lingering on places just slightly longer than was appropriate.

Apparently, everything had a price.

3. Pumpkin Carving

"Ah-!"

"Gimme that!"

In a flash, Lydia found herself seated on the kitchen counter; bereft of her knife, bleeding, and splattered with pumpkin guts. "I leave the room for five fuckin' minutes n' you're already makin' a mess o' things," he grouched, eyeing the wound with distaste as he wrapped it in a shockingly sterile bandage. The cut was small and shallow, but bled gratuitously, leaving a crimson trail down her arm that he proceeded to tend to with a damp cloth. "Last time I clean up for company."

It wasn't until he mentioned it that she noticed it was cleaner. Not clean, mind you, but cleaner. "Who are you trying to impress?" Surprise and disbelief were evident in both her tone and expression; big, bright smile aimed up at him, not an iota of lingering pain to be found.

"Shut up," he scowled, not quite meeting her eyes. The muscles in her stomach fluttered. An enchanted butter knife that would slice into the thick skin just fine was thrust into her uninjured hand. "N' finish your pumpkin. Better not end up prettier'n me."

4. Eating Candy

This was torture- and Betelgeuse was a man well acquainted with torture. Did she know what she was doing? Certainly not. She couldn't. Lydia didn't have that kind of deception in her… did she? For a cruel moment, Betelgeuse allowed himself to fantasize that she did. That she knew how much he loved the perfect shape of her sticky, sugar-stained lips wrapped around that little cherry lollipop, that she knew how hard he was under the pillow conveniently resting on his lap, that she was consciously teasing him- provoking him- asking for it…

Shit! She was talking! He was so occupied watching her mouth that it didn't immediately register when sound started coming out of it. "Wassat, babes?" He replied, putting on a well-practiced air of indifference.

"Gummy worms," she grinned, tossing the bounty his way, "the sour kind you like."

Unseen by the snacking poltergeist, a mischievous smirk pulled at guilty lips as Lydia unwrapped her third sucker.

5. Decorating

She was going to kill herself.

"Uhhh…" Betelgeuse gulped, watching on helplessly as his pint-sized best friend plopped down precariously at the edge of the roof, fearless of the three-story drop, and continued stringing up lights. "Babes? Are you absolutely positive ya don't want me ta-"

"DON'T YOU DARE!" He flinched, the outburst having forced her to lean forward in a way that made his heart jump to his throat. "NEVER AGAIN!"

Lydia had ceased being amused by his larger than life Halloween decorations after they induced one too many heart attacks in otherwise perfectly healthy individuals- one being "one too many" in Lydia's book. More desperate for her to please get the Hell down from there than for an opportunity to terrorize trick-or-treaters, he resorted to whining. "But- but- but Lyds-"

"KEEP YOUR GRUBBY MITTS OFF MY HOUSE AND GO DECORATE YOUR OWN!"

Banished, yet unwilling to leave her unsupervised while she flirted with death, Betelgeuse became noncorporeal and floated lazily above the house, careful jade eyes locked on the stubborn midget- ready to be her knight in moldy, striped armor should she need him. He could afford to let her think she had won this one.

6. Storytelling

"I'll have you know, Claire," Lydia cut into the private conversation behind her, no longer able to sit idly by while the snarky blonde talked her shit, "that I do have a boyfriend."

Glacial eyes flashed in surprise that she had finally been able to goad the creepy little freak into a response. Just as quickly, they darkened with malice. "Like, is that right?" What have I done? Struck with horror, Lydia made to backtrack, but then Claire kept talking. "Who would want to date you? I guess you and Arty would make a perfectly horrendous couple, but-" A bout of cruel giggles interrupted Claire's musings of the goth and the chess captain, "- like, even that loser has a girlfriend."

Rage feeding her momentum, Lydia kept on tightening the noose. "You wouldn't know him. No one here would. He's older."

Claire faltered, doubt hindering her conviction. "What? Like, in college?" The last word was scoffed out.

Lydia smirked dangerously. Claire felt a chill of trepidation. "Older."

For the first time since the exchange began, Claire's girlfriend Debbie- a similarly tan, blonde brat- spoke up. "You are so full of shit, Deetz."

In too deep to back out now, Lydia played the best card in her hand- literally. "Oh," she huffed, nonchalantly examining her cuticles, "so I guess I just imagined it when he proposed last October." A gleam of fluorescent light caught the silver band wrapped around her ring finger. Claire and Debbie gaped. "I know I'm young, but it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. He's deeply, madly in love with me. Who was I to say no when faced with that kind of hopeless devotion? I'm sure you ladies understand."

Claire was not ready to throw in the towel. "Oh yeah? What's his name?"

Lydia hesitated. Glacial eyes gleamed victoriously. Something terrible burned to life inside of her and she threw caution to the wind. "Betelgeu-"

"Miss Henderson! Miss Brewster! Miss Deetz!" With that, Miss Shannon inadvertently saved her school and students from certain doom at the hands of a love-sick poltergeist. "What are you doing arguing out here in the halls? Get to class right this instant!"

7. Nightmares

The nightmares came with increasing frequency the longer she refused to say his name. Whether they were bred of guilt or he played a direct hand in their conception, Lydia did not know.

In one, he held her close instead of pushing her away when the sandworm crashed through the ceiling. "If I'm goin' down, you're goin' down with me," he growled in her ear right before they were swallowed. She awoke in a cold sweat that night, like so many nights before. In another, she sat trapped in an iron cage suspended above a void, wasting away- his punishment. The one her imagination conjured for him. In her dreams, the real guilty party occupied the cell. He floated on the outside, mocking her. "Cozy, ain't it? If ya find yourself gettin'... lonely," he smiled, easy and friendly, with cold eyes that gave away the lie. "Well… you know the magic words."

Not even stolen valium or shots of whiskey would grant her a reprieve from the visions. She was smart enough not to take them together. It wouldn't do for the Maitlands or her parents to discover her corpse; stiff and cold. Then, she would never find peace. At least, not the kind she wanted. Nevertheless, the pills and drink proved futile against her dreams. She would still wake in the middle of the night, shaken and drained, and lay there desolate until it was time to get up and go to school.

Something would have to give eventually.

8. Whispers in the Dark

"Betel… geuse…"

Jade eyes snapped open, gleaming through the shadows. A wolfish grin revealed rotting teeth to absolutely no one. Ah. Looked like it was about that time again. His wife was in need. With all the patience of a cat who knew its prey was sufficiently wounded, he stretched, yawned, and abandoned his coffin to admire the delicious view in his illegal mirror. A thin sheen of sweat coated alabaster flesh as it twisted and writhed about her dark sheets, mussing even darker hair into knots. He wanted to sink his hands into it, yank until she winced, scrape his filthy teeth across that frail throat until he left marks.

Patience, he reminded himself as she breathed his name once more, unwittingly releasing him into her bedroom. He had time. Besides, it would be so much better for her to crumble beneath him of her own volition than to crush her under his heel. Bloodless fingers raked through sable hair without her permission, and he injected her with just enough juice to calm her sleep.

"Betelgeuse," she sighed contentedly, honey eyes fluttering beneath her lids, searching. She would repeat his name sporadically until he was imprisoned again, he knew, but it didn't matter. It was only a matter of time until she called for him during her waking hours. If there was anything that Betelgeuse had in abundance, it was time. He would wait for her, and she- unaware that she was even doing it- would wait for him. Until it became too much. Then, he would strike and vengeance would be his.

A stolen kiss was brushed across pale satin lips. Once more, his name was whispered into the blackness and he was a prisoner in his own home until next she called him. For now, this was enough.

9. Cursed

"Are you… cursed?"

He knew what she was asking about; his invisible tether, his chains, the crushing stipulation that left her incapable of calling him anything other than one of her sweet little nicknames- unless he'd really fucked up. But… how could he consider himself anything but blessed with the way she was looking up at him from his coffin; raven mane twisted into a beautiful, wild mess from all their fucking, big honey eyes full of pain just for him. A black wave of lust resurged from one of the darker corners of his soul. He chucked the last burning bit of his cigarette away before growling his disgustingly sappy answer into the hollow of her neck.

"I think I'm cured."

10. Spirit Communication

Should she?

No. Absolutely not. Never in a hundred million years. At least, that's what Mr. and Mrs. Maitland would say if she were to ask their opinions.

Could she?

That was yet to be seen. Sweat from anxiety for what she was about to do beaded in her palms and so she wiped the damp limbs off on her dress before splaying them flat on the cool cherry wood of her vanity's surface. Her reflection looked braver than she felt; brows set in a stubborn line, eyes hard and alert with resolve.

Would she?

Oh, yes. That much was certain.

"Betelgeuse… Betelgeuse… Betelgeuse."

11. Superstition

Winter River had its own set of unspoken laws that were unique when compared to every other small town in America and their groundless prejudices. The people who lived there actually had something to fear.

For reasons unknown, it was considered in bad taste to walk one's dog across the bridge that covered the town's namesake, nevermind that it was the most convenient route to the park. Smokers who knew better never left their packs to sit on the porch unattended whenever they got up for their midnight toke, knowing full well that the prized nicotine would be gone come morning. This same rule applied to liquor. The blame usually shifted to unruly teenagers, but eventually, the frequency of the disappearances gave suspicion to more… unlikely explanations.

This list went on.

Never, ever, under any circumstances, visit the white house at the top of the hill. Nothing good would come of it.

Never go to the cemetery alone at twilight, it's dangerous.

Never use pesticide on your lawn, that's just asking for trouble.

Never do anything in three's, it's such an ugly number.

12. Boo

"This is getting old, Betelgeuse."

The poltergeist very nearly screeched, ripping tufts of hair out in a fit of madness. "Gah- damnit- you watch it with the B words, Lyds! Okay, okay, whatcha think o' this?"

She yawned, scarcely blinking at his newest illusion before returning her attention to her stupid homework. "Terrifying. You win. I'm scared. Congratulations. Can this be over now?"

Steam poured out of the monstrous, striped hydra's ears. All six of them. It had three heads, after all, and only barely fit inside her larger than average bedroom. "Beej- BJ- ugh! Betelgeuse, stop it! You're ruining my homework!" Lydia fussed, opening her window and airing out the now damp sheets of paper.

Like the leashed dog he was, the order was obeyed with humiliating swiftness. That was twice. One more failure and the game was up. Sneering fiercely, he considered her from the darkest corner of her bedroom, plotting. He was going about this all wrong. Surely, there was something- SOMETHING- that would make her tick... make her squirm... make her give him the scream he deserved.

Suddenly, like Da Vinci conceiving the Mona Lisa, an idea came to him.

"Hey, babes," he drawled, leaning against her vanity and lighting a cigarette, aware and uncaring that this was sure to draw her ire. She wouldn't be sending him back any time soon, not until he fixed his mess. "Love what you've done with your hair."

Honey eyes alight with rage snapped on him. "What did you do, you-" She saw her reflection before she could finish berating him and rose a trembling hand to her long, thick, blonde hair, face turning a sickly shade of green once her fingers made contact.

Betelgeuse earned his scream.

13. Sugar Rush/Moonlight Dance

"I love this holiday SO MUCH!"

Sweet merciful Satan and all the seven Hells, she was glorious. Betelgeuse could scarcely tear his eyes away from the scene, it was too good. He couldn't even bring himself to care that she'd passed her hefty bag of treats off to him to carry like he was some kind of errand boy. Not if it meant he got to watch her move around like that. The gossamer layers of her gown soaked up moonbeams eagerly, casting an ethereal glow about her with each bouncing step she took. He couldn't remember what she was supposed to be. Surely some kind of wicked enchantress, come to curse him to a hellish oblivion so unspeakable he daren't give it a name.

"Everything's just so perfect," she gushed, spinning in a rapid circle, hands curled in her skirts, beautiful, grinning face aimed up at the sky. Something in his chest lurched unpleasantly. "The moon is so big! I can feel the magic in the air! Can you? Of course you do, it's everywhere! God, Beej, I feel like I could fly without any help from you at all! Come, come," she rushed toward him suddenly, grabbing up each of his hands in her own, "dance with me!"

It wasn't a question, not that he was capable of denying the witch anything. Bag of candy forgotten on the ground, he obliged. Normally, Betelgeuse would lead with sure steps and expert moves that left Lydia breathless and clinging to him for purchase. Not this time. His usually talented feet were clumsy, sluggish, and his hands didn't seem to know where they were supposed to go.

"What's wrong with you?" She teased, pausing her whirling once she realized she was doing most the work. "I'm no good at this, you have to help!"

"Bullshit," he growled, perfectly still, eyes burning down on her.

She froze, taken aback by the abrupt change of mood. "...what? Beej, I… I can't dance, you said so…"

"M' a liar," he grunted, intensity never wavering as his sinful hands finally came to a decision about where they belonged; one curled firmly around her hip, the other on the small of her back, pulling her to him.

There was an unmistakable shift in the atmosphere. Crickets quieted around them, the wind stilled, and all Lydia could hear was her own blood rushing in her ears. "What are you doing, Betelgeuse?"

There was a spark of fear in those big, soul-crushing eyes, but he was in too deep to go back. Betelgeuse had never feared consequences before and he wasn't about to start now, not when the prize was so close he could taste it. He would taste it. With a mumbled "fuck it" moss encrusted lips descended on hers, stealing the breath from her lungs and the stability from her legs. Moments later, they disappeared, the only evidence that they had ever been there a bag of half-eaten sweets strewn across the sidewalk.

A/N: Relevant notes/thoughts

Nightmares and Whispers in the Dark definitely take place in the same universe.

Boo is my petulant response to them making Lydia blonde in the Beetlejuice musical. Don't get me started on how much I loathe this or I will write an essay.

BJ definitely got revenge for Lydia in Trick or Treat after the fact. I just didn't write it because that wasn't the point of the drabble. Hope that makes you guys feel better about the unfairness going on there :)

Cursed is strongly inspired by a song called "The Curse" by Josh Ritter.