A/N: This is my tribute to two of my favourite things, ''The Wall'' album (1979) by Pink Floyd and Beetlejuice (1988). The idea to make an adaptation of the Wall into a fic, with Lydia Deetz taking the place of Pink, the main character in both film and the original album, didn't come to my mind until just recently. And once I saw the number of similarities between the two of them, I couldn't get it out of my head.

That being said, it will be mostly an adaptation of the 1982 film, and I will try to incorporate the lyrics as best I can. A few cartoonverse characters will make their appearance as the wall characters. This prologue is told from Lydia's perspective, while the rest will be in third person. And as much as I wanted to say it, I don't own any rights to Beetlejuice or the Pink Floyd concept album. The rights for ''The Wall'' go to its original creator, Roger Waters, and Alan Parker, the director of the film version, while the ones to Beetlejuice go to Tim Burton and Michael McDowell, the author behind the original script for the film. I mentioned all of that so that you can get a picture of what the rest of this fic will be. This is not for younger people, as it is filled with mature themes, disturbing imagery and some smut in later chapters. You have been warned.

Prologue:

Los Angeles, March 18, 1982

It was 10:35 A.M., and all that I wanted was to stay in here and muse on the life that I could lead on. A life where no pain would be inflicted upon me, no vile men would try to take advantage of me, or try to pull me deeper in a world of lies and deception. Yeah, that was the word. Deception. This is what lead me to my career as a rock singer, and part-time photographer. Where does the latter have anything to do with me, I will explain later. Much later.

What should I do now, though? Try to call my husband again, or cancel this Saturday night's concert? Or maybe try to cancel this month's Los Angeles tour?

None of these mattered now, anyway. I have a feeling my day of reckoning is coming. But I know there are few people who still want to hear the story of what has been my life. For anyone who's out there, try to feel comfortable to experience what I have seen and you should be the judge of that. All I hear outside from the room, in a corridor of grey walls, is the humming sound of some electric appliance the cleaning lady had to wipe the floor from the amounts of dust that gathered in certain corners in the place. I have a feeling she might come knocking at my door, calling me to answer a few fan letters and the calls of my manager, who didn't need to hear my complaints and make him get a huge fine for not appeasing the advertising companies that promoted my new album and tours in the East Coast.

I guess I will put down the cigarette in my left hand, get off the seat I consider my throne and put on my bathing suit to take a dive in the pool outside. A little swim may take my worries for tomorrow night's concert and try to renegotiate for the schedule of the tour, even though I know it's pretty pointless to stop the show. I am not sure I even went to sleep last night, or do anything than sitting with the TV on, where some old war film was playing. I don't know what's the significance of a old flick like this was to me, but I had a funny feeling inside me that I knew the answer, and it had to do with how my father died.

Careful, though. One final warning to all of you good listeners, my faithful audience. My past is not filled with roses and happy faces, nor it's for the faint of heart, so beware. Beware, and take care.

Now, I hear a new sound, and instead of being in my room, I have a vision where I am in my darkroom, getting ready for one of my concer..., no, one of my speeches, A crowd is screaming, trying to get past the large door that's blocking them. Could it be? My true and only followers, the people who respect my music and try to convey its message to the outside world. It took a few tries, but after a strong push, the door was opened and hordes of people came out of it, running as if possessed by some unknown force I wasn't aware of. Teenagers, like I once was and... and people who couldn't be past the twenties, or the early thirties, hungry to hear my voice sing and fill their hearts and minds with a purpose, a reason to fight the forces that kept them bounded far too long.

''Lyds! Lyds! Lyds!'', they were screaming, not caring to stop on their tracks and help the few of them that were violently thrown about and stumbled to their feet. Like soldiers on the battlefield, they run on to meet with their leader and wait for the next order that will come from my mouth.

I should best prepare myself to welcome the hordes of people who starve to hear my voice and let my music nurture them, guide them through the very lies that kept them in place. Show them why they have to be loyal to me and my cause, how we can all be a force to reckon with. The cruel world that spawned us will pay for the many crimes that inflicted upon us.

Hope all of you who heard my ranting will stay for the rest of the show. Don't be shy, people, come and see what and who made your little Lydia Deetz the person she is now, and what caused her to build the wall and rooms that will never let anyone to crawl inside, trying to endanger my own existence and expose my self to others.

But that dream of being on the other side of my wall was long gone, and sometimes, I am better off alone than being hurt over again. There was hope once, but like I said, it's gone now.

Enjoy the show, and hopefully, you'll make it out alive to tell the tale to your friends and loved ones. It's not every day you get to see the inside makings of a rock star now, is it?