A/N: Happy Halloween, one and all! Even while on hiatus, there are some occasions I can't pass up the opportunity to post, and this is one of them. I happily present my first contribution to the "Beetlejuice" fanfiction community, featuring the Ghost with the Most and his strange and unusual lady of the living.
Being a fan of both the movie and the cartoon series, I've incorporated elements and characters from both into my interpretation of Lydia and B.J.'s relationship and the antics they get up to everyday. Many have envisioned the bridge between the movie and the cartoon, and this can be read as that, I suppose, though I've tweaked Lydia's age a bit just for the fun of it.
I hope you all enjoy this. Don't forget to review…and Happy Halloween!
"When witches go riding, and black cats are seen,
The moon laughs and whispers, 'tis near Halloween."
~ Author Unknown
"For the last time, I said no."
Sometime ago, it had occurred to Lydia that normal people did not spend great lengths of time having a conversation with their mirrors. That being said, no one should ever accuse her of being normal. More importantly, few people had less of an inclination to have relationships with normal folk than she personally did. Her daily interactions with a reflection, though quite strange and unusual, were par for the course of her life. Most especially since the reflection was not hers.
A loud scoff answered her firm resolve, a clear verbal demonstration that the speaker did not believe her for a minute. She didn't need to turn around to know the expression she would find in the mirror would be one of amusement. "So we're back to hostility? C'mon, Babes…I thought we were past all that."
Past all that…one would have thought so. She had thought so, while savoring the reprieve of no ghostly threats lingering about in her home, enjoying the company of the spectral couple who had taken up residence in the attic and keeping little company outside of the home. Two full years following her thirteenth birthday had passed without incident, though not entirely without consequence. School was, undoubtedly, the most dreaded aspect of her week. Hours locked inside a rather stuffy building with a crowd of beauties who viewed her as the strangest of them all and offered no qualms about saying so frequently. She had taken it all with grace and dignity…at least, as much dignity was to be found when she entertained regular fantasies about adding Nair to the abundance of hair products stashed away in the lockers.
There was one worse than the others: Claire Brewster. Blonde, blue-eyed, perfectly molded and sculpted Claire with her nose so high that Lydia wondered how she survived a rainstorm without drowning. Probably because she stayed inside so as to not damage the construction of her perfect hairdo.
The first year at school, seated at a joint desk with Claire Brewster had been bad. The second year had bordered on the unbearable, and Lydia had been on the cusp of homicide as she'd stormed into her bedroom one afternoon, thrown herself on the bed and screamed herself halfway hoarse into a pillow. And then she'd heard it.
"Quite a pair of lungs there, Babes."
Her reaction had been something between horror and dumbfounded confusion. The owner of that voice was, first of all, nowhere to be seen, and second, supposed to be gone forever. The appalling interlude that had been her impromptu wedding to a lecherous, scheming, and downright manipulative poltergeist had not been forgotten at the time, and she'd hoped for a short while that she'd imagined it. But a chance glance at her bedroom mirror had proved her quite wrong: he was there, just as she'd remembered with grime-streaked hair and chalky skin, and he had been smiling at her with all the mercies of a crocodile eyeing a young zebra.
"Miss me, Lyds?"
From the beginning, he had been quite content to butcher her name as he pleased and saddled her with pet names without a care for her objections. And there had been objections…a full year's worth of objections. A full year of trying to ignore his presence in her mirror, snapping at him to leave her alone, throwing an assortment of blankets over the damn mirror to block him out only for him to pop up in her bathroom mirror. At her wits end, she had finally resorted to the most unladylike behavior imaginable for a sixteen-year-old and sent a barrage of words at him that would have made Delia faint and her father require life support.
His response? A grin that had bordered on that of a love struck fool and the spontaneous production of a dozen black roses on her dresser. "I knew you were someone I could relate to, Babes."
That had been six months ago, and she had since abandoned all attempts at ridding herself of his presence. Odd, really, how such a short time of his uninvited company snuffed out three years of calling a pox on his name. She now arrived home each day anticipating him to be there, settled comfortably in her mirror and with an open ear for her ranting.
Four days ago, however, her ranting had received an unexpected response.
It was her own fault for bringing up the idea of hosting the school's Halloween party to begin with. She should have known better, but a full-on confrontation with Claire had made her blood boil, and he had a taste for her angry moments. He'd told her once that she looked sexy when she wanted to lynch someone. She'd told him that he had issues.
A bet…that's what it had come down to. A bet between the school's prima donna and the school's unanimously-elected outcast as to who could throw the better Halloween party. Claire was all-too confident that she would win, ergo she was going to throw hers first and then see "who wanted to show up" at Lydia's. In a fit of insanity, Lydia had accepted. And then she'd told him. That was when things had taken a sharp turn for the unexpected.
He wanted to be let out. Summoned into the real world for the primary purpose of providing the students of Winter River with "the ultimate Halloween party". Her immediate response had been rejection; unsurprisingly, they were still having this conversation four days later.
"This is not hostility," Lydia returned briskly, lifting her head momentarily from homework to find her undead visitor/almost-husband smirking confidently at her, "this is a repetition of what I've been telling you for the last three days in the futile hopes of getting it through your thick skull."
He stretched his arms, cracking several joints in the process with a sound that made her cringe slightly. "Been done that road with you before, Lyds," he reminded her, "We both know you'll crack eventually."
"Afraid you're going to be disappointed this time, B.J." She stated dryly, closing the textbook and setting it aside with a low groan. A quick glimpse of his face made her smirk slightly; each time she called him by name brought renewed hope that she'd slip and utter the infamous "B-word," and each time he was disappointed again. It hadn't taken her long to realize she couldn't avoid saying his name forever, and since he'd seen no issues with giving her a nickname, she decided to return the favor.
He stuck his tongue out briefly. "You're really gonna let what could be the most memorable party in history go down the toilet?" A dramatic sigh, "You're killin' me, Lyds."
Lydia gave him a lingering smirk that should have been illegal for as damn sexy as it made her look. "I think someone might have beaten me to that." Momentary flexing of the limbs brought feeling back into her feet, and she slipped off the bed. "I can throw a Halloween party myself, thank you."
"Ha!" he barked out a laugh, "You? Try that fashion-failure stepmother of yours, Babes. We both know once she gets wind of this, she'll be the one running things."
He had a point, but she wasn't about to give him full satisfaction…even if the idea of Delia running things made her feel slightly ill. "Your point?" she responded instead, dragging a brush idly through her hair. She'd become accustomed to feeling out any lumps in her hair by touch; she didn't have much a choice when he was obscuring her entire reflection.
His response was cut off by Delia's voice, announcing dinner. Lydia sincerely hoped it wasn't meatloaf again; the last time meatloaf had made an appearance, it had been cooked too long and sculpted into a small cow. The visual combination hadn't settled well with her stomach and had made her seriously consider veganism.
"Later, B.J." She said smoothly, gliding out of the bedroom with only a momentary pause in the doorway, "And don't pop up in the dishwater again."
It seemed the overall opinion of Claire's "Halloween Extravaganza" wasn't favorable, but that had yet to effectively deter the blonde from her established opinion that she had already come out on top. Lydia probably could have ignored her more effectively if the entire day hadn't passed with snide remarks and self-important declarations that made the dark-haired girl's blood pressure rise to dangerous levels.
Drawing in a deep breath, she made for her locker with no small relief that the day was over. Unbidden, Beetlejuice's commentary about how Claire looked like a piece of phlegm he'd once found under his boot came to mind and lifted the corners of her mouth. The peace, however, was short-lived, and she found an unpleasantly familiar voice calling her name.
"Yes, Claire?" she replied with a determined gaze inside her locker. The less eye contact, the better.
"I haven't heard anything about your party." The blonde propped herself against the nearby locker, "Then again, if you'd like to forfeit now, I might be moved to spare your reputation and settle things quietly."
"Your compassion is deeply moving," Lydia set her books carefully inside, forcing herself not to handle them with unnecessary force, "but as a matter of fact, I am throwing my party tomorrow night, and you're welcome to attend."
The other crinkled her nose, but then produced a beaming smile with arrogance dripping from the corners, "I think I just might come, Lydia…I could use a good laugh!"
There was a quiet crunch, and Lydia looked down to confirm she'd broken her pencil in half. "You do that, Claire!" she called after the blonde. A moment passed in silence, and then a smile lifted her mouth as she quietly added, "You'll get more than a laugh, Princess…that I can promise."
Delia had been ecstatic at the thought of throwing a Halloween party, only to be put out when Lydia insisted she would be handling things personally. To pacify her stepmother—and to keep her out of more important things—Lydia had assigned her to the food catering under the condition that both parental figures would be out of the house for the duration of the party. It had worked, with her father's protests left unheeded by an ecstatic Delia, and Lydia was left to send out invitations, prepare decorations, and clean the house alone. Finally, at one o'clock the following morning, she had collapsed on her bed, exhausted and without one very important item: her costume.
Unsurprisingly, Delia had made multiple offers to construct her "the perfect outfit"; for the simple sake of her dignity, Lydia had refused. But now, bone-tired and out of ideas, Lydia hadn't the faintest idea as to where she could conjure up an outfit in time. The costume stores were a joke; unless she wanted to look like the eroticized version of a fairytale character or cover herself in an obnoxious assortment of tulle and glitter, she would have no luck there. At this point, she felt her only option was a bed sheet and a serious bout of humiliation.
She muttered something rather vulgar under her breath and turned over to face her closet. No inspiration came immediately to mind…it was just a collection of school uniforms and black, black, and…
…red.
Her sheets were flung unceremoniously aside as she launched herself out of bed and jerked the closet door open. Fumbling briefly in the dim light emitting from her bedside lamp, her fingers found lace and tulle and she pulled it out without a second thought. Her almost-wedding dress, just as she remembered. After four hours of negotiating her way out of the zipperless item, she hadn't possessed the energy to just toss it and had instead shoved the dress to the back of her closet without intentions of retrieval.
Carefully, almost reverently, she laid the dress out on the bed for a proper examination. The color was absurdly gaudy, and there was an obnoxious amount of tulle smothering the shoulders and skirt. But underneath…there seemed to be something else…satin? Yes, a quick touch confirmed it. There was a layer of satin skirts beneath the abundance of tulle. And the lace, though outdated, gave the dress a tasteful accent that would have been all the better, should it be left exposed and not covered.
There was no doubt about it: the tulle had to go.
An hour's worth of snipping and hacking away with the fabric scissors left her with a satisfied expression and a knee-high pile of tulle on the floor. Beneath the mess had existed a rather intriguing combination of lace and satin that was, combined with the color, unlike any other. More importantly, it would be nothing similar to another that might appear at her party. A small triumph, but a victory all the same.
A deep sigh escaped as she settled down on the bed, careful to not disturb her dress as she passed an idle touch over it. Perfection…who knew a total disaster of a wedding would have salvageable results?
Her last passing thought, as exhaustion finally stole her away, was that one way or another, tomorrow was going to be one night no one would forget.
"Yes, I do have a costume." Lydia said calmly, casting a smirk over her shoulder, "And no, you can't see it."
The reflection in her mirror did a thoroughly dramatic swoon and flopped down to the curved base, "Babes! First I'm not even invited and now I can't give a thumbs up to your get-up?"
"Just why, pray tell, do I have to have your stamp of approval?"
He opened his mouth, and she promptly cut him off. "Admit it, B.J." She said knowingly, "Your curiosity is getting the better of you, and the fact that I won't let you see a thing just drives you wild."
"I deserve the right to approve or disapprove." He sniffed haughtily, "Of course, if you'd just let me participate…"
"No, B.J."
"Babes, c'mon now!" he plopped to his knees with hands pressed to the glass. It was astonishing how one as visually unappealing as he could manage a look that bordered on the pitiful, "Let me out! I'd make it scary! You know me…I've got scary down to a science!"
Lydia paused mid-step in a path to the mirror, a blanket in hand. Then, she continued forward with a coy little smile. "That you do," she agreed, and threw the blanket over her mirror.
"Lydia!" Delia's voice was like a poorly-tuned church bell, "Your friends are arriving! Enjoy yourself!"
Friends indeed…Lydia scoffed as she made the final adjustments to her costume. A thigh-high slit in the satin skirt had been a last-minute alteration to grant more flexibility. Black tights preserved her modesty, and she was granted some modicum of height with heeled boots that had seemingly come straight out of the Victorian era. Her hair had been left down in thick strands that framed her pale features and neck, the tips of her dark mane brushing against the layer of red lace that began at the collarbone. She felt elegant, refined, and oh so strange and unusual.
The living room furniture had been rearranged to accommodate a larger population than normal, and it was buzzing with excitement as her fellow students congregated. Per the invitation, the girls had been allowed guests of the opposite gender; Claire was cooing over a sandy-haired boy who looked like a magazine cut-out in the attire of a fairytale prince. Claire herself sported the dress of a beauty queen, an image ripped from a New York headline.
"Oh, Gerald, they're gorgeous!" she declared, and from her place on the stairs Lydia could see her coddling a large rose bouquet, "I am the luckiest girl to have someone like you."
Lydia swallowed back bile, making a point to sidestep the crowd and slip into a quieter corner. Lucky…what did it mean to be lucky with a guy? Well, of course she knew the vernacular definition of "getting lucky," but that wasn't the real answer to her question. Lucky, really, should have described a relationship that, while perhaps not entirely out of a storybook, should have had more substance to it than red roses and sugar-coated promises that would ultimately be broken.
A cynic's view, but she had overheard one too many hysterics over the past two years coming from a devastated classmate to believe otherwise. "The perfect guy" had turned out to have the major flaw of wanting to "explore his options".
Lydia had to smile slightly. Here she was, surrounded by classmates with ideal visions of romance who wouldn't give them the time of day, and she had the embodiment of undead annoyance residing in her bedroom mirror who, despite all and every attempt to the contrary, had made it clear he was there to stay. The thought didn't disturb her nearly as much as she'd once thought it could. He'd become a constant in her life, one of the only ones she had. It didn't excuse him from all his eccentricities, of course; he was different from the other ghosts…perfectly content to forgo all traces of humanity and embrace all that was weird, strange, and more often than not, downright disgusting.
He wasn't like the others, but then again, neither was she.
Fingers tapped against each other nervously as she paced irregularly around her chosen corner. The consequences outweighed the benefits a little too much; her father and stepmother surely couldn't have forgotten him, and she knew the Maitlands would be horrified to know she, innocent little Lydia, had summoned him of her own will. They'd expect her to never speak his name again, and if anyone found out what had been transpiring in her room the last six months…
"Though I know I should be wary…" she murmured, half-conscious of speaking as her thoughts whirled frantically, "Still I venture somewhere scary..."
Life wasn't worth anything without a risk…and admittedly, this was probably the biggest risk she could take. And yet…living in and of itself was always a risk, and the thought of staying safe no longer appealed to her.
Slowly, her mouth curved upward. He called himself the Ghost with the Most; maybe it was time to put that title to the test.
Her stance became confident, self-assured in her decision as she raised her voice just slightly, "Ghostly haunting I turn loose," a chill settled in the air, and she wondered idly if her guests could feel it too. It sent tingles up her spine…and made her heart race with something that was definitely not fear.
"Beetlejuice," she whispered, the air becoming very thick around her, "Beetlejuice," there was a distinct rumble outside that sounded like thunder, and she could almost feel his anticipation, waiting for one more time…for her to make three times the charm.
"Beetlejuice!"
Lightning split the sky, and the accompanying thunder shook the very foundations of the house. The lights flickered violently before abruptly falling dark, and she heard the startled yelps and confusion just around the corner. Again, lightning and thunder, this time with a burst of chilled wind that showed its favor to her and passed through the already-unnerved crowd. In the darkness, it felt as though the whole house had abruptly shifted, and the atmosphere was wrought with panic and uncertainty. A more perfect setup had yet to be conceived.
And then there were two chilled hands on her shoulders, a chest to her back, and a wholly satisfied purr in her ear. "It's showtime, Babes."
Everyone present was more than aware of a tension in the air. Fear was running amok, and those with dates had themselves tucked protectively against their sweethearts. The only calm soul in the room was the one who entered on light feet, a vision in red that drew immediate attention with the candle she held to match the others that still flickered, the one remaining source of light. A smile could be seen on her pale face, oddly tweaked in the surrounding shadows.
"Sorry about the lights, everyone." Lydia called out to draw all attention to herself, "I guess we have some unexpected guests after all."
"Unexpected guests?" a short and plump girl named Wendy spoke up, quivering next to another girl, "W-who…?"
Lydia only blinked, her smile never faltering, "Why, the ghosts, of course…you all didn't think I hosted a Halloween party for the food, did you? This house…" she set her hand solemnly upon the nearest wall, "This house has a presence."
Wendy's curly-haired friend Juliette spoke up, equally nervous, "Is it…is it a friendly one?"
A shrug, "Sometimes," she murmured thoughtfully, "and sometimes not. It depends."
The response was unanimous, "Depends on what?"
Every eye was fixated upon her as she took idle steps around the room, the candle flickering calmly in her hand, "On whether or not you dismiss its existence or not. Those who believe are favored…protected, even. Those who don't…" her eyelids lowered slightly in accordance with her tone, "aren't welcome here."
A small girl with a shock of red hair, Prudence, stepped a little closer to Lydia, "Does the ghost like you, Lydia?"
I'll say…she smiled to herself before blinking it away. "I respect him, Prudence. I respect that this is his home as much as it is mine. We established a…understanding some time ago." The smile returned as she considered the truth of her words.
"Do you go on dates with him too, Lydia?" Claire's voice cut over the nervous murmurs as she strutted forward with hand on hip, "I don't know who you think you're fooling, Deetz, but your tacky little ghost story isn't going to scare me!"
"Are you sure about that, Claire?" Lydia returned, unmoved by doubters. "You don't want to make him angry. No one likes him when he's dismissed."
The blonde sniffed loudly, tossing her hair over one shoulder, "And what happens when you dismiss him?"
"I don't." She answered, her dark eyes narrowing slightly, "And I suggest you watch your tongue, Claire. I don't tolerate doubters any more than he does."
"And why should I be scared of you, Lydia Deetz?"
Now she really did smile, and she noticed a few people shivered at the mildly disturbing image. "Because he listens to me, Claire." She murmured, "I'm the only one who can call him out…and he always comes when I call." Her smile grew as she allowed the words to sink in, "He does anything I ask of him."
A widespread shiver ran through the crowd as her words lingered in the air; even Claire's bravado seemed to have momentarily been shaken, and Lydia just savored the sensations. She didn't doubt the truth of her words, not even for a moment. She just chose to quietly acknowledge that, more than likely, she would be willing to do the same for him.
Her cue had been noted, and from the darkened rafters suddenly came a haunting sound: a raspy, deep-throated, bone-chilling chuckle that seemed to grow louder with each passing minute. Shortly thereafter, it had developed into a cackle that would have turned a grown man's limbs into jelly. The previously-widespread group had tightened into a petrified little cluster of wide eyes and trembling figures. Claire took a nervous step backwards, casting her blue eyes around before summoning her last bit of defiance. "Alright, Deetz," she scoffed, "where's the radio, or whatever you're using to make this whole thing up?"
Lydia smiled sweetly, "I'm pretty good with making scary decorations and good sound effects, Claire," she admitted, "but I'm afraid there are some things I can't make up."
"Like what?"
Her eyes lifted to the ceiling directly above her as she lifted a single finger in the same direction, "Like that, for instance."
For a long, long minute, no one dared move. And then…there was a distinct rattling from the shadows, not unlike that of a snake. And then the soft hiss of a serpentine body slithering about, out of sight but certainly within reach of any who dared venture too far outside the protective circle. Closer and closer…the presence seeming to favor Lydia as she stood perfectly calm in the center of the room. Hiss, hiss, hiss. A shape was shifting and coiling around the dark-haired female who had summoned its presence. Rattle. Hiss. A vision of dark scales began to loom from the shadows, a long and thick body illuminated only by candlelight. And Lydia only blinked as she was tucked close to the unexpected visitor, its tail coiled around her feet as it drew nearer.
And then, a face of exaggerated proportions, with ghastly green-tinted skin and bulging yellow eyes, dropped down into the full cast of golden light. Thin lips pulled upward to reveal a mouth of long, sharp teeth set in a leering grin. Time took a momentary suspension as the face rested itself near Lydia's shoulder and its massive body came into full view. And then…it spoke.
"Boo,"
Lydia gave her head a light shake, ears still ringing from the eruption of terrified screams that had preceded a mass-evacuation from the Deetz residence. The lights had returned as though never tampered with, and she was able to take stock of the mess left behind. Nothing too drastic, though she was sure Delia would be quite upset that her plate of spinach rolls had been left untouched.
Idly, she gathered up some discarded cups and plates and set them down on the table. She would clean-up later; her father and Delia weren't due back until tomorrow morning. Smiling, she lifted her gaze to the thoroughly satisfied ghost lingering calmly upon thin air and shook her head.
"Well, I have to say," she stated, "you made this one heck of a party, B.J."
"Told you so," he grinned, stretching out both arms and cracking his knuckles, "but don't hang up your dancing shoes yet, Babes. This party's just gettin' started!"
An idle snap of his fingers, and music began to fill the entire house without a visible source. Chairs rocked of their own accord, the decorative tins Delia had put out in the hall began clanging and bouncing upon each other, and the candles lifted to become a scattering of small flames levitating in the open air. Another snap, and the overheard light fixtures were spinning wildly in place.
Shake, shake, shake, Senora, shake your body line!
Shake, shake, shake, Senora, shake it all the time!
Work, work, work, Senora, work your body line!
Work, work, work, Senora, work it all the time!
He extended a hand with that playful, albeit cocky, smile in place and bent his body in half with a dramatic bow. Lydia giggled behind her hand, "Charmed," she replied, setting her palm in his as she was lifted with ease to join him in mid-air.
This wasn't a normal life, she knew as their bodies began to move in sync to the music's wild pulse, but she had a feeling it was the beginning of a very interesting friendship.
Jump in de line, rock your body in time!
OK, I believe you!
Jump in de line, rock your body in time!
Rock your body, child!
END.