A/N: This is meant to be a sequel to the TV show. It's inspired by the recent rumors of a part 2 to the movie which is supposedly going to take place some twenty-odd years after the 1988 film. This follows the same pace, hence, it's set in or around 2012. Reviews are greatly appreciated and may influence how fast chapters are posted. Please enjoy.
The Tyrant Grim
Chapter 1
Gravel crunched under hard-soled boots, stirring up small bursts of dirt in to the warm summer breeze. The loud but dull thump of shoes echoed against the wooden planks down the length of the Winter River Bridge. After crossing through the old structure, the person continued down the path and walked down the dirt road to the small strip of stores at the start of town.
"So, which ones would you like?" The woman behind the flower stand asked.
The girl brushed her thick, long black hair over her shoulder and studied the small range of prime blooms in the stall's containers before pointing to the top corner row. "How much are those?"
"The solid carnations are twenty-five cents and the striped ones are forty."
She reached in to her jean pocket and pulled out a thin wad of dollars, counting through them with her thumb. "'Can I have a dozen red, and a dozen striped, please?"
The stall owner began picking out the red flowers. "You want them separate or together?"
"Together's fine." The girl replied grinding the toe of her red boot against a large dirt clod as the woman collected the flowers and placed them down at an angle on a large square sheet of paper, wrapping them up from the corner in to a bouquet and stretching a rubber band around the end.
"Here you go."
They traded with one another; the money for the flowers, before bidding farewell and wishing each other luck in enduring the August heat.
The young girl made her way back down the path she came from but took a detour before the bridge and followed the new route to a wrought iron arch with forged bars bent in to letters that read "Peaceful Pines Cemetery." She crossed through the entrance and stalked through the rows of graves with ease and precision whilst not stepping on the deceased - something that was no easy task, yet she accomplished it with little difficulty.
Singling out several individual headstones that seemed to have nothing more in common than age and neglect, the girl came down on one knee and pulled away some of the weeds that were becoming overgrown and wiped the dirt from the polished and engraved faces of stone with a white cloth pulled from her pocket. She stood back up and patted off the specks of soil and debris that had clung to her black tank top before pulling out one red and one magenta-striped carnation and delicately placed them over one another, centered just before the headstones.
After following the same ritual for nine of the graves around the cemetery, she hiked up the inclining hill to a large tree that rested on top; overlooking the entirety of the cemetery as though the small flock of chiseled markers belonged in its keep.
She put the bouquet with the remaining flowers down on the grass before sitting down in front of the tree, leaning her back against the thick, ridged bark of the trunk and removed her wide-brimmed cream-colored sun hat; waving it back and forth near her face as a makeshift fan. She wiped her hand against her forehead, lifting up the bangs that fully covered her right eye. Her hair felt like it was drying out though it was hard to tell; black sprigs like fishhooks curled out in multiple places throughout her mane and refused to be tamed no matter what kind of weather. Hopefully though, her delicate and pale white skin wouldn't burn. Letting out a sigh from the heat, the girl slumped further back in to the tree, fixing her hat back on her head and stretching her hands out to brush over the outgrown roots.
She felt her fingers get twined around a dry, dying vine until the entirety of her hand became entangled; almost as if it was trying to hold her within its wiry grasp. Looking down at the green and brown weed that trapped her hand, she tightened her fingers and gave a half-hearted tug, feeling resistance and, oddly enough, it felt like a tug back.
Finding herself grow curious, she stood up from her seated position, vine still in hand, and followed the coiling snake of branch to the opposing side of the tree. The clinging plant became taut once again, the end seeming to lead in to a partially sunken divot of earth at the base of the tree with a dried out bush lying within it. The thin brittle sticks protruded from the earth bent at different angles, reminding her greatly of a mass cluster of skeleton fingers clawing their way out of the ground. What really captured her attention though, was the rounded stone behind it.
"Is that a...headstone?"
Interest piqued past the point of ignoring, she untangled the vine from her hand and stepped down in to the depression. The toe of her boot dug under the dead bush, grounding out the surrounding dirt until she saw the stalk that connected the branches. Reaching out, her fingers grasped the base of the plant and pulled; feeling much more resistance than anticipated. Using both hands this time, she braced her feet in to the ground and yanked with all her might for several moments until finally, the dead bush was wrenched from the earth with so much force that she stumbled backwards and nearly fell over.
Holding the dried mass an arm's length away as dirt fell from its roots, she coughed from the dust she inhaled and wiped her watering eyes with the back of her free hand. After regaining her composure, she directed her attention to the single stone in front of the tree.
The solid block of rock was rounded at the top, but severely weathered with cracks and an uneven surface. A chunk looked to have been broken off from one of the corners and not even a single letter of scripture adorned the ruined face, making her wonder if there had ever even been any writing, and if it was even a grave.
Suddenly remembering the rough brittle plant still within her grasp, she held it up to eye level and examined the long dangling roots she had been wrangling with, only to notice something ensnared in the twisting and snarling knots. Having lost her patience fighting with it to try the slow process of detangling the object, she simply grasped the mass in her hand and ripped it out forcibly.
This time, the shrub protested by leaving a prickling sting in her hand as she removed the unknown object from its hold. Dropping the plant in frustrated retaliation - and with hidden joy of being done with the damn thing - she placed what she had retrieved delicately in to her opposite hand and observed her injured one, noting the small circular indents in her palm; some of which had little dots of blood forming. She wiped it against the leg of her jeans before returning to the thing in her hand; pulling away the stringy roots that still remained attached.
As it became more and more visible, her confusion only grew as to what exactly it was. She uncovered skeletal wing-like protrusions on either side (which she assumed was what had pricked her), connected to a flat skull with a spider emblem just beneath it. Attached to the spider's mouth was an elongated and very ornate rod with a flat notched and intricately patterned square extending out just before the end.
"A key...?" She wondered aloud, continuing to study the ominous object. Gently running the tip of her index finger down the center to wipe the dirt, she admired it's now revealed aged-bone color. Deciding to keep her newfound treasure, she grasped it carefully in her hand and went back to the front side of the tree, picking up what remained of the bouquet of flowers and putting them in place of the dead bush before making her way down the hill, through the rows, and out the cemetery gate.
Crossing through the enclosed bridge and up the dirt and gravel path to the single house at the top of the hill, the girl un-tucked her jeans and kicked her boots off at the front door, knowing the tongue lashing she'd get for tracking dirt on to the clean carpet and polished floors.
Opening the front door, she was greeted by the overwhelming smell of lemon pledge and fabric softener. Crossing through the kitchen she passed by the living room, noting the furniture draped with long white sheets. A man she knew very well to be her grandfather sat reading the newspaper in a covered arm chair as he did daily and in his own little world, even with the roaring sound of the vacuum cleaner. However, she knew it was a cover to disguise the fatty pastrami sandwich he was secretly eating that his wife would certainly snatch away and scold him about his cholesterol if she found out.
Deciding to leave him be, she made her way up the steps, following the black cord that ran up the length of the stairs.
"Marcelyna dear!" A voice yelled over the now dying cleaning appliance as it was switched off once the girl reached the top step. "How was your walk dear?"
"It was fine but it's starting to get really hot outside." She replied, removing her hat.
"Well at least that means the sheets will dry faster." The woman tapped a finger to her red lips while placing her other well-manicured hand on her hip. "Do you think you can help me move some stuff in to the attic?"
"Sure grandma Delia, just let me get my sneakers on." The girl answered, turning on her heel and walking away.
"Thank you dear." She ran her hand across the single grey streak in her orangey-red hair, momentarily dwelling on her age before hitting the switch of the vacuum to ON and humming a distracted tune as she made her way down the opposite end of the hallway.
Marcelyna opened the door at the end of the hall and entered her temporary room. Finding a spot on one of the tables covered with her grandmothers hand-made sculptures, she placed the key down before tossing her hat on the bed and grabbing her shoes from under it; scrunching her feet in to them. Making her way to the door, she grabbed a hair tie from her jeans and pulled her hair back, securing it in to a ponytail.
Just before exiting the room, her gaze fell to the key on the table.
Her grip tightened on the wooden door frame, feeling a sudden sense of apprehension worm its way through her.
Was she really meant to find it?
A cloud of dust erupted as a brown cardboard box was dropped carelessly to the floor.
"Phew," Delia brushed the back of her hand against her forehead. "I swear, the things Charles just has to keep. It's ridiculous! Boxes upon boxes of his stupid bird watching magazines. He only reads them once and then lets them pile up on the nightstand and his reading desk."
Marcelyna heaved a box on to a pile that was already nearly as tall as her. "Maybe he's keeping them for sentimental value?"
Her grandmother crossed her arms. "Hmph, he shows more love for a half-eaten cheeseburger but you don't see him hoarding those in the attic."
"No, just in his stomach when you're not looking." She joked, which seemed to only anger the older woman.
"He's probably stuffing his face right now instead of dusting..." Her grandmother grumbled. "Oh! And I still have to get dinner in the oven!"
"That's ok; I can finish moving a path in here myself." Marcelyna replied, using the weight of her body to shift a pile of boxes out of the way.
"Oh you are such a good girl!" Delia shouted enthusiastically. "Just make a way to that end over there. We'll sort the stuff out tomorrow, and maybe sneak some of Charles' junk out without him noticing..." She whispered under her breath on her way down the stairs.
For the next hour, the young girl moved and piled boxes and old furniture across the attic floor, wondering what on earth possessed them to keep so much stuff, and how the weight of it all didn't actually force the boards to collapse down in to the room below. Noticing the place getting darker as the sun started to set, she began to realize just how far in to the old attic she was. Deciding now would be a good time to hit the light switch, which, of course, was all the way back in the opposite direction; she attempted a short cut between the sections of furniture and regretted it instantly.
Unable to see the broken floor board that was uplifted, her foot became caught as she stumbled over it. Desperately trying to regain balance before falling on to the shadowed floor, her arm flailed to the side and caught on to a cloth-covered edge. Feeling her grip come loose from the pulled sheet, her other arm stretched as far as it could over the flat top; the force of her lunge causing her only means of support to screech against the floor and halt with a loud thump as it was pushed against whatever was behind it.
Taking a deep breath and trying to straighten herself from the awkward and uncomfortable position, she placed her palms flat against the table top and leaned against it for fear of falling down again. Regaining her composure and deeming it safe to attempt a step back, she took her hands away from the structure, only to shield her eyes as a sudden bright glint temporarily blinded her.
Ducking her head down to avoid the sudden light in her line of sight, she realized it was a dresser with a turn-able mirror that she had fallen in to. With the protective sheet now piled on the desk top, the reflecting glass was revealed and had been the cause of the flashing light. Moving to fix the mirror, as it was now at a slightly downward angle instead of straight, something else caught her attention.
There was a piece of paper sticking out from the bottom of the glass.
Bending over the wooden tabletop, she twisted her head to look under the mirror. There was a very thin opening between the glass itself and the backing that held it in place. Based on the way it looked, it had probably been loose enough for someone to have pulled back the two pieces and placed the thin paper between the panels, then pushed them back together unnoticed. At least, that's what she guessed.
Grasping it delicately between her thumb and index finger, she gently pulled the square of paper out and observed it. It was a greyed yellow and had jagged edges on one side as if it had been ripped out of a journal in haste. Other than that, it looked to have been perfectly preserved in the tight confines of space it had been in.
Unfolding it in her hand, she began to see curves and loops of what she assumed were words scrawled on to the sheet; though she couldn't make out what they were in the dim light. Holding it up in the direction of the window, she scarcely made out the first few words.
"Though I know I should be wary, still I-"
"Marcelyna?"
Her words were cut short at the call of her name and the sudden brightness of the light bulb that bounced off the mirror and made her squint her eyes.
"Dinner's ready and - oh, what are you doing all the way over there?" Delia asked, seeing her granddaughter trapped in a grouping of furniture.
The girl quickly turned around and dropped her hands behind her back, refolding the paper and tucking it in her back pocket; feeling, for some reason, the need to continue to keep it hidden.
"I, um, it started getting dark so I thought I'd take a short cut to the light over here, but I tripped over something and found this." She explained, motioning to the dresser.
The woman released the fixed chain attached to the light bulb and walked down the cleared path until she was next to her granddaughter, separated only by a few waist-high chairs.
"Oh, this was the dresser from your mother's room back when she was your age," Delia explained, beginning to reminisce at the sight of the gothic furniture.
Marcelyna took off the remaining sheet and looked over the purple wood, noting the spider web runner across the center and draping over either end. "Well, I bet this seriously clashed with the yellow drapes in the room."
Her grandmother sighed. "Lydia never appreciated my tastes for home decor. I wanted her room to be nice and bright but she insisted on all these dark tones and creepy crawly things and ugh." She shuddered with distaste. "I'm glad you're not like that."
She gave a small smile and laughed nervously. "Yeah..."
"Well anywho, dinner just came out of the oven so let's go downstairs."
Upon entering the kitchen, Marcelyna took a seat next to her grandfather who was already waiting and ready with a fork and a knife in each hand and a white napkin tied around his neck.
Delia walked to the counter and began cutting a small pot-roast in to slices. "So sweetheart, are you ready to go back to school? It's only a few weeks away."
"Yeah, I can't wait. I get an extended curfew this year and I'll have more opportunities to be in performances."
Her grandmother placed two plates with the meat, mashed potatoes and gravy, and mixed vegetables down in front of her and at her own seat.
"That sounds wonderful dear! Doesn't it honey?"
Charles looked on at the meal excitedly with his mouth watering, only to have his expression drop as a plate with very thin steamed carrots, asparagus and a very small, lean and skinless piece of chicken was set down in front of him.
Delia cleared her throat and repeated herself. "Doesn't it?"
"Y-yes..." He answered, shoulders slumping.
As they continued to eat dinner, Marcelyna decided to avoid bringing up the paper she had found, even though she wanted to ask if it was an early poetry piece her mother had written, but figured they probably wouldn't know anyway. That, and deep down, she didn't believe it was as simple as a piece of poetry either based on the way it was so expertly hidden.
"It's a great meal grandma Delia, but I'm full. May I be excused?"
Her grandmother smiled. "Of course dear, I'm glad you liked it."
Pushing back her chair, she stood up and thanked her before leaving the room and heading up the stairs.
In the meantime, Charles saw an opportunity and reached his fork out to claim the remaining slice of beef on his granddaughter's plate. Just as he began to smile triumphantly, the minute his fork stabbed in to the meat, the wooden spoon from the mashed potatoes struck the back of his hand instantly, making him drop the metal utensil and reel his hand back in pain.
"Charles! I told you to stop sneaking table scraps like some kind of animal or it'll be the death of you!" Delia scolded.
"Yes dear," he sighed in defeat while rubbing the back of his hand.
"I may be a grandmother, but I'm still WAY too young to be a widow!"
Marcelyna went to her room and closed the door behind her, rummaging through her suitcase for her set of tarot cards before grabbing the mysterious key from the table and moving to sit on the side of her bed; clearing the nightstand and pulling it out in front of her. Unwrapping the cards from their crimson cloth binding, she carefully shuffled the deck and cut them twice with her left hand, separating them in to three piles, before placing the last cut on the remaining stack. Delicately lifting a single card at a time, she laid each one down individually from left to right in a horseshoe shape of seven cards.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the first card on the left and flipped it over, revealing the image of an upside down scale. "Justice?" She said aloud in confusion. "A past with a muddied truth resulting in an unfair sentence..."
She picked up the second card, showing a jester with a knapsack about to walk off a ledge with a dog biting at his heel. "The Fool is the question at hand...whether or not to go through with a risk..."
The third was a female figure wearing a crown with an infant in one arm. "The Empress...my mother is the hidden influence..."
Fourth was an upside down priest. "The Hierophant...others will use half-truths and distortions to mislead me..." She was becoming confused.
Fifth: An upside down woman with her hands near a lion's head. "I'll need strength for confrontation but must not back down or retreat."
Sixth: An upside down face split in half with a glowing flame in his hands. "The Magician will be my obstacle...but reversed, he's regarded as a trickster, so the question is whether to trust him or not..."
The seventh and final card was a flowing haired figure with wings blowing a long trumpet. "Judgment...the last and only chance to right the wrongs made."
Marcelyna fell back on to the bed and stared up in to the yellow canopy. Instead of putting her mind at ease, the reading only raised more questions. Picking up the key and holding it above her head, she studied the ominous object before sitting up and pulling the paper from her back pocket and unfolding it between her fingers, key still in hand. The room had grown too dark to read so she switched on the small portable light she had removed from the nightstand and looked over the parchment.
Black ink in messy print was scribbled in uneven lines, as if it was written in great haste. Looking over the scrawled words, she was glad they were still at least legible.
"Though I know I should be wary, Still I venture someplace scary; Ghostly hauntings I turn loose; Beetlejuice, Be-, -"
"Beetlejuice?" She repeated the odd word as the rest were cut off. But she assumed by the way the last word was started, it was meant to be a repetition of the second to last, and the dash after the comma was probably a third repeat. Hesitantly, and no louder than a whisper, she said it.
"Beetlejuice."
An overbearing silence filled the room as everything became deathly still. The small light flickered haphazardly before suddenly dying out. She picked it up and gave it a shake. "Did the batteries die-?"
The windows instantly burst open as a cold breeze swept through the room. Marcelyna jumped up in alarm and quickly made her way around the bed to the shuttering glass panes. "What the hel - Ah!" She took a frightened step back at the violent tearing sound that echoed in her ears. The wallpaper around the room was literally being shredded from the walls by an invisible force.
Unable to process clearly what was happening, she did the one thing she could do: Run for the door.
Reaching her hand out to the doorknob for salvation, it was literally ripped from her as the door was rendered from its hinges and the gale of wind came from behind her at full force; blowing her hair over the top of her head and face, while sending the contents of the room flying through the threshold in to a black void.
She desperately tried to keep her now loose hair from blocking her vision as the sound of splintering and creaking wood forced her to look up just in time to see the ceiling of the room broken off the foundation and lift up until it could no longer be seen. She dropped to her knees and covered her hands over her head as long wooden beams shot out from the elongated walls above her; and she could've sworn she heard the sound of fluttering and screeching bats.
As quickly as it happened, it stopped, leaving a cold chill in the air and the echoing of brief flapping noises. Mustering her courage, she slowly lowered her hands and placed one to nervously twitch on the solid ground while the other brushed her hair back enough to see from one eye.
The room was very dim but still lit enough to view her surroundings thanks to a single high window from somewhere above. There was a small step way a few feet in front of her with curved supports holding up a torn and greyed canopy faintly reminiscent of her bed.
Standing up slowly, she grasped her elbows with each hand only to look down in surprise at the feeling of cloth when it should have been bare skin. Her arms were covered in long black gloves that stretched up just a few inches below her shoulders. Not only were the gloves new, she now wore a sleeveless, form-fitting, red dress with a heart shaped neckline that curled on either side at the top segment where her arms met her body. The garment itself had black spider web detailing and hugged over her thighs which dawned black tights that matched the gloves. Red boots reaching just below her knees with spider webs starting at the heel and stretching up and across the lacquered leather covered her feet; matching the same pattern as the dress.
Filled with dreadful unease at her mysterious wardrobe change, Marcelyna went back to clutching her now clothed arms as she turned around in a slow circle. The walls were blue-hued and bricked with chips and cracks in various places. Ripped and tattered veiling draped down from the variously angled beams across the ceiling where several bats hung upside down. There was a small door high up in the room and a stone staircase curving down from the rounded wall. It was then that she realized she was standing in the center of a jagged spiral that swirled out on the floor and ended at the first step.
Dragging a hesitant step forward, a clinking sound rang out from below; halting her movement. Her gaze dropped to the ground where she saw the skeleton key skid a few inches across the floor. Bending down to pick it up, she wondered when she dropped it and how it managed not to get swept away like everything else in the room. Looking up the tall stairway to the door, she realized it was her only option if she wanted to try and get out of the room. Clutching the key in hand, she was glad when she discovered a hidden pocket in the side of her dress to slip the troublesome object in to before climbing the steps.
The clicking of her heels echoed on the flat stone surfaces, stirring the bats above, but she kept forward to the gothic paneled, burgundy-purple door. Reaching out her hand hesitantly, she grasped the rusted knob and twisted, expecting it to have been locked.
The turning of old gears resounded through the room and surprising enough…
The door opened.