Sleeping Grisly
AN: Uh, surprise!
Disclaimer: I don't own Beetlejuice! *honk honk*
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Once Upon a Time, there lived a spiteful and selfish prince named Betelgeuse.
He was born at the stroke of midnight, during the worst storm in the history of the kingdom, with a face not even his mother could love. From the very beginning he caused all kinds of mayhem, his devilish nature allowed to run wilder than the ivy on the palace walls.
His first word was so vulgar the nursemaid fainted from shock, and could not be revived for three full days.
His first steps carried him to the torture chamber in the dungeon, where he was found gleefully playing with the thumbscrews.
His first tooth grew in snarled and crooked; the others followed suit, and it was said that every time he bared his jagged wolf's grin a kitten died.
The monstrous child soon became an uncontrollable man whose temperament was reminiscent of a demon: he wore chaos like a cloak and wielded misfortune like a sword.
The King and Queen, desperate to contain the horror they had unleashed, decreed that their wicked son would never rule unless he took a bride--and given his personality, this seemed nigh on impossible. They soon withered and died of shame, and the prince, unable to ascend to the throne, took out his rage on the populace.
The land became fallow and unfruitful, the people sickly and fearful, and an impenetrable gloom blanketed the kingdom like a poisonous miasma. When it seemed as though all hope was lost and the end was near, a sorceress known as Juno ventured forth to the crumbling castle, determined to end the tyrant's ruinous rule.
Stepping over the bodies of those who had tried and failed to defeat the villainous prince, the witch walked through the empty halls of the once beautiful and lively palace in search of her adversary. It didn't take long to find him, lounging atop the dining hall table amongst a disgusting smorgasbord of partially spoiled food, gorging himself like a sallow-skinned hog.
Wasting no time, Juno set about weaving a spell over him; Betelgeuse felt his eyelids grow heavy as her words bound themselves to his body like invisible chains, sinking his consciousness into a fathomless void.
"You, oh vile one, shall sleep like the dead--yet you will find no rest. Here you will remain, trapped within your own twisted mind, forever…unless some foolish maiden should fall in love with you, and even more unlikely, kiss you."
With that the prince dropped like a stone to the tabletop, his body cold as ice and breath as bare as bones, and yet still alive. There he lay for the next six hundred years as his fetid feast putrefied and decayed away around him, awaiting a kiss that would most certainly never come, for what sane woman would give her heart to a wretched louse such as he?
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Lydia was born one calm, cool night, when the moon was full and so bright one could read by its soft glow. She matured into a lovely young woman, all flowing sable hair and pale flesh and bottomless black eyes, whose beauty was matched only by her inquisitive and imaginative soul. She grew up questioning everything she was ever taught, unwilling to accept anything at face value.
And so she became the village misfit, strange and unusual by all accounts, much to her step-mother's dismay (her father didn't pay her much attention either way).
But Lydia didn't mind the gossip. Dedicating her time to all things unorthodox and occult, the girl was a veritable expert on legends and lore by the time she reached her eighteenth birthday.
Above all else she was captivated by the foreboding castle that loomed over the village from its lofty mountaintop perch, a shadowed cluster of brambles and fog that was once the center of a vast empire. According to what little information Lydia had been able to patch together on the subject, the product of many hours harvesting the hazy memories of the oldest folk she could find, the palace was home to a corrupt prince--a vicious creature who spread his influence like a disease, he nearly destroyed the very kingdom he ruled over until he was trapped by a mighty enchantment. To the townspeople, who were celebrating six centuries of prosperity and peace, the cursed fiend was the stuff of nightmares and cautionary tales.
To Lydia, he was the most fascinating man she'd never met.
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Late one night, while enjoying a starlit stroll in the forest beyond the village border, she discovered a partially covered trail; following it, she came upon a tiny shack in a clearing. A lazily spiraling plume of smoke signaled that someone was home, and the curious girl fearlessly knocked on the rough-hewn door three times.
"Who's there? What do you want?" rasped the owner from the other side.
"I won't give my name without at least seeing who I'm speaking to," Lydia replied, knowing full well the power of a name and the danger of giving it carelessly.
The door creaked open, revealing a gnarled old woman, her body bent and weak but her spirit shining through her papery skin like an earthbound sun. "You're no ordinary maiden looking for the usual trouble, I see."
"I have never once been called 'ordinary,'" the girl agreed.
"All the worse for you," the hag answered. "Come in then, and ask me that question burning your tongue--though I wish you wouldn't."
Lydia stepped over the threshold and took a moment to study the interior, which was somehow much larger than it looked to be from the outside. 'Magic,' she thought, exhilarated.
The room smelled strongly of dried herbs and sweet grass, but otherwise lacked the things she'd always heard witches kept; no sky worthy broom, no mangy black cat, no bubbling cauldron crusted with old potions--not even a pointed hat. The space was cluttered with leather-hide books and scrolls and stacks of parchment that scraped the ceiling. The carpet underfoot was spattered with ink of all shades, and here and there a splintered quill rested in the place it had been dropped upon its breaking long before. Lydia also saw there was no fireplace, and wondered 'Why, then, is there a chimney on the roof, and what was coming out of it…?'
The old woman shuffled through the mess, agitated. Reaching into a drawer overflowing with wax stamps and twine, she pulled out a handmade cigarette and snapped her fingers once to light it. The smoke curled through her nostrils and between her yellowed teeth thick and fragrant, like dragon's breath, before filtering through the cracks in the rafters. 'Oh.'
"Now then," coughed the witch, "nobody comes here without a good reason. What's yours?"
The girl choked on the fumes and rubbed her watering eyes. "How do you know my reason is good or bad, or that I have one at all?"
"People with bad reasons don't look beyond the obvious, and people with no reasons don't look at all."
Well.
And so Lydia told her about her lifelong affair with the bizarre and astonishing, the parents who didn't understand her, the villagers who avoided her, the ravenous need to know that kept her up at night. The old woman puffed and nodded occasionally, listening, and when Lydia had talked herself out the witch flicked the spent cigarette into an empty copper dish and spoke.
"That's all very interesting. But there's something you're not telling me."
"But I just--"
She held up a wizened hand. "Save it, I've seen and heard it all. I know when somebody just feels lonely and when they have something bigger bothering them."
The girl sighed, bested. "To tell the truth, more than anything, I want to know what hides inside the castle on the mountain…"
The witch pressed her fingers to her temples with a groan. "I knew it. Damn. It was only a matter of time, I suppose…"
Lydia smoothed her long black skirt and waited.
"Oh, fine," groused the hag, "but don't blame me when you find exactly what you're looking for! Curiosity has its consequences."
"I promise not to," said the girl.
"Very well. If you can make your way along the trail in the cliff-wall, you'll reach the palace; the front gate's gigantic, you can't miss it."
Lydia nodded eagerly.
"Feh. Once you're inside, you'd do well to find the portrait hall--maybe if you see what you're up against you'll have the good sense to leave."
"Not likely," the girl shot back blithely.
"Cute. If after all that you're still determined, head to the dining hall--just follow the stench," the old woman smirked. "There you'll find him, just where I left him, the bastard."
Lydia gaped and stuttered, "Y-you're the one who--?!"
"Yes. And here you are, wanting to undo all my hard work. And here I am, telling you how! I must be going senile."
"Well, then, why are you?"
The hag sighed wearily. "I was young and stupid…I cut a deal with the sorceress who lived here before me--to help people in exchange for mystic powers. Now I'm stuck here, trying to take care of reckless daredevils like you, until I can foist the job off onto somebody else. You wouldn't happen to be interested in immortality, would you?"
Lydia shook her head in the negative. "Not particularly."
"Worth a try. Now get going, you've got enough information to get yourself in sufficient peril by now."
"Thank you. I'll give you my name, if you still want to hear it," the young woman offered, grateful.
"Might as well," the witch shrugged.
"Lydia."
"Hmm. If you find yourself in a tight spot, ask for 'Juno'--but you only get two more councils, so use them wisely! Goodness knows you've wasted this one."
The moment Lydia stepped back outside she found herself on the path to her parent's house, magicked away from Juno's secret meadow in the blink of an eye.
Her step-mother scolded her long and hard for sneaking around in the dark, and even harder for reeking of cigarette smoke.
Lydia felt it was a small price to pay for all she'd learned.
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She spent the next two days preparing for her trip. Turning out her satchel full of sketches and notes from previous adventures, Lydia re-packed it with every match and candle she'd saved up for late-night reading and her warmest clothes and boots, nicking her step-mother's elbow-length dress gloves for what little protection they could provide. She could only afford to take a small amount of food for fear of attracting unwanted attention from the local wildlife, but she felt like she could live on adrenaline if necessary…whatever it took to reach that castle and its slumbering master.
On the third night she crept out while all the villagers were tucked in bed, and so began her fateful journey.
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Slipping past the guard watching the town entrance was a simple matter; she'd done it many times before. 'All the most worthwhile things are outside this cramped, narrow-minded place.'
The road that led to the palace was overgrown with weeds and debris, but there was enough remaining to keep Lydia headed in the right direction through the woods. Soon the trees thinned and vanished altogether, giving way to a rocky slope carved right into the mountainside. She picked her way along the treacherous path, taking several breaks; it took many hours of swift walking to finally reach the summit, and by then it was early morning. Exhausted, Lydia sat on the rim of what once had been a glorious fountain--now, a demolished ruin whose water had stopped flowing hundreds of years before she'd even been born.
She took stock of the property: the fountain was positioned in the center of a long-extinct topiary garden, the dried stalks of shrubbery jutting up from the cracked earth to rake at the heavens like talons. The grounds were arranged in a pattern so that any visitors would first walk past the flowerbeds before reaching the entrance, which she could just barely make out in the distance. Beyond that remained a mystery.
Determined, Lydia gathered up all her remaining strength: 'I've come this far. No point in backing out now, when I'm so close to seeing if the tales are really true…'
The gate didn't appear to have hinges anymore, the result of centuries of disrepair and exposure to the elements; the iron barrier stretched all of twenty feet high, and the bars were too close together for even a petite girl like Lydia to squeeze through. As she studied the situation, debating what to do next, a low howling rang out.
Her blood ran cold. "No…"
Suddenly the howling seemed to be coming from every direction, a chorus of death that was closing in fast. Panicked, Lydia ran her hands over the gate, looking for a weakness in its structure.
The metal was icy, drawing the warmth from her flesh into itself, but not budging an inch.
She could hear the foot-falls of the pack now, like drumbeats in the mist; she slapped her palms against the gate and screamed "Please--!"
The portion she was leaning against swung open, a small door cut out of the much larger gate for practical use; she fell gracelessly through, but paused only for one stunned moment before whirling around and slamming it shut. She could hear the wolves snuffling and pawing at the bars, hungry but unable to reach their meal.
Her heart was still buzzing like a hummingbird's wings as their dismayed baying drew further and further away, her life still her own--for now.
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The first thing Lydia noticed about the castle was its sheer size; never before had she felt so utterly small and insignificant, dwarfed by the humongous building.
The second thing was the eerie silence; the courtyard was immense, and absolutely devoid of any sign of life save herself. Her soft panting seemed as loud as a shriek, and she felt anxious and alone.
'How exciting!'
Large brown patches dotted the walkway, where grass and flowers once bloomed. Here and there stood a bare pedestal that used to display statuary; one held only the four paws of a lion, broken off at the ankles, and on another laid the head of a goddess whose body had been misplaced.
The goddess' eyes seemed to follow Lydia as she moved, and the girl hurried through the lifeless garden, unsettled.
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The front doors had rotted away ages ago, leaving only their metal fittings behind. Inside the castle, without the aid of the moonlight, it was impossible to see even the end of one's nose; Lydia pulled a candle from her bag and lit it, her whole body quivering with anticipation.
The tiny flame was little help against the suffocating darkness, and soon hot wax was dripping down and scalding her through her gloves. The girl stood on tip-toe and knocked a wall torch out of its bracket, lighting it with her candle. 'Much better.'
The inside of the castle was just as soundless and still as the outside, everything covered with dust and cobwebs that could only come from six centuries of neglect. Her foot caught the edge of something hard and sent it flying into the leg of a rickety sofa with a clatter: holding her torch aloft she saw that it was a helmet, the owner's skull still trapped inside, having been severed at the neck.
Lydia was beginning to like this place more and more.
Exploring proved to be more difficult than she would have thought; many areas were blocked by fallen pillars, piles of splintered wood and weapons, and in one case a mound of what appeared to be singed books--with the librarian's charred skeleton at the top of the heap, still clutching a blackened scroll in his bony fingers.
A rat darted across her path, and Lydia jumped back with a start. A chill breeze whispered over her from the left, the draft coming from a small doorway that she'd nearly missed. Entering, she knew immediately that she'd found the portrait hall.
Every inch of wall space was occupied by a painting, some large and some small, some with simple oak frames and others gilded with gold and silver. All were members of the royal family, men and women and children dressed in the silken finery of their station, preserved in art.
Lydia wandered for what seemed like hours, wondering what it was that Juno had meant for her to see: 'I must have looked at over six hundred pictures by now, and none of them seem any more remarkable than the others…'
Suddenly the paintings stopped, the walls bare all the way to the opposite end of the long hall; she paused to examine the very last portrait, a medium-sized canvas held by a frame that had been carved to look like branches from a thorn-bush. A smudged plaque was affixed just beneath it, and the girl wiped away the grime and read aloud "Firstborn son, Heir Apparent, DCLXVI…Betelgeuse."
Her skin prickled into gooseflesh. 'This must be him…!'
The man in the picture was everything and nothing she had expected; bloodshot eyes glowered from a pale face that could not be called 'attractive' by any stretch of the term. His hair seemed to stand on end in a wild halo around his head, and a single pointed tooth peeped out from behind his lecherous smirk like a fang. He looked to be of average height and on the stocky side, eschewing the traditional regal purple robes in exchange for black-and-white striped garments that must have taken some poor seamstress ages to stitch together. He was painted on an unusually blank background, with little depicted but himself and a scantily-clad woman kneeling beside him, who seemed to be both clinging to his leg adoringly and trying to pull away disgustedly. The woman appeared to have been added in later as an afterthought…or decoration.
"He certainly looks like a nasty bit of work," Lydia commented. "But I still have to see for myself if he's actually here."
She left the hall of ancient kings and queens, wondering why their gazes seemed pitying.
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It didn't take long for the girl to detect the horrendous smell wafting from the southern end of the castle. Letting her nose lead the way, Lydia came upon what she was sure was the dining hall--the stink was so awful she was forced to pinch her nostrils shut, nauseated.
This room was the darkest of all, her single torch barely illuminating a few paces in any direction, so when Lydia spotted a shallow basin of oil nearby she didn't hesitate to light it. The bowl was connected to a channel carved into the stone walls leading to other basins, and in a moment the entire space was flickering with firelight--but the heat intensified the stench. 'I can see, but I may never breathe again…ugh!'
She could just barely identify the shape of a multi-sectioned table, buried by refuse from a meal that nobody had ever cleaned up after. Most of it had decomposed or been scavenged, and what was left made the air stale and the floor slick with slime. Lydia approached carefully, picking her way between cracked wine goblets, tarnished flatware, and animal carcasses, to the place where the garbage was thickest.
It was there she saw the hand, poking out from under the filth, flesh miraculously intact.
Tugging her step-mother's gloves up as far as they would go, Lydia began to dig, and dig, and dig, burrowing into the muck…and slowly she uncovered the body of the man in the portrait, the man in the stories, the man she'd been preoccupied with for so long--
Betelgeuse, reviled myth and monarch.
He was liberally coated in slop, his hair a matted mess, his face host to a fuzzy green mold so dense it rendered his true skin invisible in some spots. He was motionless, and yet the only living thing aside from herself in the vast nothingness.
Pushing the refuse around his body to the floor, she stared at his fully excavated form in awe. "Betelgeuse…"
She stroked a hand over his broad forehead: "Betelgeuse…"
She leaned over further and wiped the remaining gunk away from his eyes and nose, startled to feel the slightest of breaths feather against her gloved fingertips. "Betelgeuse is real…and alive!"
And he proved her correct when his right hand snapped up and locked tight around her wrist.
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Lydia screamed and tried to pry him off, but the man had a grip like a steel trap. Struggling, she wrenched her arm this way and that, throwing all her weight into it--and succeeded only in making him grumble and roll over in his sleep, forcing her up onto the tabletop with him lest her shoulder be popped from its socket.
Half an hour later Lydia was still stuck, draped over the unconscious prince, who had begun snoring like a bear with a head cold. "Why now?! You were quiet before! Why do you have to make all that ruckus right in my ear?!"
He gargled and smiled a little, but didn't respond.
'This man…!'
Unable to think of any other way out, she leaned back and shouted as loud as she could: "Juno!"
The vapors swirling about the room collected and condensed into the form of the witch, who emerged from the smog with a grimace. Shaking her head, Juno scowled at Lydia. "See what you've gotten yourself into? After everything I told you, you couldn't be content to just look and not touch, eh? Never found him that tempting myself, but it takes all kinds…"
Lydia's jaw dropped. "I--I wasn't trying to--! I just leaned over to get a closer look and he grabbed me!"
Juno leaned against an overturned chair and observed the pair on the table, smoking as she considered their situation. "Not surprising. I'll bet that on some level he recognizes you…"
Lydia cringed away as Betelgeuse's rancid breath washed over her face, filmy and humid, her stomach twisting into knots. "What…?"
"That is," the witch spluttered, thumping her chest as though she were choking on the smoke, "I mean that he knows you're his ticket back to the land of the living, and he's not going to give up his first chance at freedom since I left him here. It's just like the bastard to drag other people into his problems--although you're at fault too. I did warn you!"
"Yes, well, all I'm asking for is a way out of here! I can't stay like this forever," the girl pleaded, pushing her free arm against Betelgeuse to hold herself away from him.
"I could lop off the hand he's got you with, but those fingers aren't coming loose unless he wants them too, magic or not. It'd make quite the fashion statement!" Juno snarked.
Lydia tried to imagine a life spent with an amputated hand wrapped around her wrist like a macabre bracelet, and found the idea rather intriguing--but not very appetizing. "Isn't there any other way?"
The aged sorceress took a long drag of her cigarette, debating. "You two idiots really deserve each other. I just want you to know how much danger you're putting yourself and the kingdom in, bringing this character back…"
Lydia bowed her head but said nothing.
"Fine. The conditions of the spell I put over him were that a young woman had to fall in love with him…and kiss him."
"Oh no," Lydia despaired, "that doesn't help! I'm not in love with him!"
Betelgeuse frowned in his sleep, one greasy palm slithering around to cup her rear; Lydia squealed and slapped the offending appendage away. "Maybe we should re-consider cutting off his hands…"
Juno stood slowly, joints creaking. "I've done all I can. If you can't bring yourself to kiss him, the steak knives are a little to your left." And with that, she vanished just as quickly as she'd appeared.
"I can't believe this!" Lydia moaned. "No wonder no one likes you!"
The gruesome prince continued snoring, his fingers twitching as though to make another go at her bottom; she pinned his entire arm down with a dented serving platter.
The girl glared at his peaceful countenance, knowing she really had no choice. Scrubbing the back of her gloved hand across his mouth in an effort to make the event a little less disgusting, she braced herself and leaned down.
His lips were surprisingly warm and soft, the furry growth around his chin tickling her as she moved in closer. She counted one, two, three seconds of contact and made to withdraw--
The hand on her wrist loosened, released, and whipped up to clasp the back of her head and push her down into his suddenly responsive mouth, his tongue snaking out to lave her lower lip. She tried to jerk back but he held her fast, plundering her mouth with all the eagerness of a pervert who had been pent up for six hundred years, the foul taste making her gag and squirm. He seemed to enjoy this, yanking his other arm free and winding it around her waist, pressing their bodies together.
Lydia felt light-headed, as though the now very much revived man was leeching the strength from her limbs via her lips. Frantic, she bit down on his invading tongue as hard as she could.
He snarled and flipped them over, leaving her prostrate between his girth and the wooden table. "Hey, babe, if we're gonna get into some seriously kinky shit we oughta at least pick out our safe words first, okay? It's been a while for me, be gentle!" Cackling, he attacked her exposed throat with his teeth, nibbling on her neck in an alarmingly sensual manner.
She aimed her bony knee about where she figured his crotch would be, shielded as it was by his rounded belly, and introduced her shin to his reproductive organs.
The effect was immediate: he flopped over to the side with a cry of anguish, giving her just enough space to wiggle free and jump down from the tabletop. In her haste she slipped on the dirty floor and fell head-over-heels; dazed, she was vaguely aware of his cursing and complaining above: "Christ, here I am minding my own business when some broad throws herself at me, so when I take her up on her offer she kicks me! Women…"
Lydia scrambled to her feet and made a break for it, but he caught her by the hair and pulled her back. "Hey now, whoa there filly--where d'ya think you're goin'?"
"I--it was an accident! I really need to get home--"
"Not a chance, babe," he chuckled. "Nobody's been up here to see me 'cept you--it must be love!"
She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off, gesturing grandly with his other arm. "And love means marriage, and marriage means I become King…ruling over a country of peasants is more fun than it sounds, I swear. Just a barrel of laughs, every single day."
"No!" Lydia shrieked, tearing herself out of his grasp at the expense of a few black strands and turning to face him: he looked like the living dead, grubby and unwashed as he was. 'This is ridiculous. Marriage?!'
Mistaking her incredulous gaze for an admiring one, he spit into his palm and slicked his hair back, goofy smile granting him an oddly boyish charm. "Name's Betelgeuse, crown prince and sex god. That means I'm rich, handsome, and a beast in the sack…just to be clear."
Lydia shivered and took a few steps back. "This is all a big mistake. I just wanted to see if the legends were true…"
"That's me, honey, a living legend! I gotta go into town and make my big debut back into society--can't keep my public waiting, right? Oh, but maybe I should freshen up a little first. Wouldn't wanna make a bad impression!" he sneered, laughing. "C'mon, babe, I'll show you the bedroom…"
The girl found herself once again caught by the arm and dragged away, toward a winding staircase that seemed liable to collapse any second. Despite the fact that he wasn't much taller than her, and not exactly muscular, he was incredibly hard to break free of--like a lascivious octopus, all sticky fingers and a predatory twinkle in his eyes.
And she was the prey.
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The upper level of the castle looked much like the lower level: appalling.
"Don't mind the mess, the maid hasn't been around in a while--seein' as she's dead and all!"
Betelgeuse led her to a room at the top of a tower and shoved her inside, but not before planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. "Wait here for me, sweetie! I'll come and getcha just as soon as I'm ready to go."
Rubbing her defiled skin vigorously, Lydia jabbed a finger at the room's other occupant--a brittle corpse wearing the remnants of a dress, with a heap of dusty yellow locks piled around its seat by the window. "Is that what you said to her?!"
Nonchalant, he responded: "Oh, that. Some distant cousin that came to visit a while back--she was sheddin' all over the damn place like a dog, so I put her in here. Looks like somebody forgot to let her out!" Snorting with mirth, he darted in close and licked her opposite cheek with a growl. "Mmm. I definitely won't forget you, babe. No worries." He skipped gaily out and slammed the door behind him, sliding the rusty bolt into place.
Lydia grabbed a handful of the tattered coverlet on the bed and wiped her face, repulsed and strangely flattered. "Gotta get out of here, I've gotta get out of here…"
She searched for a key, a ladder, anything; the mound of hair by the window gave her an idea. 'Looks like it could be long enough…and even if it isn't, I think I'd rather die than be stuck with--'
She paused, surprised at the pang she felt when she thought of Betelgeuse's joyous expression upon waking, how he'd been unconscious while everyone he knew grew old and passed on, how nobody even thought of him now as anything but a fictional boogeyman…and then she remembered his infamy, and how the kingdom was thriving because of his absence, and how she'd probably wind up lynched for setting the human equivalent of the bubonic plague loose…'Here goes nothing!'
Hefting the lengthy tresses up onto the windowsill, she tied the end closest to the deceased woman's skull to a protruding nail in the wall and tossed the rest out. It fell and fell before finally pulling taut; it was so long she couldn't see where it ended, and whether or not she'd climb down only to find herself dangling hundreds of feet above the ground.
A draft of cool mountain wind blew over her damp cheek, and she gulped. Locking her eyes on the horizon, where the sun was cresting with the dawn, Lydia swung herself over and began her descent.
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She made it back into the village around noon, utterly exhausted. Her step-mother tore into the drained girl the minute she stepped inside, screeching about 'where were you' and 'what will the neighbors think' and 'your father was worried sick' (for the record, the man in question merely nodded and went back to his bird-watching). When she got to it being 'improper for an unmarried woman to stay out all night,' Lydia smirked and leaned against the doorframe, half-asleep already. 'Not for long, if he has his way…'
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It was early evening when a commotion outside had her cracking open one bleary eye, unwilling to wake.
No such luck: her step-mother burst into the room with a dramatic wail, crying "Get up! Get up! That dead prince is back, and he's threatening to kill us all! Oh god, and just when I was beginning to move up in the world…the injustice!"
Lydia yawned and snapped crankily, "What are you talking about?"
"Some ugly little man came down the mountain claiming to be the heir to the royal family, and old man Burton from down the street recognized him from a painting in the storeroom at the town hall--he's the one they tell those scary stories about, and he's back! This is dreadful…" she covered her face with her hands and sobbed noisily.
Lydia was up like a shot, remembering all at once. 'Oh no…!'
Dressing quickly, the girl ran out the front door--and smacked into a crowd of frightened villagers, all of them crying and shouting as they tried to pack up their meager belongings in a last-ditch effort to escape before Betelgeuse took over completely. Working her way through the writhing mass of bodies, she reached the central town square just in time to see the man of the hour ride in on an imposing black steed. Decked out in the obnoxious striped uniform she'd seen in his portrait, he smiled smugly and waved at the screaming people, blowing kisses occasionally and having a grand old time in the hell he'd created.
Ducking behind an ox cart with a broken wheel, Lydia watched as the prince made a spectacle out of clearing his throat--spitting the glob of mucus that had been clogging it in the dirt--and addressed the villagers: "Ladies and gents, how wonderful to see you again! I'd say I missed you, but why bother? We all know it ain't true! Ha-ha-ha!"
The villagers cowered, silent.
"Anyway, I'm lookin' for a girl--aw, cut the waterworks, Pops!" he heckled one man who'd tearfully hugged his daughter, "--she's way prettier than that troll you produced! She's 'bout this high, black hair, big dewy eyes, curvy and totally hot for me…ya seen her?"
The villagers looked at each other, dumbstruck.
"Come on, folks, you're not helping yourselves here! See, she and I were all set to get hitched and start a little serfdom all our own, but she took off on me--and I miss her so bad." He sniffled and dabbed at his nose with a stained handkerchief. "It gets lonely at the top, ya know what I mean? So it's in your collective best interest to get her back to me…because if ya don't I'll burn this dump to ashes, and all you losers along with it. Capice?"
The villagers whispered and glanced around furtively, 'looking for me,' Lydia thought with a start. She understood now why this man was so feared--he could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be, thundering from on high. 'But when we were together at the palace he was nice enough, if a little…okay, a lot perverted. How can he be so different now…?' Somewhere along the line she'd begun to think of him as a brazen, debauched, but relatively harmless goofball. 'He's misunderstood…like me. Talk about having sympathy for the devil!'
Without meaning to, she felt herself softening her opinion of him, even as her conscience squeaked indignantly 'don't give that creep an inch! He'll take more than just a mile…!'
But it was too late.
"It's--it's her! I've found her…I think!" tattled a middle-aged woman standing beside the cart. Lydia was roughly snatched up and hauled out into the middle of the plaza, Betelgeuse standing in the stirrups of his saddle for a better view.
"Honey! There you are!" he clapped, elated. "Why'd you run out on me like that, huh? That's okay, I know just how to punish you when we get home…" He waggled his arched eyebrows suggestively.
'Why did I think I could empathize with him, again?!'
Just then her father and step-mother pushed their way through the crowd, her unlikely saviors. "What is the meaning of this? What are you doing to Lydia?!"
'Never thought I'd be happy to hear that ear-piercing squawk…'
"Lydia, eh?" Betelgeuse grinned, "Lyds. I like it. Queen Lyds has a nice ring to it, don't you think, everyone?"
The villagers nodded, more than ready to hand her over in exchange for their own lives.
"What did you--ah, queen, you say?" her step-mother simpered. "As in we, her loving parents, become members of the royal court?"
"Ayup, something like that."
"Lydia, dear, what are you thinking denying the prince? He's been so kind as to offer to marry you, the least you could do is accept!" her step-mother admonished, gnashing her teeth.
"You're all insane," her father deadpanned.
'This is hopeless,' Lydia thought. 'I've only got one person on my side now…' "Juno, help me!"
Betelgeuse scowled darkly as the loose grit between the cobblestones began to swirl around and take shape. "That's the bitch who--!"
"Yes, it is," the witch remarked, voice as gravelly as the stones she'd manifested from. "And I'll do it again, if you don't shut up!"
He folded his arms over his chest and pouted, but kept quiet.
She stood before Lydia, tapping her foot impatiently. "Well, I'm here. What exactly was it you needed? Seems to me you've got everything under control, going about business doing things your way." She waved a wrinkled hand toward the general pandemonium surrounding them.
"This is too much! If you knew this would end with me being forced to get married, why did you tell me how to get inside the castle, how to break the spell, in the first place?!" the girl cried, overwhelmed.
Juno chuckled derisively and cocked her head. "My job is to give help where needed and deserved, but above all, to keep things moving in the direction they ought to be going. This clown," she jerked her thumb at Betelgeuse, "was early. And you," she glared at Lydia, "were late! I had to use a great deal of power just to contain him until you decided to grace us with your presence. You have no clue how tiring that kind of magic is--not to mention aging!"
Lydia gawked, disbelieving. "What…?"
"You are this fool's other half, you poor thing. You think you're the first thrill-seeker who tried to sneak a peek at my prisoner? No. But you are the only one who was able to, and eventually did, because you were meant to do so. I had to make sure that happened, and I did, despite the migraines…your inability to take good advice, while irritating, helped." The witch groused.
"Ha! Ya hear that, babe? We're meant for each other! Glory be, I get to have my kingdom and eat it too!" Betelgeuse whooped.
"But I…" Lydia protested weakly, "I don't…"
"You do." Juno declared flatly. "Think about it for a hot second. I did tell you: only the love of a woman, given through a kiss, could wake him. Didn't you say yourself that you feel alone and out of place here, and that you've been obsessed with Betelgeuse ever since you first heard about him?"
"Not obsessed, exactly…" the girl grumbled, refusing to meet Juno's eyes; the prince crowed triumphantly in the background.
And all at once, Lydia realized it was true--as ghastly as Betelgeuse was, she'd felt some kind of special connection to him from the very start. He had grown on her, like the mildew that grew on his face, sprouting on her heart and sticking there because it was warm and wet and he belonged there. "This is just so impossible…"
"Unlikely, but not impossible," the wise old hag answered. "And I'd say he likes you too, seeing as his usual response to most situations is maim first, ask questions later. You're a calming influence."
"It's true," Betelgeuse admitted, touching his lip with his index finger coyly.
Lydia had always considered herself unconventional, a dreamer, a girl with a vivid imagination, but never in her wildest flights of fancy had she ever thought up something this crazy. 'Love really is blind, huh?' she sighed, eyeing her husband-to-be. 'He isn't much to look at, but…he's mine.'
"Didn't they only just meet in person today, technically…?" her father piped up.
Her step-mother slapped him sharply and hissed "What have I told you about speaking?!"
"C'mon, babe," Betelgeuse chortled, patting the empty space on the saddle in front of him, "give it up. You tried runnin', but you can't hide from me!"
She laughed and allowed him to pull her onto the horse, settling herself in front of him. "You're so annoying."
"You say the sweetest things," he gushed, pressing her more firmly into his lap.
"Uhm, your belt-buckle is digging into my spine," Lydia complained, shifting.
"Not wearing a belt, Lyds," he snickered evilly.
'…I did wish for a more exciting, interesting life,' she giggled inwardly, deciding that sanity was overrated anyway.
As they rode into the sunset, Juno shook her head and muttered "Now I've really seen it all," before dissipating into thin air.
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So it came to pass that Lydia married the prince, and moved into the newly-refurbished (but still delightfully decrepit) castle with him.
Her step-mother got her wish, too: she and Lydia's father were brought to reside with the royal family--as servants. If you asked her, she'd swear up and down that it was still classier than being a mere villager.
The kingdom, with Betelgeuse's zealousness and Lydia's insight, became more successful than ever, and a new national holiday was declared: 'Prank Thy Neighbor' day.
And one night, when Lydia found her layabout husband snoring loudly in his chair at the dining hall table, she put a hand on his shoulder gently to wake him--"Betelgeuse?"--and found her wrist snagged in his grasp.
"You know what to do, babe," he leered impishly.
So she kissed him, and he didn't let go until he'd pulled her upstairs to their private chambers--"Betelgeuse…"--and she let him, because he wasn't handsome, and she didn't care about being wealthy--
"Betelgeuse!"
But he really was a beast in the sack.
And they all lived Sappily Ever After.
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AN: …So. I hope I haven't completely bastardized the characters of Beetlejuice, but I love the movie/cartoon, and I love fairytales, and if you guys love this combo as much as I do I have some ideas for more along these lines!
--I have in NO WAY abandoned the Coraline fandom or my multi-chapter thing, 'Threads of Fate.' I hesitate to even say they're on hiatus. I'm just exploring my love of Beetlejuice right now.
--Characterizations were based mainly on the movieverse, although elements of the cartoon have leaked in. :P
--I'm not very puritanical about sticking to the fairytales I use, so try not to mind the lack of spindles or actual fairies, okay? XD
--Check out my deviantart account, under the same username, for more notes on this/future fics, and ask questions there for a speedy response! Beats waiting for my next unpredictable update, right? (Please don't review there, though. ;) )
Thanks so much, and I hope you enjoyed it!
---258.