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I do not own Beetlejuice, or any other supporting characters that may or may not show up later on in the story…
Taking a photography class was the last thing Lydia Deetz wanted to do with her life, but with needing a professional job, she had no other choice. Sure, she loved taking pictures and creating beautiful art work, but she wanted to be alone when she did. Well, she didn't want to be alone, but most of the time, that's how it was, and she had gotten used to it. Lydia had accepted that she was alone now. Utterly alone.
"…And so, as you can see, lighting is the most important part of a set. It doesn't matter if your filming the uncontrollable world outside or just a self-made still; your lighting needs to be perfect to add that depth and creativity to your work. Class dismissed," The old man in the front of the room waved a hand at the class as they all collected their books and ran from the building.
Lydia was the last one out, taking her time as she walked through the now empty halls of Winter River University. Her black hair blew behind her as she opened the doors and let the warm, humid wind surround her.
Damn it, Lydia thought, trying to keep her hair under control. Several times she had considered cutting it all off and not having to deal with the trouble, but every time she would drive to the salon, she would turn back around half-way there. The black wave stuck out in all directions, looking like a living thing that was ready to slit someone's throat.
"God," She muttered, getting into her beaten up black truck. Hitting the steering wheel, she turned the key and sped towards her house, turning on the radio.
And all the ghosts that are ever gonna haunt me—
Lydia quickly changed the station.
Watching me, wanting me, I can feel you pull me down—
Again, she changed the music.
The ghost won't leave me alone—
She went through several more stations before hearing the one song that made her scream in frustration.
Day-oh! Daylight come and they want to go home!
"ARGH!" She said as she yelled, crossing the bridge that made her squint her eyes, trying not to see it.
Too many memories that she didn't want to deal with always threw themselves at her as she drove past. And speaking of memories…
The big white house hadn't been remodeled since her parents left it for her when they moved back to New York. Lydia left it as it was, not wanting to ruin what both pairs of her parents had worked hard to create.
Thinking of her parents made her sigh…not her real parents…but her g-g-g. Sigh. Her other parents. They left six years ago. Juno called them and they never came back. Lydia didn't sleep for weeks; she stayed up, waiting for them.
"Just don't think about it," She whispered to herself as she unlocked the front door and stepped inside the dim house. "It never really happened."
The lights were never on anymore, and Lydia had gotten used to the dark. She's been in it for so long.
The refrigerator made groaning noises as she opened it and pulled out a beer. A very strong beer.
This was what happened every night; drive home, get drunk, fall asleep, wake up, feel like shit, go to class, drive home…blah blah blah…
She never thought about the fact that she was throwing her life away…and throwing beer bottles at little kids that came by…and she probably never would.
Sitting down on the large chair in her living room, (the chair wasn't THAT big, but compaired to her tiny frame…) and took a long gulp from her bottle. She learned how to drink from the best.
"Damn remote, where the hell did I put it?" Lydia mumbled, looking around her lazily. The little black object was found next to her, and with a few grumbled swears, was used to turn on the large flat screen on the wall.
"…And in other news, the tragic death of—"
Click!
"…Wheel…of…Fortune!"'
Click!
"…You get the BEST of both worlds!"
Click!
"…With a chance of rain in the evening…"
Click!
"MOVE THAT BUS!"
Click!
"Oh, come on!" She yelled, throwing her beer cap at the screen. The loud ring of the phone from the kitchen made her jump, "Damn!" Running into the dark room, she pulled up the receiver. "What?"
There was no answer at first, and she considered hanging up. But, making Lydia stagger back for a moment, someone replied. The voice was quiet, but easily recognized. It spoke quickly and in one small breath. Lydia's eyes fluttered closed.
"Babes."
Without thinking, Lydia threw the phone across the room, screaming. It hit the blue wall with a nasty crash.
"NO! YOU'RE NOT REAL!" Her voice broke as she ran over to the destroyed object, stomping and jumping on the pieces. "NO!" Beginning to cry, she pulled a small butter knife from the counter next to her, stabbing the jumbled mess. "W-WHY WON'T YOU STAY DEAD!?"
A few sparks flew from the pile as she sobbed and screamed, "DIE!"
"Babes."
Her screaming cut off and she looked behind her, gasping. There was no one there. No one there, no one using that amazing voice, no one there to hurt her.
Standing up, Lydia held onto the small knife tightly, looking around her. "Where are you?" She whispered, spitting through her teeth. She stepped into the hallways silently, quietly watching where she stepped, trying to be silent. The knife shook in her hands, and she could barely see through her tears.
"Babes."
"WHERE ARE YOU!?" She screamed, jumping at the sound of her cracking voice. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!"
A rattling noise made her look to the side. The attic.
"I don't want to go up there," Lydia whispered, shaking her as she stepped towards the stairs anyway. "Don't make me go up there!" She said, louder and more forcefully.
"Babes."
Every step on the way up made a moaning sound, causing Lydia to jump every time. The door wasn't locked, and she knew it wouldn't be. It was never locked. But she never went up there. That's where she put everything.
That's where she hid everything.
The door opened with a loud creek, slamming against the wooden wall behind it. It was dark, darker than the rest of the house, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Lydia was afraid of the dark.
Everything was covered with sheets. Designer sheets. Two of them had holes in the middle. All of them were worth three hundred dollars, but Lydia didn't care.
"Babes."
It was louder now, and her hand was sweating around the knife. Something in the room shook, and it only took the length of a heartbeat to figure out what it was.
Broken, stained, and rusting, Lydia's old mirror sat in the very back of the attic, talking to her.
"Babes."
Like a ruined record, Lydia's breaths came in and out with terrible gasps and sobs. "You're not real. You're dead. You're dead."
Stalking towards the mirror, she reached her free hand up to grab the sheet. The two holes in the center stared at her, daring her to pull it off.
With the knife held high, she pulled the mirror's cover off, screaming as the white wave flew from the mirror and onto the wooden ground.
Nothing.
With another scream, she grabbed the sides and threw it to the ground with a crash. "You. Are. Not. RE—" Lydia gasped as something knocked her to the ground. Someone that swore in response. The butter knife, that now rested in Lydia's thigh, suddenly felt like it was much bigger than a small kitchen utensil.
"WHAT THE HELL, Babes!?" The figure next to her screamed, "Why the hell were you carrying a fucking kitchen knife!?"