'I wonder...what could possibly be beyond the clouds? Heaven? Hell? I want to be dead...' she thought the same thing over and over again, though her closest friends, Barbara and Adam Maitland, continued to tell her that death does not solve problems. sometimes she believed them, sometimes she did not. Somtimes she felt they were cheating her out of something greater, the good things about losing your life. Lydia sighed and looked down, when the front door opened, and her father peeked his head out.
"Lydia, time for dinner. Come inside and wash up before you catch a cold." Charles ordered, and closed the door, the cold was getting in. Lydia scoffed and stood, wondering if she could die from catching a cold. She opened the door and entered.
Since the whole 'ordeal' [whatever you eant to call it, the whole house had been split in two almost. Some was classic, traditional, the way the Maitlands wanted it. Some was modern, how the Deetzs wanted it. You could easily tell where one of those elements ended and the other began, but no one particularly cared much of the house's interior, seeing as Charles nor Delia had any guests over anymore. Barbara and Adam were content in the attic usually, seeing as they didn't really need anything the house had to offer, being ghosts and all.
Lydia walked up the stairs, entered the bathroom, and turned on the water. She focused on her pale, skinny hands under the warm water. There was a knock at the door, and a voice called from behind it.
"Lydia? It's Barbara, can I come in?" the kind ghost asked. Lydia turned off the water and called back, "Sure." Lydia was impressed, Barbara was getting good at solidifying parts of her body, while Adam was terrible at it. Barbara walked through the door.
"Lydia, you don't look so good, are you okay?" the woman asked softly, stroking Lydia's cheek.
"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just thinking..." Lydia trailed off, and dryed her hands.
"Well, okay. But remember you can always talk to Adam or me. By the way, we have something to give you after dinner." Barbara said happily.
"Okay." Lydia said with less-than-enthusiasm. She loved her set of second, dead, parents, but sometimes they could be so overprotective. Maybe they didn't want Lydia to end up like them. Either way, Lydia knew she could go without some of their lectures. Oh well, it was all with good intentions.
The dark girl walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, spying Delia making a mess. Even though she was good at making sculptures now, she was still a terrible cook. Lydia sat on a chair glumly across from her father, him looking stupidly happy like always.
"What's for dinner?" he asked Delia, rubbing his hands together. He tucked a fancy napkin under his collar. Delia came over to the table with a large pot, a strange aroma wafting from it.
"It's my beef stew. It's got carrots, potatoes, celery, all that good stuff." she answered, ladeling a few cups into Charles' bowl. Charles took a spoonful and sipped it. When Delia turned her back to him and gave Lydia some stew, he spat the terrible concoction into the nearest plant pot.
"How'd you like it, Charles?" Delia asked, pouring some for herself and sitting.
"It's delicious, hon..." Charles wavered, wiping his chin with the napkin.
"Good." Delia answered smugly. "What about you, Lydia?" she asked her step-daughter. "You haven't touched it." Charles giggled to himself at the thought of calling the stew an 'it'.
"I'm just not hungry." Lydia moaned, pushing her bowl away. She thought of her plans, to end her life, to end her pain in this lonely world. She had a small bit of remorse, making her parents so sad, but they could always come with her... Lydia would talk to the Maitlands about it first, even though she knew they'd tell her not to. It didn't hurt to listen to them, anyway. Well, everything hurt to Lydia, but that would all end soon.
"May I be excused?" she asked, standing.
"Well, if you won't eat the stew, I will." Delia proclaimed, adding Lydia's stew to her own bowl. It was funny how she liked the terrible mixture.
"Sure, hon." Charles said, glaring at the contents in his bowl. Lydia walked up the stairs to the attic silently. She knocked three times, and called, "It's me." The door opened. She stepped inside.
"Hi, Lydia." Barbara greeted her and shut the door behind her. Adam was fiddling with his town model, but he looked up and smiled. "Hi." He quickly looked back down, repairing the steeple on the mini-church.