Ok, this is chapter two of my little fan fic. I hope you all like it and I hope it actually makes sense as I am a little feverish as I write this. I shall be upping the rating for this story to mature just because it's more fun that way and I can say whatever I want and less face it censorship doesn't really go with Beetlejuice's personality. I prefer him to be his rude, crude self because that's why we love him. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and please review.

I am not sure if any of you in the land of the living has been through the digestive track of a sandworm, but it is not a pleasant experience to say the least and not one I would recommend. Even our self-proclaimed 'Ghost with the most' found it a bit hard to cope with after the beast had crashed his wedding and swallowed him whole. He had been trapped there in the festering belly of the beast for four years without relief. He tried to escape by the conventional means and even some more unconventional ones; after all they don't call him the 'ghost with the most' for nothing. He did his best to slowly poison the beast from the inside out as he sat in his fleshy prison, but he was weak. Being eaten by a sand worm wasn't fatal how could it be, he was already dead after all, but it did havoc to his powers; it messed with them, dulling their effect on the living until he could hardly conjure up a beetle for him to munch on, let alone escape. Yet he had all the time in the world and slowly, very slowly his escape plan into action bit by bit until one day, he was free to exercise his revenge on the land of the living.

You see every day he had sat there he came up with a new plan on how he was going to kill 'that little bitch Lydia' and her two pet ghosts. He took immense pleasure imagining the little brat crying, as he killed her parents and exorcised the ghosts of the Maitland's forever before he would turn his attention on her. All the waiting would be worth it the instant he got his hand on that little Goth bitch; so he could make her scream and cry in pain. Yet things weren't as simple as they may have seemed; yes he wanted to make Lydia suffer the most out of everyone, but his motives were twisted inside his brain. Sometimes he imagined listening to Lydia's strangled cries; the light dying in her eyes as she moved on from the land of the living. Other times he imagined making her scream and moan as he used and abused the Goth girl for as much as he wanted before he eventually killed her. He certainly enjoyed thinking about all the different ways he could make little Deetz scream.

Sure she had been no more than a child, perhaps 16 at the oldest the last time he had seen her but that didn't stop him thinking about the tasty piece of jail bait. He was the 'ghost with the fucking most' for god sake and he could do what he liked to the little Goth whore. All cards would be off the table if he could get her to say his name, then she would be his for the taking.

If she let him out, then none of the netherworld rules could touch him; especially if he married the little bitch before he showed his true colours. Then not only would he have a free pass to the land of the living, but a warm willing body for him to take whenever he pleased. He liked this plan more and more each time he thought about the things he could do to her. He began to feel the all too familiar itch radiate deep within his necrotic loins that could only signal one thing. Usually, he would have gone to one of the netherworld's many cat houses 'to get a little action' but that only appeased the itch for so long and did nothing for the ache. It was an ache deep within, that longed for the brush of fingertips against his cold skin or the divine caress of a lover's kiss. Real physical contact, that's what he wanted, that's what he needed. Sure whores were good for a ride or two but it wasn't what you would call real intimacy and that is what he craved.

They did their part, smiling and bouncing their dead little silicon tits, but when it came down to it there was no spark. Even the hookers had their rules, they couldn't or rather wouldn't kiss him and most of them refused to look him in the eye. Yet it was worse when they did look at him their eyes fill with nothing but hatred and disgust for the man; for his teeth, his demeanour, his stench. They hated him but still went through the motions of grinding on his dead prick for a few hundred dollars and a drink. God most of them only exerted enough movement to get the job done, before they would order him away; so they could clean up in order to entertain the next in a long line of "john's". It was a risky business going to the otherworldly brothels. Though ghosts were immune to most venereal diseases crabs were a real problem. Now that was an itch that would never go away, the undead buggers would stay with a ghost for centuries.

He scratched his crotch absentmindedly and smiled as it produced a muffled by none the less comedic 'honk' sound. "When the hell did that get there?" he mused to himself; his bloodstained fingertips diving into the never-ending depth of his pants pocket, before producing an old car horn. He squeezed it twice for good measure, a small chuckle reverberating deep within his throat before throwing the horn over his shoulder. His little visits to the houses of sin were fun while they lasted but did not to quench the ever present burning in his nether regions, though it did quell it for a while. He always felt disgusted with himself, that he had used to worn out hussies; and even more disgusted at the fact that the cheap imitation of the flesh hadn't worked. His need for intimacy coming back stronger each time clouding his mind and making his head literally spin with rage. What had he done to disserve this never ending torment?

Ok trick question, he had earned his damnation at least a few thousand times, even before he had left the land of the living; yet he still thought it unfair. He had been cheated out of happiness, cheated out of the sweet freedom he had hoped death would bring him. There was no comfort, no joy. Even in the moment of his release; spurred on by the whores 'encouraging' groans he felt nothing. Just the same dull ache for a warm willing body beneath his, that would bend beneath his will and plaster fever riddled kisses along his jaw. He had learnt this lesson quite early in his afterlife and this soul-crushing fact had inevitably left him, bitter, twisted and irrevocably insane. Making him wish to stamp out happiness, passion and life where ever he saw it and he saw it painfully clear in the breathers. That is why he had become a 'bio-exorcist' taking a malicious pleasure in tormenting and sometimes killing the living representations of what he had lost.

The moment he had become free from that infernal snake he went to the house so he could implement his depraved plan on the poor girl but he found the house to be empty. Well at least he had thought it had been empty, little did he know that it had been a trap. Juno and the Maitland's had spent the last four years planning and they had come up with a plan of bind him to something permanently so they could destroy him. The only problem with that was the object had to belong to someone who was of flesh and blood, in other words still alive. This meant that everything of the Maitland's was out of the question and all that was left was the old dresser mirror in Lydia's room. They had wanted something more solid to bind him into, perhaps a book or something like that, but it had been the only thing left in the house, so it would do. Soon Beetlejuice found himself living in yet another prison though this one wasn't made of flesh but glass instead. It was just as infuriating as the last time, but he already had a plan in place to get free. He had found a little loophole in Juno's little spell and if the person who owned the mirror wished him free then he could escape the prison of glass. But it would be only temporary; he had much bigger things in mind rather than just some shitty little day pass. He wanted to be free forever and for that he would need to bring out the big guns so to speak. You see if the person that owned the mirror fell in love with him then he would be free from his prison to exact his revenge, and as it just so happens the mirror belonged to little Lydia. Things couldn't be more perfect and Beetlejuice couldn't help but grin at the thought of all the things he had in store for poor clueless Lydia.