I do not own Beetlejuice and it's characters. That honor belongs to Tim Burton...

I'm hoping this story will pick up interest. I go with reviews people...If I get at least five reviews on this chapter then I'll publish the next one!

Enjoy.

This day was years coming and it was finally here. Lydia Deetz practically sprang from her bed when her vampire alarm clock went off. She's had that alarm forever and it remained faithful when it came to waking her up. Her hand slammed down on the coffin, effectively shutting the screeching vampire up until tomorrow morning.

"Oh Lydia!"

Lydia cringed as she ran her hands through her black dress. Her step-mother's sing song voice vibrated up the stairs as she called again. That was another type of screeching she'd grown accustomed to. Delia was way too damn happy this morning and Lydia had a pretty good idea why. Lydia padded to her bedroom door and cracked it open.

"I'll be right down."

She quickly shut the door before Delia could respond and her back against it. Her brown eyes scanned her bedroom and mountains of cardboard boxes piled around her bed. She couldn't help but grin. Today was the day.

Moving day.

Lydia graduated with honors from Mrs. Shannon's School for Young Girls but wasn't able to get into college until three years later. Between her father's second breakdown after graduation and Delia's insistence that they couldn't send her to just any college, Lydia was pretty much stuck at home with her parents. The first year after graduation, Lydia pursued the local community colleges. She figured attend for the first two years and get her associate's degree before moving onto what she really wanted: professional photography. It would be good to stay close to home too so she could visit her dad. Delia had other plans.

Why waste your talents at some hick community college? Go big or go home Lydia!

So Lydia did. Three out of state art institutes had accepted her applications, but Delia found every excuse not to send her there. You're going to waste your father's hard earned money on that dump?

Lydia wanted to roll her eyes.

Stepping between boxes and piles of laundry, Lydia found her suitcase tucked next to her dresser. It was half packed but it was the one with all the clean clothes. She shimmied out of her pajamas and dug in her suitcase for the day's clothes. Bra, clean panties, shirt and shorts will get her through today. After pulling on her black shirt, she grabbed a hair tie from the dresser and side stepped a particularly big box over to the standing mirror.

There she paused.

This was one thing she wasn't taking. The full length mirror. Delia gave it to her after her little 'accident' and she never liked it. It was just a plain wooden mirror…so why did she feel so uncomfortable in front of it?

Lydia turned from side to side, inspecting her image in the reflection. It wasn't that she didn't like how she looked in the mirror...it's almost as if something was missing. This wasn't a new feeling either. Everytime she looked in the reflection and smiled, she was almost disappointed to see white teeth instead of rotted cavities. Why would she want that?

Shaking the thought from her head, Lydia proceed to tie her hair in a messy bun and used a few pins to keep her bangs from falling into her eyes. Once satisfied that she looked somewhat decent, she headed towards aroma of coffee that was silently beckoning her from the kitchen.

Lydia had half the mind to turn around and bolt back up the stairs as she entered the kitchen. Her father, Charles, sat quietly at the table with the morning paper up and covering his face. His fingers kneaded nervously at the newspaper, making it crinkle under the pressure. Delia had the phone resting on her shoulder as she proceeded to yell at the unfortunate receiver on the other end of the line. It was probably the moving van company.

The coffee pot was across the kitchen next to the sink. If she timed it just right she could cross the kitchen, grab her mug, pour the coffee, and be out of there before anyone noticed.

But the cat always noticed. Percy's big green eyes stared at his human as she tried to sneak past the table. He let out a long, loud, mewling cry. He hadn't been fed yet and the other humans seemed not to care.

Charles lowered his paper and spotted Lydia in mid crouch.

Damn cat.

Lydia put a finger to her lips. Charles raised an eyebrow at his daughter before shrugging and resumed reading his paper.

Nearly there...and…

Percy mewled again. This time much louder. Delia spun on her heel and pinned Lydia with a pointed stare.

"Well it's about time you joined the land of the living!"

DAMN CAT.

"The moving van will be here any moment! They're already an hour late, but I spose since you just woke up, everything should fall on schedule now."

Delia ended the call and set the phone down on the counter top. The older woman crossed her arms and watched Lydia pour her coffee.

"I think you drink too much coffee Lydia. You hardly ever sleep and the bags under your eyes are only going to get worse. How do you expect to find a man looking like the undead?" Delia paused. "Or is that the whole point with-" she gestured her hands towards Lydia "-this look you've been sporting your entire life?"

Lydia took a long sip from her coffee. It singed her lips a bit and she was tempted to 'accidentally' trip and spatter the hot liquid on her step-mother.

"I just have a thing for dead guys. Figured the whole rigor mortis thing would be fun-" Lydia was cut off by a loud coughing gesture from her father. He shook his head at her, none too pleased.

"Quit baiting your mother. She's only looking out for what's best for you."

Lydia chose not to say anything and took another sip of her coffee. She really wished he'd stop referring to Delia as her mother. Her mother was dead. Dead, dead, deadski. And that was all thanks to the cancer that didn't know when to fuck off after seven rounds of chemotherapy.

Lydia sighed loudly.

"Are you all packed up?" Charles attempted to change the subject.

"Pretty much. Just a few things need to go into the dryer and I want to get a box from the attic."

"What's in the attic?"

"Mom's box."

Delia made an audible sound of disgust from across the kitchen. Charles chose to ignore her.

"Why do you want that? It's probably better if you keep it here where it's safe."

Lydia frowned.

"No I'll just take it with me. It might disappear and end up at Goodwill if I don't."

"It was an accident Lydia!" Delia shrieked and threw her hands up in the air "How many times do I have to explain that to you?"

Lydia turned and rounded on her step mother. She nearly spilled her coffee. She wished she did.

"Twice! Twice I found it at the thrift store! I spent $100 just to buy back all the stuff they took out of it!"

"It was a box of junk Lydia!"

"My mother's camera? Her pictures? Her wedding ring?!" The two women were nearly noses apart before Charles stood up, effectively knocking over his chair.

"That's enough! Lydia-go and finish packing! Delia, come sit down before your makeup starts to run," he bent to pick up his chair, and then added as an afterthought "Leave her alone."

Lydia wasn't sure to who he was referring to in his last statement.

"No problem." she huffed. Lydia dumped the rest of the coffee out of the mug (what a waste) and stormed out of the kitchen. She could hear Delia wail at about hard it was to 'set that child straight'.

Childishly, Lydia stomped her feet all the way up the stairs and then slammed her door for good measure. That feeling lasted only a second before her shoulders slumped and the whole idea of adulthood took its sharp claws and dug them into her consciousness.

Forgot to feed the damn cat.

The upstairs attic looked like something from a kids horror movie. Every surface was covered in inches of dust and spiders had made lovely webs between various items in the small space. Various abandoned 'sculptures' took up most of the space in the attic. Delia refused to part with them but made the excuse that their auras didn't blend in wit the rest of the house.

Lydia snorted as she made her way into the dusty space and proceeded to uncover the one box she so meticulously hid from her step-mother. Many times she had to move the box from Delia. When they moved into the Victorian house, Delia set to remodel the house and dispose of anything and everything left of the previous tenants. Including a really cool hand made model of the town they lived in. The owner had hand built the entire town in his attic, and it was the first thing sold off in the yard sale. A family member bought it, so it wasn't a complete loss, but Lydia would have liked to keep it for photo props.

Shoving the last box aside, Lydia finally uncovered her mother's keepsake box. The wooden box was no bigger than a regular shoe box, but it held her mother's entity in there. Charles had given it to Lydia a week before he announced his engagement to Delia. He probably didn't want Delia to find out about it at first and more than likely didn't care about it now that he's actually married to her.

Lydia ran her hand across the lacquered wood and settled on the brass hinge. She flicked it up and opened it. Lydia let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. A stack of polaroid photos sat in the corner of the box, neatly tied together with a red ribbon. Next to it was a small velvet box that held her mother's wedding ring in it. She stuck her hand inside and moved the trinkets around with her finger. A pair of pearl earrings. A spider brooch. A plastic bag with various cooking recipe notes. A broken golden chain, and ouch-

Lydia pulled back her hand to find that her finger had been cut. She stuck the abused finger in her mouth and looked back into the box. She found herself looking at the reflection of her own brown eyes.

A single piece of broken mirror.

Setting the box on her lap, she used her other hand and gingerly picked up the mirror piece. It was roughly the size of her palm. A smudge of red across its reflective surface confirmed it to be the offending culprit. Yet oddly enough…

"It's completely round."

Lydia turned the mirror on it's back and found a small chunk was missing, thus producing a jagged edge that sliced her finger. But besides that, the entire piece was completely and symmetrically circular.

Mathematicians would love this as proof of the Golden Ratio.

But this didn't belong to her mom...did it?

Lydia held the mirror closer to her face. One of her brown eyes was perfectly framed in the reflection.

Suddenly her once brown eye turned and ugly shade of putrid jade and yellow in the reflection. The eye glared back at her with a venom that made her blood run cold. She shrieked and dropped the mirror back into the box. She slammed the cover closed and held her hand against it, as if whatever in the mirror might rise forth from it.

Lydia held her breath.

"Pumpkin?"

Lydia visibly jumped and clutched her mother's box tighter. Charles stood at the door of the attic with his hands in his pockets.

"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." he studied her sitting on the dusty floor. Lydia plastered a smile on her face and laughed mechanically.

"I saw a beetle!" she quickly explained. Her grip on the box lessened when her father quickly looked down at his feet. He lifted a foot as if to find the offending bug under his heel.

"A beetle? What would a beetle be doing in an attic?"

"I have no idea dad. It just...snuck up on me!" Lydia pulled her legs up and stood up from the floor. She dusted her bottom off before walking to the doorway."I found mom's stuff. I'm all set to go!" she held up the wooden box. Charles studied her for a moment before looking around the attic again. Lydia rolled her eyes and moved to push past her father.

"Well I hope we're not getting an infestation." he commented as he turned to follow his daughter. The door closed with an audible click.

"I don't think so dad."

He knew it was her. He felt the tell-tale shiver run up his spine when she touched the mirror. He hadn't had that sensation in nearly seven years. She nicked her finger on the mirror's back and he could almost taste the red liquid on his lips. He groaned loudly.

It was her alright.

Seven. Fucking. Years.

He chewed on his cigarette.

He recognize those brown doe eyes anywhere.

He should have felt elated when he realized it was her. Yet instead...all he felt was an intense rage building up in his stomach.

Seven. Fucking. Years.

With a snap of his fingers he sent a jolt of juice through the mirror and felt satisfied when she dropped the mirror.

Bitch.

He immediately regretted it when the mirror went dark again and he sent out another jolt of juice in annoyment. Fucking great. Last time she even touched the box was about three years ago.

But he didn't sense her put down the box. It was still in her arms. She was walking with it. She was actually taking the box somewhere.

About damn time. He plucked the cigarette from his lips and flicked it away.

His lips curled back from his rotting black pointed teeth and he sneered at his blank mirror.

Time to turn up the juice and see what shakes loose...