One Year - Monsters Within
A/N: This chapter hops between Lydia, Bertha and Prudence, the "Cast of Misfits" as the title appropriately calls them. As such, Betelgeuse only makes a brief cameo, my apologies to his fans. I hope you'll all enjoy your reading experience, and review, reviews are nice, even if what they say isn't so nice.
Chapter Two - Cast of Misfits
320 Days. (October 25, Tuesday)
[Bertha's House]
Fragments of potato chips cascaded into the open magazine. Knobby knees kicked gangly legs back and forth gleefully in the fuzzy blue pyjama bottoms. Bertha licked her lips, as difficult as that was with beaver's teeth, to rescue as much of the salty carbs as she could. Squealing, the brunette lifted the magazine to her chest before rolling around on the bed. "Oh Kevin," her heartfelt sigh drifted through the air.
"Bertha-dear, time to get up!"
The girl could've hit the roof with how high she jumped. Her head spun to the clock before her getting out of bed included her leg getting tangled in the covers and causing her to take a face plant onto her floor. Bertha stumbled to her feet, took an awkward glance at her pyjamas, and then clamoured across the floor to her dresser. Drawers flew open and closed haphazardly. Clothes spilled over onto the hardwood. "I should've been up an hour ago," Bertha nearly whined, "How am I supposed to get ready on time?" Finally her wrinkled school uniform was pulled from her drawers and her pyjamas left carelessly on the floor.
Her feet pounded noisily as she made her way to the bathroom. She jiggled the handle, locked. Rhythmically annoyed tapping sounded until the door swung open. Bertha's older sister, a young lady with a face like an angel stepped out and looked at her oddly.
"What's with the drum roll?"
"Sorry Elizabeth, I was just-"
"Just being a spaz."
"Can I get past," came the soft cry of their youngest sister.
"Sure thing Natalie," Elizabeth said and the two elder sisters moved aside. Without another word Natalie had entered the bathroom and closed the door. A gentle moan came from Bertha, who would once again have to wait. Leaning into the wall, her foot once again tapping, Bertha anxiously started biting her nails, ruining yet another perfectly good nail polish.
Growing up the middle child sucked. Standing between her dainty sisters often made Bertha look and feel like some sort of inbred yuppie. She was awkward and gawky, and she knew it. Bertha had become her own group, isolating herself ever further. Of course her sister's didn't understand. They weren't social misfits.
Finally Natalie left the bathroom, Bertha dashing in past her with barely a glance. The makeup box crashed around Bertha's ankles. Her hairbrush stuck in a rather nasty knot. Her tooth brush down the side of the cabinet, into an ominous dark crevice between the sink and shower. Bertha looked up at herself, her eyes growing immensely sad. She leaned towards the mirror pressing her greasy forehead to its surface.
"Bertha!" she jumped again, it was her mother calling and not sounding very happy. Bertha pulled the brush from her hair, wincing, and frantically brushing out the tangles as best she could before dashing back across the hall to her bedroom.
Chip bags and magazines were shoved into the crevices of her school bag. She wildly flung her backpack on before heading out the door.
She came back a moment later to give a goodbye kiss to the poster on her door.
She came back another moment later to grab her school books and homework from the floor.
"Bertha!"
"Don't worry Mom!" Bertha called back as her big feet thundered down the stairs. Then her big feet got tangled, she tripped, and crashed the remaining half a staircase to the feet of her older and younger sisters.
"Bertha, I need to talk to you," her mother said. Bertha tried not to groan, but she had come to the realization that the potential of being late for school was not why she had been called.
[Prudence's House]
A child-like hand reached up to switch off a reading lamp. The petite girl looked even smaller in the large chair with the veritable tome open on her lamp. Closing the large book, she leaned into the cushion and closed her eyes. She could hear the gentle sizzle of food in the kitchen. She could hear the distant bird chirping. She could even make out the sweeping of the pendulum on the grandfather clock. It chimed, loudly, drowning out the subtleties of what could have been the perfect morning.
A dull rumbling nearly shook the house. The little red head placed her book back onto the study shelf and hurriedly exited into the hall. Four massive boys barrelled past her, she had only managed at the last second to press herself against the wall and thus avoid physical injury. Once she'd gone over a mental checklist confirming that she had escaped without having a heart attack she quietly drifted towards the kitchen.
"Prudence, it's time for breakfast, sweetie," came the soft coo of her mother's voice.
"Yes mom," Prudence replied softly as a football soaked over her head. Sports equipment at the table always made her nervous. Almost everything made her nervous, but it was a natural response after spending her entire life with sports equipment at the table.
Prudence cringed at the mile high stack of pancakes with heart shaped whorls of syrup. Once her mother was out of the room Prudence immediately began dispersing the gracious amount of pancakes among her perpetually voracious brothers until only two pancakes remained. These two she ate herself. Ignoring the bacon was a given, as the boys were beginning various challenges from growling to passing gas to see who would earn the next piece.
Obnoxiously loud boys who used the family's youngest as the butt of their crude jokes weren't exactly stimulating company. Prudence much preferred the study; her four older brothers barely noted its existence. Unfortunately, Prudence's over affectionate mother did, the big armchair contained a chocolate and a gushing motherly note.
With a sigh Prudence packed away both her "treats" and grabbed a rather large pile of sheets from the desk. Carefully she stuck her head back out into the hall, breakfast would be fully consumed at any moment. Right now Prudence had luck on her side, making use of the temporary repose to scamper to her bedroom. It was immaculate, although it was practically overflowing with everything that could qualify as girly. A multitude of stuffed toys lined shelves, dolls and doll accessories occupied much of the circumference of the room. Prudence barely touched them; the items she favoured were always kept just next to the bed, like her backpack.
Prudence retrieved her school uniform from her closet, perfectly pressed, with a plastic coating to repel dust. Once dressed, she began methodically packing her bag; everything was strategically placed to keep the bag as square as possible.
[Lydia's House]
Returning home after a week in a hotel room Lydia quickly found the best thing about being back, her own shampoo. There was nothing like a week of coconut scented sploodge to make a girl appreciate her citrus blossoms shampoo. Taking her morning shower was probably the best thing to happen in the last twenty four hours.
"Lydia, breakfast," her father called.
"Alright, I'll be right down," Lydia called back, rinsing the last suds from her skin before wrapping herself in a fluffy black bathrobe. Then about halfway down the stairs there was an odd little popping sound and a plume of black smoke trailed out from the kitchen. "Wow dad, Betty Crocker's got nothing on you," Lydia said in dry sarcastic tones as she entered the kitchen.
"Sorry pumpkin, these eggs really shouldn't be eaten," he sighed, putting the pan under the running water of the sink. Then the smoke detector started trilling loudly. "Oh crap, have some tea, I'll be right back."
Tea, the only consumable where Charles really excelled, he could track down the tea in a supermarket by smell. Lydia couldn't find a producer anywhere that matched one of his loose leaf homemade blends. Tea was the only reason that Charles was still allowed into the kitchen after the Maitlands were an accepted phenomena in the house. Barb and Adam thought than any type of tea was synonymous with Red Rose.
Though Lydia couldn't deny her father credit for trying, at the very least. He'd come to the country to escape the stress from work, but since Delia was out of commission he'd been doing his best to step up to the plate. He even got the stupid smoke detector to shut up.
Lydia sipped from her warm mug, the tea was surprisingly sweet. Not her father's usual, but it was always the style that Lydia had adored since childhood, when the grassier teas made her wrinkle her face in disgust. Lifting the lid of the pot Lydia found her proof, mint leaves, lemon skins and dried strawberries.
"You like it?"
"Yeah."
"Pumpkin, if you need to talk…"
"No, I'm good," Lydia said simply, "and I'd better get ready for school, I don't want to be late again."
"Late again, you went to school yesterday?"
"Yeah."
"I thought you might like another week off…"
"I'm fine, dad. I don't want to fall behind."
"Oh, okay," Charles said weakly as Lydia disappeared up the stairs.
It was a little late for talking. Lydia had needed him a week ago when she'd been bawling in the motel room, but Delia always came first, and Lydia had gotten used to bandaging her own mental scars.
She quickly changed into her uniform, before checking the state of her drying hair. Her hair always had a little extra playfulness to it when she dried it on the bike ride to school. It took a minute to shove the papers covered in violent red letters into the vanity drawer, before she grabbed her backpack and headed back downstairs.
"See you later," Lydia called as her hand wrapped around the doorknob.
"Wait," there were several crashing sounds, Charles came bowling towards the door, he held out a paper bag. "Lunch," he gasped, winded.
"That's great, dad," Lydia replied without reaching out to grab it.
"No, its okay, just some leftover pizza and an apple," Charles said reading into her fears.
"Thanks," Lydia forced a small smile and took the bag.
"Have fun at school," he called as she climbed onto her bike and pedalled away.
[Miss Shannon's School for Girls]
"Be careful with your little sister," Bertha said mockingly, echoing the lecture she had gotten. "Respect your big sister. What about them do they bother to be nice to me at all? No. You're so clumsy. You're so forgetful. You're so careless. Oh Bertha, you've wrinkled your uniform again, how many times do I have to tell you to hang it up in your closet and not leave it in your drawers."
Bertha drifted behind her two sisters until they reached the school yard and both of them took off in different directions leaving her alone. Bertha kicked a rock. Looking up, her gaze crossed the schoolyard; most of her class sat together, around the popular new girl, Clare Brewster.
It was a bold move, walking over towards them; Bertha could feel the butterflies starting to dance within her stomach… or were those hunger pangs? Inwardly Bertha cursed her metabolism and dropped her backpack off her shoulder to retrieve some snacks. Crouching on the pavement as she dug through her bag, Bertha had no idea that the current placement of her legs didn't properly cover her under garments.
Sardonic snickers rose up from Clare's little clique, "Oh my gosh, if she only knew how stupid she looked."
"Here's your homework Clare," Prudence held the sheet up.
"And I'll get a hundred percent right?" Clare asked, snatching the sheet away.
"Yes," Prudence squeaked and scuttled off to distribute the rest.
Bertha's frantic bag searching stopped on one of her magazines. Specifically it was one that advertised "10 Steps to Popularity." She steadied her breathing, in for eight, out for eight, and then started quoting the steps like a mantra. Finally she packed her good luck charm away and headed for Clare's corner of the school yard, moving about as gracefully as a baby ostrich holding in a number one.
"What is she doing?" Clare asked, disgusted.
"Oh sorry, I was," Bertha fumbled for an apology.
Clare cut her off, "Who gave you permission to address me?" The cronies were moving; they blocked Bertha off from Clare and simultaneously surrounded the quickly defenceless geek much like a pack of wolves. Bertha opened her mouth to speak again, but Clare cut her off before even a single syllable escaped. "I'll admit, I am radiant. It's hard to resist basking in my presence. However, that privilege is not something someone like you will ever receive."
Bertha backed away, the wolf pack moved in.
Lydia stopped her bicycle just off the property and gawked. Slowly her grip on the handles tightened with rage, Clare was ruining another life. Nostrils flared, Lydia pounded her foot into the pedal quickly gathering speed.
Bertha felt powerless. Although the insults were flying, she couldn't hear them, with the exception of the occasional word; ugly, stupid, awkward, unattractive, desperate; everything that Bertha feared she was, spelled out by her peers. How could they know? There was only one way that they could know. It must have been true.
She was shaking, couldn't breathe; her stupid, ugly, knobby knees gave way. Crumpling to the pavement, with tears just barely bitten back by stupid ugly teeth, Bertha felt a light kick to her shin. Then there was a hard and swift kick to her ribs, which forced a gasp from her lungs. Her ball tightened, but there wasn't another physical attack. Lifting her head just in time to watch a bicycle as it barely missed her. Her gaze followed the pavement careening bike until a new shadow moved over her.
Sunlight streamed between the ebony hairs of a girl Bertha had only known by the name on roll call Lydia Deetz.
The petite red head squeaked.
Lydia stood there, hairs on end from the adrenaline rush. In her opinion, she had just pulled quite the stunt. Now, Clare and her pack of vicious teenage wolves were turning their attention back to Lydia. "Sorry I slipped," Lydia said sardonically tilting her head.
"You little liar," Clare practically spat.
"Oh, and what are you going to do about it Brewster?" Lydia knew what it was like to be used, back in the day she had been Clare's lackey. Now she had the experience of fighting for control with Delia, the power that Clare wielded was so apparent. "Your little goon squad doesn't scare me anymore Clare. It's really rather pathetic that you're still too dumb to do your own math." Lydia felt pretty dumb for using the word dumb, but unfortunately when picking a fight she had to use words that Clare would understand.
"You little bitch," Clare sneered, "I don't need any sort of muscle to send you crying."
"Oh Clare if you would just stop using your muscles, I would cry for joy, I think everyone would be relieved, you need you muscles to do things like… talk."
"Now you're just asking for it," the bell interrupted Clare and she twitched angrily, "if you know what's good for you, you'll skip class today." Clare smiled darkly, Lydia shuddered on cue.
"See, she's always been weak," Clare assured her smattering of followers. The red head in the back took one last look towards the two, and gulped before scampering into the building.
"That was… awesome," Bertha looked up at Lydia, her green eyes practically sparkling.
Lydia shrunk, since when could Clare Brewster smile like that… like Betelgeuse…
[The Neitherworld]
Fuck, Betelgeuse was having a really great day. A little company really got Betelgeuse riled up. His bought of petty vandalism which now covered half the town became arson, theft, and kidnapping. Was it kidnapping? The pretty ghoul currently duck-taped to his arm was very willing when they first started. Amazing how adhesive ducks could be. After having a ball, laughing their tails off, and evading whatever pursuers she'd been trying to outrun when she bumped into him, she had the dumb idea to try and ditch him without even giving him her phone number.
He never would have called, but it just seemed damn impolite.
Now she stood there looking pretty, squirming like something else mind you, but all in all very attractive with her big brown eyes wide with fear. Seemed like the ideal time to make out. Betelgeuse didn't hesitate to tear the duck tape off her lips and press his lips against that of his little prize. And the fact that they were duck taped together made impossible for her to run away as he moved his free arm around her waist before snaking his tongue into her mouth.
Sharp pain, Betelgeuse recoiled and watched shocked as that dirty little vixen spat out the tip of his tongue. He didn't give her time to scream for help, he bent down and grabbed the chunk of severed dead flesh, reattached it and went right back to kissing her. He could already hear the police alarms in the distance. He released the lock he had on the ghoul's lips and wrapped her mouth with some fresh duck tape. "Hush up for a minute doll, daddy's working." She shrieked underneath the tape.
Technically the police couldn't do shit to him, but that didn't mean he was eager for them to end his playtime.
[The Cafeteria]
"Hiya Lydia!" Bertha called, running to Lydia's side enthusiastically.
"Hey… Bertha," Lydia replied, a little unsure how to react to the gawky brunette who had been following her unceasingly. Why exactly was a greeting necessary after they'd been apart for only about two minutes while going to their separate lockers for lunch? There was something to be said about different kinds of people; Bertha talked almost constantly about every little thing, mostly about boys. Lydia would appreciate the company and enthusiasm a bit more if Bertha was a little less like a whimpering puppy dog.
"-and that's why Kevin is the hottest name that was ever thought of," Bertha yammered on, Lydia hadn't quite heard how that had started out. She sat down at a table with more important stuff in mind, Clare had redirected her sights. Standing in the line of fire, it was probably not the smartest way to destroy the gunman's reputation. "I know this sounds weird… but we're friends, right Lydia?" Bertha asked quietly.
"Sure," Lydia replied. It brought a soft smirk to her face, not too long ago she would've begged for someone to count as a friend, and now she could really care less.
The petite red-head drifted by their table with curiously bright eyes, but then quickly scampered towards the table with her so called 'friends'.
"She thinks she's so smart," Clare glared across the room, "but she's not going to feel so smart once I'm done with her, you followed her to her locker, right Perdita?"
"Yes," Prudence squeaked even if Clare had gotten her name wrong. Being the smartest kid in class wasn't easy; it would be easier if she could raise her hand at every question, it would be easier if she could get the occasional one wrong. It was too easy to get singled out by someone like Clare. Keep your head down, Prudence mentally went over her personal creed, don't stand out and you'll survive until getting a scholarship out of here, just think of the scholarships.
"She thinks just because she only wears black that she's some kind of psychic expert on the dead," Clare babbled. "My daddy heard the whole thing from his source in Maxie Dean's office, making up ghost stories to help her dad be less of a failure in the real estate business."
"That doesn't really make sense," Prudence said, mostly to herself.
"I don't pay you to contradict me Perdita."
Clare didn't pay Prudence at all, although the blonde was probably just vapid enough to believe that time equally money and her time was worth infinitely more than anyone else's. Although more likely she just wanted a witty comeback and failed epically. "At any rate, we're going to scare her right out of town; she'll piss herself when anyone mentions the word ghost. I don't want her around to mess up my Halloween party."
"What was that?" Lydia let her mouth fall open.
"The Halloween party? It's going to be awesome," Bertha restarted her rant, she couldn't hold it against Lydia, often losing track of things when food was in front of her. "It's going to be in the gym with the guys from Mr. Brandon's School for Boys, but it would probably be way creepy if you were organizing it instead of Clare."
"Clare is organizing a Halloween Party?"
"Yep."
Her favourite holiday, mangled by that stupid pampered Brewster, Lydia was shaking slightly. Not on her watch, she would ruin Clare's Halloween even if it was the last thing we did. However it wasn't something he could do alone, she would need help, "Hey Bertha, wanna come over after school?"
"Wow, that would be awesome," Bertha gushed happily, "we could give each other makeovers, and talk about boys."
"Great," Lydia cut her off, grabbing her uneaten food and leaving the cafeteria briskly.
[Chapter Two: End]
