Disclaimer: Beetlejuice and Co belong to Geffen. Alas that he did not choose to make further use of them.
AN: Saratoga Springs really is haunted! And the Twilight Zone ep mentioned is #99 Something in the Walls of the series done in the mid '80's.
Chapter 13: Haunted
Sun rises and sun sets. Stars turn and spiral and fade. Day fades to night to day. It was driving her crazy. Lydia had never thrown herself so wholeheartedly into her work as she did that week. By Wednesday, she had a paper written for Art History that wasn't due until the end of term, and had completed sketches for the next three weeks for Illustration, her least favorite class. English Composition had a paper due on the subject of her choice, so she found herself searching local hauntings in Saratoga Springs. And the university library was a gold mine. The Olde Bryan Inn was a hotspot, it seemed, for a ghost named Eleanor, and near the Inn was High Rock Hill, also notorious for ancient hauntings, even in Native American legends. The name Madame Jumel came up quite often, and in a dusty old book that hadn't seen the light of day for many years, she found a reference to sightings of Revolutionary War soldiers in various places throughout the town. She took notes carefully, and noted things she wanted to ask Beetlejuice about. Surely no one would know more than he would.
It was late, and Lydia sighed and stretched languorously over the back of her chair. She was startled by a snapping sound, and looked back at the table to find that her pencil had broken in two. By itself. "B…" she began dangerously. The pencil jumped back together hastily, and then as an afterthought, was wound around with what looked suspiciously like duct tape. She giggled. "B, what are you doing here? I left the room to avoid you. It's not easy when you're invisible."
A chill crept down her spine. "You can fix that, babe…" But she shook her head.
"No way. We'll have to wait till Friday." She watched suspiciously as the pencil drifted across the table and something tugged out a blank sheet of paper from her portfolio. After a moment, the pencil began to outline a shape. Working almost faster than she could see, with the point being sharpened without pause, the wood shavings curling away even as the picture formed, the invisible artist sketched a face. Her face, she realized, flushing. "B, we aren't alone here, you know." But she could see her own dark eyes forming, and the prominent bones of her thin cheeks. In the drawing, her lips were parted, and her eyes wide and gentle. Then, as suddenly as he began, the picture was done, and it drifted to rest in front of her. She gazed at herself, her own lips parted now. "Is that how you see me?"
But there was no answer. Only a tug through her hair, as if he was combing through it again. She closed her eyes and suppressed a burst of heat that only had one name. This was becoming impossible. He had every advantage but one; it seemed that they were tied tight enough that he was able to haunt her, even when she hadn't said his name. Her one and only advantage was that he couldn't come all the way through without her permission. But it was weak, and she felt it. Felt the thin screen between her world and his bend and stretch, like that episode out of that show Twilight Zone. Except that woman thought she was crazy, and Lydia knew that she was crazy. She rose, tucking the sketch into her portfolio, and left the library, hoping beyond hope that she would sleep tonight without a struggle.
And Beetlejuice, left standing behind her vacated chair, contemplated the question she had asked him. Is this how you see me? He could still feel the cool weight of her hair on his fingers, and he began to seriously question his own tattered sanity. Why had he drawn that? It left him feeling terribly vulnerable, which was very unusual and disturbing. He had done more thinking in this week than he had done in a few centuries, and it made his head hurt. And it made the whiskey disappear. He needed a break. Friday was two days away. Until then, he was not going to think about her. He snapped his fingers, and the air that had surrounded him collapsed with a pop. A girl laden with books walked right through where he had just been, and broke out in goosebumps. For weeks afterwards, she swore that the library was haunted, and showed anyone who was interested where the cold spot had been.