She's blind.
She was blind and the light hurt her. That gave him pause. Usually, the living couldn't interact with the dead because they relied too much on their sight… This had possibilities. He could make this work for him. The thought inspired cackles as he watched her quickly disappear down the stairs, claiming that she was going to come back up to visit and that she would bring records. Thank fuck, all this classical shit made him gagging.
After finishing his cigarette, he headed down to see how the new homeowners were settling in. If he was being honest with himself, and he wasn't, he just wanted to find the girl and see if she would feel him lurking. Instead, he opted to seek out the spaces the old man and the harpy claimed for themselves. He hadn't had this much opportunity to readily torment the living in awhile.
He drifted down the attic stairs and slowly pulled shadows around himself. Floating soundlessly over the worn hallway carpet, he stopped at the girl's door to look inside after overhearing distressed sounds. She had only managed to gather a few boxes with the label 'Lydia" on them. He couldn't even imagine how she was able to collect the few she had, as small as she was.
On the first floor, he could hear the doorbell and that obnoxious woman shouting "Food's here!"
He watched as the girl, Lydia, hurried down the stairs. From his vantage on the landing, he could see that there were at least five boxes with her name on it in the brightly lit entranceway. That irritated him. It looked like the majority of the boxes left unsorted belonged to the girl. With a low growl and a flick of his wrist, the last of Lydia's boxes were whisked to her room. He could feel the living in the dining area and sent a power surge to blow out the lightbulbs in that corner of the house. Satisfied, he mozied back to her room and sent his energy to work unpacking her things very carefully. Once all the boxes were emptied he sent them away, making sure he had everything put away neatly and easy for her to find. Finally, he made sure the candles she kept were waiting lit for her.
After he was done in the girl's room he was ready to cause some chaos and wash away the strange feelings leftover from such an uncharacteristic act of kindness. The old man had taken over the room with built-in shelving. Boxes and a desk were stacked at one end waiting to be unpacked. Betelgeuse thought it would be downright unfriendly to not help his new roommates get more settled. With a wicked grin and a snap of his fingers one of the boxes of books exploded all over the room, the desk drawers were all pulled out and their contents scattered. That should send a message he would let the old man interpret for himself.
"This house is haunted."
Both adult Deetzes shared a groan of exasperation.
"Not again, Lydia‒"
"You can't run around telling people you see dead people everywhere‒"
"Don't give the kids at this school any more reasons to make fun of you‒"
For all intents and purposes, she may as well have been deaf too with how skillfully she proceeded to tune out their joint scolding. Hopefully, the spirit was watching and would appreciate that she at least tried to make them aware of his presence. The food was terrible, Lydia was exhausted, and she didn't have the first clue where her sheets and bedding were. The movers had at least gotten her mattress and bedframe to the right room, but everything else was scattered.
With the way they were lecturing her now, Lydia wasn't in any particular mood to request assistance. She would rather sleep on the bare mattress for a night than forsake her pride like that. She already had so little to hold onto. Just then, she felt the same static sizzle from before, and again, the room was plunged into comfortable darkness, alleviating her and inconveniencing both parents.
Well aware who was responsible, the girl smirked into her greasy noodles and finished the meal in lone silence while her father and stepmother went to flip the breakers yet again. When she returned to her chosen room after spending a frustrating half hour searching for the elusive blankets and pillows, it was obvious to her immediately that someone had been there while she was gone.
It took a moment, but once her eyes adjusted to the perfect lighting, she gasped in wonder at the setup. Had she really thought this spirit malicious? He couldn't be. This was so sweet. Fingers trailed over the spines of her books, noting that her special braille editions of the classics were arranged according to genre and in alphabetical order, exactly the way she preferred. There were more candles lit than she owned, most of them bordering the mirror on her vanity so that she could get a near-clear look at herself.
She didn't know what to think. This was advanced paranormal activity, and it was beyond the scope of her experience and understanding. Whatever she was dealing with was incredibly powerful and obviously fixated on her. The concept was both thrilling and worrisome. His presence couldn't be felt by her currently, but she spun slowly, searching out for his energy anyway. He either wasn't there or he was hiding from her better now that he knew she could feel him.
"Thank you," she whispered, still awed by the gesture. He had even hung her clothes accordingly; shirts with shirts, skirts with skirts, dresses with dresses, et cetera. After choosing a comfortable, light nightgown all in black‒ just like everything she wore‒ Lydia spared another search for his energy.
"If you're here," she braved, nervous of offending him with the implication if he was there, "please don't look."
With that, trembling pale fingers began to undo the line of buttons running down her long, modest sundress.
On his way back to the attic, he passed the master bedroom and noticed it too had been mostly unpacked so he did his neighborly duty and rearranged everything into a sloppy heap. Feeling very proud and supremely content with his night's work, he casually passed by the girl's room again on his way to the attic and decided it was imperative to check in on her. Make sure she was able to find everything. Nothing serious.
He stepped through the door just to see her dropping her long black sundress to the ground, pale skin reflecting the candlelight.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, why ya hidin' that under all that fabric?"
For maybe the first time, he was thankful that he was basically cut off from the entirety of the breathing populace. Not wanting to alert her to his presence too early, he made sure to keep next to the door until she finished changing into a disappointingly shapeless nightgown. After she was done dressing, he made the temperature drop ever so slightly, lit a cigarette, then knocked softly on her vanity.
Just as she was climbing into bed, she felt it; a drop in temperature paired with the scent of burning tobacco. Turning in bed to sit properly from where she was on her knees, she flushed at his gentle knock, knock, knock‒ as if she needed further signifiers that he was there.
The timing was a bit too convenient. Deep down inside, she knew he watched her undress, but was too grateful for his help unpacking and intimidated by his spirirutal power to say anything about it. What could she do, really? Still, it was mortifying and so she tried to banish the thought that he knew what she looked like naked from her head before proceeding to attempt conversation with him again, positively crimson-faced.
"Thank you," she reiterated for a second time in case he didn't hear the first. "For my room."
With the sudden chill of his aura, she tucked under her neatly folded comforter, pulling it up beneath her chin to get cozy.
"You can talk to me, you know."
He must have been skilled enough to at least talk to her if he could do all this. It was odd that he hadn't yet. His mood swings were unpredictable thus far.
"Unless you can't. The librarian from my old school was really chatty, but she couldn't do half as much as you can do. The other kids picked on me for 'talking to myself'. My father will probably have me committed if he hears me talking to you too much."
That made him groan.
"I AM TALKIN' but Juno fucked me but good with this one..." If only the old bitch could see him now. He finally understood how this was a punishment; extended stay top side completely cut off from the breathers unless someone were to say his name.
His go-to move for this familiar song and dance show was to write his name down for the unsuspecting breather but because she couldn't see that wasn't a viable option either. She had lots of books… that had no writing in them so that wasn't going to help him. Searching for a solution, he analyzed her unpacked room carefully. His eyes fell on the radio sitting on the edge of her vanity. A sly grin crawled over his face.
With a snap of his fingers, little contraption turned on and began spinning ra[idly through the stations, the static giving him an opportunity to speak.
"Welcome...want talk...name three times…"
It butchered what he was trying to say, but it was the best he could do. He let the radio go dark and sat at the foot of her bed, hoping she caught the message.
The staggered, guttural voice coming from her radio only startled her a tiny bit since she wasn't expecting it. She felt the bed dip. Her legs curled in tighter toward herself at how close he had to be.
"You want to talk? But you need me to say your name three times?" A gentle current of air swept over her that she took as a Yes. "Well... what's your name?"
The temperature dropped again. Her entire bed frame, herself included, rose an inch off the ground and then dropped with a heavy thud that shook the room. Luckily, Delia was already in a drugged-out sleep and her father was dead drunk in his study so neither of them heard it or came rushing to investigate.
"Okay, okay, I get it! You can't talk!"
Throwing his voice through the radio like that must have taken quite a bit of spectral energy. She was sitting up straight biting her lip in thought until her expression brightened with an idea.
"I know! I'll say the alphabet, and when I get to a letter in your name, you knock once to stop me. Then, I'll start over until I have it. Sound good? Knock once if it's a deal."
Knock.
Grinning, proud of herself for succeeding in communicating with this mystery spirit, she began reciting the alphabet, beaming further to learn his name began with a "B." They worked together efficiently and it didn't take very long at all for Lydia to learn that his name was "Beetlejuice."
"Beetlejuice, huh?" She puzzled, speaking it aloud for a second time now. "That's almost as bad as Deel-ee-ya Deeetz."
Every syllable of her stepmother's name was enunciated with disgust. The air was tense with anticipation now, but at the moment of truth, Lydia hesitated. What if this was a terrible idea? This could be a violent entity she was tangling with. It had already proven itself vindictive with its treatment of her parents.
"I don't know, Bee… What if...?" The dangers he represented went unspoken. "And it's late. I'm really tired. I appreciate everything you did. So much. Really, but‒ but‒"
The girl was struggling.
"Just let me sleep on it, okay?"
When her face lit up what was left of his heart clenched. It was glorious and he was sure from what little he had observed that day that she didn't get the opportunity to smile like that often.
Listening to her sweet work out his name until she was finally saying it sent a constant electric buzz through him. He could feel the painful tug just behind his sternum, the telltale sign he was being summoned‒ but she said it twice and stopped. He could see the change when it happened. She went from shiny and excited to cautious, maybe a little scared.
"Just let me sleep on it, okay?"
"C'mon, babeb yer givin' me blue balls." He flicked his cigarette across the room making it disappear before it could hit the floor. Her little form stiffened under her blankets and froze. So did he. He grinned dark.
"You can hear me, can't ya'?"
She gave three quick little head bobs letting him know she could. He could smell how scared she was by this point, could feel it coming off of her in waves.
"Yeah. Sleep on it."
What was this feeling crawling around his gut? He knew he hadn't eaten any creepy crawlies lately but he was going to pretend he had. His fingers combed through her hair before he disappeared from her room with a small pop. Downstairs she could hear him destroying the kitchen and dining room, all the glassware being pulled out of cupboards and moving boxes smashed against walls and the floor, the house vibrating with his mania.
Lydia hardly slept a wink that night. Most of it was spent holding her blanket close up under her chin and listening as he destroyed her new home. Slowly. One by one, dish by dish, appliance by appliance. How were her father and Delia sleeping through this? It was horrendous. Surely they wouldn't blame her for this come morning?
They couldn't.
They did.
For two hours, they took turns yelling, apologizing for yelling, screaming more about "the damned shitty wiring in this old house" and getting an electrician out there ASAP, and then getting more and more frustrated the longer she insisted "it wasn't her, it was the ghost."
In the end, she lost her camera, her radio and record player, and anything else in her room that seemed like it might be half fun.
"You're a jerk," she bit out at her silent, chilly bedroom once she was banished there by fed up adults. "And a bully, and mean, and if you think you can force me to say your name, you're wrong."
Saying his name twice had made him tangible enough that if Lydia could have seen him, she would have but her stupid parents didn't even notice him. He leaned against the wall on the far side of the living room opposite them as they yelled at Lydia for the better part of the morning. Their joint hangovers were clear to the ghost and invisible to the chastized girl.
So fucking stupid. She obviously couldn't have done half the damage he caused the night before. It made him grin when he heard them calling an electrician. Good fuckin' luck. It took Charles six phone calls before he could find one willing to come out to the house on the hill. Betelgeuse scared so many away over the last few years he was surprised there were any left that were brave enough.
If he still had blood running, it would have boiled when he realized that them blaming the girl meant she was going to lose her possessions. As soon as Lydia slunk back to her bedroom he turned Charles' most expensive bottle of scotch into piss, then followed her.
"You're a jerk."
The temperature dropped in her room, not enough to be uncomfortable for her but enough to be noticeable.
"An' yer a tease. I wasn't tryin' to get ya to… just... fuck."
As he spat out the last word, her light bulb blew. With that, he disappeared out of her room returning to the attic. Crates and pieces of furniture were sent flying with his arrival. He wasn't sure if he was mad or just disappointed, and since fucking when did he feel any of that? Lurking in one of the half smashed wing back chairs in the dark, he seethed.
The elder Deetzes would pay. He just didn't know how yet.