Chapter 3

Lydia's head snapped around, and she fixed him with a cold, angry gaze. Beetlejuice clutched the sides of the mirror, and tried desperately to pull himself through. How unfortunate that he was looking through a mirror smaller than the palm of his hand.

"You," Lydia said simply. Beetlejuice's smile faded. She didn't seem happy to see him.

"Lyds!" he cried again, spreading his arms. "I'm back. Can't keep me down!" he said, winking roguishly. At least he thought it was roguish. On him it was just creepy.

"You're not welcome here," Lydia said. With that she raised her arms. Before Beetlejuice could react, the mirror he was looking through was hit with her energy.

Paralyzed by surprise, he could only watched as the glass peeled back around him. The dead skin on his face rippled, and a powerful blast ripped his fingers loose from around the mirror frame.

As he fell, he thought he heard a child scream in a high-pitched, panicky voice. But he couldn't be sure of anything now, because it was all fading, and even with all his formidable powers, he could not stop it, could not bring it back.

And then with a bump, he was sitting on his dirty floor in his grave, and he realized why everything had vanished, as his mirror crumbled into ashes in his hand.

Did he say he missed Lydia?

He went over to the table, where he picked up his picture of her, and then threw it on the ground, jumping up and down on it. If he could see that ghost for just one minute he would beat her ass so hard she would never forget it! But speaking of her ass . . . He groaned, remembering how good she had looked.

He paused, and then half-heartedly resumed stomping on her picture. After a minute he sighed and picked up the picture - much worse for the wear - and put it back up.

He lay down on the floor, his usual resting place, and thought about what he had seen. A cheap looking broad who was probably as tacky as Delia. A miserable looking man who was obviously Lydia's son. A miserable looking girl, who was quite obviously very childish. A very odd family, by all accounts. In fact, they all looked miserable, Fantasy included.

They were perfect, the type he loved to scare, or take advantage of the most. How to get back was the first problem. How to use that family to his benefit was the second. How to use that family to his benefit without Lydia finding out was the third. True, he was much more powerful than her, but she knew how to send him back. And she could always catch him off guard.

"Like she just did!" he moaned to himself.

He suddenly stood still, a devious thought entering his mind. Thanks to his unexpected visit, he now knew the house's location in space. With a great deal of effort and concentration, he could possibly send things there. But what to send? What would be a sure thing to get him out? And who to send it to? Not Lydia, she had made her position quite clear already. Eddie looked like too much of a stick in the mud. The daughter, what was her name, Sara? She looked too stupid to know to do anything. So Fantasy . . . the more he thought about it, the more he realized how perfect she might be, if she was the type of person he thought she was, flaky and gullible. And he was never wrong about people. Well, maybe he was wrong a lot, but it wasn't like he was going to tell anyone that. Besides, his freedom rested in the hope that he was right.

Now, what should he send her? A snake? No, that would be funny, but it wouldn't help him. A note? No, that would require being specific and explaining things, a definite no-no. Maybe he could find something else. He tore around the room once again. Fortunately, his search was short this time. With a cry of unholy delight, he held aloft his prize.

An ouija board. It was perfect! He would just have to make adjustments, like making sure the board pinpointed him, and only him. Wouldn't want to release any demons in the outerworld, he chuckled to himself, zapping the board and implements. For a final touch, he burned his name onto the board as a background. Maybe she would say it without any prompting at all!

He did a dance around the room, hugging the board fondly. Finally, he got tired, and raised the board up in the air. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, making sure to hold the house and its location in space firmly in his mind. After a minute, the board disappeared in a flash of sickly yellow light.

He did a little dance again. Now all that was left was – waiting. He plopped down on his lumpy chair, all his enthusiasm gone. Waiting. How he hated waiting.

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