Chapter 8
Lydia carefully floated just above the floor, the lovely hardwood surface completely hidden underneath furniture and broken glass. Eddie hadn't set one foot in the house when he came home, instead coldly informing Fantasy that he was going to sleep in a hotel tonight, and she had better start cleaning up.
Her gaze was drawn to a shattered mirror. The remaining glass had the words '7 years bad luck' drawn in through the dust. She grimaced.
Beetlejuice phased through the ceiling, drifting down to stop directly in front of Lydia.
"She can sure make a mess, can't she?" he observed.
Lydia sulked. "Stupid cheerleading fluffhead," she said darkly. "Making a mess outta my house!"
"Want me to get her?!" he cried, with far too much enthusiasm.
Lydia glared. "No, imbecile. I do not. I do not want anybody being killed in my house!"
"Aw, I wouldn't kill her! I'd just give her a few more gray hairs!" he snickered.
Before she could stop herself, Lydia's hand flew up to her own hair, sporting a silver streak in it. Self-conscious, she tucked the shoulder length mass behind her ear.
By some miracle, Beetlejuice sensed his blunder. "Aw don't worry about it babe. That ain't gray, that's silver. And it looks gorgeous on you." Lydia sniffed and tossed her head, but inwardly she glowed. She hadn't been told she was beautiful since before Eddie had been born. Even coming from the dirty poltergeist, it made her feel better about herself.
Just as Beetlejuice was going to reach out and touch her hair, the lovely moment was spoiled by the shrill scream that echoed through the entire house. Sara dropped her backpack on the floor and said dramatically, "What. In HELL! Happened. Here!!"
Fantasy poked her head out at her daughter, rolled her eyes, and retreated. Sara stormed into the living room, despite the crunching noises heard under her shoes. And then released another outraged scream.
"MY DIARIES!" she howled. As well she might, for every exploit she had ever committed was now pasted on the walls for all to read.
Lydia made an outraged noise at this flamboyant disturbance of her peace, and drifted through the ceiling, coming up through the floor of the attic, where the sounds of the brewing fight were at least muffled.
Beetlejuice followed suit, arms clasped behind his back, and an innocent look on his face. The first thing that caught his attention was the model of the town. He made an outraged noise in the back of his throat, and swept it onto the floor before Lydia noticed.
Lydia had her back to him . . . and a very nice back it was. He scrambled through his pockets till he found a camera, and snapped a shot.
Lydia whirled around, indignant. She began yelling about something, but his hyperactive brain immediately tuned her out. He rocked back and forth a little, noticing that his knee popped every time he went forward. He tested it, and was rewarded with what sounded like a chorus of snapping fingers.
"Are you even listening to me?" she cried, running out of breath.
"'Course I am!" he said. He smiled at her, obviously thinking that his green and brown teeth held some sort of charm.
They did not.
Lydia shuddered, and wanted to brush her own teeth.
Beetlejuice started digging in his pockets once she had resumed lecturing. His fingers closed around something soft and furry, with a long chain. He beamed. Perfect.
"You're NOT listening to me!" Lydia cried. Before she could say anything else, Beetlejuice whipped out the object he had in his pocket, and dangled it in front of her face.
It was a bat necklace, something Lydia had plenty of, but this one was special. The body was made of soft black rabbit fur, with a little button nose. It had large black leather ears, and wide leather wings, long enough to touch both of her shoulders.
Lydia sighed. It was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. She couldn't resist.
"It's so cute," she crooned.
Beetlejuice did an ecstatic back flip. She liked it! But of course she did. It was a present from him, the Ghost with the Most!
Lydia spared him a wary glance, as she clutched the necklace in her hands. "You can't keep bribing me into a good mood forever," she pointed out.
"Yes I can!" Beetlejuice announced smugly, not bothering to deny the charges of bribery.
Lydia floated downstairs, to find it eerily empty of her family. She shrugged and headed for the living room to look out the window.
As she passed by the TV, the annoying thing flicked on. For some reason, TVs and computer screens all went haywire when she went near them.
Beetlejuice immediately squealed with joy, plopping down on the couch, and putting up his muddy boots. Somehow, the spectral mud got onto the coffee table.
"What do you think –" Lydia started, only to be shushed noisily.
"Quiet! They're about to be married!" he said desperately. He shivered in his seat with anticipation. Lydia leaned over to see what he was watching.
A busty woman, nearly falling out of her wedding dress, was standing at the altar next to a tall man with black hair, who was fidgeting nervously. Lydia noted he had an eye patch.
When his identical triplet came striding down the aisle, denouncing the marriage as fraud, however, Lydia lost interest. Beetlejuice however, was making short work of his nails in anticipation. Lydia sighed and got up, accidentally turning it off as she did so.
She raced out of the living room, followed by B's cry of rage.
--
The Next Day
Lydia locked herself in what used to be her room, tears of rage streaming down her face. It was a useless gesture, but perhaps it made the point. She couldn't get rid of the bastard! She still couldn't remember his name. God, his name, what's his name?! She flung herself down onto the floor.
They had had a huge, knockdown, drag out fight, and there was no doubt in Lydia's mind but that he had won. For some stupid reason, Lydia had gone and forgotten how dangerous the B-man was, but it had all come rushing back when she saw him push her son, my son, my only son, he could've died, off the stairs.
I could feel fangs growing out from my teeth, and I just know my eyes turned red. How DARE he do that to my son! Look at him, he's laughing so hard he can barely stand up! I'll rip his trachea out, see him laugh after that!!
She had launched herself at him, feeling her rage possess her. The split second look of shock plastered on his face was rewarding, but it didn't last long. Before she knew what had happened, she was spinning out near the ceiling, dizzy and sick.
He yelled at me, asked me what in hell I thought I was doing. I ignored him, and looked for my son. He was getting up, he's okay. He's bewildered and angry, but he's okay. I could concentrate on killing B.
How could she have forgotten how dangerous he was? As if his disturbing mood swings hadn't been enough, he had just attacked her son, who was defenseless against him.
She remembered another time, he had done very nearly the same thing to her father.
"It's settled," she whispered to herself. "He just HAS to go!"
--
Beetlejuice stormed around the house in a rage. Things had been going so well, and then they just went so horribly wrong. The look she had had on her face had been positively frightening.
He scowled. It wasn't like the man had been hurt all that bad anyways. Just a long fall, maybe some bruises. Oh, all right, he definitely had bruises, but since when do bruises kill anyone? He'd just been having a little fun! That's what breathers were FOR, for christ's sake.
He went up to Fantasy's room, and for lack of anything better to do, went through Fantasy's underwear drawer. He wasn't disappointed; Fantasy had a lot of underwear, that wasn't a lot of underwear. If you know what I mean.
He finished fingering through the underwear, and dropped his own personal calling card in the drawer. In other words, a garden snake.
He shifted restlessly. He was having the same problem here that he had back in his grave, he had nowhere to go.
He nicked a quarter and flicked it into his pocket. His feet started to walk without him in the driver's seat. That was a problem of his, he just couldn't sit still to save his afterlife. He thought he might have been ADHD when he was still alive.
He sat down and thought for a moment, which was hard. He couldn't keep his thoughts in line.
She looked pretty angry. I don't know why, it was just her kid. Hey, I wonder if I had any kids? I can't remember . . . They'd be dead by now anyways. So, she's angry. What do you do with a chick that's angry again? God, I don't know. I always dumped them before when they got pissy. But I don't want to dump Lydia yet. Yet, I haven't even started! She doesn't like me yet. What do I have to do, give blood? No, I don't have blood anymore. Nix that. Wait, what was I talking about again? Ah, Lydia and her anger issues. Maybe a therapist?
Wait, what's that one thing those breathers do? Appy—appoll? Apply? Appologest? Apologize! That's it! I'll – hell no! I ain't apologizing for anything! Apologising would make it seem as though I was actually sorry, or that I wouldn't do it again!
Blech! No way. Uh-uh! Not me!
--
"Lyds?"
"…"
"Lyds, I'm . . .I'm . . . I'm sor – I'm SORRY!"