Ok, this is chapter two of my little fan fic updated for 2023, I hope you enjoy it and please feel free to review it. I shall be updating all the chapters I have so far. Refining them as well as posting new content.
I am not sure if any of you in the land of the living has been through the digestive tract of a sandworm. But, it is not a pleasant experience, to say the least, and not one I would recommend. Even our self-proclaimed 'Ghost with the most' found it a bit hard to cope with after the beast had crashed his wedding. He had planned for other things to be swallowed on his wedding night. But, instead, he had so rudely been swallowed hole at his own wedding. Trapped there in the festering belly of the beast. It had been four years now without any hint of relief or an inkling of an out. He tried to escape by the conventional means and even some more unconventional ones. After all they don't call him the 'Ghost with the most' for nothing. He did his best to slowly poison the beast from the inside out. While he sat in his fleshy prison, though he was weak. Being eaten by a sandworm wasn't fatal; how could it be when he was already dead and had been for a very long time? But, it did wreak havoc on his powers. It messed with them, dulling their effect on all things living until he could hardly conjure up a beetle for him to munch on; let alone escape. Yet he had all the time in the world and slowly, very slowly his escape plan was put into action. Bit by bit, until one day, he was free to exercise his revenge on the land of the living.
You see every day he had sat there in the belly of the mockingly striped beast. He came up with a new plan on how he was going to kill "that little bitch Lydia" and her two pet ghosts. He took immense pleasure imagining the little brat crying, as he killed her parents and exorcised the ghosts of the Maitlands forever. All before he would turn his full attention to her. All the waiting would be worth it the instant he got his hand on that little Goth bitch; so he could make her scream and cry in pain. Yet things weren't as simple as they may have seemed. Yes he wanted to make Lydia suffer the most out of everyone. But, his motives were twisted inside his brain. Sometimes he imagined listening to Lydia's strangled cries; the light dying in her eyes as she moved on from the land of the living. Other times he imagined making her scream and moan, as he used and abused the Goth girl for as much as he wanted; before he eventually killed her. He certainly enjoyed thinking about all the different ways he could make little Deetz scream.
Sure she had been no more than a child, perhaps 16 at the oldest the last time he had seen her. Though he really wasn't good at guessing the age of breathers. But that that didn't stop him from thinking about the tasty little piece of jail bait. He was the ghost with the fucking most for god sake and he could do what he liked to the little Goth whore. All cards would be off the table if he could get her to say his name, then she would be his for the taking.
If she let him out, then none of the netherworld rules could touch him. Especially if he married the little bitch before he showed his true colours. Then not only would he have a free pass to the land of the living, but a warm willing body for him to take whenever he pleased. He liked this plan more and more each time he thought about the things he could do to her. He began to feel the all too familiar itch radiate deep within his necrotic loins that could only signal one thing.
Usually, he would have gone to one of the netherworld's many cat houses 'to get a little action' but that only appeased the itch for so long and did nothing for the ache. It was an ache deep within, that longed for the brush of fingertips against his cold skin. Or the divine caress of a lover's kiss. Real physical contact, that's what he wanted, that's what he needed. His whole being craved it, felt like his whole body was craving touch like the desert craved a soothing rain. Sure whores were good for a ride or two but it wasn't what you would call real intimacy and that's what he craved the most
Sure they did their part, smiling and bouncing their dead little silicon tits. Yet, when it came down to it there was no spark. Even the hookers had their rules, they couldn't or rather wouldn't kiss him and most of them refused to look him in the eye. Yet it was worse when they did look at him their eyes filled with nothing but hatred and disgust for the man; for his teeth, his demeanour, his stench. They hated him but still went through the motions of grinding on his dead prick for a few hundred dollars and a good stiff drink. God most of them only exerted enough movement to get the job done, before they would order him away. So they could clean up in order to entertain the next in a long line of "john's".
It was also risky business going to the otherworldly brothels. Though ghosts were immune to most venereal diseases unfortunately crabs were a real problem. Now that was an itch that would never go away, the undead buggers would stay with a ghost for centuries. Driving them to insanity and beyond.
He scratched his crotch absentmindedly and smiled as it produced a muffled but nonetheless comedic 'honk' sound.
"When the hell did that get there?" he mused to himself; his bloodstained fingertips diving into the never-ending depth of his pants pocket, producing an old car horn. He squeezed it twice for good measure, a small chuckle reverberating deep within his throat before throwing the horn over his shoulder. His little visits to the houses of sin were fun while they lasted but did nought to quench the ever-present burning in his nether regions, though it did quell it for a while. He always felt disgusted with himself, that he had to used wornout hussies; and even more disgusted at the fact that the cheap imitation of the flesh hadn't worked. His need for intimacy coming back stronger each time, clouding his mind and making his head literally spin with rage. What had he done to disserve this never-ending torment?
Ok trick question, he had earned his damnation at least a few thousand times, even before he had left the land of the living; yet he still thought it unfair. He had been cheated out of happiness, cheated out of the sweet freedom he had hoped this new death would bring him. There was no comfort, no joy. Even in the moment of his release; spurred on by the whores 'encouraging' groans he felt nothing! Just the same dull ache for a warm willing body beneath his, that would bend beneath his will and plaster fever riddled kisses along his jaw. He had learnt this lesson quite early in his afterlife and this soul-crushing fact had inevitably left him, bitter, twisted and irrevocably insane. Making him wish to stamp out happiness, passion and life where ever he saw it and he saw it painfully clear in the breathers. That is why he had become a 'bio-exorcist' taking a malicious pleasure in tormenting and sometimes killing the living representations of what he had lost.
The moment he had become free from that infernal snake he went to the house so he could implement his depraved plan on the poor girl but he found the house to be empty. Well at least he had thought it had been empty, little did he know that it had been a trap. Juno and the Maitlands had spent the last four years planning and they had come up with a plan of binding him to something permanently so they could destroy him. The only problem with that was the object had to belong to someone who was of flesh and blood, in other words still alive. This meant that everything of the Maitland's was out of the question and all that was left was the old dresser mirror in Lydia's room. They had wanted something more solid to bind him into, perhaps a book or something like that, but it had been the only thing left in the house, so it had to do. Soon Beetlejuice found himself living in yet another prison though this one wasn't made of flesh but cold, hard glass instead. It was just as infuriating as the last time, but he already had a plan in place to get free. He had found a little loophole in Juno's little spell and if the person who owned the mirror wished him free then he could escape the prison of glass. But it would be only temporary. Not that such trivial things mattered when he had much bigger things in mind; rather than just some shitty little day pass. He wanted to be free forever and for that, he would need to bring out the big guns so to speak. You see if the person that owned the mirror fell in love with him then he would be free from his prison forever. Which would be just perfect for him to put his little revenge plan into action. As it just so happens the mirror belonged to little Lydia. Things couldn't be more perfect and Beetlejuice couldn't help but grin at the thought of all the things he had in store for poor clueless Lydia.