Ok Boils and Girls this is my first chapter of my Beetlejuice Fan fiction yay. I grew up with the cartoons as a kid and I fell in love with the film later on and now the musical. But, I still adore all versions. With that in mind, the majority of my influences draw directly from the film with just a hint of toonverse sprinkled in.
This has been re-written in 2023 and I will be re-writing all the old chapter as well as adding new chapters to the story as well.
So, to old friends and new I hope you enjoy it, please feel free to comment and review.
It had been a long time since Lydia Deetz had visited the quiet slice of suburbia known as Winter River. Five years since she had last stepped foot in the sleepy little town and for a good reason; it was because of Him, or rather the memory of Him. He had, in fact, been swallowed up by a sandworm never to be seen again. Yet, whenever night drew in along the eaves of the old house, she could swear she could hear a voice whispering her name along the wind. She could hear crackling in the walls late at night; a deep, manic, unforgettable laugh. It always caused her to go as stiff as a board as a chill ran down her spine.
There had been something about the man that was so inexcusably vile and repugnant. Those of a weak constitution had been known to lose their lunch at the mere sight of him. If the rather distinctive black and white striped suit; caked with literally several century's worth of dirt, blood and other more unspeakable stains didn't do the job; then the smell certainly did. His lifeless breath could peel paint off the walls. These and his overall lecherous personality were reasons to avoid Him like the plague. It made her shudder as she remembered the sight of his rotting teeth, black with puss and bugs oozing out from between the gums. Not exactly a sight one would forget but not exactly one she wanted to remember either.
That was why she had left, to try and forget. Being in that house bought it all back, wave upon wave, day after day. The staircase was the worst. She remembered how He had turned himself into a snake. In a bid to torment her family. She remembered how he had cackled with malice in his voice, telling her father;
"We've come for your daughter Chuck" before fixing his gaze on her. It sickened her to remember how he had observed her with a terrifyingly haunting and hungry look. That, reminded her of a wolf eyeing up a lost little lamb ready to lure it away to become its supper. His tale had rattled angrily as a forked tongue darted out of his lips, in order to lick her face. Though, just in time, Barbara had called his name, making the ghoulish snake disappear into nothingness. Almost as if He had never been there in all his scaled sorcery. The whole incident had made Lydia physically sick. It was a memory ingrained in her mind and she still recalled it in her nightmares all these years later.
She had to move out for her own sake. Being in that house just wasn't good for her. The whole house was a museum of that terrible night of the dinner party. She couldn't set foot in the dining room or the living room for that matter without feeling sick. Even though Delia had redecorated and got a new table. In the end, there had only been one choice in her mind, she had to move out or she would go insane.
She had told Adam and Barbara that she was moving because of her photography career. There were opportunities only the big city could provide her with. She didn't dare tell them the real reason she needed to move. How could she, it was their house, after all. It was their home and they had always made her feel so very welcome. So, how could she possibly tell them, that being in their house made her sick to her stomach? Or, that she was in constant fear of what He would do to her if he got out... no not if, when.
After all, it was only a matter of time before the self-proclaimed 'Ghost with the Most' came back for revenge. He was deviously crafty, ignoring all the rules and regulations that bound the pre and post-deceased alike. He could break reality into fragmented, fractal shards of terror as she knew it. All with a simple click of his bloodstained fingers.
Well, all rules but one, the most important one of all. He couldn't exist in the mortal realm on his own. In order to gain corporeal form, someone had to say his name three times consecutively. Why three times? She wasn't sure though she had her theories. Perhaps it was just the way magic worked. Or perhaps it was bound to whatever awful abomination that gave him power. But, after saying his name thrice, he would be free to 'let the juice loose' however he liked. She remembered all too vividly how in the naivety of childhood she had summoned him. She thought he would be able to help her. Instead, he did the exact opposite of helping. He had made her family's life a living hell and he seemed to take extreme pleasure out of haunting her in particular. He had taken a perverse pleasure in tormenting her. Being almost sweet to her one moment, before being intolerably vile the next. She grimaced as she remembered the first time she had seen him 'in the flesh' so to speak. She had seen him manifest himself quite a few times at this point, but he was still a ghost and nothing could hurt him. It wasn't until he had tried to force her to marry him. She shuddered at the thought of how his dead, scaly hand had clamped down over her mouth; as he threw his voice for the "I Do's". All of which made her feel like a perverse human ventriloquist doll. She felt a sickening pang in her stomach, as she remembered every detail of how her very late ex-fiancé had been swallowed up by a sandworm.
"Karma is a bitch babe" she muttered to herself at the memory with a slight chuckle as her motorbike sped up the old dusty track to her home.
The house truly belonged to Barbara and Adam, they had built it themselves, brick by brick apparently. But, as they were now devoid of any heartbeat, to speak. The house legally belonged to her parents. However, they had moved out over four and a half years ago as Delia had claimed that it was "stifling her creativity".
When in reality, she just wanted to forget that they had ever lived in that little cesspool of a house. It had been Lydia's choice to leave the house the year after her parents. Though Adam and Barbra were wonderful and had shown her more love and understanding that her own parents ever had. She still felt suffocated. She flew the coop and never really looked back; leaving the two ghost's narrow-minded ways in the dust and it had been the best thing she'd ever done. Now she worked in the city as the head photographer of a world-renowned Tattoo magazine.
It was just her scene, full of beautiful dark artwork, bizarre piercings and pictures; along with a general rock and roll, a punk attitude she felt she had been born for. Both of her ears were lined with small rings, that trailed from the lobe to the very top of the cartilage, along with a small lip ring that hugged the left side of her bottom lip. That wasn't all; her liberating new life had led her to get herself 'inked' by a client. She had designed the piece herself, each line and curve holding just as much meaning as the last. She had caught the ink 'itch' after that and now she wore several pieces proudly on her skin.
As her bike sped up the drive, she could have sworn she had seen a face at the window of the attic. A pair of emerald green eyes peered over the peeling paint of the window sill. But, from the outside, all Lydia could really see were tufts of dirty blond hair that seemed to be stained with a strange green substance. "That's strange," she thought to herself knowing for a fact that Barbara and Adam had sealed up the attic a few years ago on a just-in-case basis. So, now the only way one could get inside was to scale the side of the house. Yet there was no window ledge for someone to climb and there was no access from the roof; so it was impossible for anyone to get up there. She dismissed it as just a trick of the light and revved the engine of her bike a little, the noise reminding her of what was real. The vibrations of the engine beneath her grounded her a little. She knew very well that the house was empty and had been for well over a month. Ghosts no longer wandered the halls and the house was silent for the first time in years.
Adam and Barbara had moved out; deciding that they were going to spend the rest of their afterlife exploring the netherworld. 'retirement' they called it.
"Could ghosts retire?" Lydia pondered to herself. As far as she knew her ghostly surrogate parents were stuck in that house. Destined to wait out the rest of their later days. She had tried to coax an explanation out of Barbara but there was no joy. In the end, she just put it down to some netherworld politics bullshit and left it at that. After all, if you got a second chance would you spend your new 'un-life' pining for the old one? Of course not and that is why they had decided to, as Barbara had put it 'move on to greener pastures'. They all thought it best if they saved the goodbyes; a tearful farewell was the last thing anyone wanted. Instead, the ghostly pair had simply packed up and left in the middle of the night. Leaving a letter informing Lydia that the house now belonged to her.
That was why she was here, in the desolate little town where time seemed to stop. At first, she had been glad that the Maitlands had gone on to live a little bit recklessly, after being so timid and cautious in life. Yet she couldn't help but miss them. The soft motherly tones of Barbara's voice. Or, the kind gentle way Adam looked at her like she was their own daughter that needed to be protected. It was strange, but Lydia swore the pair seemed to smell ever so slightly of dust and stale air. But, she just figured that was because they were dead. Ever since the Maitlands had moved on Lydia found herself thinking about that godforsaken house more and more. She found herself lying awake at night worrying about what could happen, now that it was lying so empty. It was a niggling feeling at the back of her mind. As annoying as an itch that wouldn't go away and it refused to let up. Even when she dreamt about going back to the old house and living there once again. After a while, she became obsessed with the idea of going back to the house. Soon those thoughts infiltrated her mind when she was at work. She ended up losing a few clients because of it.
In the end, there was only one logical choice, she had to go back. The house was hers now, it was empty, silent and hers. She could change it however she liked; put in new furniture, knock down a few walls; anything. Just to make the house feel like new and give it a desperately needed breath of life. She knew it would take more than a lick of paint to heal the ugly scars marring this house in her memory. But, she was willing to put in the work and she was confident that she would learn to love the house again and forget the awful memories that the house contained.