What Happened to Lydia Deetz?

The Tragedy of Lydia Deetz

Winter River, Connecticut - October 1989

Lydia Deetz sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes glued to the pregnancy test in her hand. The silence in the room was thick, only broken by the occasional tick of the clock on the wall. The words of her realization had hit her like a freight train. "Oh God. I'm pregnant," she whispered to herself, her heart racing. She looked around her room, at the replicas of gothic paintings she liked, the books she had read a hundred times, and the window that offered a view of the autumn leaves painting the town in warm hues. It all felt so foreign, so unreal. October 1989 had started out like any other month in this small Connecticut town, but it had taken a sharp turn into uncharted territory.

Lydia's boyfriend Richard was on a missions trip in South America, oblivious to the life-altering news she now held in her trembling grasp. There was no reliable phone line to reach him. All she had was an unreliable paper address and a prayer that he'd get her letter before it was too late. But what would she even say? Her stomach lurched as she thought about her father and step-mother. What would they think of her becoming a mother at fifteen!? Lydia felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead as she pictured their faces, a mix of disappointment and anger that she couldn't bear to face. The house she had always known as a sanctuary now felt like a prison, each creaking floorboard a judgmental echo of her situation.

Suddenly Lydia's eyes fell on the bookshelf, where the book: Handbook for the Recently Deceased stood out like a sore thumb. It was a book she had taken from Adam and Barbara Maitland. Even though it belonged to them, the two ghosts had allowed Lydia to keep it (even though the two of them and Lydia's father would often borrow it). For so long, Lydia had simply read it as a mild curiosity, and a way to search for supernatural pranks she could pull. But now, the book looked like it might hold the answers she desperately needed. Without another thought, she reached for it, her heart racing with a mix of hope and dread.

The book felt heavier than it had any right to be, as if the weight of her situation had been transferred to her fingertips. As she thumbed through the pages, she felt scared of using the dark supernatural powers of the underworld to help her... but she knew she had to find a way out of this... and if that meant consulting with the dead... so be it. The pages fluttered to a stop at a section titled: Exorcisms and Unwanted Spirits. Lydia felt a cold chill run down her spine. Could it be possible? Could she somehow, some way, make this... problem... go away?

The words on the page swam before her eyes, a blur of incantations and rituals that seemed as foreign to her as the concept of parenthood. But she was determined. If there was a way, she would find it. And so, with a deep breath, she began to read, her voice a shaky whisper that echoed in the quiet of her room. Little did she know that her desperate search for a solution would lead her down a path she never could have imagined.

The instructions were complex, but Lydia was nothing if not meticulous. She gathered the materials needed for the ceremony with trembling hands: candles, salt, a silver dagger, a dark cloth, and various other items that a goth girl like herself had no trouble locating. The room grew colder the following evening as the sun dipped below the horizon, and shadows began to play tricks on the walls. She tried to ignore the way the leaves outside seemed to whisper her name, the way the branches tapped against the window like skeletal fingers.

In the flickering candlelight, she set up the makeshift altar, the book open to the correct page. The incantation was long and in a language she didn't understand, but she had memorized it word for word. She hoped that the power of her intent would be enough. As she began to chant, the air grew thick with anticipation, the very fabric of reality seeming to bend around her.

The pain hit her like a lightning bolt, stealing the breath from her lungs. It was as if the words she spoke were reaching into her very soul, pulling and tearing at the life growing within her. She gritted her teeth, fighting back the scream that threatened to escape her throat. But with every word, the agony grew more intense, and she could feel the presence of something ancient and malevolent stirring in response. Panic set in, and she stumbled through the ceremony, her voice cracking with each syllable. The room grew darker, the candles flickering as if they were about to be snuffed out by an unseen hand. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the pain ceased. Lydia collapsed onto the floor, her body heaving with sobs.