The Beetle Bride (ON HOLD)

Chapter Three; Trouble

Barely having slept, Lydia's eyes were even more hampered with dark circles the following morning, which did not go unnoticed by the ever perceptive Barbara.
"Are you feeling okay honey? You look exhausted. Did you manage to get back off to sleep after your nightmare?"
She enquired, eyeing the young girl's face with keen interest.
An action which made Lydia decidedly uncomfortable. She didn't like being under such scrutiny, and hiding the disturbing truth from the woman she was most close to, added to her unease.

Muttering excuses about being under pressure at school, whilst insisting she felt much better now, she had made a quick exit in order to avoid any further questioning or discussion. But she wasn't sure how long she'd be able to put off the inevitable from happening. Barbara's self-censor was acute, and sooner or later she would pick up on something being amiss.
Lydia was torn between disclosing her secret or keeping it to herself in order to spare the rest of the household from learning that not only had Beetlejuice returned, but it was her herself who had accidentally summoned him. That was a conversation she wasn't quite ready to have yet. She'd played it over and over in her mind, and her imagination ran riot. She could just picture Adam's horrified face, and Barbara shaking her head in disapproval just like she had done when....when Lydia had disclosed the truth about having had a boyfriend.

That was another story in itself, and whilst the Maitland's had been supportive and offered words of sincere comfort, the atmosphere had also been extremely awkward and tense. She had no desire to go through that again, the 'talk' on respecting herself and choosing the right boy had made her squirm with embarrassment. Especially when Barbara went on to use such phrases as 'you're at an age where you're more aware of your body." And "it's natural to want to engage in certain acts of intimacy."
It had been unbearable. Yet as bad as the boyfriend lecture had been, Lydia was sure the embarrassment she had felt then would pale in comparison to this. Just how exactly was she supposed to explain why she'd spoken that man's name in her sleep? It wasn't as if it was just any man, no. He was a dead man. A dead man who was an obnoxious, foul mouthed pervert. The same foul mouthed pervert  that had tormented and harassed them in their own home. Yet she'd been dreaming of him. So for now she opted to remain quiet on the matter, hoping to preserve her dignity and protect them for as long as possible.

It had crossed her mind that perhaps it had just been a bad dream. After he'd dropped the bombshell that was sure to be a lie, and brazenly wishing her "happy anniversary" his image had faded away, leaving her decidedly rattled and on edge to the extent where she'd remained awake for the remainder of the night. Fearful that he'd return to spy on her, or subject her to some horrific form of taunting or another, she wanted to be remain guarded. But the night had passed by uneventful.
When she'd dressed for school, that morning she draped a sheet over the mirror, out of caution. Given the disturbing sights she had seen since moving into this house, all of which were unsettling and the stuff of other people's nightmares, it was almost laughable that she found the thought of Beetlejuice leering at her as she changed her clothes, the most unnerving thing of all. But he hadn't at any point put in an appearance, which led her to believe that perhaps she had imagined the whole thing. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have been so quick to dismiss it as mere imagination but she had been questioning her own sanity lately.

As she left for school, she felt slightly more at ease after having almost convinced herself that a shapeshifting ghost hadn't taken up residence inside of her bedroom mirror. Leaving her to ponder over whether or not she could request a straightjacket in black, once she was committed to a psychiatric institution....

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Cursing to himself, he sat hunched over in the small area behind the mirror. Having chosen to create this relatively tiny crack in time to inhabit whilst in-between worlds, he wished that he'd had the forethought to choose some place with a little more leg room. But on the other hand, it had perhaps worked in his favour, being stuck in such a cramped area meant that the current plane he was existing on would be too small for Juno, or those above her, to detect. A slight ripple in an exceedingly large pond should go unnoticed. So it was worth the sacrifice. The last thing he wanted or needed was that old hag on his tail, spouting some red-tape bullshit and trying to keep him in the Neitherworld.