Tales of the Dark Children: Beetlejuice

 

 

A/N: This is rated M for all the good reasons in later chapters: gore, vore, sex and more, colorful and detailed use of language, and lovely taboo hoodoo galore, specifically ephebophilia. You've been warned for any future content.

Part of a spin-off series that I call the Tales of the Dark Children, this is the seventh story taking place some 500 years after a remake/retake/original version of Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas. All that needs to be explained shall be explained. Chapters one and two have been recently updated and re-written to suit the new direction of the plot.

I have no claim to any familiar characters (or lines from the movie/cartoon). What original characters there are, you bet your ass they belong to me.

I: Welcome Home

---

It is said the dead don't sleep, but rest. There wasn't much of a difference, not any he was aware of. Yet in the darkness of his rest, he could make out brief flashes of images akin to dreams: of the joining of flesh in acts of sex, of the lustful, soft bodies of women, of the color of blood, bloodshed, of the violence that caused it. On the edges of his consciousness, he heard the sounds associated with each image, every one comforting and familiar…

He could see and feel more, then, things he was once unable to understand: the feel of his body in such a horrible, scathing pain; of an empty, unfamiliar land; of his throat cracked, parched from thirst…And to conclude these sensations and memories, he heard a young boy ask of these dreams and feelings, how unfamiliar yet distantly so familiar to him they are…

The low, mechanical hum of a car pulling up brought him back to the present, his eyes opening wide. Glad for the distraction and the promise of excitement at last, he peered out of the old, cracked window to his right and down at a blue car that pulled up beside his house. Immediately, he scoped the three figures that exited the vehicle, unaware of the sudden shift in his mentality as he went into "business mode". Count one mother: annoying, will probably be hard to crack; one father: jumpy, will be an easy sucker to muck with; and, though for a moment it was hard to tell with the large hat hiding most of her visage…a daughter. Small…young…and promising.

With a low, throaty chuckle, he retreated downstairs to greet his new renters.

It was Showtime.

"

The visiting couple appeared to be at least in their thirties. The woman, a redhead, seemed like a real bother, as he had figured. Annoying. Tiresome. Controlling. Dominant. The father seemed like the type that just lowered their head and let their woman boss them the fuck around until he couldn't stand it anymore, the pathetic sap. The girl, however…

Upon further inspection via floating closer and hovering within what would be the girl's eyesight, he studied her as her back faced him as she spoke to the redheaded broad. The girl couldn't be much older than nine, maybe ten years old at most, though she was short for her age. Pale to the point of sickly, she wore an all-black ensemble that covered her small frame entirely. Most of her face was hidden by a large wide-brimmed hat. She was unbelievably skinny, if her delicate arms, visible cheekbones and slightly sunken eyes were any indication…

Suddenly she turned around to him.

And he froze on the spot as she stared. At him.

Impossible.

In the girl's hands, connected by a black strap that hung from her neck, was a camera. She stared at him with expressionless, dark chocolate brown eyes, then lifted her camera and took a picture of him, causing his pupils to contract shortly from the flash. Lowering the camera from her face almost shyly, she continued to stare at him, large eyes emotionless.

That is, she had to be looking at him. There was nothing but open space behind him, unless she was the type to go staring off into nothingness, and honestly seemed to be. But no; her gaze was too keen, too aware to be staring off at nothing. He sensed her gaze scanning where his presence lingered, and he focused on her mouth as she suddenly opened it.

"Hi," she said quietly. Her voice was soft, monotone and bored, though she looked anything but. "I see you."

It took a moment for him to find his voice. One because he was debating whether or not to respond, as he shouldn't, second because he didwant to respond, and lastly because being in this ghostlike state made anything of the sort rather difficult. "Aren't you afraid?" he asked, his "voice" floating through the air in a pathetic sham of his actual voice. At least only she could hear him.

Large orbs blinked at him, as if the girl was confused why he asked such a question. "No." CLICK went her camera again and his eyes dilated in response. "I see ghosts all the time."

She did, did she…? Wasn't she in for a surprise…

"Do you have a name?" she asked, taking another picture of him. "If you don't, can I give you one?"

Freaky kid. He vaguely wondered how his pictures would turn out. "I got a name, and I sure as hell ain't about to tell you." And he damn well shouldn't…

"Okay."

Her easy acceptance of his statement threw him for a loop and he found himself unable to communicate for a moment. As he fought to form words, she slightly turned and began to take pictures of the house. Though she wasn't facing him anymore, it didn't seem as if she was ignoring him in the slightest.

She was very aware of his presence.

Now seeing her up and close, he frowned slightly to himself. Perhaps she was too young for what he had planned, but…this was the best chance he was ever going to get. It would be foolish to abandon his long-sought-out desire now because of one she-child's mere age. He was tired of waiting…

He chuckled softly, causing her head to twitch towards him, but no more. He watched her for a few more moments before disappearing, returning to the inside of the house.

---

Haunted houses were nothing new to Lydia Deetz, but this new house her parents intended for them to live in was indeed haunted, and haunted something bad. She could feel a negative energy positively radiating from the house, and the mere thought of what could reside inside had her wary immediately. She didn't want to go in, standing near the safety of the family car, and would rather just stare at it and gauge her feeling of the presence within. But her parents were having none of that, so she decided to take a few pictures of the house before obeying.

Then she felt something behind her.

She turned to face it, not surprised to see a sort of fluctuation in the air before her. Barely could she make out what seemed like a faint swirling mass, larger than her head, and the mass seemed to be comprised of…stripes.

Not knowing what else to do, she took it's picture. Then, realizing how rude her action was, greeted it; a simple "Hi", and let it know she could see it.

To her surprise, it spoke to her, a sort of low and gruff, whispery sound.

She? Afraid? Maybe, if it gave her a reason to. She was more wary than anything else. In the past, most geists she met were friendlier than not on most occasions, other instances finding the occupants moody or antisocial. Though she knew of the possibility of her good luck running out, meeting a violent geist, she had no specific reason to unanimously fear them. Yet.

Curious, she asked if it had a name, or if she could give it one otherwise. In the past, some of the geists were nameless, usually taking upon the title whatever location or group of people had given them, and she had often given them names of their own. They quite liked that.

But this one was one of the others that did have names, it seemed, and was reluctant to let her known. That was fine; she knew the power of a name.

She then went back to taking pictures of the house, and shortly afterward felt the geist's presence disappear. No, not disappear…return to the house. The house was haunted.

…But then how was the ghost able to be outside…?

Inside, the house was old and outrageously dusty; how long had it been since someone last lived in it? Lifting her camera, she began to take snapshots of the interior to add to her photo collection of haunted houses. While her stepmother, just as miserable as she was about coming out to the sticks, immediately began to plot and plan over how she would renovate the house, and her father, already comfortable with the familiar country house setting, pointed out every little thing he liked, she wondered off in search of the eternal resident. She might as well bear with the fact that she was going to be sharing the house with a geist that may or may not be spiteful of her family moving in.

It was too early to tell…

Just moments after entering, some ways away from her parents, she saw something move out of the corner of her eye on the wall of the staircase leading upstairs. So up she went, holding her camera with one hand. Not one to fall for such tricks, she knew she was being led somewhere the second she stopped at the top of the stairs only to see something out of the right corner of her eye again. She let herself be led, however, curiosity getting the best of her, and walked down the hall, entering the room facing her.

The door slammed behind her, locking her in darkness. But she was just a little bit more amused than surprised. The thick, old shades over the two windows at her right blocked all light from entering the room, and the room's considerable size made the darkness seem abnormally expansive.

As she blinked her eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light, she was vaguely aware of something moving toward her from within the darkness. Holding her ground, all she could do was keep still and watch as the unknown came forward, taking up the vertical length of the room before her.

As it came closer it grew larger, impossibly so, and only then could she see that it was a humanoid figure with long, draping arms, a drooping, gaping mouth and empty eyes the size of saucers. Her own eyes widened, but she didn't move, even when it came so close she was looking it in the eye and it passed through her. Shuddering suddenly from a cold spell that chilled her to the bone, she wrapped her arms around herself and furrowed her brows. What the hell was that?

"Hello?" she called out. "I know you led me he—!"

Her voice left her as floor gave away, giving the distinct feeling of plummeting. Gasping, her mind became disoriented as she spun, unable to tell what was up or down or even if she was still in the same room. As she fell, a cacophony of shrill voices began to laugh, other dark figures showing through the darkness with various inhuman or once-human shapes passing by and through her. She grasped her arms tighter from the cold, letting out a shaky exhale that showed in the air.

"So you think you're brave, girl?" an oily, echoic voice boomed around her.

She was suddenly turned, or so it felt as if she was, and found herself facing two enormous swirling eyes and a gaping mouth beneath them. Suddenly, she was lifted up and brought closer to the eyes, making out the distinct shapes of long claws holding her in a dark palm. Too shocked to speak, all she could do was stare.

The mouth curled into an impossibly wide smirk before belting with warbled laughter. "Welcome home!" it spat, letting her go.

Unlike before, this fall was swift, taking her breath from her very lungs. Though still enshrouded in darkness, like the long-limbed figure, her body seemed to have an aura about it that made it so she could see her body. Above her, she could see the eyes and mouth watching, still laughing, and then rush towards her.

She closed her eyes from its penetrating gaze as it passed through her, freezing her body even more. Too stiff to move, though she could open her eyes, she then watched as her limbs faded of color to a deathly ashen grey, elongating and drooping just as that figure had. Panic rose within her, and all she heard was the booming laughter before shutting her eyes once more.

And then everything stilled. The laughter died away, leaving only a ringing echo in her ears. Opening her eyes, she saw she was still in the darkness, but no longer falling. There was light, calm and welcoming, shining from behind her, and she turned to see the open doorway behind her.

---

With a cackle, he lifted up her body and threw her out of the room, slamming the door behind her as she landed awkwardly on her hands and knees in the upstairs hall. With an "Oof!" of surprise, the girl blinked and turned back to glare at the door.

Watching curiously, grudgingly impressed how she wasn't at all jarred by the experience, he moved back and waited. Would she think it was all in her head? Would she tell her parents what happened? What? Why wasn't she screaming? She should have some shocked expression on her face, at least…

Then, to his astonishment, her already perturbed features deepened as she jumped to her feet and stormed back into the room, shoving the door open. She stood there, in the doorway, with her fists balled and glaring around the room. It looked like all the other rooms, now, naturally dark from the heavy shades, dusty, and decrepit with age and neglect.

"Where are you, dammit?" she demanded angrily.

He hissed back audibly, too pissed off to be amused that this little one had a mouth of her own.

Cocking an eyebrow up, not at all amused, she scoffed and crossed her arms. "Was that supposed to scare me?" she asked to the empty room.

She didn't even jump as he made an audible growl, unable to keep quiet anymore. A crackling sound directed her attention to an old, misted mirror on the far left wall, its edges cracking. She approached it cautiously as he delivered his rage through the form of words on the misted glass.

'Not one easily scared, are ya, kid?'

Narrowing her eyes, she glared at the words. "I'm not a kid," she snapped.

Her anger was causing his own to rise as he erased the words, but kept the glass misty, and wrote in their place, 'And I'm not pissed.'Sarcasm was a fantastic language.

The message seemed to register as she went quiet for a moment, glancing off at nothing in particular. After a moment or two, just when he began to crack the glass again, she murmured, "…Why are you?"

The question caught him by surprise. Hesitant to answer, the following words were written slowly, '…No one isn't scared of me.'

"You've met your match," she said with a small smile, "I'm not easily scared."

He scoffed to himself. It had been a while since someone said that.

It was only then he realized the girl's anger had faded away. She sighed softly, shaking her head and glancing away again. "…My parents think I've got something messed up or missing in my head…" she murmured.

'…Well. You seem like you'd understand me, kid,' he said, lying to himself or lying to her, even he didn't know. All he had to do was bait her, nothing more. 'I think we'll get along just fine.'

A bright, but wary smile adorned her face. Then, clasping her hands behind her back, she tentatively asked, "Um…I'm just curious…but why can't you tell me your name?"

He sighed heavily, unfortunately a sound that she couldn't hear. 'Cause if I tell you, you'll tell your friends, your friends are callin' me on the horn all the time, I gotta show up at shopping centers for openings and sign autographs and shit like that and it makes what little of a life I have hell, okay? A living hell.'

She blinked at his explanation, not really understanding all. "O…kay…but what will I call you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

Curious little bugger. The words were slow to appear on the glass. 'Call me…your host.'

"…Host?"

It was a shame she couldn't see his grin as he wrote, "Host with the most."

"

Downstairs, the Deetz parents were concluding their visit; they had decided to buy the house. They were set and ready to go, but…someone was missing, and had been for near five minutes, now.

"Lydia?" her father called in sing-song, peeking into the downstairs rooms. "Lyyydia? Pumpkin, where are you…?"

"Lydia?" called her stepmother, standing on the staircase. "Lydia, it's time to leave."

"Okay."

Both parents turned to see their daughter standing near the doorway, holding her camera in her hands and playing idly with the lens cap.

Sighing, her stepmother walked down the stairs, muttering. "Really. Where were you? Didn't you hear us calling?" she asked tersely.

"Exploring," the girl responded, ignoring the last question. "I was exploring the house."

Throwing up her hands, her stepmother just sighed and walked to the door as her father made a small smile and approached as well. "So? Do you like the house, pumpkin?" he asked.

Looking up, the girl's eyes shone with delight. She nodded her head as a secretive smile spread on her lips. "I could live here."

---

All too soon, it was the day of the move-in. The sun was still high in the sky as the hill the house situated on was occupied by moving men in blue suits, carpenters in white and brown, and the two standout figures, one black and white, the other completely comprised of the color black. The black and white figure was Lydia's stepmother, who ran frantically around the surrounding green of the house to keep some sense of order amongst the chaos. The black figure was, of course, Lydia, in an ensemble similar to the day they inspected the house, taking pictures of everyone and anything of interest to her artistic mind.

He, on the other hand, watched from the sanctuary of the attic window, glaring out at the cretins called humans below. This was a somewhat familiar scene, the renters deciding to remodel the entire house from top to bottom. He would let them, but not without causing some chaos; a sort of welcoming, so to speak, from the landlord.

"

Lydia lowered her camera as she sensed the eternal resident of the house, the host's energy increase from within the building. It was just a small sort of fluctuation of energy, barely noticeable, that faded away shortly after. She looked up, towards the attic window to see a sliver of black and white before blinking stole it from her sight. Lightly furrowing her brow, she tilted her head to the side in wonder before snapping her head to the chaos around her as it suddenly became more…well, chaotic.

No matter what was done within the house, no matter what the moving men did and no matter how much her stepmother shouted at them, they were unable to properly place the furniture inside without bumping it against something. Perhaps it was already like that and Lydia just happened to take notice then. With a quirk of the corner of her mouth, she attempted not to smile or giggle as the host became, in that moment, a poltergeist.

One of her stepmother's larger sculptures was, against her wishes, being lifted up by a lever and hovering high above the ground. What the moving men intended to do with it was anyone's guess, but upon seeing her beloved sculptures, which resembled a giant green, granite leaf, minus the leaf flesh and only the veins, she had a yelling fit. Lydia watched as her stepmother ordered the sculpture down, only for it to crash into the second floor of the house, breaking through the wall. Out of the hole, after the initial screams passed, peeked her father's head, and he, too, began yelling at the moving men. Again, it was ordered down, but this time it broke from its lever and caged her stepmother against one of the sides of the moving truck.

The girl had to refrain from breaking out into giggles, and the sound of faint chortles from within the house had her placing a hand over her mouth. The situation was so unbelievably outrageous to her, the lot of it all.

"

So the girl had a twisted sense of humor, eh? She was truly promising.

His glowing orbs then watched carefully as she walked towards a car that pulled up into the driveway, of which then caused his eyes to narrow. That Barbie bitch of a real-estate agent, Jane Butter-something, was the owner and driver of the car, the one who was desperate to cover his heinous acts all for the sake of keeping someone in his house. You would think she had learned by now after losing so many clients…

The girl engaged in conversation with said woman, beckoning towards the house. He listened carefully, even from this distance; his superior hearing missed nothing they said.

"Whatever happened to the previous occupants of this house?" she asked.

Digging into her purse, the Butter-lady shook her head. "They supposedly suffered from mania before committing joint suicide, dear," she said offhandedly, handing the girl a skeleton key through the lowered window. "It's very sad…They were like family…"

He had to scoff at that. Lies, the lot of it, and he would know. The former occupants thought the woman annoying almost as much as he did.

Taking the key, the girl asked, "Will this open the door to the attic?"

"That's a skeleton key, dear, and will open any door within the house. Give that to your father…"

He blocked out all other idle talk, scowling at the key now in the girl's possession. He was sure he had destroyed all keys for the house except the front door. How in the seven hells did he miss the master key? For this, there was no respite, and he was going to kill that annoying, lying bitch, even if that meant haunting the broad's own home to do so. As she pulled away, however, he noticed she had her daughter in the backseat, watching the black-clad girl with a furrowed brow.

…Well, shit. He would have to strike when the daughter was at school or something…

Pocketing that thought within his well-organized mind, he focused his attention back to the black-clad girl as she hid the skeleton key in her sleeve instead of giving it to her father. Typical, not listening to her elders, but this made it that much easier to get it from her.

"

After a while, the antics were not as amusing. Time was wasting and the moving men were being blamed, Lydia sighed in realization. With a shake of her head, she held on to the camera around her neck as she maneuvered back into the house.

She finally made it upstairs and into the room that she had claimed as hers, interestingly the same room the "incident" happened in at the left end of the upstairs hall. "Mr. Ghost?" she called, traveling over boxes of her belongings and past her furniture to reach the mirror that still remained on the wall. "Oh, Mr. Ghost?"

She abruptly startled as the mirror cracked and misted over. 'Host,' the words said, and she could almost feel the negative energy fuming from the mirror; the geist was in a foul mood. 'Not "ghost", kid.'

Glad it was speaking to her, she sat on one of the larger boxes. "Why not 'ghost'?" she asked.

''Cause I'm the host with the most, not ghost; get that right in your head.'

She opened a box of crackers she had snagged from the chaotic kitchen, beginning to snack on the wheat bits. "But aren't you a ghost?"

Again, she jumped in surprise as the mirror cracked, splitting it in two. The responding words, however, seemed to write smoothly on the surface as if there was no such imperfection. 'If you don't do something to get those sacks of meat and veins you call "parents" to stop messing with my house, they're going out the hard way.'

The girl paused in her munching to take the words into consideration. They didn't seem like a meaningless threat in the slightest. A hint of nervousness creeping into her nerves, she slipped off the box and placed the crackers on it as she idly searched for a box she could begin to unpack. "…Please don't," she said softly, "there's not much I can do to stop them. They don't listen to me."

A soft sound akin to a scoff emanated from the mirror as the crack slowly repaired itself. 'I don't give a shit about that, kid,' the words said, 'I'll just take care of them myself.'

Before she could respond to this, yet another threat, the mirror cleared of fog and the presence of the geist disappeared from it. Her body visibly wilting, the girl glanced away. What was going to happen, now…?

"

That night, once the chaos had died down and all furniture was unloaded into the house, the Deetz family sat at the table in the unkempt kitchen eating a dinner of Chinese take-out. Lydia sat opposite to her stepmother, her father at the head of the table. All three ate in relative silence, though someone was grumbling at the lack of preferable Asian eateries in town, while someone else was simply glad things were quiet again.

Lydia was quite silent, musing over how to begin talking of the geist. After a while, unable to find a way to beat around the bush, she simply addressed both per parents. "Father? Delia?" she said quietly.

Her redheaded stepmother barely spared her a glance, still grumbling softly. Glancing from his wife to his daughter, her father made a smile. "What is it, pumpkin?" he asked.

"The house is haunted," she stated, an expression of absolute seriousness on her face.

"Lydia," her stepmother hissed, "stop scaring your father."

Indeed, her father's face went pale with worry and subdued fright after Lydia spoke. "You know I came here to relax, pumpkin," he said, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Opening his eyes, a smile plastered back on his face, he returned to eating. "Please don't start with that again."

"I'm not doing this on purpose. The house really is haunted. I spoke to it!" she stated, regretting her choice of words immediately as her parents' eyes simultaneously widened.

"Speaking to ghosts, now. Charles," her stepmother addressed her father, "I told you we should look into counseling for the poor child."

Sighing, Charles only nodded sadly as his daughter sighed as well.

"…I told it you don't listen to me," she said softly, poking idly at her food. "It doesn't want us here."

Obviously misinterpreting the situation as something else entirely, Delia rolled her eyes. "So you were miserable in New York and will be miserable in the sticks. Glad someone's situation hasn't changed…" she murmured as Charles exhaled, exasperated.

"How about we all just enjoy dinner, hm?" he asked, practically begging. "Everything will be worth the move in the end. I promise."

Though she loved her father, she really did, Lydia could find no comfort in his promise. She wished she could comfort herself, however the geist's threats rang clear in her ears. And she would rather not find out the hard way what those threats entailed.

---

It was awkward, truly it was; the girl's…immunity. He wasn't used to dealing with children who were resistant to his scares. Sure, he wasn't trying his hardest, but he was at least hoping for some level of bedwetting fright. Bad enough he spoke to the girl, and then again through the mirror, too impatient and too annoyed by her guts to stay silent.

But it was alright…speaking to her…wasn't…a problem…

With a low snarl, he left the confines of the attic, leaving the house itself to roam around while the new inhabitants slept their first night in his home. He didn't even waste his time trying to scare the parents, not the mood for that. He desired something deeper, something more than screams…

His presence roamed the small town of Winter River until he came upon the house where the Butter-lady lived. A sudden devious smile made its way onto his face. Oh, yes. Wasn't there something he swore to do about this infuriating woman…?

First, he entered the house and checked to see if the young Butter-child was asleep. To his delight, she was. As her door was cracked open, he gently closed and locked it before floating downstairs.

He could smell the woman before he saw her, beckoned by her mature, feminine scent. Humming, his voice reverberating off the walls of house, he purposely alerted the woman to his presence.

"Hello?" he heard her call as she entered an open space that he guessed was the kitchen. "Is...is anyone there...?"

He whistled then, moving through the walls to find himself in the kitchen soon enough, and watched as the robe-clad woman suddenly focused on his location.

"You!" she exclaimed, high enough to show the surprise and fright in her voice, but low enough to keep from waking her daughter.

So she could see him, too...? 'Hi. How are ya?' he etched on the wall, peeling the paint back to make his words clear for her to see.

She moved suddenly, towards the knives in their holder on the counter, but then stopped. Her hand instead rested on the counter as she pursed her trembling lips. Yes, it would be futile; smart woman. "I knew it would only be a matter of time before you met your match," she said suddenly, the fear evident in her voice and pose, but also seemed...defiant.

'Meet my match?' he wrote. 'Lady, you got me. What the hell are you on about?' Though it grated his already shot nerves, he decided to play "nice"; probably because she was a mother...

She was just about to open her mouth to speak when he decidedly cut her off.

'Actually...y'know...I got a better idea...'

With a sharp ZING, the carving knife was pulled sharply out of the holder and stabbed her hand to the counter. Before a scream could even bubble out of her throat, he pinned her lips shut upon his own will. She grabbed her wrist, twisting around to her embedded, bleeding hand and whimpered loudly.

'Since you obviously know I exist...do tell...are you just dumb or are you trying to off people you don't like, letting them into my house?' he asked.

Unable to speak, she only continued whimpering from the pain, face contorted in agony.

'Oh, yeah...right, can't speak.'

She suddenly cried out, and then slapped her free hand over her mouth to hold in her screams. "...I know you can't hurt children!" she exclaimed, a small, pained smile forming on her lips amiss her position. "Oh, God...I knew...I knew it would take time...I didn't want any of them to die...but I knew...!"

Tired of her babbling, he shoved another knife into her abdomen, effectively pinning her to the counter. This time, he let her scream, eyes shining in relish of the familiar sound.

"BUT I KNEW!" she screamed, tears pouring down her cheeks as she looked up to the ceiling. "Dear God, have mercy on me...! Protect my daughter...!"

Rolling his eyes, he had a smaller knife fall into her open mouth as she began praying. He then smirked, watching her body shake from the shock and her eyes roll back into her head. Impatient, the scene lacking something important, he unloaded every knife in the house into her body, his smirk forming into a satisfied grin as blood began to pool on the floor. There...that was better...

Before long, the limp, still body of Jane Butterfield, propped against the counter, had become a mere pincushion to the amount of blades within her body. Not a single surface of her body was unmarred by the point of a blade: her eyes, her head, her ears, chest, feet, even her orifice below. But all such wounds were hidden, the blood soaking her once sky blue robe a rich sanguine.

He had to sigh to himself. As wonderful as it was to look at, he would have much rather done the act of violence himself. He had to do something about this state of his...Being a mere "ghost", "geist", what have you, was a severe handicap...

With nothing else to do, and otherwise satisfied with his desire to kill and smell blood, he retreated out of the Butterfield house and back to his home.

At least his mood had improved.

---

News of Jane Butterfield's death spread fast through such a small, tight-knit town. It was only the morning after her death that young Butterfield's blood-curdling scream echoed through the streets of Winter River. Somehow, it was discovered, after being mysteriously locked in her room, she managed to free herself and trudge downstairs to find her mother's dead body in such a ghastly state. In fact, she was put into such a deep state of shock she didn't even move to answer the door when worried neighbors came to check up on her. It took the police to break the door down before they finally reached her.

Naturally, the entire town was in an uproar. After all, such things just didn't happen in a small town like Winter River.

Until now.

Jane Butterfield's funeral was scheduled immediately. There was no need for an autopsy, just for a hunt after whom or whatever deranged psychopath did such a thing to a harmless, well-liked woman. And three days later, her funeral commenced, the entire town traveling to the Winter River cemetery to attend the historic event.

As the funeral procession passed her home, the ever-watchful eyes of Lydia Deetz stared at the attic window, emotionless and rigid.

Who else could have done it?

After the funeral, the Deetzes returned home only to find the work the carpenters finished on their house breaking away or completely broken, in heaps and a perfect mess on the grounds around its base. While Lydia and her father simply stared in shock, Delia had a conniption over the "shoddy work", feeling shammed. Both parents then stormed into the house, leaving Lydia outside to examine the removed sections.

As she stood there, leaning over it, she had more than a passing guess as to who did this as well. She then heard her stepmother screaming on the phone at someone to get their contacts down. Apparently, there was someone out there who could do what Delia wanted in three months. With a soft sigh, she glanced back up at the attic window.

Nothing good could come from this.