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.

But still, he was bored stiff, and would've shape-shifted into one in order to prove his point, had anyone been around to appreciate his talents. He was almost beginning to miss the graveyard in the Maitland's shitty model. As lame as it was, living in a fake replica of Winter River had it's benefits. At least there he had the necessary room to conjure some entertainment for himself. And of course, not forgetting Dante's Inferno Room. That had definitely been a bonus. Even though it was created purposely to distract him by Juno, he smiled to himself at the memory. The old bat really did know him too well. His fleeting amusement at recalling the perks quickly passed as his mind began to wander. Yeah, he could do with a little action right now. Nine years was a long time to go without a woman. Even though his record stood at around the six hundred year mark, the long periods of celibacy was like a curse within itself for one blessed with an overactive libido like his.
And the Deetz daughter just didn't cut it. He was already certain that she wasn't the kind of girl to put out, especially with a dead guy. No matter how irresistible he may be. He'd be willing to bet that was a weird kink even she would find way too creepy. Despite her decking herself out like a wannabe Bride of Dracula.

Not that she wasn't attractive. Just because he was dead didn't mean she wouldn't set his pulse racing if he had one. She was pretty, dark and mysterious, he liked that. It made for a rather intoxicating combination. But he wasn't there to try and seduce her. Despite his sexual innuendo and playful advances. He just needed her to set him free by fulfilling her end of the bargain, and in order to do that she'd need to acknowledge and accept him as her husband. He realised now that was going to take time, a little cunning, quite possibly a vast amount of threatening and if all else failed...he'd have to resort to pleading. She seemed quite a sensitive type, begging might make her feel sorry for him. Or he could just bug the crap out of her until she cracked and agreed. Although, he might have to reconsider the whole threatening strategy. He couldn't draw too much attention to himself or have her running her mouth off to that bunch of pricks, living or dead. They were bound to get involved. They'd never approve of Edgar Alan Poe's daughter slumming it with him, in any sense of the word. After having suffered at the hands of the Maitland's meddling before, and witnessing the Deetz's chunky buddy botching an exorcism, he decided it safer to keep a low profile.
Which would be easier said than done. What was called for was a change of tactics....

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

By the time Lydia arrived home her head was pounding. Wanting to reach the safe haven, and peaceful tranquility of her room, she actively avoided being seen by anyone in the house in order to forgo the usual questioning. Fortunately, her father wasn't home and Delia was otherwise preoccupied in her studio, no doubt sculpting some new monstrosity or another.

Rifling through the bathroom cabinet in search of some painkillers, her eyes fell on the small bottle of Delia's prescribed medication. Valium. Taking them from the shelf, she scanned over the label, speed-reading the obligatory warnings and advice on the recommended amount to be taken, before slipping them into her blazer pocket. She made it into her room without being waylaid, her tired eyes drifting over to the vanity table and the sheet which still hung over the mirror. It was lucky for her, she thought, that her parents and the Maitland's respected her privacy, otherwise if any one of them had wandered into her room whilst she were out they would've found that suspicious.
Cautiously she approached the mirror, with bated breath, grasping the sheet in her hand before pulling it off. Nothing. He wasn't there.
She let out a small sigh, a strange mixture of relief tinged with slight disappointment swirled deep inside her stomach, making her feel almost nauseated. He'd either gone, or had never been there at all.
Either way, she should be grateful, perhaps it was better to be mad than stuck with a madman. And a dead madman at that. 

Regardless of having a headache, she placed a cd into her stereo, for want of something to smooth her, then headed back over to the vanity, sitting down heavily as the first strains of the classical orchestra filled the room. Perhaps this wasn't the right choice of music after all, as beautiful as it was. She felt suddenly sad and lonely. Pulling the pills from her pocket, she rested an elbow on the table whilst rereading the bottle again but this time with more care. A Valium would calm her nerves and help her sleep, preferably a dreamless sleep....although an adventure with BJ would be a welcome distraction right now. But that was BJ, her Beetlejuice. Her companion. Her....delusion. And the fiendish figment of her imagination that had appeared last night was most definitely not him, or what she needed. And besides he wasn't here.
Her head had been filled with nothing but thoughts of him all day, and she needed some respite.

No sooner had she managed to convince herself that he most definitely wasn't around, she unscrewed the lid of the pill bottle, when his gravelly voice suddenly spoke out from behind the mirror.
"So, what'cha think you're doin' there kid?"

She let out a squeal of surprise and jumped, sending the pills scattering across the surface of the table.
He was back, and looking incredibly real.
Dressed in the same robe he'd been wearing the very first time they had met, she immediately recognised its distinctive silver and black squared pattern,the silver of which bore more than just a passing resemblance to snakeskin. He stood before her in the mirror, a cigarette casually dangling from the corner of his mouth.
"You. You almost gave me a heart attack!"
She gasped, placing a hand to her chest, feeling her erratic heartbeat beneath her blouse.

"Yeah, well. At least that'd be death by natural causes...d'ya have any idea what happens to breathers who commit harry carry? You don't wanna know, that's all I'm saying. So come on, get a grip. It can't be all that bad, being hitched to the most eligible bachelor since-"

"Valentino..."
She cut him off abruptly, forcing a smile in spite of herself,
"...you've said that before."

"Alright smart ass. So I reuse the best lines. Just 'cause you might remember some shit I said two fuckin' years back, it's been a bit longer for me, so what ya gonna do, sue me? And good luck with that by the way, 'cause I was a deadbeat even before I became dead. But you catch my drift, right? Why would you wanna do a dumbass thing like toppin' yourself? You know....you're young, pretty, smart, I bet you got a great ass, and even greater husband I might add."

"You really think I'm pretty?"
She asked before she could stop herself. Even allowing the remark about her ass to slide.

He shrugged now, shoving his hands deep into his pockets,
"Well sure, I guess you're not John Merrick ugly...so covering your mirror is a bit drastic."

"You knew I'd covered the mirror?"

"No, lucky guess."
He drawled, his voice heavily tinged with sarcasm,
"Of course I knew, my suspicions were first aroused when I looked out and couldn't see shit. You really know how to hurt a guy's feelings, you could've at least given me a free show. You know, to compensate for my lack of conjugal rights."

She bit on her bottom lip hard now to suppress a giggle. He really was course and crass and undeniably dangerous but from a safe distance, knowing that he couldn't cause anyone any harm, he was proving to be almost tolerable.
Similar to his dream counterpart, he somehow possessed the ability to make her smile. There had to be something wrong with her. She was seeing him in a different light. Was he showing a different side to his personality? Did he even have a, dare she think it....gentler side? Behind the vulgarity and bravado, he almost seemed to care for a moment.
"You really are....real."
She muttered the thought aloud, causing him to heave a loud, over exasperated sigh.

"Okay that conversation's getting fuckin' old, but now we've established the fact that you're not hallucinating or something, can we like, you know, move on now? And quit with the feeling sorry for yourself shit."

"I wasn't going to kill myself, okay?"
She insisted, defensively,
"I'm just tired and wanted to sleep without...well, without worrying about some perverted poltergeist groping me."
She faltered slightly.

He let out a throaty chuckle, and affixed her with his glistening eyes. She could see the mischief dancing in them.
"Can't make no promises baby."
He drawled, and then he winked at her.

And it was back, that strange unsettling feeling deep inside.
She knew then, that she really was in trouble....