Disclaimer, if you please. I don't own Beetlejuice. Nor do I own Lydia, the Maitland's, Claire Brewster, Miss Shannon, or the phrase, 'We've come for your daughter, Chuck.' I just really like them all. In fact, I don't even really own the characters I myself made up, because they're still based off of ones Tim Burton already used in his movie.

Therefore, please don't sue me. It really wouldn't be worth it… If I had the kind of money that would make it worth it, I'd just buy the rights to use the characters in this little story, and save us both the court time. You know I would if I could.

Therefore, just enjoy, and take comfort in the fact that I'm making zero profit on this.

--

It was the same house, and yet it wasn't. Her house, the one she'd lived in all her life, but different. The hallway was there, familiar, but longer, stretching beyond sight, with faded lace hanging at every window. There were more doors than there should be, and as she tried them, one by one, each of them stubbornly refused to budge. All she could do was keep walking. Try the next door, and the next.

The light was fading fast, and with the darkness came an increased sense of urgency. A sense that either she wasn't alone, or that something was coming. Something she was certain she'd been running from for a very long time now.

At the next door, she pounded against the wood with the flat of her hand, stinging the palm, screaming for someone to answer. She couldn't be alone… Not with whatever it was coming after her!

Door after door, and her voice became raw with her desperate cries. The last of the sun faded, and she stared with wide eyes behind her, sagging against her most recent failure. Her heart pounded so violently that she felt it solidly in her throat, and she could hear blood echoing through her head like some sort of hollow drum.

Her fingers unconsciously clawed at the heavy wooden door behind her, leaving no mark. Her eyes remained fixed insanely on the nothing in the darkness, coming closer. Fear tasted like metal. This wasn't her house anymore, now it belonged to him…

With a metallic groan, the attack came not from before her, but behind, as the door suddenly eagerly gave way, sending her sprawling backwards. She hit the floor, hard, forcing all the air from her lungs with an audible gasp, leaving her lying there without breath, and a pain somewhere in her chest, frozen by shock and fear.

He slowly lowered to a smooth crouch, his feral grin fixed firmly in place, his eyes glinting with something like a touch of madness. He looked paler than she remembered, though she had no idea how she could remember him at all, as well as more gaunt, with a distinct aura of being fresh from the grave. The easy grace he held though, was as powerful as ever. And the man himself, she was suddenly certain, was stronger than the last time she'd seen him. Even though she'd never seen him before in her life.

While it couldn't be denied that he looked amused, the ghost before her also looked very, very angry. Putting the knuckles of one hand on the floor, he leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose, more and more sharp teeth filling his ever expanding smile. She could only watch, her eyes growing as wide as possible, first fear, then confusion in their depths. She couldn't break his gaze. What was worse, was that in some way she didn't understand, she didn't even want to.

Then, just as the tension had reached the point where even the beating of her own heart brought pain, the stranger relented, drawing back with a chuckle. "What's wrong, babes?" His grin, if possible, grew even more devilish. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd seen a ghost!"

As the words left his lips, his features began to twist, his smile curling almost to his eyes, while a hiss that seemed straight from hell filled the room with his laughter. Then he stopped, flashing her a look that was both far more human, and utterly without mercy, as he whispered, "We've come for your daughter, Chuck…"

--

Lydia's scream echoed through the house, all the way from the Maitland's attic, down to her empty darkroom in the basement below. Not only did it wake every person in the house, living or dead, but it sent every one of them to her room, so quickly that some crashed into each other, and others went straight through each other.

Covered in sweat, black sheets clutched in either fist, Lydia couldn't for the life of her, convince herself that it was a dream. The metal taste was still on her tongue, fear and something like death, as her eyes stared vacantly above her, still trying to rip her mind from the nightmare. It was too real, and that, that creature…!

"Lydia, honey!" Barbara tried to untangle the girl from her binding sheets, which seemed in imminent danger of strangling her. "What's wrong? What happened?"

The girl's lips moved soundlessly, unable to convey the horror she'd just experienced. "G-g-g-ghost…" She breathed at last, just as if this made sense. Lydia Deetz after all, wasn't afraid of ghosts. Not only were her two best friends in the world ghosts, but they'd practically raised her, often more like her parents than her own flesh and blood.

But that ghost, that ghost was nothing like her gentle-natured friends…

"Ghosts?" Adam's throat bobbed a little, as he tried to force a laugh. "Now that's not fair Lydia, I know we're a little strict, but…"

"Ghosts." Her mother finished primly, rolling her eyes a little. "I can't believe that my daughter would be afraid of ghosts!" She seemed irritated, and at the same time, oddly triumphant, as if a great point had just been proven. What that point might have been, she left anyone to guess, leaving her daughter's room without another word.

Lydia felt a little like she'd been punched by her mother's dismissive words, and only a moment after that did Adam Maitland's words sink in. "Not you," She denied vehemently, still visibly shaken, "Some kind of…" and that's where she stopped of course. Because she couldn't describe him.

At last she just folded her hand over her face, barely aware of having sat up, and sort of crumpled. What was he? A monster…

Adam frowned, adjusting his glasses. "You were up all night, watching horror movies again." He scolded, hazarding a guess. An accurate guess. "They always give you nightmares… Aside from being horrific stereotypes." This last was added with just a slight lift of his eyebrows.

An uncomfortable pause followed this, before Barbara broke the silence gently, noting, "Her mother was the same way at her age Adam, remember…?"

After another long moment of looking disapproving to make his point, her husband nodded, not quite in agreement. "They didn't give her mother nightmares." He reminded her. Despite herself, Lydia flinched at his words, just a little. Neither of the two ghosts seemed to notice, having a deadlock at their rare difference of opinion. But Lydia was not her mother, and everyone there knew it. Nothing frightened that woman.

Lydia's father lingered in the doorway, even after his wife left, and his expression was one of unguarded sympathy. She turned her eyes to him in a silent plea for help, but his face merely turned an uncomfortable shade of red, and after a moment more, he left her to the Maitland's to figure out. He hadn't always been so hands off, but she could see the distance in his eyes before he left. He just did not understand his daughter anymore. And he made no effort to change that.

Wiping her face in exhaustion, the fear of her nightmare giving way to a waking that was little more welcome, she gazed glumly at the ring she'd found among a collection of old boxes. It had been wrapped up with a burned, tattered, god-awful red dress that had caught her eye. She loved the dress actually, but something about the ring had refused to let her leave it there. It felt warm against her finger, like a soft breath, or a whisper. A secret.

When she looked back up, Adam and Barbara were smiling at each other, in that sheepish love-struck manner that the couple still managed to maintain, after years of life and death together. At first she thought that they might have forgotten her, but then Barbara turned with her ever-sweet smile, and sat down next to her.

"Oh Lydia," She sighed, taking her hand, and stroking her dark hair, "I wish there was something we could do, but we can't protect you from nightmares." A pause, then with a glance at her spouse, "Adam's right. You need to stop watching those movies. This phase of yours has gone on long enough… You're just hurting yourself now." She didn't seem to notice Lydia's jaw drop at her words. "Even your mother knew when it was time to let it go…"

But, I'm not my mother… The words died, unspoken, before they ever reached Lydia's lips. Her mouth closed again, but her eyes shone with betrayal. How could they call this a phase? How could they just expect her to 'grow out of it'? She hugged the thick blanket to her chest, and looked at nothing at all.

It took the two a few minutes, but they finally realized that she had no answer for their unintentional cruelty. Deciding it would be best to give her time to consider their words, they each gave her a hug, and bid her goodnight.

And then she was alone.

--

After all this time, the damn little girl was wearing his ring. He felt the moment she slipped it on her hot little finger, knew as she twisted and played with it, and knew once, as she held it to her soft, perfect mouth. He sat in the old leather chair, staring at nothing at all, eyes dull and angry, lips tight… But he had shivered a little, when he felt that.

How long had it been? How long had he been waiting for her to remember him, to remember the debt she owed? How long had he been waiting to get out? He flashed a smile into the darkness, more a baring of teeth than anything, and licked his dark tongue across their points. Three days now, and she still hadn't called him. What was the ring to her now, a trinket, to remember her victory?

Sending her the dream had been a simple, if somewhat half-assed thing. He couldn't see her, couldn't touch her, but sure as anything she could see him. And she had not forgotten. He could smell the sweat of her, the fear… And something that hadn't been there before. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it didn't really matter. Bitch had probably changed her shampoo.

His long fingers turned the cigarette end over end in the blackness He'd been doing so for hours, the brilliant end never growing dark, the smoke pluming around him, utterly unnoticed. He hadn't paused to draw it in since he'd lit it. He was too engrossed in seeing what she'd do next, fresh from her dream.

She remained in bed, which surprised him a little. The girl he'd known would have run for some means of defense by now… Sniveling behind those friggin Maitland's, he sneered, finally flicking the cigarette away. Like I'm going to let my guard down around those two again… And after all I did for them, too.

It was a surprisingly long time before there was anything further, and when there was, it was just a few useless tears dripped onto the worn metal. Disgusted, he narrowed his eyes, and continued to observe. The ring slipped off, then rolled between the girl's fingers… She didn't throw it from her, despite being the link he needed to reach her. Probably hadn't figured it out yet.

After a moment though, she slipped the ring back on, and Beetlejuice went momentarily slack in shock. "Come on, babes," He muttered, "You're not stupid…" And there it was anyway, back on her smooth finger, sliding up under the cool linen of the pillow. The idiot was going back to sleep!

A grin played across his face for a moment, and he straightened one sleeve, ready to go right back to where they'd been only moments before… But just as his fingers readied to snap it into reality, the poltergeist paused, a sudden shiver of trepidation trickling down his spine. Something wasn't right about this. No way the girl he'd known couldn't figure this out…

"Some kind of trick then?" The words moved from his mouth slowly, before it drew up in his most charming, and dangerous grin. "You really want to play with me, babes? All right then." He leaned back again, his hand falling to his side. "Let's see if you've improved with age…" A loud, slightly mad roar echoed off the walls of his self-imposed cell, ending with a decidedly chilling laughter.

"Show me what you've got!"

--

The ring hung suspended on the thin leather cord, truthfully no more than a shoelace without a match, spinning and shining in the light of even the overcast day's sun. A twist, and it danced, holding her eye almost hypnotically, making her pink lips curve in a smile. A twist, and it glinted like gold… Even though she was fairly sure it wasn't. It hadn't turned her finger green yet, on the other hand…

She paid less attention than she should have to the sound of approaching footsteps, and a vaguely unnerving laughter. So caught by the simple display of light, her easy entertainment almost spelled her downfall as she realized, belatedly, that the footsteps had come to a stop before her.

Blond haired, blue eyed, and grinning like a cat with a bird in either hand, Claire greeted her with a snicker, and a roll of her hand, flicking her fingers in dismissal. "Ooh, where'd you find that, goth-girl? Digging through dumpsters again?" Dutifully her minions chortled, and Lydia was certain she felt her face color. "Well, it's not as if just anyone can pull garbage off… But if anyone can, I suppose it's you, Lydia Deetz!"

The ring faltered in its spin, and then Lydia forced herself to turn away from the girl, and put her attention back on its soothing shine. Garbage? She gave the leather shoelace another twist, and again the ring spun gold.

Before her, Claire found herself suddenly not the center of her victim's attention, and it infuriated her. What's more, what she had thought of as just a piece of junk, suddenly looked like it might be real gold… And she'd be damned if she'd admit it.

"Give me that!" Her arm shot out, and she grabbed the gleaming trinket from the other girl, her sneer suddenly curling up into a sickly sweet smile. "I was wrong, even you can't pull off garbage. Why don't I just throw that back away for you…"

Lydia was on her feet so quickly that she stood there, swaying for a second in unbalance, before she spoke. "Give it back to me." She whispered, her voice almost hoarse, both with the dread of losing the ring, and the distaste of standing up to Claire Brewster. When the poster girl smiled, seeing that she'd touched a nerve, Lydia's voice rose in something like panic. "Give it back to me now!"

She wasn't aware of starting forward, only reaching for the ring, and she certainly didn't mean to push the other girl in her attempt to get it, but in the next moment they were both falling, neither willing to surrender their grip on the prize. They fell side by side, thankfully, but Claire howled as if she'd somehow been grievously injured, yanking the cord hard enough to break, and striking out with her other hand.

There was a stinging warmth against Lydia's cheek, as four of the other girl's perfectly manicured nails left long red marks. Stunned, Lydia didn't move fast enough, and found the ring firmly in Claire's hand, a decidedly cruel smile curling her lips.

As her mouth opened to retort though, the blonde suddenly screeched instead, and dropped the slender ring as if it had burned her. It fell with a musical sound to the sidewalk, and Lydia never paused to question it, snatching it up and yanking away in one motion, quickly back on her feet.

Claire's face was now bright red, and her lips trembled with fury as she rose, like some puppet whose strings had all been jerked at once. "That piece of junk of yours cut me!" She screamed, looking like she was ready to strike Lydia again for the slight. Lydia took a quick step back, noting at the same time that there wasn't so much as a drop of blood on the other's hand. How could a smooth metal band cut someone, anyway?

Ready to run, Lydia slipped the ring back on her finger, unwilling to risk losing it again. Claire started to advance, her group closing in around her…

Then, abruptly, Claire lifted her hand, stopping them, and smiled a gut-turning smile. "Miss Shannon doesn't allow jewelry in school," She snickered, as if in her mind she'd just scored some undeniable point, "She says it's sinful." Then she just laughed aloud, as if at some great joke, and her cronies chimed in, turning and leaving her there.

Lydia's heart pounded, and she lifted her hand to touch the marks she knew were on her face. Claire's nails had done their damage, and when she looked down at her skin, smears of blood shown brightly against the paleness. She closed her eyes, briefly, and trembled. She didn't want to go to school. There would be too many questions. Likewise if she went home.

She turned slowly, still shaking from her close call, and an anger that seemed to come too deeply to ever be real, and headed off towards the Winter River Bridge. She'd slide down the bank, stare at the water… No one would think to look for her there. A few hours' peace… It wasn't the first time, and god only knew that it probably wouldn't be the last…

--

Blood was the last thing he'd expected… No, check that, the confrontation with the other girl over his ring was the last thing he'd expected. At first he thought she'd actually been trying to give his ring away, but in the turmoil that followed, and especially the presence of blood, he realized that someone had tried to steal it. And amazingly, she'd fought to keep it.

And now her blood was on the ring he'd given her, making his bond with the wearer that much stronger. He didn't smirk though, or grin in triumph at this stronger hold. Instead he scowled into the shadows, drumming his fingers almost inaudibly against the aged arm of his chair. What the hell was this? What game did she think she was playing? She couldn't honestly be having second thoughts about having stabbed him in the back that way… And he was anything but ready to forgive and forget!

Yet when the other had tried to take his ring, he'd sent the tiniest shock through the band, more on impulse than anything. And the spiteful wench actually grabbed it back, and put it back on!

"Why?" It was a murmur, barely spoken, and he worked on the strengthened connection with a twist of his fingers. A sort of shimmering, a twisting of shadows… He still couldn't see her. Not clearly, anyway. A slight thing, long black hair, almost as pale as death… Anything more than this though, was lost on him. It irritated him, because with the new link he'd just forged, he should be able to see her perfectly.

He took a slow, unnecessary breath in, and let it out in a drawn out hiss. "I don't know what you're pulling here, babes," He warned softly, "But you're really starting to piss me off."

Rising, he turned his attention from the girl for a moment, and strode to the table nearby with long, even steps. It was covered in glass bottles, some of which looked like whiskey, some of which looked like they'd once held something toxic. Grabbing one indiscriminately, he wiped a layer of dust off the mouth, and took a deep swig. He barely tasted it, his mind elsewhere.

He was missing something. What? He bared his teeth in frustration. Driven to distraction by half grown mortal brats… It wasn't like he'd asked for so much. He just wanted out! "Quid pro quo…" He muttered to himself, reflecting briefly on the couple he'd saved from a fate worse than death, only to be fed by one of them to a sandworm.

Barbara… Oh no, he hadn't forgotten her…

An irritated yank smashed the nearly empty bottle against the far wall, and he turned back to his bride to be with a glare that could have killed, if looks could, and so on. Why couldn't he even see her face? He sneered at his own inability, and banished the image with a wave.

"Never trust the living," He muttered, stalking back to his chair angrily, "Just about the only shit you ever said that made sense, you old bat…"

He swore he wouldn't make that mistake again.

--

She snuck home just a little late, erring on the side of caution. Probably no one would call her parents. She just had to get in her room without being seen, and get some much needed sleep. She didn't understand herself was she was so tired…

"Lydia!" The girl tensed. She'd actually made it to her bedroom door, hand on the knob, when Barbara drifted innocently past her. For just an instant, Lydia closed her eyes, gathering strength. "You're home late… Did you go over a friend's house?"

Friends? Lydia thought bitterly, I have no friends… She just stood there like an idiot, for about a breath too long. She should have come up with a lie before she came home… "I'm really tired." She settled for at last. "I'm just going to go lay down for a while."

Though she didn't know how the ghost had done it, somehow Barbara saw something that bothered her, and turned the girl with the firm grip of a parent who knows something's wrong. When she saw the ugly marks, her hand flew up to her mouth, and her eyes widened. "Lydia, what happened to you? Were you in a fight?"

"A, dog. Stray." The words fell from her lips as if they had no meaning. "Just excited to have someone say hello, I guess. It was an accident." She wouldn't even blame some nonexistent stray for Claire's actions…

The woman's eyes passed over the wounds, and her lips pursed in doubt. Clearly the marks were wrong to have been left by a dog. More worried about the angry red the scratches had developed around them, she decided to ignore this for now, and led Lydia down the hall to the bathroom. By this point, the girl had given up resisting.

Barbara gathered the first aid kit from the linen closet, and then set down to cleaning Lydia's wounds. It surprised the girl how much this hurt, and she turned her face sharply away, angry again at the cruel blond girl.

"If you'd treated them right away, it wouldn't hurt so much." Her friend pointed out mercilessly, tugging her face back up to be tended. "Lydia, if you're having trouble at school…"

"It's fine." She didn't know herself why she didn't want to admit it. Just a sick feeling in her gut that getting her parents involved, any of them, would only make things worse. She didn't bother pretending it was a dog anymore though, and quietly, the lie lay between them, both knowing no one there believed it.

Unconsciously, Lydia started playing with her ring, her eyes fixed on the weathered band. If she twisted it just right, it still looked gold. A humorless smile touched her lips. Damned if she knew why, but she was glad she'd gotten it back. It was so warm now, it almost hummed against her finger…

When she realized, belatedly, that Barbara had stopped, she looked up, only mildly curious. Was that it then? But the ghost woman was staring at her now, at her hand, with a look of slowly growing terror that belonged on the face of no one already dead.

"Where did you get that ring?" She whispered.

--

Beetlejuice just about fell out of his chair laughing at the obvious fear in the ghost woman's voice. No, she hadn't forgotten him either… He grinned ear to ear, straightening his woolen jacket, and offered every tooth towards her oblivious image in front of him. Good thing he'd decided to check on the girl again…

His smile died though, as the woman's question finally settled to sense, and was followed quickly by a frown. "Where did she get the ring?" He muttered, put off ease by the question. "Like hell you don't know where she got the ring, Babs…" But something about this wasn't right. He could see Barbara Maitland clearly, but still couldn't focus on the girl.

The silence stretched between the two. For reasons only she knew, the kid didn't want to tell her what she should already know. "I found it." She said at last. Her voice sounded different than he remembered, and at the moment, sort of dreading. Like she'd done something wrong. Beetlejuice's eyes narrowed.

Barbara took a hissing breath in, and then fell on the girl like some sort of animal, wrenching and twisting to get the ring off. "No, no, no Babs…" He muttered under his breath, well aware that his grip was strong enough now to keep the ring from being removed. "Not this time!"

Struggling against her, the girl finally made a sound of pain, and the ghost woman froze, staring at her with horrified eyes. "It won't come off." She whispered, as if this possibility were only now occurring to her. "Olivia…" Beetlejuice sneered, hearing the girl's name, but it failed him completely at Barbara's next words. "I have to tell Olivia! I have to warn her!"

This time it was Beetlejuice's jaw that dropped. He'd been haunting the wrong girl? Some idiot had just picked up his ring, and… No, that wasn't right. Some idiot couldn't just pick up his ring, and put it on, and… And she smelled like her! He knew that smell like he knew his own!

A little different, a voice in the back of his mind niggled him, But it's been a while, people change… Kids grow up…

For about the length it took him to think this through, the girl was utterly silent, frozen in whatever it was that froze her, but then a gasp escaped from her, and she was grabbing the ghost's arm. "You can't tell mother!" She begged, making his jaw drop again. "She'll kill me for going through her things!"

The woman shot a helpless, terrified look at her. "Lydia," She said softly, "Your mother is the least of the things you have to be afraid of right now."

Lydia? Like Olivia, but different. He'd expected to hear it, so he'd heard it. He relaxed slowly in his chair, an entirely unpleasant grin growing on his face. "Lyyyydia…" He hissed, so pleased with himself that his heart would have swelled within him, if it could. "Oh yes, I think I'm going to have to get to know you very well, babes. Let's see what old mom thinks of that…"

--