Beetlejuice looked down at the notepad paper in his hand. For the past four hours he had been attempting to write a long, loving letter to his wife Lydia. So far he hadn't gotten far. Ever since he thought of writing to Lydia, he had been struck with writers block. All he had managed to do with the paper was draw several crude doodles of him and Lydia, a few of some sandworms and a huge, detailed drawing of the Maitlands being crucified. Beetlejuice smiled.

He signed and picked up the black fountain pen, then placed it to the paper.

Dearest Darling Lydia,

On the day of our beautiful wedding, we were unfortunately disrupted by a huge, motherfucking sandworm…

Beetlejuice stopped, ripped up the paper and then threw it into the air like confetti. As it spiralled down to the floor, he picked up a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply. He blew the smoke out, ignoring a frown off another ghost waiting. Instead, Beetlejuice just glared back and took another puff of his cigarette, this time blowing the smoke straight at the woman who was frowning at him. She turned her head.

Beetlejuice looked down at his paper again. He took hold of the pen and jotted down various ways of starting it. Dear Lydia? No. For Lydia? No. To my bride? Maybe. For my little wench? Definitely not. Beetlejuice growled and, in his desperation, got up and walked to the reception window.

He knocked twice loudly, and the window was swiftly opened by Miss Argentina, who greeting him with a glare. What was it with woman glaring at him all the time?

"What do you want?" she asked him.

"Listen, you're a woman," Beetlejuice started. Miss Argentina rolled her eyes at him. "If I was to write a letter to you, you know, a nice letter, what would you want it to say?"

Miss Argentina stared at him for a moment, before burrowing her brow in thought. "A letter from you? Well, why would you write me a letter?"

"I wouldn't, obviously," Beetlejuice leaned against the counter, and took another puff on his cigarette, "But if I had to, to say…sorry…or something like that, then how should I do it? You know, generally speaking."

Miss Argentine smiled at him, which both scared Beetlejuice and made him incredibly nervous, like she was preparing to spring at him with an axe. "Well, if you were to write me a letter, I hope it would contain the words 'I promise never to bother you again and stop knocking on the window asking stupid questions', in no particular order would be great"

Beetlejuice stared at her, before leaning his head back in desperation. "Look, this is serious!" He leaned closer towards her.

"I was being serious, and now if you care to stop looking at my breasts," Beetlejuice glanced up quickly, "I have work to do. You can go back to waiting for the next thirty years or so." Miss Argentina smiled at him maliciously before slamming the window in his face. Beetlejuice trailed back to the couch and threw himself down.

Lydia,

As you may know, we are now married. This is a legal contract by the afterlife bureaucracy, legally binding. It cannot be broken because, as you know, I am already dead. Therefore, I suggest on our honeymoon that…

Beetlejuice stopped there. God only knew how he should phrase the next sentence without it sounding like some script directions for a porn movie. He decided to look for help elsewhere. Just as Beetlejuice looked up, another ghost walked into the waiting area. The ghost sat down, and Beetlejuice made his move.

He got up and sat down next to the ghost, who looked like a heartthrob actor from a 1950s teenage movie.

"Excuse me, what's you name?" Beetlejuice said, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Thomas. Thomas Jones." The other ghost replied.

"Ah, Thomas, Thomas, well, I need to ask you something," Beetlejuice began. Thomas looked at him, and beckoned for him to continue. "You look like a guy whose rather smooth with the ladies, am I right?" Before waiting for an answer, Beetlejuice carried on, "Of course I am. Listen, I'm trying to write a letter and I need some help."

"Well, what kind of help?" Thomas asked.

"You see, this letter is to this chick who I got waiting for me on the outside, you know? And I'm sat here trying hard to make it sound nice and caring, yeah, but I'm having a little difficulty wording it. So, if it were you writing this letter, what would you put?" Beetlejuice put the pen to paper in expectation.

"Is this a romantic letter? A declaration of love?" Thomas asked.

Beetlejuice swallowed and looked at the floor, "Well, kind of, I guess."

"Well, in that case, I would tell your sweetheart that she is the moon that lights up my dark and bitter night, that her smile is my paradise and that he eyes make my sun rise,"

"Whoa! Cool it, hold on there Romeo, this is gold!" Beetlejuice said as he scribbled down on the paper, "Okay, continue"

"What is the fair maiden's name?" Thomas asked.

"Excuse me?" Beetlejuice was alarmed.

"What is your beloved called?"

"It's, er, Lydia, I think." Beetlejuice looked around to see if anyone was finding this funny. Everyone looked away. Nevertheless, Thomas was not put off.

"Perhaps you would care to start the letter 'For my beautiful Lydia, words cannot describe the beauty I see in you, for truly, you are made from the tears of the Gods!"

Beetlejuice noted all this down; pleased he was finally getting somewhere.

"Gees, I can't tell you how much this has helped, Thanks!" Beetlejuice stood up and made his way to where he sat before. Thomas just nodded his head in acknowledgment.

Feeling much more confident, Beetlejuice put the nib to the paper and wrote as carefully and neatly as he could.

For my loved Lydia,

I never got the opportunity to tell you this, but, to me, your eyes make my sun rise in the morning, your smile is my paradise that I believe is what heaven looks like. Without you, the night is dark, bitter and cold, for you are the moon that makes it so beautiful again. I feel truly blessed now that you are my betrothed, and hope that when return to you, we can enjoy our honeymoon and show our love by…

Beetlejuice stopped right there. Rereading what he wrote, he scoffed at how stupid it sounded. Clearly Lydia would know that this was not his choice of words. He scribbled out what he had written, leaving the page messy. He was in the same predicament again. Screwing the paper into a ball, he threw it into the furthest corner before slumping down into the couch. At the rate he was going, Lydia would have met someone else before he could tell her was he was trying to tell her.

Beetlejuice rubbed his forehead. Maybe this would be easier if he wasn't trying to impress her? He tried again, to show a more reasonable side of his personality.

Lydia,

This is my twenty second fucking try at writing this, so if I don't get this right this time then I'm going to go fucking mad. We're married now, so thanks very much, honey. You looked so hot in that dress, I just wanted to jump on top of you right there and bonk you senseless. Babe, you make me so hot it so should be illegal…

Beetlejuice stifled his laughter. Okay, so maybe there was no reasonable side to his personality, but he'd made more progress with that attempt than all the others put together. He ripped off the paper. This was not writers block, this was mind block.

Chewing on the pen, he considered giving up. Maybe it would just be better if he didn't write this letter after all. She probably wouldn't read it anyway. He was just about to throw the paper away, when he got sudden inspiration. Quickly, he scribbled it down and shoved the paper hurriedly into an envelope, squashing the paper and ripping it slightly.

He wrote Lydia's name on the envelope before sending it off to her. Feeling victorious, he leaned back and rested his arms behind his head (which had now been sized back to normal!). Beetlejuice closed his eyes and waited for her reaction, with a smile on his face.

The next day, Lydia came home from school and ran up to her bedroom. She was surprised to find an envelope on her desk. She picked it up, noting how scruffy it was. Opening it, she scanned the message inside before screwing up her face in disgust and running up to show the letter to Barbara and Adam.

Lydia,

I want to suck on your nipples.

BJ.

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