Chapter Text
The first time she summons him (them? it?), she does it just to prove she really can. Months have passed since that night when a sandworm destroyed their house and spared her from a completely uncertain fate. During those months, Delia has been busy transferring her brief paranormal experience into sculptures, while her father invents excuses about why a newly renovated house needs urgent repairs again and how it's possible that fire has deformed the chimney in such a strange way.
The living are the first to move on from what happened because life goes on without waiting for anyone, no matter how much it was disrupted by knowing they live with ghosts. In the end, neither her father nor Delia can see Barbara and Adam once the effects of Otho's failed exorcism fade away, making it easy to forget about them except when Lydia visibly interacts with one of them.
Barbara and Adam take longer to move on, probably because they don’t have much else to do but be ghosts in a house. No matter how much Lydia involves them in the new things happening outside the four walls that confine them, they eventually return to what’s in front of them—their bodies that don't change beyond what they were, their minds that don't learn more than they already knew, their visits to the underworld when they have an appointment with Juno, and their ongoing work on the model of a town that is slowly becoming less like the one it represents in miniature. Lydia thinks there’s something romantic about them being stuck in time, that neither of them can ever stop loving the other or get tired of spending eternity together. It also makes her think about the tragedy of dying alongside someone you hate and will hate for all eternity. She supposes that’s why evil or vengeful spirits exist.
She wonders if he (it, whatever it is) was ever like Barbara and Adam—a normal ghost who ended up corrupted at some point during his eternal journey through the beyond. It all happened so fast that her memories are jumbled and blurry, but Lydia thinks she remembers that he felt quite human when he finally jumped from the model and fell next to them, when he grabbed her arm and pulled her close in front of the makeshift reverend that came out of her fireplace. His hand was cold when it covered her mouth; she remembers that. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t feel like a normal hand. Maybe she was surprised to feel him so real because their previous interactions had been completely crazy, talking from the miniature with a tiny entity that promised to fulfill all her wishes just by saying his name three times.
Betelgeuse. Now Lydia knows how to spell it thanks to the pamphlet promoting his services that Barbara insists on hiding but Delia refuses to throw away (it’s part of her creative process). She knows that saying that name is forbidden because very bad things can happen if the ghost is set loose again, and Lydia isn’t one to deny that this is true. After all, she witnessed the chaos that engulfed her house in the few minutes between when she uttered those words and when the giant worm crashed onto the scene and silence fell. But none of that stops her from thinking about the fact that he (it) kept his word. Betelgeuse saved the Maitlands, and in return, he was devoured by a giant worm.
That’s why she does it the first time—because after everything is over, after her father goes back to looking for new investments, after Delia stops making sculptures with bulging eyes and sharp teeth, after Barbara and Adam stop eyeing the model warily every time the lights go on or off, after all that, Lydia needs to know if the only being who helped her when she needed it most is gone forever because of her.
Obviously, she reads the manual from start to finish more than once because she doesn’t want to be an idiot again. At almost seventeen, she considers herself much more mature and intelligent than she was at fifteen, and she convinces herself that if anything happens, she could face the specter again like she did last time. It’s not as if she really thinks anything could happen. In fact, she isn’t even sure anything will happen, which would mean she truly contributed to the destruction of the one who came to her aid when she needed it.
She tries not to think about the multiple scenarios that have been repeating in her head since she came up with what she’s about to do, as she searches her backpack for a piece of chalk and opens the pack of salt she took from the kitchen. The first thing she does is draw a thick line of salt under her door in case the Maitlands try to enter. It’s not something they usually do, especially not without permission, but Lydia doesn’t know what might happen to alert them, and the last thing she wants is to see Barbara’s disappointed face when she finds out what she’s about to do.
Next, she draws the portal on the floor. Lydia hasn’t found anything specific about how to summon whatever Betelgeuse might be, but there is a ritual for summoning the dead. If Otho had read the manual correctly and found that, probably none of what happened would have happened. Personal belongings of the deceased are necessary, and Lydia has none, but she assumes in this case they won’t be needed. After all, she already knows how to bring the specter back. The last step is to surround the portal with salt to prevent him from escaping. Lydia just wants to confirm he still exists and maybe ask him a few questions, but she has no intention of letting him out. As soon as her curiosity is satisfied, the beetle will be back wherever it was before.
Everything is prepared, but Lydia wouldn’t be Lydia if she didn’t give the matter a dramatic touch. She knows candles aren’t necessary, but that doesn’t stop her from lighting them and placing them around the room, just as nothing stopped her from dressing for the occasion—with her hair tied up, bangs slicked sharp, and wearing a black dress with layers and layers of ruffles and a lace veil. It’s been a while since she started incorporating other colors into her wardrobe, but she thinks the occasion calls for it. She tells herself she’s only dressing like this for herself, not for him.
When she turns off the lights and the room falls into shadows, a nervous giggle escapes her, like she’s a child about to do a makeshift Ouija session with her friends behind her parents’ backs. Maybe she isn’t fully aware of what she’s dealing with. Maybe too much time has passed, and like her parents, she thinks of Betelgeuse more as a bad nightmare than a real memory. Either way, the bravery she feels as she sits on the floor with her back to her bedroom door, facing the circle of salt surrounded by candles, slips out a bit as she says for the first time: “Betelgeuse.”
Her bedroom windows tremble, and Lydia pretends she’s not scared, even though she’s alone there. It’s started raining, that’s all. She grips the open manual in her hands, even though she’s not reading anything in it, just holding onto something when she says it a second time. “Betelgeuse.”
Her mouth goes dry. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But she’s already here; she can’t back out now. Or can she? The battle in her head takes too long, and she doesn’t have time to make a rational decision before she utters the demonic name once more.
“Betelgeuse...”
She whispers it. She doesn’t know if whispering counts. Does whispering count?
Before she can even think about her answer, the room begins to change. A vibration that runs up her spine, like the ground itself is shivering, then the floorboards creak and crack, splitting apart with a noise so sharp it feels like it might pierce her skull. Lydia's heart races as she watches the ground open wide, and from its depths, a pale, sickly light begins to ooze upwards, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls. The windows shudder violently, the glass trembles so hard it seems like it's about to explode. Lydia’s fingers dig into the wood behind her, knuckles white, her entire body tense. She fights to keep her expression neutral, to remain in control, but her heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst through her ribs.
Then, he appears.
Betelgeuse rises from the rift in the floor, his face contorted in a malevolent grin and his eyes glinting with a manic, unholy light. When he laughs, the sound reverberates through the room, setting her teeth on edge. Lydia forces herself to meet his gaze, her eyes locked onto his. She doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this: a full-sized, very real Betelgeuse, his presence filling the room almost suffocating, all-consuming. Did she really think he would be small, manageable? The thought seems absurd now, laughable even.
"But if it isn’t my runaway bride.” The floor solidifies beneath his feet as Betelgeuse steps forward, leaning in as if inspecting her. His grin is wide, mischievous, eyes sparkling with amusement. “What’s up, babe? Any dead friends you need me to save so you can stab me in the back again?”
She presses her lips together, her gaze slipping away from his mocking eyes. The words sting more than she wants to admit.
“I didn’t know ghosts could hold grudges,”
“Makes sense. Your family’s the one that thinks haunted houses are a good business opportunity,” he shoots back, snorting a laugh. Lydia watches him look around at the circle of salt she’s meticulously drawn, his expression somewhere between amused and impressed, like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh or applaud. “So, what’s the big occasion?”
“Just...” She hesitates, then looks up at him. There’s no point in pretending he doesn’t affect her. It’s strange to see him here, in her world, when he’s supposed to be somewhere far away, unreachable. “I wanted to know if you were still... alive.”
“Not exactly.” Betelgeuse smirks, squatting down to her level, his head cocked to one side like he’s trying to figure her out. “What? Regrets?” he teases, and Lydia wants to retort, but the truth is she does feel remorse.
“You kept your word. You helped them,” she says as if she’s confessing, and in a way, she is because since that day, no one around her has ever talked about it, as if it were taboo, as if no one wanted to admit that everyone was fine thanks to Betelgeuse’s actions. “I guess what I’m saying is... I’m sorry,” she apologizes with a grimace. Betelgeuse’s grin falters, just for a split second, and Lydia thinks she sees something—surprise, maybe, or confusion, as if the apology makes him uncomfortable. Then he’s back to his usual self, smile spreading wide, a flicker of something almost genuine in his eyes.
“Hey, no hard feelings, babe. I tricked you, you tricked me. We’re even. If anything, it makes me like you even more than before.”
“A worm ate you,” Lydia replies, ignoring how what he just said sent a little jolt to the pit of her stomach. It’s nothing; it’s just that she’s not used to people liking her. Not that Betelgeuse is people, but...
“Yeah, not pleasant, I assure you. I don’t recommend it. But here I am, right? It’s hard to kill a dead guy, sweetheart.”
Lydia stares at him for a moment, saying nothing, observing him closely. A dead guy. So, is he a ghost then? He doesn’t look anything like Barbara and Adam or any of the ghosts she’s met since she learned she could see them. All the ghosts she’s seen are stuck in time just as they died, but Betelgeuse doesn’t seem to be. The way he acts, the way he talks, the way he dresses... Well, he dresses! He changes clothes, something the other ghosts don’t do. The last time Lydia saw him, he was wearing a striped suit that turned into an outdated red suit during the wedding. Now he’s wearing a red shirt with loud prints and a black jacket. The only constant thing about him seems to be that he’s covered in dust, but other than that... No, right now Lydia doesn’t see him as a ghost. He seems almost more like a person than anything else. And he’s not scary at all.
It’s not that Lydia is disappointed... “Aren’t you mad at me?” she asks, biting her lip uncertainly. The ghost frowns again and takes longer to respond this time.
“You’re not the first person to try to get rid of me.”
“Were you going to marry the others too?” she snaps, feeling slightly offended. She doesn’t know why she thought she might have been special in some way. Betelgeuse lets out a malicious laugh that seems to hide bad intentions, but he doesn’t answer. Lydia gets annoyed. “Is that typical of ghosts, marrying the first human that comes their way? Are you so terrible that none of your attempts have worked out? Or maybe you’ve already found someone else. Are you married already?”
Lydia doesn’t know where the string of impertinences she just blurted out came from, but she’s even more upset by the fact that the ghost isn’t saying anything and is just looking at her with an amused expression.
“So, I’m not the only traitor after all.” She’s getting angrier, and he’s licking his lips in amusement, but he doesn’t say a word. “So no answer. Fine. It’s not like I care what you do with your life. Or afterlife. Or I don’t even know. Did you have a life? Were you alive at some point? Before all... this,” Lydia asks, making a hand gesture when she says “this” that is probably quite offensive.
Betelgeuse wrinkles his nose before making a face and sitting on the floor, mimicking Lydia’s posture. “You know what? Great idea, kid. Let’s play questions. I’ve got time to spare. But if we’re doing this, let’s at least make it interesting. You ask me anything you want. I tell you a truth; you do a dare.”
Lydia wasn’t expecting that.
“And how will I know you’re telling the truth?”
“That’s part of the fun,” Betelgeuse smiles, showing the malice behind his grin.
Lydia knows she shouldn’t say yes. She’s already spent more time than expected with the ghost in her room; she should have sent him back by now. But there’s something about him that makes her curious about what might happen—more curious than afraid, at least. So Lydia doesn’t think too much before accepting the game.
“Deal,” she agrees, emboldened, not wanting to interpret the way a malicious smile spreads across the specter’s face. “You know the first one. Were you ever human? Were you... alive?”
Those are two questions, and she knows it, but the ghost doesn’t seem to care. He just answers, “Yes,” and then silence.
“Okay... What should I do?”
“Keep asking. I’ll keep track of the questions.”
“I don’t think that’s fair,” she protests. “What if I ask more than I’m comfortable doing later?”
“Then stop asking,” Betelgeuse smiles. He doesn’t even try to convince Lydia he won’t make her do uncomfortable things. She can’t say that surprises her, though.
She could stop, but she doesn’t. What could be so bad that he’d make her do? Anyway, she could vanish him as soon as things start getting messy, so she’s got nothing to worry about.
“Okay. When you were alive, did you... did you ever want not to be?”
Betelgeuse looks around for a second and rubs his nose before answering.
“Yes.”
She looks at him closely, not really expecting a more elaborate answer. Since that night in the attic, she’s always wondered if that’s what he meant when he said he could relate to her. She couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she had called his name three times then—if they would have talked, or if it was just another trick. What would have happened if she had really married him?
“Are you married now?” she asks next, and he smirks.
“Nope.”
“Have you tried? After...” She doesn’t need to finish the question.
“No.”
“And before?”
“No.”
She kind of hates how special she feels. She knows the color is creeping up her cheeks, and her paleness isn’t helping hide it. She hopes the veil does.
“Did you... uh.” She stops. She needs to think this one through. “What were you going to do when... if we got married?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he laughs, and they both know that’s not an answer. “I’ve got lots of shit to do, babe. The world is vast.”
“But... what would have happened to me?”
“Oh, so the question is what was I going to do to you?” he opens up a big and filthy smile. Lydia gets goosebumps. “I can show you,” he offers, holding his hands up when she flinches. “No touching. Promise.”
“You can’t touch me,” she warns, pointing at the circle of salt surrounding the portal with her eyes. “You’re trapped,” she reminds him, or maybe she’s reminding herself.
“Oh, right. Sure,” he smiles, nodding. Lydia waits, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“So?”
“What do you want me to say? I would have dragged you to hell and made you mine? Made sure we consummate our marriage?” Lydia knows she’s not hiding anything by the way he’s looking at her. “So that’s what you wanted to hear.” There’s satisfaction in his voice. “Is that all? Are we done?”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t ask anything else, either. If she’s really done, she should be sending him back now, not letting him do anything else. But oh, the curiosity. She promises herself she’ll just hear what he has to say and then send him back.
“My turn now,” Betelgeuse stands up, dusting himself off, bringing his hand to his pocket for a second. “First. Put this on.” Betelgeuse flips something up in the air and towards Lydia. When she catches it, she can see it’s the ring that almost sealed their destiny together a year ago. Of all things, the last she would have expected is this. She didn’t even think she would ever see that ring again, but there it is, between the palms of her hands.
She hesitates, not really knowing if putting it on now can mean anything.
“This doesn’t change anything. I’m not your wife,” she warns, not sure if she’s saying it to the ghost or herself.
“Put it on, girl,” the ghost repeats, and Lydia does it. For a second there, she almost expected something to happen, but the ring just sits comfortably on her finger. It was beautiful now that she’s paying attention.
“Okay. First, here it is,” she shows him her hand.
“Now take off everything else.”
“What? No!”
The request shocks her more than it should, considering who it’s coming from, but it seems so out of place that she even crosses her arms in front of her chest as if suddenly the ghost could have X-ray vision in his eyes.
“Breaking your promise again? I’m starting to see a pattern...”
“I don’t break my promises,” she states emphatically, and she can see in the ghost’s face that she won’t convince him just with words. She bites the inside of her lips and thinks, considering ways to get out of there while becoming aware of all the clothes she’s wearing. “Besides, why would you want me to do that? Are you some kind of pervert or something?”
“Why did you want to know all the things you asked me before?” the specter retorts.
“Well... curiosity,” she answers.
“There you go. Let’s say I’m curious too,” he smiles without taking his eyes off her. Lydia thinks about it, taking a deep breath. “Come on, babe. Let me see how you would have looked on our wedding night.”
She blushes furiously.
“I need a moment.”
“I’ve got all the time in the world.”
She blames her brain for not working correctly. Maybe her adaptive control area isn’t well developed because where her head should be listing the endless reasons why the only thing she should do right now is say the creature’s name in front of her three times and send it back to the underworld, instead, she finds herself reasoning out the motives for keeping her word to a spectral entity.
“One for one,” she proposes then, and the ghost raises an eyebrow. “One piece of clothing for each question. And we seal the deal.”
“I choose which piece each time.”
“No. No, I choose them. But...” she tries to think of something quickly she can offer in exchange. “I’ll give you one more. One more piece. And that one you can choose.” The specter laughs, conjuring a chair and sitting down, leaning back to look down at Lydia.
“And why should I accept this change in the deal?”
“Because that’s part of the fun,” she repeats the words the ghost used with her earlier, smiling at him. When he smiles back, the complicity that forms between them makes her hair stand on end.
“One more piece. The one I say. Deal,” he closes the deal, and Lydia closes her eyes. She breathes.
The rain sounds louder than before, and lightning illuminates the room now and then. She doesn’t know if the smell of wet earth is seeping through the window or coming from the specter in front of her. She can only hear her own breathing, and that makes her aware that what’s in front of her is not alive. Somehow, that makes her feel more alive than ever.
She moves her hands slowly, bringing her fingers to the lace of one of her boots. She unties it and pulls off the leather, removing the boot and placing it aside.
“One,” she says, and she can see the ghost’s face of amusement, knowing she’s cheated him again. She waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t, so she takes off the other boot. “Two.”
Next is the ribbon holding her hair back, “three,” and then the veil covering her face, “four.” She takes the opportunity to lower her hands and unbutton the fabric adorning her throat, “five,” then returns to her legs, lifting her dress slightly to unroll each of the stockings reaching her calves, taking them off and placing them next to the boots, “six and seven.” Seven questions, seven pieces of clothing. And now there’s the final piece left. “You can choose the last one.”
“Oh no, babe, you’re not done,” the ghost laughs, and Lydia frowns. “You asked ten questions.”
“What? That’s not true!” She tries to argue, but Betelgeuse just shushes her, pointing up a finger where something like a recording appears up in the air, Lydia’s voice filling up the room. A countdown next to every question she was asking.
- “Were you ever human?
- “Were you... alive?
- “What should I do?
- “What if I ask more than I’m comfortable doing later?”
- “Did you ever want not to be?
- “Are you married now?
- “Have you tried?
- “And before?”
- “What were you going to do when... if we got married?”
- “What would have happened to me?”
“What? That’s not fair! Some of those questions weren’t even part of the game!”
“Says who?” Betelgeuse shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “Come on, beautiful, pay your price. Three more of your choosing. Then my turn.”
Lydia’s mouth gapes, trying to find the right words to get her out of there, but now it really looks like there’s no escape. She thinks about the clothing she has left and tries to do the math in her favor. Her dress, her petticoat, her bra, and her panties.
Her hands start working on her dress as she thinks, touching every part just to see if there’s anything she’s missed. Maybe her dress has some apron that can be taken apart, detachable sleeves, or even shoulder pads.
Nothing. There’s nothing, just a dress that she easily slips off.
“Eight.” Betelgeuse counts now. She swallows, unbuttoning her petticoat. “Nine,” he says when she pushes it away with her feet. Her underwear is not sexy in the slightest, and she’s thankful for that, but that doesn’t change the fact that there are only two pieces of clothing left on her. “What is it going to be, babe? Think about it this way. You either choose the one you want to take off yourself or choose the one you want me to peel off you.”
“There’s a third option,” she says, bracing herself for what she’s about to do. “Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Bet—!”
Her mouth is sewn shut immediately, so violently that her back hits the door behind her. She touches her lips with shaking fingers, not knowing what to make of what just happened, right before looking back up and watching Betelgeuse sigh and push the salt away with his shoe, breaking the circle and stepping out of what now she can see was obviously a worthless trap.
“See? This is why I have trust issues.” He sighs, stepping closer, and Lydia can see how his shadow transforms, multiple tentacle-like branches sprouting from his torso and sliding towards her.
She tries to hide herself from it somehow, curling up, pressing her arms and legs together to protect herself, but it doesn’t take long to feel a force lifting her up, holding her higher and higher like a puppet until she’s floating in the air. The shadows keep approaching, reaching her legs and arms, wrapping around her in circles that start covering every inch of visible skin. She’s so overwhelmed she wouldn’t be able to scream even if she could, but she still recoils when Betelgeuse gets dangerously close, looking at her from below as she hangs in the air, laughing mockingly.
“I told you I wouldn’t touch you, and I keep my promises, unlike others,” he puts his hands behind his back. “But you still owe me two pieces. And I’m going to collect.” He smiles, squinting his eyes and baring his teeth like a dog sniffing its prey.
The shadows wind around Lydia’s legs and arms, squeezing her like snakes, sliding under her underwear, encircling her belly, chest, and neck. Her breathing accelerates more and more as the shadows tighten and pull at the little fabric left on her. Her eyes open wide when she sees the ghost’s teeth sharpen, his tongue splitting in two, slithering out of his mouth, hissing and almost touching her.
“Are you scared, kid?” he asks, making the shadows pull her even closer. She shakes her head, no, looking back into his eyes, taunting. But he doesn’t get mad as she expected; he just laughs.
“Of course you aren’t. ‘Cause this is exactly what you wanted, right? Big bad bug tormenting and terrifying, taking advantage of poor innocent Lydia who can’t be helped. Well, that’s not gonna happen, babe. That shit you’ve got up in your pretty little head, you’re not gonna get it.” He winks, and the shadows around her body transform into fabric, and she’s dumped on the ground now wearing a stupid-looking striped pajama. Betelgeuse seems to find that hilarious because he laughs like a maniac, even more when Lydia looks at him, puzzled. “This is how this goes, babe. Whatever you want from me, you’re gonna have to ask nicely.” He pulls out a cigar from who knows where and holds it between his teeth. “I don’t work for free, honey,” he says, unstitching Lydia’s lips with a snap of his fingers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...”
“Hey!” she calls after him when she sees him walking away, but he waves a hand dismissively.
“Call me in a couple of hundred years, babe. When you’re ripe.”
“I’m not a fruit!”
“You could be,” he looks at her and winks.
“Betel—!” Before she can finish, he holds up a finger and shushes her.
“You know better than to do that, kid.”
“If Adam and Barbara find out...”
“It’ll be our little secret,” he smiles, turning back again and walking away, straight through the wall of Lydia’s bedroom.
“Someone will put you away sooner or later!” she calls. “You’re still not free. We’re not married yet, asshole!”
Yet. Yet? Why did she say that?