Chapter Text
Lydia Deetz. According to her previous school, a bright and creative girl. According to her father when he enrolled her in a new one, dealing with a lot of recent changes in her life. But that’s nothing the teachers there haven’t had to deal with before. Nonetheless, they soon find that she has the tendency to be the brand of opinionated that makes a teacher’s day a little more... tiring. The brand of opinionated that leads to her religious education teacher, Mr Peters, phoning her dad after class a few weeks into her first term.
Over the phone, Charles finds it hard to get a clear picture of what, exactly, the issue is. Something about Lydia’s project on afterlife beliefs? Regardless, he’s always preferred to talk in person, so he’s the one to suggest they meet. Which is how he came to be sat in a plastic chair beside his rather annoyed daughter in her RE classroom once the rest of the students have gone home.
Since she’s gone back to school, Charles has noticed that Lydia’s dress sense has become something of a duality. Either she gets up at her first alarm at seven and puts together one of her elaborate goth ensembles, or sleeps in until the second alarm half an hour later and throws on a hoodie and jeans. Today, it seems, she’s gone with the latter, hood pulled over her head and hands shoved in the pocket in a classic disgruntled teenager pose.
“I’m not sure if it was just a case of losing interest,” the teacher is saying, “since the first parts of the project - the research on various religious teachings and beliefs - are up to her usual standard. But the real issue I wanted to discuss today is Lydia’s attitude when asked about her report.”
Charles nods and turns to his daughter, and for a moment is struck by how dramatic she manages to make the act of sitting. A practiced art, he supposes.
“Lydia,” he says, “firstly, put your hood down, please. Thank you. Now, can you tell me what about this has, uh… upset you?”
Though she shoves her hands deeper into her pockets, the girl keeps her head up as she answers him. “Mr Peters seems to think I wasn’t taking the part of the project where you’re supposed to give your own thoughts on afterlife beliefs seriously. Because I wrote about ghosts.”
Ah. Charles is rather sure he knows where this is going.
“But I was,” she continues. “Dad, you know I’d take that seriously.”
For a moment her eyes widen slightly, worried. He gives her a small nod, confirming that yes, he sees that. He knows.
“Mr Peters, what about Lydia’s project made you think she wasn’t taking it seriously?”
Raising his eyebrows fractionally, the teacher moves something to sit between them on the desk. It’s some sort of clearly handmade booklet, presumably the afterlife beliefs project at the centre of all this. He flicks through to the last few pages as he speaks.
“The instructions for the last section of the project were to explain your own thoughts on the beliefs researched, and then perhaps share any beliefs or practices you might have in regards to the afterlife. Lydia did the first section well, and then went on to explain her own specific beliefs about ghosts. Now I don’t have a problem with that, I’m not here to judge what any student believes, though it was presented more as fact which I generally discourage. My issue was in the fact that as this section went on it seemed to me like Lydia was treating this less as a statement of sincerely-held beliefs and more of a creative writing exercise.”
“How so?”
“Well.” The man pauses to put on his glasses, picking up the booklet and reading aloud.
“‘We have two ghosts ‘living’ in our house with us, and a demon that visits regularly. The ghosts are the previous owners, Adam and Barbara Maitland, and did not proceed to the Netherworld after the living room floor collapsed and they fell into the basement and broke most of their bones and then died. They moved into the attic when we moved in and are very pleasant housemates. I decided to interview them for this project because they know more about being dead than me.’”
“Bet nobody else had primary sources,” Lydia mumbles, but her comment goes unacknowledged as the teacher hands her project over to her dad.
“She then goes on to record a sort of chatlog of this interview,” Mr Peters continues, pausing to allow Charles to read a snippet himself.
QUESTION: What do you spend your time doing and how does it differ from what you did when you were alive?
BARBARA: Well, we don’t have to go to work anymore, so that’s nice.
ADAM: It’s a bit like an early retirement! In a way.
BARBARA: We can’t go outside, so we’ve been working on going through all the old stuff up here in the attic we never used. Sometimes we find things that we think we actually do want to try or projects we really want to finish, but most of the time we just get rid of it.
ADAM: We break stuff! Very cathartic. But one old project I'm not going to be getting rid of anytime soon is the good ol’ model village. Started it in life, and now I’ve got eternity to finish it. Nice to know I can take my time with it- not that I wasn’t before, of course, but it’s still… relaxing, y’know?
"When I asked about the end of her project, Lydia insisted that these were genuine firsthand accounts from dead people," the teacher explains, prompting Charles to look up from the booklet. "She claimed I was accusing her of falsifying evidence."
Lydia doesn't say a word, but her dad can tell from the look on her face that she'd like to double down on her claim. A claim that he might not have put quite so bluntly, but that he knows is technically true.
"Well," he begins, and suddenly she's giving him that wide-eyed look again. She knows that he knows she's right, but she doesn't seem sure he's going to say it. He sets the booklet down, choosing his words carefully.
“With all due respect, Mr Peters, I think there’s been a... misunderstanding. I don’t see anything here that isn’t Lydia’s sincerely-held beliefs.”
Eyebrows raised, the teacher pauses for a moment, thrown off his rhythm. He spins the booklet around on the desk and scans the pages, like he’s expecting to find something glaringly obvious he missed the first time, something that will make this make sense.
“Lydia,” he asks after a moment, “Can you tell me, truthfully, that it’s your sincerely-held belief that a ghost is building a model village in your attic?”
The girl rather nonchalantly nods. “Yeah. It’s quite impressive, actually.”
“...The ghost or the town?”
“The town. I mean, Adam is kinda impressive just in the fact that he’s a ghost, but - and I say this with immense affection - as far as ghosts go he’s kinda just some guy. But our some guy, y’know?”
Mr Peters stares blankly at her for a moment. She stares back, a smile beginning to creep onto her face. Her dad’s given her an inch in his addressing of the issue, and he can’t help thinking she’s prepared to take a mile.
“...Right.” The teacher returns his attention to the page, fiddling with his glasses, perhaps looking for something that will trip her up and expose a ruse.
How naive.
“And you also believe - as you’ve written here - that these ghosts will levitate you if you get good grades?”
“Yeah, they promised.” She pulls a hand from her pocket to hold to her chest in mock hurt, eyebrows raised. “Are you accusing the ghosts in my attic of lying too?”
“No, I-”
“Lydia,” Charles warns. “That’s not what he’s asking, is it?”
She rolls her eyes, huffing. “Alright. Yes, I do sincerely believe that the Maitlands promised to levitate me if I get good grades. And I also sincerely believe they’ll follow through on it, for the record. They’re trustworthy spectres.”
“Okay, and-”
“Mr Peters, is this necessary?” Charles cuts in. They’ll be here all night if this carries on; he knows Lydia would be willing to continue the debate into the early hours. “Lydia firmly believes she can communicate with the ghosts in the attic, I can vouch for that.”
The teacher looks a little startled, fiddling with his glasses again. “I… Well, yes, I see that now. I was just making sure-”
“I thought you said you weren’t here to judge students’ beliefs?” Lydia asks innocently, resting her elbows on the desk, chin on her folded hands.
“As I said, it’s perfectly fine that you believe there’s ghosts in your attic.”
“And that I believe I can talk to them?”
“...Yes.”
“Well, I’m glad we got that settled,” Charles says.
“Can we go now?” Lydia adds hopefully.
“Not quite yet,” the teacher says, and Lydia - who had raised her head off her hands expectantly - slumps back in her chair. “I want to reiterate that though it is perfectly fine that you believe in ghosts, you can’t be asserting their existence as fact in your papers.”
“But-”
“I understand that that’s what it is for you, but just as a Catholic student cannot cite the Bible as fact, you can’t assert what you’ve quoted ghosts as saying to be genuine without concrete proof that ghosts exist, which you certainly will not be able to provide in the timespan of an RE exam.”
At first Lydia looks like she’s about to argue, but after a moment sitting with her brow furrowed in thought she shrugs, taking a pen out of her pocket and dragging the booklet towards her. Looking over her shoulder, Charles can see that she’s begun an effort to squeeze ^ I sincerely believe that between what looks like every other line.
“When did you do this interview?” he asks, out of pure curiosity. “It looks rather detailed.”
“Last week, when it was set,” she says, not looking up, scanning the page for another place to write. “I mentioned the idea to Barbara when I got home and she seemed really flattered, so I went and wrote the questions.”
“Looks like you put a lot of effort in.”
“I did, actually.” There’s a hint of bitterness in her tone. The man puts a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, turning to the teacher who, to his credit, is now looking a little guilty.
“I trust that after this conversation, and once Lydia has finished… editing, you’ll re-mark this section for her, with the effort she put in?”
“I- Well, yes, I can do that. Lydia, if you drop that in sometime tomorrow-”
“Nah, hang on,” Lydia says, still scribbling furiously. “There. Done.”
She hands it back. The teacher seems to regard the booklet - now significantly messier than it was five minutes earlier - with some suspicion, but takes it regardless.
“Is that all you wanted to discuss, Mr Peters?” her dad asks.
“Yes, yes that’s it, thank you,” Mr Peters replies. He looks incredibly tired.
Lydia grabs her satchel as the two men shake hands, giving her teacher a quick “bye” before they leave. To Charles, it sounds just a little smug. She’s snickering to herself as soon as they’re out of the room.
“You really turned the fucking tables on him, huh?”
“Language, Lydia.”
“It’s the truth! And thanks, by the way.”
“Well, what else was I going to do? Claiming you don’t believe in ghosts would be the biggest lie I’ve ever told, and besides, I wouldn’t want all that effort you put in to go to waste.”
She smiles shyly. “Yeah… We only actually only needed to write one paragraph. D’you think he’ll have to give me extra credit now? D’you think the Maitlands will levitate me if he does? I should get a photo, show Mr Peters.”
“Give the poor man a rest, Lydia. You’re going to break him.”
“Oh, I know. Now I think about it, it’s probably a good thing I decided not to write about that one time we went to hell.”
Charles raises his eyebrows. Just thinking about how he’d explain that one is quickly giving him a headache.
“...Yes,” he agrees. “Yes, that was probably for the best.”