Haunt the Beetlejuice house

Now that my art is posthumously appreciating in value and recognition—rightfully so, I might add—I hereby invite to my home any artistic soul that wishes to make the pilgrimage. Although shrouded in black to mourn Charles’ passing, the interior is unparalleled, curated by none other than yours truly, rescued from the pedestrian eye of its previous owners. And, in return for your undying support, I will teach you to Create with a capital C in the first-ever art class from beyond the grave. What you’ll do My creations—a lifetime’s worth of paintings and sculptures that would uplift even the grimmest of dispositions—have been tastefully displayed throughout my home. In fact, don’t even think of it as my home, think of it as an extension of my NYC art exhibit, “The Human Canvas.” And like any good exhibit, there is a class. Now, this isn’t just any ordinary art class. Oh, no. No, no, no. THIS class will be taught by a legendary artist—me—from The Afterlife. Yes, technically, my assistant will be present to facilitate, but it is I who will inspire the exploitation of your darkest terrors for the sake of creation! • Upon your arrival, my assistant will greet you at the door if he isn’t fielding multiple calls at once—bless his soul. Feel free to wander about and soak in the richness of the design. Everything from my paintings and sculptures to my exquisite molding choices will undoubtedly inspire and stoke your creative flame. • The attic is one part of the house I did not redesign, and it shows. Traverse if you must. I suppose the Maitlands’ model of Winter River is rather impressive even for my standards (although a bit dreary). You may also find the Handbook for the Recently Deceased up there. Don’t get any ideas. • I’ve warned you many times, but if you say HIS name, don’t be surprised to find yourself in The Afterlife. If that is the case, follow the glowing green light into the Waiting Room, an awful, cacophonous place. Artifacts of the deceased abound—smashed football helmets, charred Santa hats, and the like. One magician recently drowned in a water-filled lock box. He might still be there. Blech. • Once past the Waiting Room, you’ll find yourself in a disorienting hallway. Peek through the keyholes, but don’t open any doors unless you want to be eaten by sandworms or wind up in that trickster’s favorite haunt, Dante’s Inferno. I can’t guide you back to the land of the living. Maybe Bob The Shrinker can help you find the red phone that sends you back home. • Those who make good choices will partake in my unforgettable art class. My assistant will guide your group in unleashing your collective fears via paintbrush on black canvas. Savor avant-garde bites to spark your creativity and allow my genius to illuminate each stroke as you craft a communal masterpiece. In true visionary fashion, you’ll destroy your very own creation, taking home a small piece to treasure forever. • My assistant will shoo you from the house before it gets too late. Due to some recent … “spiritual difficulties,” curious entities have been creeping around in the wee hours. So while you can’t stay overnight, my assistant has found another lovely place for you to stay nearby. I’ve spared no expense.