The shot knocked Beetlejuice back a few feet and he doubled over. It certainly stung (okay, hurt) more than being maimed back home. But, one of the perks of being a born-dead demon from Hell, was he was in fact, hard to get rid of in the traditional sense.

He stood back up, cracking his neck to the left and then to the right, his hair shifting to a brilliant red.

"My turn," he grinned at the reaper. "I think I might make a little art of my own."