The Night Hunter

by nixghttps

Summary:

For Wednesday, no mystery is too risky, bloody, complicated or dangerous. Captive she remained eternally in red lights of sadistic and unsolved crimes, investigating even the most inhospitable and dusty corner, unforeseen, unobservable, and even forgotten, being the victim of deep obsessions, sweeping and brushing dark clues to exhaustion.

However, when her self-proclaimed "best friend" is set as a possible, if not forthcoming, victim, Wednesday is forced to rethink this position as she finds fear, loathing, pain and exquisite emotional torture tormenting her "roomie", for whom recently has noticed the exponential expansion of socio-affective feelings.

"As much as I wish to see myself actively involved in this macabre and horrific web of what could be yet another undiscovered serial killer... I find no desire in me to see you dead."

"Is that supposed to be a comfort?"

Notes:

So, I'm not an English speaker... so, I'm so sorry if you read any mistake. Pls, if you can point it out it would be a great help :D

Chapter 1: • Prologue :: "The Wolf and his Hunter" •

"Someone once told me that the worst terrors are those that are still alive. I never took it seriously until I fell in love"

 

 

Among the lycanthropes, there are millions of personalities, ways of seeing the world, experiences and even different styles in which entire packs decided to fit. Difference and uniqueness would always be a sought-after characteristics not only in human beings but also for the conscious and intelligent excluded.

However, between each species, there are different rites, customs and traditions whose importance for each race of multiple regions was very high, even necessary. One of the well-known by the wolf world was the "Hunting of the Pack", abbreviated as "Family Hunt", an activity perpetrated every other full moon.

The ingredients were very simple: a prominently sized herd of fierce, wolf-encased players ready to shed blood and drool to hunt thick, majestic deer, among other woodland beasts, and a tall silver moon illuminating a glade of green natural harmony, full, round and without any piece, no matter how small, cut out by the darkness.

Dangerous like few others, werewolves do not discriminate when it comes to slicing, biting, and destroying limbs, faces and even lives. Tall, with coveted hides, impenetrable fur, and a simply deadly set of sharp fangs, they pose intermittent threats across entire countries.

Still, they are not invincible, much less immortal, and when the typical youthful recklessness manifests itself in its maximum achievable splendour, even the strongest werewolf, without a pack, is nothing more than a useless cub.

A nameless boy intruded on thick branches, smiling, howling, as he separated from his pack to rest for a few minutes and then reintegrate. He giggled to himself, snapping mutated limbs, relaxing ragged fur, licking at the harmless wounds splintered wood left on thick, heavily healed fur.

With its huge paws firmly anchored in the damp earth, its enormous figure still among the bushes, only its breathless breathing echoed against the trees, leaving itself exposed to another lurking figure that inquired there, unnoticed by its deep dark and shrewd eyes.

He rested seated under the dim rays of a witness moon, sharpening his claws against the bark and nearby stone, smiling and murmuring loudly to himself, puffing out his proud chest and spitting rosily.

"What a good hunt!" the werewolf howled with revelry, applauding himself "look at all this blood, baby, that's quite a feat! Mom will be happy" pleased, his tiredness lessening as did his adrenaline rush, unable to sniff out the different deodorized indicators that his sharp nose would be able to perceive if he weren't so caught up in his own flattery.

He walked unsteadily, preparing to break into a run and continue his hunt when a powerful blast of…something liquid was sprayed at him, cutting through the thick strands of tangled fur to be seen impacting sensitive skin.

He immediately fell to the muddy ground, the victim of an intense sting that promptly burned against his skin, creating reddish irritation, pain, and stinging spikes of weakness in his system. He did not understand the sudden fragility experienced, his systems were now alert to this sudden condensation. He placed his front paws on the ground in a crude attempt to get up.

Overwhelmed and writhing, the burn simply increasing, he could not capture the jingling pebbles shifting away or the twigs snapping before a heavy weight upon him, a heavy, grinning, malicious weight. He felt the second spray before he heard it, howling loudly for his family to hear his wails.

He came out of hiding, walking slowly toward his prey with his sprayer in one hand and a needle in the other.

"Wh... what the hell?" he breathed, panting and in agony, glancing at a black figure near him "Wha... what are you d-doing?" hiccupped in pain

They didn't say anything, he just threw a container in front of his canid eyes to read messy black calligraphy.

Silver, it was written in messy handwriting.

That bastard sprayed silver into his fur and behind, like a coward, and now he could feel his skin being pricked with a thick needle of silver and steel. She wept, then, as the complexion gave way and burned, melting to pierce and split open, allowing the entry of what, in her increasingly dizzy mind, she termed 'the entrance to hell'.

"N-no! S-stop, stop, no! Help, help, mom, dad! M-mom!" he called out to the alpha of his pack, releasing grief hormones, crying out for help, terrified, aware that if no one heard his cries, no one would come to his rescue.

He would die, and he didn't want to die.

"N-no!" was the last thing he said before the tongue inside his mouth turned pasty, unmanageable. He fought sleep for a few seconds before losing, shedding tears in her useless despair.

He squealed a little more, begging his ancestors to please, his parents smell this enormous anguish that weighed on all their surrounding area, that their pack would appear. He begged he prayed.

But no one came.

The inert body of the boy returned little by little to his human form, the perpetrator of malicious intentions was quick, taking the bottle with a smile from ear to ear and eyes that gave off pleasure, shining with the satisfaction of an achieved purpose.

Naked as he came into the world, enormous claws seized the now petite figure of the drugged werewolf, throwing him carelessly over their equally gigantic shoulder, and with uncharacteristic speed, they disappeared from the site, leaving almost, if nothing, evidence.

Bushes collided with each other when the perpetrator decided to walk away from the site, unperturbed, the permanent smile was well drawn on their face and their sparkling eyes overflowing with perverse satisfaction, that when they left, without turning around, with the young man hanging from their back and a target in mind.

 

• • •

 

"I think I found it!" manifested a high-pitched female voice.

A concerned family had spent a significant amount of time searching for the youngest member of the pack, desperately sniffing the clean air of the silent forest.

It was when a wolf found the way to the boy that they all got down to work, tracking him in important seconds through disgusting dying odours that the boy impregnated around the entire perimeter.

"O-oh... oh damn" this time a man whispered, his jaw trembling and his heart aching, racing, beating in terror when a poisonous stench stung his senses.

"What's happening...?" asked the petite female adult "heck no! mom!"

A sob was caught in both throats, the two cubs paralyzed when the silver leaked through their nostrils, immediately weakening them to force them to humanize their figure in the full light of the full moon.

The terrifying scene of nothing more than the scent of their youngest member and silver, without blood or struggle, caused deep pain in a pack that will forever be scarred and mourning.

In the distance a bloody victimizer laughed victoriously, planning their next victim wrapped in wolfish fur.

Chapter 2: • Chapter I :: "Funeral Fragrance" •

Summary:

"Hold me tight, so tight that perhaps only then can I forget my slow, instant death."

Notes:

I HATE, above all existing things, translating things. I mean, I love the English-speaking community, in many ways, it's better than the Hispanic one... but omg, what a mess it gives me. The difference in words... agh, please... comment and support!
I loved the little references I gave and it may be that there is some Merlina, Fingers or Pericles, "her", "him", "his", "she", "he" that is not correct. Please cite it to correct it.
Thanks <3

Golden hair, persistent finesse, slender creature, deadly beauty hidden in the adorable elegance of smiling innocence. The beasts whose fangs would hide in gleeful smiles and that misshapen monster would only come out once a month, howling, thirsty for fresh crimson blood, spilt from the very flesh once alive.

Sitting in the huge family van, constantly uncomfortable, cowering in on myself, a pathetic werewolf excuse, skittish to the core and my tail tucked in, looking like a useless puppy, eager for parental approval, and all for the sake of it. the presence of my family, invariable and firm, who for days harassed me.

Eternal weeks passed when, finally, the cancelled semester ended and the school returned to operation, notifying each student to return, allowing themselves to study without any danger. I still remember the immediate smile on my pale face upon reading the letter, exuding contented relief that now I wouldn't have to listen to that clearly hurtful nonsense that my family seemed to spew out second by second.

And now, zooming in on the scene, my sharp nose was picking up the dampness on the old seats, the uncomfortable body odours my unsanitary siblings had no qualms about not cleaning up, and, somehow, I also sniffed out this lingering disapproval where my dear mother insisted on drown to never breathe.

"Our know-it-all is back at school!" bellowed Uriel, eldest brother of the family, who lay graduate and college student, proceeding to aggressively brush my blonde hair.

"And now you can go wolf with us!" cheered one of the minors, laughing. This comment triggered euphoria in the others, forgetting the subject as quickly as it was brought to the table. I clenched my jaw, unsure if I would take pleasure in the idea.

"Finally" was the muttered comment my mother chirped in, almost imperceptible under the screaming noise of cackling werewolves.

I was unable to say anything, sighing somewhat disappointed with myself, noticing the others through my eyelashes, because my hunched and downcast posture prevented a good division beyond the thoughtful one. I could not measure in words this hatred adjacent to my soul. I would swear by what I love the most my effort to fade it in its entirety, however...:

No matter how hard I tried, my self-esteem would never improve if every day I was hurt beyond healing.

The vehicle finally came to a stop, curling up on the sidewalk. My father mumbled that they reached their destination and before long the doors were bursting open, my hyperactive siblings scrambling out almost on all fours, rushing to greet their friends, muttering something like "platonic herd."

Feeling a knot in my pounding heart, he dragged me out, wobbly feet, leaden too, planted unsteadily against the paved floor as a fake smirk was stunned.

"Luck, Enid," Uriel preached, my parents particularly silent. When I was standing a few meters from the rusty transport I heard the regretful roar of the engine and how it rolled away. I never turned around, only following my relatives, with the suitcases in tow.

I entered through the open doors, the old wood smelling of the particular rot slowed down by varnish, maintenance, and the sweet fragrance that preservation magic would always give off. The mouldy rock also gave a well-known blow to my memory, provoking sincerity in this now grateful permanent smile.

My second home was far better than the first.

"There's your friend, the goth!" warned another of my siblings here, idiot Henry, too presumptuous for his own good.

But he was telling the truth. Wrapped in her typical monochromatic colouring, was Wednesday, glaring lethally at anyone brave enough -brainless- to greet her with more than a few wordy nods. Beside her lay her family, though now two strangers I had previously only known by name swarmed around her.

A precious boy of about four or five years old was playing with a man (I risk saying that he is an adult, however, that zombified appearance alluded to many, many more years) very, quite tall and serious, who in turn was carrying Thing. I smiled at the adorable stitched hand, eager to say hello.

"She only wears a black colour palette, that doesn't make her goth..." my useless argument was met with raised eyebrows in response. I decided to laugh at the very awkwardness that my rather bland statement exuded.

"If that's any consolation," Vincent shrugged, pulling away to greet his friends. Soon, we all follow suit.

"Yoko!" I called this shameless bloodsucker "What's up?" I fiercely stuck to her body, without any care like the one that should be taken when hugging ordinary human beings (also catalogued by all those "excluded" as "normis").

"Enid" greeted the vampire with her characteristic calm and a cynical smile "how was your vacation?"

"You have no idea of the agonizing martyrdom I lived through!" she shrieked, though in reality Yoko probably knew everything if every text we exchanged backed up the assumption.

"At last your life can be perceived as interesting" a muscular contraction attacked my body, an immediate speed of defence in which every sense screamed attack. However, my brain was smiling, comparing the voice from beyond the grave to a lullaby.

Melancholy and cadaverous languor greeted me when I turned around, dark eyes, deep with death, like rotten sockets. Jasmine, Alcatraz and white carnations flooded my senses. I recognized the combination as those flower arrangements used at funerals. The perpetual taste of mourning brought with it a welcoming warmth.

"Wednesday" my instincts begged to hug her, hit her a little with my own sweet fragrance. Before considering it any longer, the aforementioned moved away centimetres, discovering my offensive intentions.

"Sinclair" she greeted, her expression noting comfort with my name murmured from her lips. I smiled, momentarily forgetting the familiar horror experienced with the scents of two loved ones surrounding me.

I heard Yoko whisper a weak excuse to get away from her. I decided to let her go, for now, since she would catch up with her later and we would gossip as usual. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her leave the site to join another "Fang".

"Shall we go back to last names?" I joked. Wednesday, as always, didn't react "your initiative to greet me is weird, you know?" my indolent companion said silently a small creature next to her. The little man whose paleness rivalled that of, who I assumed was her older sister. She had a tenacious smile on her round little face, looking at me like someone examining a landscape.

A sudden wave of discomfort washed over me, so swallowing hard, I drew my own throat up in greeting.

"Hello?" I greeted, crouching low enough to keep up with the younger.

"Hello!" she returned with more of a frenzy than she expected from an Addams "I'm Pubert! Are you Enid?" Hesitantly, I nodded, looking up, meeting Wednesday's piercing gaze on my face. Deciphering what crouched in those depths was as complex as Schrödinger's equation.

"Yes, gentleman, that's my name, is Wednesday your sister?" an energetic feeling was answered. Odd names, effervescent paleness, and an atypical taste for the colour black were a dead giveaway for Addams.

"What you name an 'initiative when walking like someone recovering a death sentence with the sole objective of exchanging greetings'" well, it was not with those words, even so, the point was understood "it was just my younger brother wanting to know the 'stupid werewolf who prevented my sister's massacre,' in his words"

My puzzled eyes widened as I straightened up. I would never understand the philosophy professed by the Addams, however, those words caused a gloomy shiver climbing, like a spider, up my spine.

"Uh...uh..." I stammered, oscillating "well...you already did..." sudden male, reptilian scents snapped me out of the perpetual discomfort that Merlina used to force on me "oh, look, what? is that Ajax?!" the two gothic beings turned at the mention.

Poor guy, I really didn't want to get him involved, and from the scared look he gave me and the sandwich half in his mouth, he didn't expect to get involved either until both kinsmen left.

"Enid…Addams…hey, you" he greeted us, taking what looked like a fry completely out of his mouth to hold it tight in his smeared fist.

"Don't worry, we were leaving" I frowned a little at the dry indifference. I quickly decided to discard it, as the typical Wednesday brand darkness would justify that disdainful look.

Her slender, ashen and sickly figure walked straight to the place where the Addamses whispered to each other, the leaders kissing every few seconds, whispering in each other's ears while cuddling up and enjoying the warmth of others.

I took a little more detailed look to conclude the dangerous actions that Pericles, the long man and Uncle Fester (Wednesday appeared a couple of times last, so locating him was not a big concern) carried out without protection in half a schoolyard. Little Pubert caught on very quickly among the men, holding a huge axe much bigger than himself.

"A little more and someone will be beheaded," the teasing mutter rattled through my confused mind, and only then did my scattered focus fix Ajax as important.

"I don't doubt it for even an instant" I sigh, an unusual affection, suddenly tangled in my singing tone "but if it wasn't like that, would it be the Addamses?" Ajax denied smiling, complicit in my thoughts.

"Of course not" the comfortable silence settled between us when our affectionate eyes crossed and the longing surfaced, dictating loving actions that, without hesitation, my limbs, hasty, complied with.

Embraced, I sniffed affectionately at my opposite partner, wanting to feel safe, protected and belonging. I was frozen when none of that clouded my thoughts. A normal and dull heart was the result of our contact. Scared, then, with myself I was, confusing what was with what is.

If it wasn't my friend too, I'd suspect the dangerously stiff approach. I filtered these unwary thoughts, deciding to just enjoy Ajax and the security he still instilled in me.

"Are you ready for this new school year?" I shook my head in amusement, shrugging my shoulders.

"Who could prepare for this torture?" Okay, he nodded affectionately, not loosening his grip on my waist.

I decided to unwind when I heard, through speakers that I'm sure weren't there before, a male voice, even an announcer, talking to us encouragingly.

"Good morning, dear students" an attenuating softness completely caught my scattered attention "the grey clouds cry out for harmony for today, don't you think? But that's not what my announcement is about..." a tired pause and everyone in the courtyard they were completely curious about it.

» "As many of you know, our former principal had an... unfortunate death last semester" the voice darkened, carefully distributing in her tone of respect, traces of mourning "however, that couldn't stop us, so during your 'vacations', I was chosen, myself, as your rector. My name, young people, is Mircalla Karnstein, and I am pleased to meet you."

» "Also, Miss Thornhill, aka Laurel Gates, the professor of carnivorous herbology or, more vulgarly, the crazed woman who unsuccessfully attempted to tear our beloved institution and everyone who lived in it to pieces" angry murmurs thickened the once youthful air.

I looked sideways at Merlina, who was expressionless and seemed to be muttering something to Pubert. Astonishment stunned my gestures when I reasoned with the little boy sitting on his older sister's lap, being hugged from behind him in order to avoid any fall. The boy nodded at the whisper, laughing quietly.

Everyone in the proximity gawked at the smirks on the jocular Addamses.

"For this reason, following the same initiative that our former director implanted, like a green seed looking to germinate, we have hired new "normi" staff. Both janitors and teachers. Those whose school hours include the renowned subject; herbalism will be seen in the obligation to respect and not disclose, humiliate your teacher"

» "Deviant behaviour towards humiliation, defamation and any, I repeat, any similar vilification... will not be tolerated, and will be corrected at the very root. Understood?"

The iridescent melodic tone gave me chills all over my body. Something in these humorous swings, interpretive ease, those behaviours screamed danger. I tried to ignore the nervous canine, attaching this unusual behaviour to typical doggy bewilderment at the stranger.

The boring monologue ceased, peppering my sensitive ears with the high-pitched screeches triggered by microphones and interfering termination. I heard more murmurs, still, from the curious student body.

I knew then that my work as a main "informant" had just begun, and now I would have to investigate this said director. My stomach turned anxious and enthusiastic, while my brain ran over every thought with inquiries, forecasts and different feasible manipulations to extract information from such a figure.

Perhaps this malevolent thought was too obvious, because Ajax, still close to me, looked at me stunned.

"Huh Enid? Are you okay?" I smiled confidently, nodding energetically.

"Of course! I've only fallen in love with this mysterious woman... I'm going to keep secrets!" Ajax cocked his head, moving inches away.

"Are you sure…? She's just trying not to invade privacy." my smile only deepened, becoming alarming.

"Very late" and perhaps the man spoke a little more, spat out important words, or affectionate ones, or trivial ones, however, my eyes followed a wobbly blackness that disappeared behind much more interesting walls and columns "it's been a pleasure, Ajax , but I have to go settle in, okay?" confused, his eyes as disappointed as those of a kicked puppy he refused to enter.

I had to worry, I know, but I just hugged him to put a little sparkle back in his eyes before running, hastily, to my belongings. I grabbed each unyielding suitcase.

"Bye!" They were mere words to my friends, who returned the peaceful farewell with a nod. Buoyed, as I always have been, I headed upstairs in search of my self-absorbed roommate.

The rattle caused by my suitcases going up the stairs was constant, dragging and as aggressive as me.

"Merlina!" I greeted her as she crossed the black doors belonging to our room.

"Sinclair" returned to greet, nonchalant, the already well-to-do part of him.

"Wh...how did I perform...?...uh, you know, it's useless to ask" I smiled blankly, brushing it off. Wednesday's strange actions could only drive me gleefully insane, so the less I knew, the safer she was.

When I fully crossed the threshold and entered our room, our ancient perfumes combined gave me a pleasant, even expected welcome.

My lungs sucked in every odoriferous minutia, flaring my nostrils to capture more and more, intoxicating myself with this peculiar intimacy and past trust.

Sweet, candied moisture, so worn by the icy wind that it was no longer delicious. The coconut and vanilla she used previously had long since expired, being combined with something else, something unseemly and yet familiar.

Wet earth, raw iron filaments, freshly polished wood, varnish and a little gunpowder. The grisly mortality of each item only buoyed my sheltered mood.

So senile and light, because in two seconds, we both impregnated the old room with red, ripe, delicious fruits. Less sweet, much easier to smell and of course hide in a forest.

My wolf would force my body to change pheromones, and innovate my sweat, since having to lurk in wooded areas with animals whose instincts and senses were as perfect as mine, now hiding and camouflaging myself with the environment simply became a requirement required.

Sneaking out, I placed the heavy suitcases on the bed aggressively, faking a smile, only withdrawing with my thoughts, quite noisy, busy and unruly that swirling in my head mixed with this addictive funeral fragrance that also filled our room.

"I see... I smell, that she must be very prepared for a funeral, no?" I asked, with the usual amusement, Merlina. I turned from where she was unpacking and settling, deciding to examine the other's expression.

"And provoke it too" grinning cheekily, I almost scolded myself, because such an insane response was easy to predict.

"Of course, in black and with the smell of gannets" Merlina stopped to look, imitating my actions when I turned around.

At the beginning of our relationship, a penetrating look, black and whose intentions would vary in that leafy fan of which one end would dictate torture and the other murder, including, without a doubt, correlative nuances, would instil in each shining molecule a true latent terror. of my poor body vulnerable medium. Now, the sleepless nights of Wednesday's visual musings have been replaced by complicit silent exchanges.

Merlina, languid and beautiful, would be incapable of displaying true sagacious designs and, failing her, malevolent towards me. She would try, narrowing her bushy lashes, tilting her head forward, looking at me through the curtain her hair formed in her bangs.

She would sometimes poke her chest out, straightening her posture. More, when the origin of our relationship changed during months of forced coexistence. She left the tension behind, now she was opening her eyeballs a little more, her eyebrows were furrowing and she was also letting her lips protrude. Over time and only with her, the teaching that she left me traced minimal muscular changes in her face, as well as in her body.

"I realized something." my words were intentional for Wednesday, who raised her eyebrows millimetres. Her own way of blinking, I reasoned "I think I'm an expert at reading your body language" I sniffed a bit, catching a glimpse of Wednesday's hormones "other than now I can smell how close you are to your period. Actually, that last one is something I It comes with being a dire werewolf and…um, nothing, but I thought it was cool to let him know." I blushed a little.

"Close to sexual maturity?" I chirped, unhappy with Wednesday.

"Shhh, how do you know?" I sat on my bed. My so-called 'sexual maturity' also deserted me until my belated transformation. I am, what my mother disapprovingly calls, a 'mess of hair, hormones, drool and disappointment'.

I'm not quite sure how much I like that title, but she's right about the hormonal part. Getting to sniff out males and females of any stupid species was the worst, even humans! While we all benefit from that ability, it's generally higher for werewolves (damn reproductive partnerships... or fated). In my fateful case, oh, torturous, I reached the scents of each species with the same force and objective.

It was annoying. At least, to my good fortune, Wednesday was very, exceedingly pleasant to sniff. Beautiful pale woman, mysterious and tired, stubborn and expressive, because only she exuded pure, unadulterated sincerity, as no one else could only imitate.

"I conducted exhaustive research in which baleful, fatal, monstrous, and endlessly ethereal beasts were essential players. Werewolves, vampires, and mermaids were just the cliché, famous and indispensable ornament, so information was by no means scant" almost I felt offended.

"Hey, I know our species is more common, but you didn't have to be so rude!" she look only made clear to me the little relevance of my words to her perception "ok, I understand, even so!" I cut myself off to leave useless suspense, as I would still advance my sentence "there are many things about werewolves that you would not understand!"

Wednesday was about to open her mouth when I cackled exultantly.

"Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh!" I yelled, leaping to her position in a single leap from her, a little close to her to shut her up. Her reflexes forced her back before my hand brushed against her pink lips "no! I know the next thing out of her mouth will make me feel like a clown. I'll deny everything, even if you say we turned into wolves giant and misshapen"

Eager, I turned back, swaying my hips spectacularly. Wednesday determined; better shut up and not play along, probably thinking about the insubstantial of my bland actions. I heard her uniform whisper quietly, the friction suggesting slow movement. A death trap, I thought well. Wednesday is a well-oiled killing machine, and these dying sounds just raised the bar.

The next two hours were silent, barely interrupted by the vintage record player which I authorized to play. Badly recorded chords, sharp and melodious, converged to life when the static of the traditional disco began to sing. Soon, a female voice sang shrilly with what can only be described as immeasurable sorrow, never seen before. The ordeal of her dying pain overflowed with betrayal.

Out of the corner of my eye, I looked on Wednesday. The blankness was undermined with languishing melancholy, pale as the morning mist. I did not understand the language "only later, when I found out that it was Catalan, a Latin language, spoken, for the most part, by Spaniards", however, there was no need. I knew from early on the exquisite addiction existing in my friend for pain stunned in music or writing.

"It's romantic?" she had asked, stunned if so.

"No, it is a traditional sorrow in which Amelia creates her will while lying dying in her bed, her mother in front and her accomplices. Amelia resents, then, the mother, crying how she is the target of death since she has been poisoned for her man, to steal" I immediately felt Amelia's pain "pink carnations mean, then, the deep love generally manifested towards a close relative, and, in the same way, the love of a mother towards her daughter"

As educational as it was, I asked, more carefully, Wednesday.

"You smell like carnations" there were no signs, they weren't necessary. And, in the same way, her silence was the most enlightened response.

I could never understand that ability of yours, not to speak and with it, manifest, and express more, than any lie detector.

That is positioned as our last conversation before the overshadowed silence, more comfortable, between the two. Just intercepted by the Addamses saying goodbye to Wednesday: a few tender words from Homer, the man as enthusiastic as ever embracing his eldest without qualms. Pugsley, with his body hunched over and a complex look on his face, whispered how he would miss the older one. Pubert wrapped his arms around her leg, biting into it. When he was kicked, he just laughed evilly, he looked at me strangely (I can vouch; I almost choked) and proceeded to climb onto Morticia, who gently kissed Wednesday's forehead to leave with her family.

Like them, the overpopulation was decreasing, the sun going down lazily, while the conceited fuss died down. We both lay comfortable with this change, focused on our personal worlds. Me plugging in led lights, accommodating my stuffed animals, and speakers, among other individual items in drawers, shelves, and the floor itself.

The chiming clock was our signal of the time.

"Four?" I asked, surprised. In a week we would start our classes and at today's urgent pace, there was no hesitation from the treacherous speed that time was trying to reach.

Reality pressed on my brain, realizing without insight how our room would be complete in less than two hours. Even Thing had their own designation on both halves.

"Are you serious, Thing?" I asked laughing as I accidentally kicked a little wooden bed that was pink, bubbly, and, as my goth companion would probably say, 'bombarded by multicoloured vomit'. Different belongings that only one hand would have were scattered around: polish, cream, oils, and gloves.

When Thing pointed to the parallel partner, I laughed even more uproariously. A twin bed, metal this time, lay in the middle of Wednesday. Items such as thumb crushers, rings (the kind used for striking), a small blade, and other offensive items were scattered about.

"Do you like it?" she signed her, almost smug… well, as smug as a severed hand could be.

"Very much!" Wednesday, who wasn't looking, also curious about the beds, rolled her eyes. My heart fluttered positively, purring. It was well known to me, to everyone, how her expression fragmented only when exposed to her loved ones, or whom she trusted. I would never tell her, but her pride only grew knowing that she and no one else but her was among those few souls close to Wednesday.

Abruptly, a heartbroken cry echoed through the walls of the institution. Doors opened, in a violent rush, crashed against the walls, as well as frightened and worried murmurs.

My instincts surfaced on my skin, and without waiting for a single cue, I boldly dashed out of the room, ignoring my softly spouted name of Wednesday. I ran fast, only caught up with the nearest vampires and other wolves.

The shrill screams did not stop, in fact, they increased, voices joining the horrified chorus. I threw my care to the wind, nearly bouncing off the stairs as I took them three at a time, reaching the school entrance sooner rather than later.

Greeted by a noisy crowd, I managed to avoid the bodies piled up without any problem, my small stature being, for the first time, great help at this time, when panic spread without delay or prerogative distinction.

And it was when I saw him, my blood froze, my instincts bellowed in fear and, without any exaggeration, my soul slipped out of my whitened body. One head, one. Damn. Head. beheaded.

And maybe it wouldn't be so weird, in the end, I got used to a severed hand with which, by the way, I could have nice and interesting conversations. But...

I knew whose head that was, of course. We lived together for almost two and a half years. I still remember the voice of his vocal cords, grunts, and smell. My mind flashed each individual, collective memory, in which that smiling and sarcastic face calmly peeked out.

"Q...Quin?" I heard how, behind me, someone exhaled with the same disbelief.

My breath quickened, panic dragging me with it into deep, raging, turbulent waters. Then my wrist was yanked by an insistent hand, pulling my docile body away from the outraged crowd.

"Enid? Enid?!" a voice, gloriously familiar, snapped my choking head out of the bulky stupor I was being plunged into. "Enid!" I focused my misty eyes on my opponent, finding safety in the dark orbs.

"Wednesday, oh my God, Wednesday..." I sobbed unsteadily, clutching my eager hands in her monochrome garb "his head! It was Quin's head!" my whimpers increased the volume of her, as she, surprisingly gentle, led me off and aside.

Her motherly cooing managed to temper the frightened wolf within me, and even the funeral fragrance, ironic and old-fashioned as it was, acted as a major factor in mitigating the apprehensive whimpers and hiccups.

"Enid, look at me, it's over now" I cried harder, looking at her through my tears.

Soon, painful howls began to pierce the air. Afflicted wolves joined their own pain in the air, causing an overwhelming cacophony, even more, agonizing than Testament D'Amelia could ever be.

They sensed it too, of course.

"N.... no, it's not true! it was silver, Wednesday, her head was impaled on a silver stake!" more gagging attacked "and....pheromones...distilled the hormones from her" she seemed to understand my pain.

Flashing in my head, the words, written in blood, in front of his head, flashed once more, forcing me to cringe at myself as I did my best to find comfort in the beautiful arms of the woman before me.

 

 

"This is not the first, but one of you will be the last"

Notes:

STRONGLY INSPIRED BY:

• Carmilla, by Sheridan Le Fanu, written in 1872.
• El Testament D'Amelia, cover by: Victoria de Los Ángeles, Renata Tarragó, G. Tarragó (90s version) likewise, also the one made by Alanna (starting video).
• The damn thesaurus.

 

 

Ah, I have three complaints about this.

1. Did you know that smiling does not have a synonym for a word? IT'S HORRIFIC! More words for a single action, what a nuisance.

2. Slower than my filthy metabolism. I'm so sorry for how long and BORING it was. What a tremendous me, I can't do the first episode well. Agh, I hope I can progress well in the next chapters.

3. I'm not good at twists, not in the slightest. The drama is given to me to plan it, not to write it, damn it.

That was it loln't.
(publ.: 12/01/2022 -- ed.: 12/03/2022)

Chapter 3: • Chapter II :: "The Conforming Head"

Summary:

"I'll feel pleasure in any pain as long as I'm sure that's how I'll protect you, my love."

With an incessant pattering of the rain, lashing against glass, marble, cement and bricks, the windows vibrated, as well as the sky, shaking with each thunder bellowing between flat, weeping clouds. Shadowed hours lit hidden stars, dragging with them a disconsolate night that fearlessly squeezed the clouds and manifested its sadness.

Mourning permeated walls, ceilings and floors, barely disturbed by confused murmurs, desperate disclosures, and misguided assumptions about the uncertain future hovering in our heads. Unfortunately, similar thoughts crowded into my scattered head, branching off into different outlets, each imagination more upset than the last, with a single purpose: to decipher this new mystery.

And, bursting into overwhelmed sobs, right next to me lay a golden blonde whose natural smile conveyed pure frankness in my heart. Choking, my friend—as she insisted on calling herself—was choking on her own heart.

The overly attached, heartbroken blonde woman, gives in to the overwhelming agony of a new traumatic experience racking her brain to turn her psychology into a hopelessly twisted mesh of grief and paranoia.

She would not stop touching me, holding me like a stuffed animal, transmitting with her actions the security that, apparently, only I seemed to provide her. «Let me hold you, Wednesday, let me sink into your shell, so maybe it will hurt less», when I told her the impossibility of the reasoning behind it, she shook her head, ignoring me completely, grabbing my hand angrily, reluctant to let go.

In our room, right now, she was crying:

“N…no, I can't refuse it, Wednesday, by God, I can't avert his lifeless eyes! My head insists, insists on remembering." agitated babbling made my empty chest ache "How to make it stop?" asked the vulnerable woman, scrutinizing me, as if the answers she was zealously seeking existed within me. "How do I make it stop?!"

"I can't help you, my friend." I wailed softly, striving to add comfort to my parched voice. "I'm sorry, Enid." She didn't take her gaze from me, embarrassed, perhaps, for as stormy as the weather was outside, it couldn't even begin to rival this scenery. hurricane in her blue eyes.

Still, in the grip of panic, Enid shrank back again, drawing her knees up to her chest, hiding her entire tremulous body in the sweater about three and a half sizes larger than her fake wimpy little frame. She was shaking like a mongrel, perhaps a scared Chihuahua, too stunned, with more thoughts than was sanely acceptable.

In her bed, we huddled against a wall, or what was one. Huge stuffed animals softened the stone and promoted comfort for her, as they were hers, and for me, as they exuded a fruity, sweet smell, but not cloying. Mixed with berries, leaves and damp earth, apart from a rancid coconut from last semester, there was this hint of anise, among other grains, such as quinoa, which flavoured the blankets a little more. I would only grudgingly admit to the graceful enjoyment of all this herbal concoction.

I watched as her body slowly approached mine, meekly taking the lapels of my clothing as she rolled over me. They were peaceful moments in which the only things resounding in our room were muffled sobs, hiccups, fat and furious drops breaking against the windows, the crackling of lightning and, of course, our breaths.

"Enid, are you there?!" from outside the room, a high-pitched voice screeched. Unhappy, I huffed angrily. Although Enid apparently did not understand my displeasure, because she raised her head showed curiosity.

"Ajax?" she murmured, however, her limbs well found in my clothes did not make where to separate. I took that for a win, maybe then Ajax would understand that he should leave and not come back until later in the month. That didn't happen.

"Enid, Enid, baby, I want to see you, are you okay, honey?" Desperation blended into his usually calm voice, denoting an exalted concern for Enid. Slowly my hands moved away from Enid, but just as her fingertips stopped brushing her shoulder blades, she pressed against me.

"No, Wednesday..." her watery eyes returned, reddened, and after giving me a strange and timid look, she hid her face in my neck, between my hair, breathing silently; I thought about how she held me with a fervent need, perhaps hunger, to stay safe "I want to be here, let me, I'm asking you, please" knocks exploded against the door "please..." she expressed pleadingly.

We held our eyes for a long time, my excuse to track the convulsive waves in her oceanic orbs because she determined she already found me.

"Ajax" I called by his name.

“Wednesday? Is Enid there?” the gorgon cheered up; his voice slightly more relieved from his being a little consolation for the hidden blonde.

"She lies asleep" was a short-disappointed moan that greeted me.

"Is she alright? I can pass?"

“I'm afraid not, I answer your two questions. However, I will ensure her well-being on a personal basis, so I would appreciate her understanding of our particular scenario, and please save her boisterous scandal for tomorrow." He made a noise of agreement, finally leaving us alone.

The silence that followed was not only comforting to the thoughtful werewolf, but also to me. After this persistent exhaustion so exhausting in my limbs, I allowed myself to carefully examine the feelings that afflict me without any rest.

Breathing in the golden threads, so flattened to the level of my nose, I lead my sensations to internal thoughts and completely alienated from any environment, entering into the mental depths, labyrinths inside, a deranged head executing reasoning with a majority margin of successes.

Is it normal for me to sleep badly? I've spent so many sleepless nights that counting them is just a silly formality. My dark eyes only grow blacker with the deep grey bags marking my wrinkled skin, and even the freckles underneath touched up their brown undertone, more visible than ever. Intrigue attacked my icy senses, placating my starving investigator, and setting every nerve inside me on edge.

I couldn't even begin to describe this internalized bad omen. I thought, in those so little distant times, that the place, the memories, that were forged here were directly responsible for the latent bitterness, likewise, my eluded death could cause me more exhaustion than previously expected, however, it was no more than one more seasoning in a stinking dinner full of stench and festering blood.

Maybe it was a bad idea to try to dig deeper, I consider, when one of those bees that Eugene adores so much begins to sting my abdomen and discharge poisonous gallons inside. I usually enjoy the sensation, but since the constant pang was located right on a sensitive scar from what was a deadly encounter, well, any delight could diminish to be replaced with creepiness.

“Wednesday…” vulnerable melodic nuances snatched me out of my reverie.

"Yes Enid?" my low-voiced response pattered across her golden sea, liquid methane rain falling in it.

"It hurts to have lost you" she whispered, dropping her tone until she barely exhaled "we were never a pack, but... we were already friends, you know, she never said anything unpleasant to me and..." again, silence. She looked lost inside her head.

» "She threatened us” she returned to resume “with doing the same to us, to every herd in this God-forsaken town”

What an exquisite, more truthful, sensible and tragically unfortunate analogy. Pleasant, hopeless words, a catastrophizing of our reality as it really was.

"They will kill us"

"In my arms, dear, nothing or no one will hurt you" I replied "your very suffering thoughts are not an impediment to guaranteeing complete safety"

Suddenly, she broke away from me.

"What happens?" she asked, touched, for some reason. I looked at her for a long time, without blinking or even thinking, barely lucid, perhaps, my mind now was cloudy, complicated, I couldn't think clearly, so I didn't do anything to answer her question.

"Enid, I'm sleepy," I reported, frowning more than I used to.

"I think that would explain everything" she was not happy, so she returned to her place, still shaking, thinking about what happened "thank you" she sang in a low whisper.

"Uhm," I nodded uncertainly, closing my eyes and relaxing every little part of me.

Then, with the shadow of death hanging over my dreams with a sombre glow, I fell asleep and warm by the side of an equal.

 

. . .

 

The humid dawn announced, through the song of the birds that fluttered over Jericho, how it dominated the dark night and forcibly turned the starless darkness into grey clouds that floated bellowing in a still-saddened sky.

I yawned, just awake as a lazy sun was trying too hard to break through the colourful transparent papers that decorated half a window. My crowded body creaked, claiming an unflattering, compromising, and very clear position. As my curious eyes fell on a hidden face, dimly lit but drooling, comfortably on my chest.

It was, I confess, an enlightening vision. My body didn't shy away from the newly experienced novelty, and its colourful touch didn't undo the barely-discovered flesh either. The young woman, beautiful and golden, with her absurd gestures and that ridiculous way of expressing herself, alienated from the world, managed not only to scare me but to conquer me. At first, I'd swear her expressions were phobic, but now they're nothing more than desirable.

I unwrapped my arms around her, trying to dispel those utterly perceptible traces of disappointment that grated inside me, as well, vehemently ignoring the utterly disappointing involuntary sigh that emerged from Enid, who groped for the warmth I brought her.

"Uhm" her moan, like a weak onomatopoeia of hers, almost convinced me to continue with our comforting dream. However, neither of them needed more time.

"Good morning, Enid," I greeted, into the passive misty web of our room.

"No... sleep..." she stammered at her intention to pout.

“I am afraid to inform you; you should join your friends and especially the school pack here in our own institution" my words were clearly wrong, as the previously soft relaxation in her limbs was replaced with the tension generated from unpleasant memories.

"You're too honest for your own good, have they told you?" she killed any previous attempts to touch me or go back to sleep, now mimicking my sitting form herself.

"I've been warned multiple times, yes," I nodded, noticing how we had slept in our casual clothes. I snorted, finding the situation annoying in depth.

"Tsk." Enid clicked with her tongue, scowling at her as, like myself, we stood up out of bed. I walked to my own closet, opened the door and chose, just randomly, the clothes I'd wear. “Eh… Wednesday…” I hummed, indicating my full attention to her.

"I wanted to thank you." I wrapped my underwear with the rest, placing everything on the bed, then, I paid profuse attention to her words "For... you know, hug me and let me sleep with you" I nodded softly "I know you don't like it-, that, uh... the- the physical contact” she averted her precious eyes from me.

“I'm not quite sure why I did it either, however, I imagine, in the near future, my caresses and comforts will be rewarded in some way. I suggest from now on that this acclaimed award be your sanity" I approached, just a little "seeing you this bad has caused nausea, totally uncomfortable, in every fibre of the body" she blinked, perhaps excessively.

"God..." she scratched the back of her neck, in an explicit nervous gesture "and... the weird things that-"

"Weird things?" I interrupted, staring at her.

"Yes, those, the ones from..." I fixed my eyes on hers, digging hers now calm sea of hers "that... uh, nothing" swallowed thickly.

I wrinkled, imperceptibly, my brow in confusion.

"Anyway," she cleared her throat, completely deflecting the question on my face, "who's going to shower first?" Her forced smile deepened my bewilderment, yet I played along.

"You go" taking the things on the bed, Enid nodded and as quickly as a furious bite she got into the shower, closing the door hastily and forcefully. Soon, a power-up machine began to rattle, water splashing against the floor, and then a body.

Now that Enid cleaned up, I decided to continue with the unforeseen details of my temporary move to Ophelia Hall, unpacking smaller bags into the briefcases: ink, spare strings, black handkerchiefs (etched, WA), cello bows, some sour candies from my mother and my perfumes, fragrances created by mother or by me from well-tended flowers in our greenhouse. I particularly enjoyed the delicacy that only monkshood was capable of granting, although, of course, well mixed with a few other plants to guarantee its good smell. The little kit my vanity depended on was quickly hidden under my bed, along with other useless things.

» “Wednesday” Thing —who had been lost since the night before— signed “Are you alright?”

"Why shouldn't I be?" I raised one of my eyebrows. The hand came down from the black bed that he himself had made and where he had slept. He judged my gestures, thoughtfully, before signing again:

» “You allowed her to touch you, besides, you also said strange things, don't you remember them?” I recalled everything said yesterday, however, my words were assimilated as sensible phrases, and therefore, I denied it.

"I would be very grateful if you enlighten my thoughts a little"

» “What is the last thing you remember? Before going to sleep”

Well, to be honest, I didn't want to express the warmth in my heart at being squeezed into strong arms, completely uncertain, fearful, clinging to me, smaller, physically an outcast by comparison, like her omnipotent lifeline. In me, there was no desire to remember my haughtiness again, the pride that invaded me knowing her confidence in me, how she would prefer me over her boyfriend.

Her precious body trembling, the fetid smell scenting the room with fear, the sweet fear of Enid, a pitiful addiction that brought me not only pleasure but also fury, she angrily condemned me to surround her and protect her, for I could not bear her stormy eyes, perhaps, plausibly, I drowned in those restless waves.

The freshness was clouded with pain, and the bittersweet sensation violated my defences, then my eyes were claimed by a sweet haze and my distorted memories could not count as something true, only as forgotten.

 "I consoled her" Thing confirmed my words. My perpetual silence encouraged him to sign again.

"What words?"

"I talked?" Thing shrugged as if that simple question had impacted him more than my own threats to amputate one or more fingers.

His movements were slowed down with a door opening and Enid coming out of the bathroom dressed, which released steaming steam, revealing that sly drops slid down my roomie's reddened skin until they were lost in her clothing.

Thing, deciding to focus his attention on Enid, started to walk over to the blond wolf in our room to greet her, hopping neatly onto the bed.

"Pretty little hand!" she quickly reciprocated “Is that a new hand lotion? it smells up to here, you look gorgeous!” Thing looked… swaggering. It was amazing how he could express his feelings even more clearly than I did. He strutted on the blanket, displaying smooth skin well concealed.

Forgotten, I took my clothes, resigning myself to pressing my lips and entering the very hot bathroom. What a morning, full of disgust.

 

(N/A: As a matter of highly-sensitive people, I proceed to warn you that the following scenes contain a completely unnecessary description of blood, bodies, criminal thoughts and descriptions of Wednesday's own body (who is a minor) obviously as a metaphor for bloody, okay? okay, and yes, it's useless, you can skip the scene, I'm writing it as personal proof of description)

 

I unbuttoned button by button, suddenly aware of the forbidden friction between my clothes and my pale skin, slightly tanned, barely chocolatey before the genetic inheritance that my parents poured into me.

The cloth slipped with frequent severe pleasure, however, not like that imagined, the carnal, it had nothing to do with it, there was no physical joy to enjoy in me, there was no incipient heartbeat, only my heart pumping serotonin when scars, small, durable, were discovered by offensive shirts.

Yagas, shreds of skin, I remember every incident, how can I not? Axes, blades, and daggers skidding and cut into pieces, fresh flesh torn, spilling dark blood to drip on the ground. I smiled longingly, too ecstatic when I thought of my tough but loving childhood. Being tied to a chair, depriving my extremities of oxygen and precious red blood cells, while Pericles with an evil smile opened my mouth and forced me to swallow arsenic, only to feel my stomach burning inside and my heart beating more and more paralyzed.

Naked, in the middle of the bath, I appreciated my bruised body. I felt the marks of boiling water, corroding acid, and consuming fire. I loved, as I always would, those scars that labelled me as what I really was, and, of course, I was not a psychopath, murderer, psychotic or deranged, but part of a family, one that taught me to accept death. with open arms, and, also, to make fun of her which cynical rogue bullfighter.

I enjoyed, with absolute certainty, the crime, blood and dismemberment, every day I discover more and more proximity to that suburban world, full of hardships, agony, unjust torture, necessary wars and pleasant violence, and I dare to affirm that I love it, the blood sizzling from a freshly butchered head, whose face does nothing more than express immortalized horror, tongue hanging out, eyes rolled back.

The shower, already running, poured icy water over my previously pink body, conferring my characteristic ambitious paleness, and when the water trickled down my abdomen, caressing the most recent scar, still swollen, the one that reminded me how close death was swarming around me, I couldn't help imagining rivers, veins, bursting and bleeding my chest, dripping down to the ground to mix the blood in the water.

I rubbed the soap, scraping with my own nails, barely long, my arms, legs, chest; my whole body with her head tilted up, she smiled at images of misshapen beasts fighting, and, with the main focus, soft eyes staring at me with rapt attention.

Perhaps, I reflect, that beauty was not only the yellow glow hoarding blue and underwater orbs that recently enchanted me for how beautiful they were, no, but the blood soaking a new, brand new, dirty blond fur. I melted just thinking about her fangs dripping crimson, my ferocious beast, ripping apart just for me, besting anyone to death to keep me safe.

I took a deep breath, turning off the shower as the interesting induced fantasy faded away. I now ignored bloody beasts to focus on ruthless killers whose main intentions were, as always, to undo, stain, and claim lives as their own. I understood them, my lucky misfortune could examine macabre intentions and untangle them as easily as undoing a rabbit's knot.

How exciting; deprive someone of a right to the power to be more threatening, others fearing what you do because they could be next. I, too, was haunted by the desperate cries of those overly trusting guests my father lured into our home and they were caught, like fools, in the traps, Pericles and I set around the house, and like flies, they buzzed to be released until our mother demanded it of us.

So, I analyze, what could this new megalomaniac want? Are they genocide for a reason? What kind of blood do they seek to shed?

Whatever it is, I'll insert my knife into every hole in their body, as intimate as possible, and push down, making sure to get out all the aching sounds human beings are capable of making, because it brought a hopeless cry of the only person who would have, any living being, forbidden to shine.

 

(N/A: It’s done, it finished, thanks to reading <3)

 

Dazed, I was sure of one fact; the wide range of skills under my belt was even irritating from time to time, but I wouldn't take it all without complaint if it turned out to be a useful and interesting aid to the jumbled murders, mysteries, and overwhelming clues scattered daily to piece together nonsensical mysteries whose purpose, in fact, it was as empty and useless as life itself.

I inspected the room, carefully, moving just her eyes. Enid was absent, as was any trace of where she headed, in return, Thing waited on the black bed for me, obedient, because, already prepared, there was a black bag right next to it.

"Then I guess we'll go out, right?" the amputated hand nodded happily, climbing until it was inside and hiding well in the bag that seconds later, I snuggled onto my back, firm and ready. I closed the windows, I made sure to hide quantity and preserve my weapons under a requirement of padlocks and numerical combination under the excuse of security.

“That head must be somewhere…” I locked the room since Enid always had hers when she was, for some reason, uncomfortable with me. So, assuming that I read this atypical behaviour so directed at me correctly, she will not return until later, when the moon is going to rear its platinum head.

I went down and left the institution. The clean scene of what was once a crime brought more emotion to my being. Lurid images flickered behind my eyelids, blood materializing under my feet, a head carefully deposited and then snatched away for further investigation. I ask myself; how many times have I stepped on a place where the ghost of a dead man lies?

Extended in front of me, a square door, large and without any security that prevents my safe passage, spread captivatingly, the words inscribed on it attracting cell, entire muscle to open it and discover what lay inside.

And while outside the clouds determined that the drizzle was never enough, squeezing the vaporous flows to ensure a sky blackened almost entirely, I, a slippery animal, crawled into the unused site, my heart warmed by the arctic cold floating on the ground.

Without a word, my bag rattled lightly as Thing emerged knowing, his fine-tuned mind already conditioned to rummage among the beds where the dead lay. I hummed along with his actions, remembering the last time I was here.

The rain outside intensified, lightning thundering in furious, desperate fits. Wonderful, I think, such a favourable climate could only agree with those that were planned in my mind, because now my footsteps, covered by the padded heels of high boots, were completely deafened by the angry drumming of large drops hitting floors, cans, branches and meat.

I admit, when I took the correct handle and slid the stretcher out, I laughed shamelessly, because the decapitated head, with open eyes, protruding tongue, and traces of deep misery well-carved in the gestures, was as hilarious as it was sad or terrifying. I gloved my hands with a material similar to latex, although odourless, to take the piece of the individual.

"Decapitated head of a male agent, approximately fifteen to twenty years old" I checked the skull, making sure "signs of cerebral contusions" I carefully observed the semi-shaved scalp "signs of bruises, however, only a few showed up post mortem, at front of the head, if necessary to indicate"

Sparing myself explicit descriptions, I recorded the observations for later analysis, too hung up on having a real head in my hands. In my life, I decapitated countless dolls, each one more creative than the last, however, what was I to imagine, I would hold a real head, it was impressive. I tried not to get carried away by these emotions soaked in curiosity, there was still real work to be done.

Thing tried to call me over the outside noise, snapping aggressively.

“Hmm? What have you found, my staunch limb?” He pointed to a table, on which some very intriguing papers were posed, eager to be read, and of course, I would comply with that whim. I approached, without caring, leaving my head just how and where I found it to take the printed studies.

“Toxicology tests” I looked at Thing, who affirmed my words, happy “go, photocopy every piece of paper you consider necessary. You know as much or more about these things than I do, don't disappoint me” the hand, quick as always, rushed to carry out orders.

Silver, the name shone, and they found a very high dose of silver only buried in the brain of the werewolf. So, I thought, why would someone, in our institution, give common coroners a supernatural being? Apparently, the brain lay liquefied and melted from direct contact with silver when being decapitated was still alive.

» “I have them” I put the newly printed documents in my bag, ready to go, and, in this way, Thing also hid, protecting the revealing papers that we would both examine later.

But something, something interesting, sparked as I was leaving. I looked, thrown to the ground, at a square of singular paper, whose handwriting, instead of being cursive, was lavished by the cleanest and most legible printing press, one that, honestly speaking, it was impossible for a doctor to create. Thing agreed with my thoughts when he signed, awkwardly:

» "That is not the handwriting of the doctors" I looked, sideways, at the papers written around it, then I agreed, a little more, and I reached over myself to press the paper with two fingers, small and yellow, and gather it from its waste place. I read, astonished, the directed words that were written there.

"You're not what I'm looking for, even so, I could kill you"

I opened my eyes a little more, the weight of astonishment forcing me to gesture. However, it was the exquisiteness of what I saw that generated emotion in me. I had two clues, very important, two things that, of course, we would review later:

1. The killer was probably here, right where I am, so the killer knows who I am or thinks someone will investigate.
2. My type of person, or something in myself—if I am this mysterious victimizer's favourite person—is not likeable, or sought after, then they would function based on some type of pattern.

“We are facing a murderer, one that is clearly destined to be serialized” I announced to Thing “now…” I smiled “see this? we have to solve it… and we will. They want to play a game, why not oblige them?"

The sky, wide open, allowing a downpour to break over the city, closed a bit on the sobbing pitchers and loud groans, a favour, come to think of it when I heard a doctor approaching our location.

I deposited, diligently, the slip of which apparently, I (or some other person in particular, although I highly doubt it) was the sender. Before I escaped from the place.

The door was opened, aggressively, when a few forensics entered chatting animatedly, alienated by this depressing homicidal situation, only doing, satisfied, the work assigned. A little more visionary, I slipped away when everyone's back was turned, taking advantage of the ajar doors to run out of the site and back to Nevermore.

I had some questions to run.

 

. . .

 

Towering imposingly, a precious building was embalmed by the delirious rain and illuminated episodically by splendid lightning bolts. Nevermore, despite my constant complaints, disgust too much, among other things, you know, the gothic architecture was nothing but magnificent. So old, well made, impeccably maintained and the details well done, because they were not even visible.

Simplicity was not part of such a wide repertoire that architects, builders and, perhaps, civilians would almost ensure the self-imposed challenge among themselves to achieve such a piece built, there, resting calmly.

I move with my typical formality, heading towards a simple destination, and, perhaps, with my very nice and charming luck, I would turn my simple objective into full-blown tortures, the kind of painful, uncomfortable ones that involved the 'socialization' skill.

Thus, I would reach the small garden, a patio suitable only for the rest, enabled to ensure talks between jovial students. I, in my constant unfavourable mood, shaded my walk to silence joking mouths and prevent jokes whose dubious morality would include mocking a companion, be it a living one... or the recently found dead little one.

"Hello?" my fate greeted me nervously.

What a nuisance, infamous shrill voices and this irritating stench that only a wet dog was capable of giving off.

"Good afternoon," I announced, noticing the hours past twelve noon, "Was Quinn, our presumed reason for mourning, part of your pack?" what little comic relief in them was completely gone, leaving the same shocked expression that Enid was victimized from.

"Oh, holy Fenrir, why is everyone asking?" an unfortunate murmur spread over the table, all, unhappy wretches, howled sadly.

"Yes, like all wolves, he was an important part of us" a man, with broad shoulder blades, and prominent muscles, would describe his look as intimidating, straight and perfected to dominate others, surrendering at his feet as alpha. I would laugh, there was no darkness or real threat to fear, so I continued, without any fear, with my intrusion.

"Not all wolves" I thickened, a small part of me succumbing to unforeseen anger building up in my pores. «You little imbeciles, will your actions be a reason for my happiness? Enid was despised, my poor girl, and now that karma has attacked you, you fools have paid for your actions» what more extraordinary thoughts «without ramifications, who would be the closest? the alpha, somewhat fed up, growled.

“It's none of your business, you know, it's private, pack business.” He seemed stubborn, determined to attack me for my insubordination.

“No, wait, Kyle” male werewolf, almost eighteen, his head boasted an irrefutable kinship to Quinn “Joel Robinson, Quinn's older brother”

"Wednesday Addams"

"I know" the man stood up.

Dark circles repainted like desperate bags, and prominent swelling reddened the previously whitish sclera. Poor little man, undermined by bitterness and sorrow, miserable, still martyred by the brother who was taken from him. He walked as one who addresses the executioner; sorrowful, defeated and resigned.

"I respect you, Addams" his expression expressed tenderness (unexpected, it must be emphasized), while he extended his hand to me. It was not taken by me, but by Thing, which sent said Joel into a wave of terrified spasms. "Oh, what is this...?!" he censored himself just in time, warned by my look.

“If you do, avoid touching me. I wish to speak with you, if possible” he nodded. I found myself encouraged, he seemed to understand the reasoning behind my actions.

"I suppose I'm talking about my brother?" I shook my head, affirmative "follow me then" pleased, I did.

It was a medium road, my body swaying to the beat of my steps. I heard the adolescent man babble nostalgically, while his tired body swayed slowly with ponderousness. It reminded me a little of Lurch, Redoubtable Butler when a wave of blankness educated all his features and turned them into sad wails.

“He was so good, completely satisfied” the gossip continued as we went up the stairs “have you ever wondered why the victims are always the best people? He never had anything to envy. Quinn loved packs, individual people and even animals. He gave a lot of himself to others, and he was even one of the few who defended Enid, your wolf friend” the wounded boy lamented, describing his brother to me.

» “Mother always wondered, we all do it now, what did he do to end up like this, without his head, without dignity? cake” he whimpered in soft howls.

"Do you think he was the first victim?" Joel looked at me uncertainly. His misty, revealing eyes communicated what his words were obtuse to represent. Then he quickened his anaemic pace to change it into powerful, energetic, intelligent strides.

Closely, I followed his course, noticing us in front of a door identical to ours (Enid and mine).

"Look at this," he opened, abruptly. Afterwards, he carelessly flung himself towards the bed that was posing as his. Under it, he pulled out a tightly closed drawer, and with brute force, he opened it carelessly. He then took out a piece of paper, identical to the one he kept as he lay resting in my bag.

“Two days after her disappearance, we got this… and a piece of an ear” How lucky, I said to myself.

"Don't you think seven is a perfect number?"

"We didn't know what he meant until my sister took a good look at the ear" he swallowed thickly "it's not Quinn's…"

Soon, his cloudy eyes returned to that unfeeling, empty, lazy position from before. Blackened flashes in terrified sockets. I swallowed the tumultuous sensation of arousal that coursed through my soul and embraced it like hot licks lavished by boiling scorched fire.

“Was there silver in-?”

Suddenly, the door was slammed, once more, so that a tall, thin, yawning man entered without any problem.

“Joel, what a delight to see you…! huh? Addams?” What an agonizing high-pitched voice, I feel my head screeching, which old and rusty hulk being dragged from one place to another without a hint of moderation. Effeminate, his goofy face met more than one modern standard, since calling him 'beautiful' was easy.

"Emerald" greeted the tired man "Addams, Addams, Emerald"

"Is that his first name or his last name?" unfortunate precious stone, tarnished by these gestures of a lost fish.

"Last name, my love, however, and like you, is what I want to be called" I handed the note to its owner, who kept it in its corresponding place and hid the box where, previously, it had lain.

"Understood," I determined to end the interview, noting the sunset colouring the slightly bleached clouds outside the windows. I grumbled when the drizzle stopped completely, scolding the heat that was gradually rising Fahrenheit in our environment.

It was impossible for me to reach the exit, as long nails painted sea green clung to my left sleeve. My hand, fast, trained, and guided by instinct, took a sheathed blade that was placed on my right hip; however, the man removed his hand before it was amputated.

I huffed, angry that I was deprived of such pleasure.

"Wow, wait, Addams." The man—whom I now identified as a mermaid from the radiant colour in his aquamarine eyes—placed his hands on either side of his head, thus indicating vulnerability and no intention to attack or do any harm.

"You want?" I ignored the tirade I wanted to give him for touching me, putting the blade away as he regretted not using it.

“I heard you were talking about silver. I am an excellent metallurgist!” I raised an eyebrow, wondering why that information would be relevant to me ““if it's a metal, I can find it… or tell it apart. I know, as the whole school probably imagines, that you're going to want to get involved in this case because, well, you got involved in that little guy's thingy last semester.” Maybe listening to him gave me a mental illness that would infect my ears and eat them from the inside, no. However, its usefulness was indubitable. I nodded, softening my features.

"That is an accurate assumption, and I appreciate, then, your willingness to be used." Emerald blinked as if my words had not sat well with her.

I ignored him, deeming any scheme to understand him unproductive.

I left, happy with my collection of information. I hold my excitement, which grew with each new discovery, and I risk to swear, to protect with cloak and dagger this position, considered as 'insensitive', that I felt even more excited than I ever felt with the past mystery. So personal, intimate, a murderer-investigator relationship that surpassed, with superabundance, the one previously experienced.

But as fleeting as it was, my joviality was soon hampered by my name, loud and clear, blaring out of those new speakers.

“Wednesday Addams, report to the principal's office, please.” Pale voice, an underlying melancholy creeping beneath that mesmerizing languor. My auditory torture was rewarded with that maternal lullaby harmonizing my name.

I knew her, of course. A black cat, a large and wide animal, crawled over me when, at the age of six, I was destined to meet her.

I headed, down that road that I walked so many times, feeling sorry, a small chain, threads of resentment at the thought of my beloved director Larissa Weems, a tall compassionate woman that I mistakenly judged to lead to her death. And when I was in there, a woman whose singed hair formed the most ravishing black curtain ever seen.

Stupefied, I saw myself as the victim of a vampire, and not just anyone: Mircalla Karnstein.

“My dear niece, are you already causing trouble for your aunt?”

Notes:

I want to shoot myself because three days—almost sixteen hours—writing this is not healthy.

Well, hello, here is the author, I tell you that I have not forgotten the man on the phone, I swear. However, for now, it is not relevant, you will see what I say later, yes? Patience, please, and I tell you, in a happy way that there are 6000 words that are read here. Could be more, but I guess quality is better than quantity, so just let me know if you liked this, yep?

Remember that I love comments, so if you have any constructive criticism I'll be happy to read it, interact, make theories, you know, here we have a murderer...

With that said, I'll try to update and finish this before S2 comes out (if it comes out at all). I will wink at books and songs there a lot, as has become clear, but I'm not copying anything, I swear.

Now yes, take care of yourselves, kudos and comment.

(pub.: 12/13/2022 :: ed.: ??)

- A.

Notes:

That was, do u like it? Pls comment!!