Chapter Text
Enid
Deep into the woods behind a small town stood a large and extravagant mansion belonging to the Sinclair family. Normal human beings that host banquets, attended grand celebrations and were amongst the top contributors to many small surrounding towns.
They were the epitome of the perfect family to everyone: smart, beautiful, but most importantly, generous. However, this was merely a veil and an elaborate show to conceal their true nature. Hidden behind their grand showmanship of philanthropy was the fact that they were pretentious, unkind, and selfish beings. During nights when the full moon hung high in the sky—when the howls and screams penetrated the silence, they all shed their human form, growing and morphing into ferocious werewolves.
“Hidden in plain sight,” The matriarch, Esther, would say with a smug smile. “Out here, we’re just like everyone else.”
However, though born to a family of werewolves who shifted regularly and at will, their youngest daughter could not transform. House visits from renowned lycanologists that money could afford provided no answers to her latent conditions, and her mother was getting impatient.
When she still hadn’t transformed by her sixteenth birthday, Esther abandoned all hope that it would ever take place. Being from a family that valued their name and reputation within both normie and outcast society came with its consequences. Behind closed doors, Enid was often ridiculed and ostracized, left out family nights under the full moon, and made to feel insignificant every chance her mother found. She would threaten to throw Enid out of the pack, never failing to mention that banishment meant she would be forced to continue life without a pack or a mate; rejected by both outcasts and normies alike.
Despite the dreary situation, Enid never gave up hope. She still had two more years until her eighteenth birthday to shift and she wouldn’t let her mother’s negativity drain her spirit.
Then everything changed one night.
Her family was once again going on their monthly wolf excursions. As expected, Enid was left behind.
“It’s for werewolves, not half-wolves,” her mother had sneered, as if taking great pleasure in uttering the words.
Enid was used to it by then, so the offense came and went. Though she wished she could participate, there was no sense in dwelling on it. Her mother would never let her join.
So she stayed behind with her butler, Lurch, and her dismembered friend, Thing, a lone sentient hand. She had found him wandering outside in the cold one night and offered him shelter, unbeknownst to her mother. How he came to be was still a mystery to her, but given that she was a werewolf, his existence didn’t seem that peculiar. Lurch didn’t talk much, only giving the occasional grunts, but even without words, Enid understood him. He also didn’t linger after tending to his servant duties, preferring his alone time in his wing to the company of others.
With her parents gone—more specifically, her mother—Enid had time to tend to her small garden in the back. She usually did so in secrecy, for her mother believed that Enid’s kind and soft nature was preventing her from going primal and wolfing out. But Enid had always found botany interesting, and while she wasn’t an expert, she was getting good enough to see some growth.
She had been nurturing one in particular for a while: her first successful rose, which had bloomed into perfect form. Even if her mother believed it and her garden to be a waste of time, the joy it brought her was insurmountable and worth the ridicule.
…
It had been a quiet day with them gone until nightfall came, and her mother burst through the door, slamming it behind her and barricading it with her body. She caught both Enid and Thing by surprise, the latter quickly scurrying to hide under the chaise. As Enid drew closer to her mother’s panicking body, she began seeing the ripped and shredded clothes, the bleeding face and wounds, and the dirt and sticks covering her entire being.
“What happened?” Enid asked in horror, taking in her appearance.
“We were ambushed, that’s what happened!” Her mother pushed past her, and Enid followed. “Those wretched normies stopped our carriage and attacked us! It was a massacre! All our servants were killed or captured! Your father and brothers fought bravely, but they were overpowered and are now on their way to await execution.”
“Execution for what?”
“Somehow, the town suspected that we were werewolves and blamed us for the recent murders occurring in the woods—oh, the humiliation! We gave our best and most to those imbecilic peasants, and they accused and hired werewolf hunters to kill us.” Her mother dramatically lamented and then began pacing back and forth, muttering under her breath
“How did you escape?” Enid asked, and her mother stopped and turned to her, staring at her, chilling more than ever.
“I ran, that’s how. Like a coward, I ran and left them behind. They were just too many.” She began pacing again. “God, I’m going to have to ask the other clans for help, I’m too weak to save them myself. Oh, our reputation! I will be the laughingstock of the entire outcast society. Or worse, mateless and childless—shamed and driven into despair—oh, I simply cannot bear it!”
Despite her mother’s dramatic performance, Enid understood the gravity of the situation they were in. Her father and brothers were going to be killed and her mother was going insane with each word and elaborate fantasies.
“Oh, we’ll have to move. We cannot stay here while they are out for our blood. I must contact Grandpa Sinclair now and make arrangements for our haste arrival.”
Her mother ran up the stairs but Enid stayed behind, feeling scared and helpless. There was nothing she could do for her mother or her father—she couldn’t wolf out, nor could she fight those hunters in her human form.
What was a sixteen-year-old to do?
Her mother did not return downstairs that night, but Enid still heard the moans and sobs when she passed by her door.
A day later, her mother finally emerged from her room. Her usual posh demeanor was gone, her hair unkempt, and her body lifelessly dragging itself down the stairs. She was a ghost of her former self.
Enid felt terrible. While they waited for help from the other packs, Enid felt like her mother could use some support and kindness. She knew her mother would never accept her hug—she deemed it weak for werewolves to show frivolous and unnecessary affection—but maybe she would accept a gift. They already had everything of monetary value but Enid could find something to give her from the heart—something from her personally that she had made.
The first thing Enid thought of was her Rose. Out of all the flowers she had grown, it was the prettiest one, with petals in full bloom. She decided she would pluck it and give it to her mother as her gift of comfort. Thing brought her a glass dome to place it in, and for something so simple, it held an air of enchantment and light fairy tale.
The next day, she found her mother on the parlor’s chaise with the candles extinguished, aimlessly staring into the fireplace.
“What is it?” Her mother asked, eyes still transfixed on the dull fire.
Enid approached her cautiously. “I-I just…I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help, and I see how sad this has made you. So, until we’re all united, I hope this gift comforts you.”
For the first time in two days, her mother’s eyes settled on her and Enid saw their glassy sheen begin to burn. Her mother growled and swiped the glass away from her with a swift backhand, sending it and the Rose shattering to the floor.
The Rose now lay atop pieces of broken glass, a slight curve marring its once perfect thorn.
Enid’s eyes went from the discarded Rose back to her mother, and at their coldness, she started backing away. She was used to the irritated and disappointing look her mother would give her, but Enid had never seen that kind of fury directed at her. An unsettling fear crept inside. . .
“How many times have I told you to act like a werewolf?!” Her mother growled, slowly getting up and towering over her. “Werewolves are not submissive; they do not have multi-colored streaks in their hair, and they certainly do not waste their time gardening!”
The words flew out, covered in malice and unbridled hate.
“It’s like you’re not even trying! You can barely fight, you cannot hunt, and you most certainly cannot wolf out!”
Unbeknownst to them both, the abandoned Rose began slowly shaking. With each rise of Esther’s voice and anger, the intensity of the quakes increased, as if powered by each vile word.
“Every formal outcast gathering, I’ve had to suffer through their pity over the fact that I had bore a faulty, defective half-wolf! You’re an embarrassment to the Sinclair pack! Everyone, even in our extended family—even those as young as ten—have turned except you! You are as worthless and useless as a normie!”
The Rose then began to glow, starting with a faint hue of red-pink until its petals were completely illuminated.
“If you still have not turned by your eighteenth birthday, then you will never turn at all, and if you cannot turn then,” And with as much poison as she could muster in her low threatening voice, she said, “Then may you wither and die just like that Rose.”
The Rose and its broken remains disappeared.
“Once I save them, we are moving west. This place has become too dangerous for outcasts.” Her mother started to walk away but stopped, glancing back at her… “Grandpa Sinclair only allows werewolves on his private property therefore you stay here. Only contact us if you’ve wolfed out.”
Her mother stalked away and Enid was left in tears of embarrassment, humiliation, shame, anger, and resentment. She ran upstairs, not caring to find out what became of the discarded Rose.
No matter what Enid did—no matter how she acted—she would never be good enough—never be accepted nor loved by her. She would forever be the outcast of the family.
In her room, her mother’s words echoed and reverberated in her skull, taunting—haunting—her. Enid growled as each repetition of the vitriol words increased her rage, her brightly colored nails lengthening into claws.
In raw heartache, she screamed and began swiping and slashing all that was contained in her room: the paintings, the walls, the furniture—all that had the misfortune of her eyes set on them. All the vain and empty objects her mother had given her. All of the things that reminded her of what a failure she was.
And then she saw it.
On the bedside table near the window was the Rose her mother had sent violently smashing the floor moments ago. Yet, there it sat, free of any cracks or blemishes, strangely glowing and seemingly levitating.
Enid approached it warily. Minutes ago, the sight would have amazed her and warmed her heart, but all she felt was contempt and hatred at the now-offending object. Snarling, she swiped at it with full intentions of sending it crashing to the floor and breaking, just as her mother had previously done, but her action produced no effect. The glass remained, and it, too, began to taunt her.
A werewolf and you can’t even channel your strength properly.
Mustering all the might she had in her body, Enid swiped at it with resounding force, but still, the Rose proved immovable, save for a singular petal that slowly began falling. It hit the bottom of the glass display and evaporated, and at its immediate disappearance, Enid felt a sharp pain in her chest.
The pain only lasted for a short while, but its sudden appearance confused Enid. She tried one more time, gathering all of her strength, closing her hand, and smacking it with the back of her fist.
Again, the same action occurred: another single petal fell as slowly as the first one had, and with its settlement on the bottom and subsequent disappearance, Enid once again felt the sharp pain emit from her chest.
Her mother’s words, yet again, steadily made their way into her head.
If you still have not turned by your eighteenth birthday then you will never turn at all, and if you cannot turn then…Then may you wither and die just like that Rose.
No. It couldn’t be. No way had her mother’s words been spellbinding. That wasn’t possible, she wasn’t a witch. It couldn’t be.
Just then, Thing scurried inside, hopping on her bed and signing frantically,
Enid the Rose is gone! It just disappeared out of thin air!
He tried to let her know but stopped when he saw it near the window.
Is that the…?
“Yes,” Enid said. “I think she’s cursed me, Thing.”
…
Enid didn’t sleep that night. Fear, anxiety, panic, distress, denial, bargaining, and the entirety of the depression spectrum occurred and intertwined with each other to leave her a sobbing mess.
It should have been just a terrible nightmare, but when she awoke from the nap forced by weariness, the Rose and its enchantment remained.
She wept and mourned again.
Her mother, on the other hand, left the morning after that.
Enid didn’t say goodbye.
How could she?
According to her mother’s malediction, the Rose would bloom until her eighteenth birthday unless she wolfed out. Were her transformation never to occur, Enid would die at the last fall of its petal.
It was as simple as that.
At first, she tried running away. Maybe if she wasn’t near it she could get away from the curse. What occurred was that the farther she got from the property, the weaker she became, as she felt her insides splintering with each further step until it became physically impossible for her to move.
She couldn’t leave and she definitely could not destroy it. Her only option was to wolf out before the last petal fell.
There wasn’t a thing, cure, or remedy she didn’t try to force herself to transform. From eating more raw meat, being more aggressive, locking herself in cages, going under the full moon, experimenting, and reading countless research books—nothing worked.
After two years of being bound to the Rose, she still couldn’t wolf out. Six months until her eighteenth birthday, Enid gave up. Nothing had worked and each petal that fell hurt more and more until the act left her hunched over in debilitating pain.
Enid lost hope and fell into despair. Cursed by her mother,
She would remain a half-wolf till she died.
__________
Wednesday
Wednesday hated the town she lived in. No, that word didn’t accurately portray her hatred. She abhorred it.
It had only been a couple of months since her parents relocated to this small town, and she already detested everyone and everything in it. She hated how small it was in size; how colorful and bright it was; and how the people hid their devious nature, smiling in each other’s faces after scowling behind their backs. She hated their monotonous routines and their blatant misogyny, and she hated their expectations of her to mold and become one of them. They always regarded her and her family as weird simply because they did not fit into their cookie-cutter ideology of what a loving family resembled.
Were it possible, she would never set foot in that town, but her love for knowledge and books surpassed her hatred for them. In the small dingy town, Wednesday only found solace in her writing, reading, and music.
She made her way through the town to the bookshop, eyes fixed on the snow-covered brick road ahead, passing their mindless gossip.
“There goes that weird Addams girl. Have you ever seen her blink?”
“She and her family hole themselves up in their house that’s like miles away from everyone else. They painted it black!”
“I hear her mother’s a witch and that she’s allergic to color. Weird, right?”
There had to be more out there than this small, bigoted town. There just had to be, and be it by death, Wednesday would escape it.
She finally made it to the bookshop and entered to find it expectedly empty. She was one of the few people who frequented it, almost as if the town was allergic to learning.
“Wednesday!” The shopkeeper, Larissa Weems, smiled and greeted her as she walked in. The platinum-blonde woman was the only one who didn’t regard her as strange or run away from her.
“Good day,” Wednesday said with a curt nod. She approached the front desk, removed the borrowed book from her bag, and placed it on the counter.
“Finished already?”
Wednesday simply nodded again. She wasn’t one for a lot of words, and Weems understood and took no offense when her questions went unanswered.
“What do you plan on borrowing this time?”
“Have you any new shipments yet?” Wednesday had already scoured and read almost everything in the store.
Weems shook her head. “The next one is in two weeks. How about an old favorite until then?”
“The Castle of Otranto should be fine in substitution.”
“But you’ve read it three times already.” Weems laughed. “How about something different? Hmm, there’s Wuthering Heights? It's a gothic romance novel and one of my personal favorites.”
“Gothic or not, I have no interest in reading anything associated with romance.” Wednesday denied.
The shopkeeper sighed, but the smile remained. “At this point, you might as well keep Otranto.”
“No, thank you. I do not require charity.”
“It’s not charity,” she said, handing it to her. "It’s a gift from a friend.”
A friend.
Wednesday remained silent, neither agreeing nor denying the accusation.
Then, after a beat, Wednesday relented and said, “Thank you.”
Wednesday left the bookstore with her new book and a few other things—she needed more writing materials—and headed home.
A bread tray narrowly hit her, almost knocking her back, and she glared at the offender as he immediately began apologizing. That small inconvenience would cost her.
“Wednesday, wait up! Hey, Wednesday!” The boy ran toward her when she was spotted. “Wednesday!”
Wednesday was about to run away, but his long legs caught up with her before she could take another step.
“Good morning, Wednesday. How has your day been?”
Wednesday stepped around him and made for home again.
He jogged back in front of her. “At least say good morning back.”
“I owe you nothing, least of all a greeting, Tyler.”
Tyler was the heir of the wealthy Galpin family and the cockiest person in the entire town. For the life of her, Wednesday couldn’t understand why she was the one he had taken a liking to despite being sought after by all the girls. She barely gave him the time of day but he persisted, approached, and flirted with her, much to her palpable annoyance.
Friends, romance, and love were matters she avoided entirely, and the last person she wanted to experience it with was an egotistical, nepotistic playboy.
Tyler only laughed. “What you got there, a book? Why do you even read those things? There’s like no pictures to keep you entertained.”
“Some of us have intelligence past that of a child.”
“One day, we’re gonna look back at these moments and laugh. You know I plan on marrying you. You might be a bit weird, but for some reason, I can’t shake you.”
“I wouldn’t entertain that fantasy for long.”
He sighed. “I just wish you’d stop giving me mixed signals. I know we love each other but you just keep denying it.”
He was set in his fantasies so Wednesday left it at that. Let him continue believing whatever elaborated one he had conjured up. She wouldn’t be in that dreadful town for long.
Tyler’s lackeys came up behind him, and Wednesday took that distraction and slipped away. Their conversations trailed off the farther she got.
“It’s a shame. She’s so beautiful but so weird. I mean, who else in this town could make a simple black dress look so enticing? I’m gonna get her to marry me somehow.”
“Are you gonna ask her father for permission now?”
“Like hell. He’s even weirder than she is and not in a hot way.”
What a beautiful compliment to her father.
She arrived at the humble house they had left their grand home for two months ago.
When she walked in the door, her mother, Morticia, asked, “How was the market, sweetie?”
“Painful as always, Mother.”
Her mother laughed. Just then, her father walked into the room. He was also laughing and brought her into a hug, followed by kisses. She’d remember them on his deathbed.
“Mi Amore, I’m so glad you came back before I left. The inventor’s convention is almost a day's journey, and I have finally finished and perfected the double guillotine.”
Her mother came up and hugged him from behind. “Oh, do be careful, Mon Cher.”
“I would never depart before you, Cara Mia.”
Wednesday grimaced.
“Remember to stay on the path, Gomez. No detour. There have been recent murders happening in those woods, and I’ve heard whispers that some believe werewolves are the reason. Apparently, years ago, the townspeople had run some werewolves out of there. Oh, those savages, bothering those poor wolves.”
Her father laughed her concerns away.
“The place remains, but do be careful.”
“I promise, Cara Mia.”
Wednesday closed her eyes at their nauseating display of affection. When minutes had passed, and she still heard them audibly smooching, she ordered her father to leave and practically threw him outside.
A goodbye was all that she gave him before closing the door.
She was late for her writing hour.
__________
Gomez
If there was one thing Gomez loved about their place of relocation, it had to be the weather. The howling winds, the blinding snow sharp across his cheeks, and the bone-chilling cold quivering his insides and making instruments of his teeth brought a warm feeling into his heart. He’d always been an oddity.
His horse, however, was not. Like any animal in disagreeable and harsh conditions, it began stubbornly neighing when he tried to take it further.
A small animal hurried across his hooves, it spooked and began galloping madly in the direction opposite of where Gomez was heading.
Gomez kept a tight hold on it and desperately tried to steer it but it was out of control. A wolf’s howl drove the horse wild, and Gomez was fully disoriented. The blinding conditions aided his downfall, for he couldn’t see the path or trees in front and was abruptly thrown off with a sharp turn. The horse became loose and his wooden carriage smashed against the tree.
They both lay broken on the ground.
Gomez regained consciousness considerably later to find himself alone and stranded. The snow had completely covered the tracks, and the wind was making it impossible for him to catch his bearings. His entire body began to ache from his injuries. He couldn’t stay there and freeze to death. He had made a promise to his wife that he’d return to her, and he would not break it.
So he started walking in the opposite direction the horse had run off to. Home had to be back there, and he would try his best to get there before anything else happened.
Hours and miles later, he dragged his exhausted body into what appeared to be a grand mansion on a vast and secluded property. He went inside the large gates and knocked on the door, but even after his fourth knock and his yelling, no one answered. He tried the door and found it to be open.
The inside of the mansion was even more impressive. It was fully illuminated and furnished but appeared seemingly devoid of life. He would have investigated more, but he was just so tired and wounded. There was a fireplace, so without a moment to waste, he made a fire and fell asleep to its warmth on the chaise.
When he awoke, a strange, tall man loomed over him. Looking up, the towering man resembled Frankenstein's monster with its gray skin and bulging brow.
“Oh, my!” He exclaimed. “What sort of outcast are you?”
The strange man only grunted, but Gomez couldn’t understand. Then he remembered his wife’s warning of the mansion that had belonged to a family of werewolves before they were chased out.
“This must be the werewolf's home,” he said out loud, and the strange man nodded.
“So you do understand me?”
He nodded.
“That’s one good thing. But I thought the werewolves were run out of here.”
He nodded again.
“Oh, they left you. I’m so sorry, my friend.”
Midway through his one-sided conversation with the man, another figure suddenly began descending from a grand staircase. He was surprised to see it was just a girl. However, she wasn’t happy, and there was an air of danger surrounding her.
“What are you doing here?” She asked coldly.
“I-I—sorry, I was freezing and lost.”
“This isn’t a shelter.”
“I didn't know anyone still lived here, I thought this mansion used to belong to werewolves. You don't look like a werewolf.”
The sharp extension of her nails answered his query. Fear was settling into him now. “You came down here to gawk at the half-wolf?”
“What? N-no”
“Or maybe you’re here to finish me off? So you can run back and tell them there’s still one left?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” His words were falling on deaf ears, for next she yelled:
“Lurch, throw him in the Lupin room!”
The silent man grabbed him without hesitation and began dragging him downstairs into the dark and cold basement, screams and all.
__________
Wednesday
“Gomez should have called by now,” Morticia said as she stood by the mounted rotary phone, waiting for her husband to announce his safe arrival.
On the opposite side of the room, Wednesday brought her book down to eye level. Her father had only been gone for a day, yet her mother was already lamenting, longing for the call of her love. It was starting to make Wednesday’s skin itch.
Wednesday got up and stepped outside into the cold night. The cold weather, the whispers of the ghosts trapped inside its wind, and the dark trail that led into the forest—barely providing safety from a lumberjack at the end of his rope—made it the perfect environment for her to finish.
Opening the book, Wednesday once again began delving into the malevolent orders of Manfred to Friar Jerome.
She had barely read two pages when her father’s horse ran into the front yard, galloping madly and frantically neighing. Her father wasn’t with him.
Wednesday placed the book on the steps and approached the frightened animal, her mother stepping out in the midst of all the noise.
“Trojan? Where is Gomez?” Asked Morticia.
Wednesday firmly grasped the horse’s reins and began to calm it down.
Her mother arrived beside her, touching the horse’s head and using her soothing and warm voice to bring it to a calmer, malleable state of mind.
“Where is Gomez?” Morticia asked it again, and seemingly understanding her, it whipped its head back into the forest. She closed her eyes and with resolution said, “I must go and find him.”
“No,” Wednesday interrupted her. “You have to stay here for Pugsley. I’ll go.”
Morticia’s expression remained as collected as she always carried herself. She stared at Wednesday for a moment, and then, regal as ever, she glided over to where she stood. Removing her pendant, Morticia placed and secured it around Wednesday’s neck.
“Be careful.” She said softly.
Wednesday brought the jewelry to her line of sight. An obsidian pendant with her W initial encircled within silver in front. It’d been around her mother’s neck since Wednesday was born. How serendipitous, her mother would say, that our initials mirror each other’s. Wednesday never had a reply for that. Nor did she question why her mother had another pendant stored in her jewelry box with her proper initials yet chose to wear the one bearing Wednesday’s instead. But why was she parting with it now?
“For luck,” her mother answered her silent question. “I need you both to return to me.”
Wednesday gave her a nod, a silent promise.
With a small smile, Morticia placed a soft kiss on her forehead and sent Wednesday into the night.
…
Wednesday hopped across Trojan’s back and had him lead her in the direction it came from. The journey became harsher when they ventured into the snowy territory. Wednesday wished the blizzard had settled. If her father had been knocked concussed, the snow would be covering him completely, wherever he lay on the ground.
Finally reaching the wagon, Wednesday jumped down and began accessing the damage. He wasn’t there. If he wasn’t there, then he must have been thrown off some feet from where she stood. She began thoroughly searching the surrounding area, making sure to check every place in between and every uneven patch of snow.
What seemed like hours later, she saw faint snowprints leading further into the woods. Wasting no more time, she whistled to Trojan and followed the trail.
The footsteps led her to a large mansion. It was the only thing out there for miles, so her father had to be there. She guided the horse inside the gates and hopped off when they reached the front.
Her knocks went unanswered, so she began walking around its perimeter. There had to be a back entrance or some kind of opening—
“Wednesday!”
A hand wrapped around her foot and Wednesday wrenched it off. She was about to stomp on it when she noticed the black wedding band. She frowned and knelt to the window the hand had come from.
“Father?”
Gomez’s face came into view. “My little storm cloud, what are you doing here? How did you find me? How’s your mother?” He fired at her and then fear came into his eyes. “No. No, you can’t be here. Wednesday, you must go! You have to leave now!”
Wednesday had already stopped listening after he asked for news of her mother and started looking for a way to either break him out or break herself in. The window was too small for him to crawl out of.
He kept pleading with her to leave but she hadn’t gone through all that effort just to have him die in a cold prison.
“Father, be quiet and just tell me how you got inside.”
He shook his head no.
“Now!”
He broke down. “The front door wasn’t locked.”
Wednesday immediately went back to the front and pushed her way inside. She started searching for the way to the basement and some odd minutes later found the stairs that led down to it.
Her father was locked inside the small room. Wednesday was preparing to break the handle when she noticed the key hanging right around it.
Either the person who had done this was truly an imbecile, or this was a brilliant torture method of leaving the keys to their freedom so near yet so far away.
She ran to her father as soon as she opened the door. He was on the floor shivering and in pretty bad shape. His leg also appeared broken. “Who did this to you?”
“Wednesday, you shouldn’t have come down here!” Gomez said, and then footsteps started descending toward them. He whispered, “She’s coming, Wednesday. Find somewhere to hide quickly.”
It was too late. Two figures were standing at the door now but shadows hid their faces.
Wednesday didn’t care, standing up and demanding to know, “Why have you imprisoned my father?”
“Why was your father trespassing in my home?”
Wednesday frowned. The creature was human. A girl, more specifically. “Show yourself.”
The figures walked closer to her, stepping out of the shadows to reveal a slender blonde and a big, freakish man. The girl’s appearance was non-threatening, especially since she had blonde hair with pink and blue highlights and was wearing a pink sweater. The man was simply a doppelgänger of Frankenstein’s monster in appearance and brains.
These were the ones her father allowed himself to be captured by? It was pathetic and made her almost ashamed that her father had been weak enough for it to happen.
“Angel, stop, she’s a werewolf,”
Wednesday frowned, keeping intense eye contact with the girl. “You don’t look like a werewolf.”
The girl’s face instantly transformed and Wednesday saw her nails extended as she snarled behind canines, “And what does a werewolf look like?”
Wednesday held eye contact, providing no reaction to the action. It was meant to ignite fear in her but she wasn’t easily spooked.
On the floor beside her, Gomez began to cough again. Wednesday finally broke eye contact to look at him. Her father wouldn’t last the night there.
“Release him,” she demanded.
“No, he is my prisoner,” said the girl.
Her father tried pleading with her again but it was cut short by a hacking cough. The possibility of losing her father was becoming too much to bear.
“Take me instead.” Wednesday offered and her father immediately went into panic mode, holding onto her leg and trying to shake some sense in her.
“Angel, no!”
“What?” The girl asked in slight confusion.
“Are your wolf ears broken? I said, take me and release my father.”
“Why?”
“You want a prisoner, right? I’m offering myself.”
It was quiet for a moment save for Gomez’s coughing again. The girl was staring at her intently with a curious look in her eyes. She was seriously contemplating it.
Then, the intensity in her eyes dimmed, and her claws retracted. “You know what you’re signing up for, right?” Her sharp and cold voice softened. “You will never be able to leave. You have to stay here forever.”
Wednesday stared at her for a second. She understood the gravity of the decision, but her mind was made up. “As long as my father remains free, I will remain your prisoner. You have my word.”
“Wednesday, I said no! I won’t let you do this.”
Wednesday knelt beside her father and once again took in his weary state. “Father, I’m certain of my choice. I will be fine, but Mother will not survive without you.”
“And you won’t survive here!”
She looked back up at them. “Ensure my father’s safe return, or the deal is null.”
“You’re not in the position to make demands.”
“Even savages are capable of empathy.”
Wednesday once again saw anger flash across the werewolf’s face, but the girl only said, “Lurch will bring him home, but if your father ever breathes a word of this, or I see him or anyone else back here, I will kill you.”
Her father began pleading again but Wednesday ended the conversation. “Go. Now!”
Once again, Gomez was pulled away screaming.
Wednesday slowly got up and began studying her beastly captor. She was tall and young—there couldn’t be more than one or two age gaps between them—with a round face and blue eyes. The thing that she had instantly noticed, besides the puking pink sweater, was her aforementioned short blonde hair with streaks of color in it. Even her nails were multicolored. She was entirely too colorful for beasts known for their savagery.
“What are you staring at?” The beast asked her.
“You’re around the same age as I am,” Wednesday pointed out.
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m still a werewolf, and you’re still just a human,” she said and then stomped out of the room to go upstairs, leaving Wednesday in her prison.
Some would think it foolish for her to sacrifice her freedom, but family was the most important thing to her. She was stronger than her father and could handle torture and the harsh conditions—she’d always prepared herself to. Now, all she had to do was bide her time until the weather was less treacherous and her escape plan was hatched and finished.
She would even kill the beast when the time was right.