Chapter Text
Nevermore’s story changed the night Joseph Crackstone came back from the dead. Brought back by Laurel Gates, his goal hadn’t changed, wipe out the outcasts and “cleanse” Jericho of their presence. He came back with fire and steel, ready to finish what he started, but things didn’t go as planned.
Wednesday Addams confronted him on the school grounds, holding a dagger. The same blade that had once buried him turned him back to ashes. His body, taken over by what looked like something from the underworld, disappeared without a trace, only the echo of his defeat hanging in the air.
Meanwhile, Tyler Galpin, the boy with the harmless smile, revealed who he really was: a Hyde. Manipulated by Laurel, he became the monster haunting Nevermore, carrying out her orders without hesitation. But for once, it wasn’t Wednesday who stepped up to stop him.
Under the full moon, Enid Sinclair wolfed out. What had always felt like a distant dream suddenly became real when she needed it most. The bubbly girl with golden curls and a bright smile turned into a silver-furred wolf with glowing eyes. And it was her who fought the Hyde, meeting him head-on in a brutal fight deep in the woods.
Both of them came out of it bruised and bloodied. Thankfully, the Sheriff showed up in time to keep things from getting worse. Enid lay on the ground, breathing hard, her body shaking, not from fear, not this time.
Once she came to, she stood up, a little unsteady, and found Ajax waiting. He wrapped her in a hug and led her back to the others.
When Wednesday reached her, Enid was still catching her breath, chest rising and falling from the adrenaline. Neither of them spoke. Wednesday’s eyes scanned Enid, pausing on the marks the fight had left on her skin. And in her usually unreadable face, there was something different, maybe a flicker of relief. Maybe even gratitude.
Then, without warning, Enid moved. She closed the space between them in two quick steps and pulled Wednesday into a hug, holding on tighter than anyone expected. Wednesday froze, caught off guard, the warmth of Enid’s body contrasting with the cold night. She didn’t hug back, not right away. Maybe she didn’t know how. But she didn’t pull away, either. Enid was still shaking, bits of her transformation still lingering, and for the first time, Wednesday didn’t feel the need to push her away.
The hug only lasted a few seconds, but it left a mark just as deep as everything else that happened that night.
The Hyde was captured not long after, placed under heavy guard. The semester at Nevermore ended with the school shutting its doors temporarily. Students and teachers had to leave, walking away from a place that had just lived through one of its darkest chapters. Peace returned to Jericho, but nothing was ever quite the same again.
_________________________________
Wednesday Addams
The journey home was as excruciating as Wednesday had anticipated.
After Nevermore's temporary closure, most of the students quickly dispersed, anxious to get home or just get away from the chaos that had taken over the Academy. But Wednesday was in no hurry. Her train to New Jersey was leaving in four hours, which gave her time to pack the boxes scattered around his side of the room. Her parents had, of course, insisted on picking her up with Lurch, but she preferred to travel alone, or at least until she reached the city, where she knew the butler would be waiting for her at the station under the strict orders of her parents. All her things would be sent to the mansion and would arrive a few days later.
Saying goodbye was very emotional, at least it was for the werewolf. Between her rambles and heartfelt words, she made it very clear she was going to miss her during the three months they’d be apart, if her speculatios were correct. Wednesday, despite her poker face and rigid body language, was also feeling the weight of the moment. After all, the wolf had become a very important part of her life at Nevermore. Not just because they’d shared a room, it was because the girl standing in front of her had proven to be loyal, honest, and unbelievably clingy in the most irritating way.
That mix left Wednesday with no choice but to accept her as a friend. Not to mention, she had literally saved her life from the Hyde days ago.
She’d earned that title. She did.
"If you want, you can come visit me in San Francisco," she said, receiving a nod in response. It was clearly not likely to happen, but the goth appreciated the detail. Finally they parted with a quick hug, which she couldn't escape because, after the whole Hyde situation, there was an unspoken agreement that affectionate physical contact would only be accepted when the situation called for it. And seeing the wolf's teary eyes looking at her like a sad puppy, this was one of those times. As she left the room, she couldn't help but notice the sweat on her palms and the slight warmth creeping up her neck. Strange, the weather was freezing that day, she thought.
The train that took her to New Jersey was a perfect reflection of her mood: gray, dull, and carrying a faint smell of stale coffee that lingered in the aisles. Luckily, it was nearly empty, so she didn’t have to share a seat with any strangers or be forced to overhear pointless small talk between passengers. The only sound during the ride was the breeze slipping through the slightly cracked window beside her.
Just as she’d predicted, Lurch was waiting at the station, punctual as always, and led her to the Addams mansion without saying a word, giving her the space she needed to sort through her thoughts after the exhausting trip. It was already getting dark, so she figured her family would be waiting for her with dinner ready.
The reunion with her family was just as predictable. Her mother looked at her with that mixture of pride and overwhelming affection that Wednesday would never get used to. Her father pulled her into one of his usual suffocating hugs and babbled on about how much he had missed her. Pugsley tried to fill her in on his antics at school, but Wednesday quickly tuned him out. Predictably, she took in the aroma of whatever was cooking on the stove, but she didn't have the energy to analyse every scent coming from the pot.
She was exhausted. What she desperately needed was a long bath, a good home-cooked meal and hours of uninterrupted sleep. And she'd finally get it, now that the blonde wolf wasn't in every corner of the room. How could someone be so loud just by existing? Sinclair was definitely a candidate for scientific study.
Having done what she had to do, she went downstairs for dinner, where her family greeted her with smiles. She didn't say much during the meal, but listened to her parents and brother as they filled her in on everything she'd missed in her absence: a fire in the garden, courtesy of Pugsley, who had apparently been testing how many cans of deodorant he could throw on a bonfire before one exploded. «Twenty-five pots in all. When I went to add the twenty-sixth, BOOM!» he shouted, miming the explosion with both hands. There had been other fires too, mostly set by his brother, who had apparently developed an unhealthy obsession with flames.
Her father, meanwhile, burst out laughing as he recounted how, with the help of her mother and one of her many poisons, he'd managed to turn a thief posing as a postman into a scarecrow. «The idiot didn't think twice when he found a perfectly good cake on a table by the front door. Second bite and he was on the floor!» he said, wiping tears from his eyes with his right hand. «We were due for a new scarecrow anyway» her mother added with a smile «The crows ate the last one»
They went from story to story until their plates were empty. Truth be told, nothing had really changed in her absence. And oddly enough, that was comforting.
"I'm going, I have things to do" he said as he stood up and carried his plate into the kitchen. Her parents looked surprised, not at what she had said, but at what she had done. It wasn't like her to do that; that was Lurch's job. She didn't know why she had done it either.
She went to her room and closed the door. She put on her pyjamas. They were black shorts that went down to her knees and a matching T-shirt. She let out a sigh. She felt the weight of the day was starting to go away.
She was used to sleeping in braids, but as she was starting to feel a little pain in the back of her neck, she decided to take them off, which made her feel a little better. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, removing make-up from around her eyes. She didn't like anything too flashy. She liked to darken her eyes with a bit of eyeliner and sometimes she also put on a bit of mascara.
Once everything was in place, she went to her bed, where Thing was waiting for her.
"We're not at Nevermore anymore, you don't have to follow me around" she said in a whisper, her usual cold tone.
«Enid asked me not to take my eye off you»
"So now you dare to tell on me." She looked at him with a murderous expression. "I'd have all your fingers off before you could”
«If I die or disappear, Enid will know it was you»
“I'll take that bet. Now get off the bed, your constant cohabitation with the werewolf must have given you fleas" Before she could turn to her window to draw the curtains, the hand had the audacity to reply.
«Are you jealous?»
An expression of disgust mixed with horror adorned her face, how he dare to make such an accusation? Damn hand. She caught him so quickly that he didn't have time to escape, pinning him against the blanket.
“Say that again, and the last thing you'll see is the fire of the bonfire” she shouted angrily, gripping him so tightly that she left him no mobility to gesticulate in response. “I thought so. If you dare to make such an accusation again, I'll throw you in the piranha tank. Is that clear?”, The hand could only squeeze several times, indicating that it understood the threat. “Good, that's better.”
She released him and he ran off, slipping through one of the vents, disappearing. The seer let her lips curl upwards slightly, pleased with the result. Peace finally, she thought. And letting out a sigh, she crawled into her bed, crossing her arms over her chest and closing her eyes, being quickly dragged into the world of nightmares.
[...]
The days at the Addmas mansion went by with the usual monotonous routine, a predictable rhythm that managed to give the seer some peace of mind. She hated the chaos that existed at the academy, not because she disliked chaos per se, but because it was boring chaos that started and ended quickly, with irrelevant adolescent problems. She preferred the other kind of chaos, one that, at best, meant running for her life, or others running for theirs. In that she wasn't too picky.
The routine was clearly advantageous. It allowed to prioritise her personal interests without neglecting everything else.
As she had done every morning since her return, Wednesday made her way resolutely to the large dining room table, where her family was already gathered. Morticia sipped her tea with her usual grace as she chatted with Gomez, who devoured his breakfast with an enthusiasm that left no crumbs behind. Pugsley was playing with what looked like a floating eye in a jar, dipping it in and out of the thick liquid as if it were part of an experiment.
It was her usual routine. However, for a reason unknown to her, she had woken up restless, as when she is near some object that will lead her to a vision. Her mind was also restless that morning, like the sea during a storm, her mind jumping from one thing to another. Perhaps it was because she had not had time to write the day before, and her thoughts had stayed there, taking up unnecessary space.
“You haven't touched your breakfast, querida” Morticia said in her serene voice, stirring the tea with a silver spoon. She stared at her, like a murderer examining her next victim, but still retaining that sickly sweet gleam in her eyes. She was her mother, after all, there wasn't a moment when she didn't look at her that way. But it was her obvious attempt to read what was going on in the brunette's mind that caught her attention.
Wednesday looked down at her plate. A dark porridge, with what looked like bat blood decorating the surface elegantly. At any other time, she would have considered it a charming detail, but now it didn't look very appetising.
“Is there a troubling thought haunting you, pequeña tormenta?” Gómez asked with a knowing smile, wiping his mouth with a black napkin.
“All good” she replied simply. While it wasn't entirely true, she didn't want to involve anyone in her matters, least of all her parents. She finally took a bite of the oatmeal, tasting blood on her tongue. Delicious, Lurch never disappoints, she thought.
Her parents, seemingly satisfied with her response, gave her a gentle smile and let the matter drop, turning their attention back to their own breakfasts.
The silence at the table gave way to more thoughts, specifically, those tied to the outcasts’ academy. It had undoubtedly left a mark on her, not just her near-death at the hands of a resurrected man, but everything else as well. The people who lived there and whom she had seen daily, the mistakes she had made that still haunted her.
As hard as it was to say aloud, she acknowledged them. She had been an active participant in every one of those events, and whether she liked it or not, a faint feeling of guilt had begun to bloom in her withered chest.
For as long as she could remember, anything that happened after her countless mischiefs and wicked plans meant nothing to her, just background noise, irrelevant. But something about Nevermore, or more precisely, the people there, was what kept her trapped in that loop of thoughts. People who, in some strange way, had trusted her, and who had ended up hurt in one way or another.
She didn’t understand it, but the fact weighed on her.
The memory of the young werewolf scolding her still lingered, asking for explanations the raven-haired girl hadn’t been able to give at the time. How she had left. How the room had sunk into a suffocating silence. How her words had echoed in her mind until the blonde decided to forgive her and returned to her side of the room.
All of it played in her head again and again, as if she hadn’t had enough already. A lobotomy sounded tempting, but since there were still more mysteries to solve, maybe it could wait. She needed her wits intact to enjoy it.
Without another word, she stood up from the table, leaving the plate in the sink. She hurried up the stairs to her room, not paying attention to her surroundings, with only one goal in mind: to lock herself in those four black walls and immerse herself in her writing. She needed to write; she needed to focus her mind on something else.
The only good thing she found about her time at Nevermore were the mysteries, something to focus on and exercise her mind. Now, in the situation she was in, the only thing that seemed to help was her beloved typewriter, the sound of the keys as they were pressed, and the familiar smell of ink.
So she did it. She locked the door to avoid interruptions and allowed herself to sink into the task. Word by word, it flowed like a wound finally daring to bleed. Ideas came to her mind, transferring them as only she knew how, feeling at last free from all unwanted thoughts.
[...]
She didn’t know how much time had passed since she started; her hands moved quickly, and her eyes were fixed on the words taking shape. Everything was silent, her brain seemed to have blocked out the sounds around her. It wasn’t until a few knocks on the door behind her, followed by an insistent and irritating sound, that she had to lift her gaze from the typewriter, once again appreciating the sound of the soft breeze against the window, and a movement from the corner of her eye: Thing.
“I didn’t know you were here” she said.
«I tried getting your attention in every possible way, mission impossible. » Thing gestured with his fingers.
“Better that way, I don’t want distractions” she exclaimed in a neutral tone. She was about to turn back to her desk, but was interrupted once again by more knocks on the door.
“It’s lunchtime, my little storm cloud. Your brother has something for you.” Gómez’s voice came muffled through the dark wood that separated them, but his affectionate tone, with a hint of excitement, was still clear. Right after, she heard the creaking of the wood as his footsteps faded away. He was used to not getting a response, simply delivering his message and leaving.
With a hint of curiosity, something she wouldn’t admit, she got up and walked over to her large wardrobe, looking for something comfortable. She stepped into the shower, simply wanting to relax her muscles after what had surely been hours of writing.
Once she was ready, she headed down to the gloomy dining room.
She was greeted by the smiles of both her parents, already seated in their respective chairs, and by Lurch, who was serving the meal: bat fingers in squid ink sauce. A classic.
“Did inspiration find you, my dear?” her mother spoke, with that gaze that was always hard to decipher. “Your brother was quite noisy all morning, and to our dismay, not a single knife ended up decorating the walls”
“It did, Mother.” She placed a napkin on her lap as she sat down. “I couldn’t let it slip away.”
“I’m glad to hear that” she replied with a sweet smile.
Why did she always have the feeling that her mother knew something? But what?
Heavy footsteps interrupted her train of thought, and when she turned around, she saw who it was.
"Slow down, Pugsley. What did we say about running in the dining room?" her father said calmly, already savoring his meal.
Her brother hurried to sit down, slightly out of breath, and replied with an apologetic smile. He looked at her, still wearing that grin, pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, and held it out to her. She stared back at him blankly, but Pugsley knew her well enough to sense the unspoken question beneath her serious expression.
"This came this morning, after breakfast. I tried to give it to you, but no matter how much I called, you didn’t answer," he explained.
Without hesitation, she took the paper, realizing it was an envelope. She inspected it for a moment, flipping it over to look for a sender. It had no embellishments, just a colorful stamp of a cat and the recipient's name.
To: W. Addams
"You can open it in your room, dear," her mother's calm voice made her look up. "Now, how about we have lunch? Lurch cooked all morning, didn't he?"
Lurch responded with a grunt, placing the last of the silverware on the table before leaving. Wednesday said nothing, tucking the envelope into the pocket of her pajamas, focusing on the food in front of her and beginning to eat. Delicious.
Lunch went by smoothly, with Pugsley talking about his experiments and the ideas he would carry out when the new school year started, this time at Nevermore. Her parents listened attentively, offering the occasional comment when necessary. Wednesday paid no attention to any of it; her mind was focused on that envelope in her pocket.
She was curious about its contents. Someone from Nevermore? But she had never given out her address to anyone, not even to Enid, with whom she spent most of her time, since they shared a room.
Enid. Her mind betrayed her again, bringing that name back to her thoughts. She didn’t understand how, but it always came back to the same thing, thoughts about her roommate. It had been a week since she left the academy to return home, and she could notice the absence of those nauseating colors that burned her eyes every time she had to look in the direction where the blonde was.
Focus. She reminded herself. Her attention returned to the paper in her pocket, leaving behind the persistent thoughts about the werewolf.
Who sent it? She found it strange that the sender wasn’t specified. Didn’t they want her to know their identity? Then she remembered the message she received on that little screen with lights that Xavier had given her. Could it be the stalker? He had gotten her number, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if he also knew her home address.
A threat, maybe? The idea excited her. Finally, something interesting to distract herself with.
She quickly finished her meal, looking at her parents and her brother, giving a slight gesture of thanks before getting up and heading toward the stairs, this time not bothering to take her plate to the sink. She reached her room, locking the door behind her and sat at her desk. She turned to Thing, who was energetically moving his fingers.
« What is that? »
The seer took the paper and placed it on the table, allowing the hand to analyze it. He gestured immediately, asking the same question she had in her mind. She picked it up again, bringing it closer and examining it.
Of course, it would be easier to simply open it and see the contents, but she found it amusing to try to figure out where it came from. Her gaze stopped on the stamp, noticing small letters on it.
San Francisco.
So the sender was from San Francisco. She only knew one person from that place.
Enid.
Again. There was always something that led her back to that blonde hair and those bright eyes, capable of lighting up even the darkest room.
Without further delay, she opened it. She unfolded the paper slowly, looking at its contents.
_____________________
June 15th
Hi, Willa.
Yes, I know you're going to kill me for calling you that, but I’m doing it anyway. It’s my way of annoying you while I'm miles apart.
To be honest, I’m not even sure if you’ll receive this letter. I asked Thing to give me your address… nothing creepy, I swear! I hope I wrote the address correctly.
I know you won’t use the phone Xavier gave you, so that’s why I’m writing this instead. Well, that and the fact that I barely use mine here; we have almost no signal at the summer house. I don’t know how I’ll survive this.
Anyway, how are you? You can’t answer, But I must have manners, right?
I’ve been keeping myself pretty busy. Next week I’m starting hockey training, and the farm animals are giving me more work than usual. It may sound like nothing, but believe me, it’s exhausting. The damn horses run away every chance they get! they drive me crazy!
I’m nervous about the next full moon too. My family will finally see me as a wolf! My mom had already resigned herself to me being a lone wolf. Well, guess what? I proved her wrong! ha!
My family tradition says that on your first full moon, you have to hunt the biggest prey. I can’t even catch a rabbit! What am I supposed to do? I know my brother, and they’re fully capable of hunting a damn bear just to make my life miserable.
Oh, and Thing told me your brother will go to Nevermore next semester, so exciting! I can’t wait to meet him. Don’t be too hard on him while you’re still at home. I know you’ll try to torture him in creative ways, but please make sure he arrives at school in one piece, okay?
Have a horrible day, and may your nightmares chase you.
I already miss you!
P.S.: If this letter reached you, there are probably more on the way.
Enid <3
_____________________
She stared at the letter in her hands for a few more moments, rereading it a couple of times, before folding it and slipping it back into the envelope. So the mysterious sender was her roommate. She didn’t know why, but a tingling sensation ran down her spine, followed by a warmth in her neck, the same one she had felt when saying goodbye to her. She straightened her posture, refusing to let her mind dwell on that moment.
Willa.
Oh, of course she was going to kill her. Gladly, and methodically. She rolled her eyes at the thought of the blonde uttering that nickname. How dare she? Hadn’t her threats been enough? Did she need to put more effort into them? But when she thought about it, she realized that no matter how many threats left her mouth, they had never worked on the werewolf. Not even when they first met, so the chances of them working now were, unfortunately, slim.
Something about that made the corners of her lips dare to twitch upward. Impossible.
She let out a long sigh, thinking about the contents of the letter. So Enid had simply wanted to communicate with her, given her evident aversion to unnecessary technology that she had been forced to use more than once. Ridiculous. Disappointing; she had really hoped it was a threat from her stalker.
Or not?
A few taps on her right arm pulled her out of her thoughts.
«Who was it?»
She looked at the hand with a murderous glare.
"It was Enid. So you’ve been going around giving out confidential information," she accused, and before the hand could flee, she grabbed it mid-air. "Explain yourself."
So Enid had been talking to Thing behind her back? Unacceptable. She was her friend, not his. The hand gestured rapidly, trying to make the most of the remaining time.
"She wanted to contact you. Said it would be fun to keep in touch with someone while staying at her summer house."
"Nice excuse, but not good enough." She tightened her grip. The hand gestured again, fingers moving quickly.
«Tanaka lives far. Divina too. Two weeks for a letter. You. Live. Nearby.»
Because of her tight grip, the last words came out with difficulty. She released him, letting it fall with a thud onto the desk.
"If I find out you gave my address to anyone else, consider yourself a dead hand." No further threats were needed, Thing quickly ran through the crack under the door and disappeared. She slipped the paper back into the envelope, leaving it beside her typewriter.
Great, not even in my own house can I get a break from my annoying roommate, she thought.
She stood up and went for her cello. She needed to clear her head, so she walked to the darkest corner of her room, took it from the stand without her usual care, made her way to the window, and sat there, pressing it against her shoulder with rough but controlled movements.
She didn’t tune the strings. She didn’t need to.
She adjusted the position of the instrument with surgical precision and raised the bow. The first note came out like a muffled complaint, harsh, more aggressive than melancholic. The bow moved with force, almost with rage.
It wasn’t a melody anyone would recognize. It wasn’t a classical piece.
It was her own language, one that needed no words. Each deep note was followed by one even more intense. An irregular rhythm, like her breathing. Like the thoughts she was trying to silence.
The room vibrated with every movement of the bow, and still, Wednesday remained impassive. Her face was a cold mask, but her fingers spoke for her. When the final note died away, she set the bow aside.
She stretched her neck, she hadn’t realized how tense she was until that moment. Her body seemed to speak for her, and no matter how hard she tried to carry on with her usual grace, it was simply impossible.
She constantly felt tense, her mind running non-stop, and although it was something she might have appreciated in the past, useful for her investigations, now she found it exhausting. She had no control over those thoughts; they didn’t go where she wanted them to.
Nevermore was the reason. Every corner of her mind was consumed by the events of the past few weeks. Her mistakes, her decisions that now lacked any valid reasoning, how she had nearly died for failing to notice the signs that had been right in front of her.
It weighed on her, like a mountain of corpses growing taller with every passing minute.
Guilt. Regret. Words that didn’t belong in her vocabulary, much less in her being, and yet now she felt them like fire beneath her feet. That couldn’t be. She couldn’t have been wrong, she couldn’t feel guilty. She refused to fall for such a nonsense.
She looked at the clock hanging on the wall. Two hours had passed. She sighed heavily.
Why did time move so fast and so slow at once since she got here?
It was as if her perception of it had broken down, something else she no longer had control over. Another item on the list.
Though she had managed to quiet some of her earlier unrest, she still felt that extra energy buzzing beneath her skin; her hands tingled, desperate to do something. She began to consider her options.
She could continue writing, the inspiration was still there, though not as strong as it had been in the morning. She thought it over for a few seconds and came to the conclusion that it would be better to leave it for the next day’s writing hour. She doubted she could finish a chapter anyway, and she hated leaving things unfinished.
Her cello still stood in front of her, but it no longer called to her like it had moments ago. She needed something more active, something that would make her move, release that energy that seemed endless.
Maybe that energy was her body reminding her that she was no longer at Nevermore. That she was no longer bound by those strict academic rules that only ever bored her. That now, she could do more.
That was it. She needed to return to her old routine. And she knew exactly how to start. And who to start it with.
[...]
The sky above the Addams mansion was covered in a sickly gray cloud, and the air carried that metallic scent that always preceded a storm. It was the perfect weather for a recreational activity.
She longed to see the sky light up, it was one of her favorite pastimes. Sometimes, chaos brought her calm. Ironic, most would think, but to her, it made perfect sense. It always had.
In the backyard, the grass was flattened and the soil disturbed, as if a small war had taken place. A taut rope stretched across a pond of black mud. Pendulums made of flour-filled sacks hung from reinforced branches. Broken bottles were scattered across parts of the ground, and a wooden arch marked the entrance to hell. At the end of the course, a rusted bell hung, trembling slightly, waiting to be struck.
She held a notebook in her hands, ready to jot down any occurrence worth recording. The notebook was noticeably old, with frayed edges and suspicious stains decorating the cover. Clearly, the dark-haired girl had made good use of it in the past. In her right pocket, she carried a black stopwatch, also ready for action.
Pugsley, standing right next to her, looked at her with a furrowed brow, most likely trying to figure out what all the preparation was for, though he should have already had an idea. Once the psychic took the time to explain it, he seemed hesitant.
"Why do I have to be the one running?" Pugsley asked, crossing his arms.
"Because I don’t have your level of clumsiness," Wednesday replied, not looking up from her notebook. "It would be unfair to the course. Besides, it’ll be far more entertaining to watch you struggle to reach the end."
He sighed. He no longer bothered trying to convince her of anything, it never worked. The only thing he could do now was participate with dignity and maybe, just maybe, survive with all his bones intact.
"What are the rules?" he asked, resigned.
"Time limit: ninety seconds," she said, showing him the stopwatch. "For every extra second, you do a household chore. Supervised by me."
Pugsley shuddered. Not because of the chores, but because of the supervision part. She was a perfectionist, she loathed half-done work.
"Great."
She picked up a small twig, holding it like a ceremonial sword, and with a barely noticeable smirk, she pulled out a tiny whistle and blew it, catching her brother completely off guard.
Chaos began.
Pugsley took off running, and by the second step, he was already slipping through the mud. He rolled like a battered croquette until he hit a loose board that creaked ominously under his weight. He didn’t stop to assess whether it would break. He just jumped. The flour-filled pendulums swung in a hypnotic rhythm, and one hit him on the shoulder with enough force to make him spin. Wednesday nodded, jotting something down in her notebook.
“Good hit. I’ll give you points for the spin,” she murmured.
Pugsley crossed a patch of broken bottles wearing thick socks and taking unsteady steps. Every step was a muffled scream. Then he had to crawl under a maze of hanging ropes, while an old radio played the disturbing sound of a chainsaw mixed with baby cries. When he reached the final stretch, gasping as if he had crossed a desert, he saw the bell. It was only a few steps away.
With one last push, he stretched out his arm and hit it.
Clang.
He collapsed on his back in the grass. The sky was still gray, but somehow, the world looked brighter now that he was done. Wednesday walked over calmly. She stopped the timer.
“Ninety-six seconds. Not bad.”
Pugsley closed his eyes.
“Six chores?”
“Five,” she said after a short pause. “Your scream in the mud moved me. It sounded... authentic.”
Pugsley looked at her, still lying on the ground. He wasn’t sure if that was a sign of affection or a twisted form of humiliation. But Wednesday handed him a bottle of water. He took it, drank, and smiled.
“Can I at least choose the chores?”
“Of course,” she replied, turning with elegance. “As long as you choose the ones I hate.”
And just like that, she walked away, scribbling in her notebook like a scientist satisfied with the results. She heard Pugsley’s footsteps behind her, silently following.
She wouldn’t say it out loud, but she was glad to be home. Maybe not everything was as bad as it seemed. She still had more ideas to explore. Chaos was her language, and in her house, everyone knew how to speak it.
And that, certainly, was the most comforting thing of all.
[…]
She entered the mansion slowly, still jotting down a few observations in her notebook. Pugsley ran past her, dashing up the stairs. She merely sighed, already used to her brother’s energetic behavior.
He reminded her of Enid, or rather, Enid reminded her of Pugsley. Both shared that same enthusiasm for the smallest details, as if every part of their day deserved such euphoric reactions. She didn’t understand it, but she had accepted it, as a last attempt not to lose her mind.
Her feet led her to the living room, where she took a seat on one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Though it was summer, the temperature inside the mansion was always low, as if a polar bear might stroll in at any moment. It was pleasant, nothing better than the sound of wood burning.
Sometimes, when she lay on the wide armchair, caught between wakefulness and sleep, she could swear that beneath the crackling, there were screams. Maybe the voices of her ancestors, condemned to the stake centuries ago. True or not, it helped her fall asleep when sleep seemed intent on slipping away
She heard footsteps to her left, ones she knew perfectly well and didn’t need to confirm. They sat down beside her, at a respectful distance, fully aware of her low tolerance for unsolicited closeness. She appreciated that.
"Any news, my dear? I heard the fun outside," her mother finally spoke.
The dark-haired girl lifted her gaze from the notebook, locking eyes with the elder seer. Her expression was serene, and if one paid close attention, they could catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"I've decided to resume my activities. Nevermore wasn’t suitable for them," she explained, still holding the gaze. She despised eye contact, she only allowed it when issuing a threat or asserting dominance, but with her mother, it came naturally. It felt like a silent duel, where the weaker one looked away first. And she refused to yield.
She knew her mother could see through her like someone staring at a garden through a window in broad daylight.
And that, precisely, was what compelled her to hold the gaze. She wanted to win, to control every micro-expression on her face so that nothing could be read.
And while it was difficult, we're talking about the person who had raised her and studied her throughout her life, she knew it wasn’t impossible. One day, she would build a wall high enough to silence her thoughts from being heard, even if she were screaming them.
“I’m glad to hear that, my storm.” Her mother’s gaze remained steady, and her smile widened noticeably. “I see you’ve recovered your notebook…” The raven-haired girl noticed something in her eyes, a flicker. But of what? “I hope your observations proved satisfactory.”
“They did,” she replied quickly. She wasn’t sure if those words were meant for her mother or for herself. The elder seer simply nodded, raising a teacup to her lips. The girl hadn't noticed it in her hands until that moment.
Her attention returned to her pages, continuing her notes. Neither of them left the couch. They shared a prolonged silence in the room, with the fire crackling in the background. It wasn’t until the loud bang of the front door that they both abandoned their activities and turned their gaze toward the source of the interruption.
“Cara mia! ” Her father barged into the mansion, making his way toward his destination. He approached quickly, standing in front of her mother, who was looking at him with a radiant smile. Repulsive. Truly repulsive. “Every second of your absence beside me felt like agony, but not the kind I enjoy”
Before she was forced to witness the abomination of sounds and grotesque displays of affection, she stood up from her seat and made her way toward the stairs. But before she could escape, her father’s voice stopped her.
“Hija!” She could ignore him, simply climb the stairs and postpone this interaction until dinner. But something in his tone caught her attention. It was the same one he used when delivering good news. And her father, despite all his flaws, never disappointed her when it came to news. She doubted this time would be the exception.
She retraced her steps, appearing once again in front of her parents, who were holding hands as if they were newlyweds.
“Uncle Fester will come tomorrow. He heard about what happened after his departure, and he wants all the details” Her father’s smile widened, if that was even possible. And of course, her uncle’s visits were mostly fascinating. No one could predict Fester’s antics, and that only made things better.
“Perfect. I’ll wait for his arrival”, she finally responded. Noticing her father had nothing more to add, she bid them farewell. “I’m going to my room. Do not interrupt me"
Both parents nodded with joy, continuing their nauseating displays of affection. The seer rolled her eyes and headed toward the stairs, climbing to her room.
She would prepare. Because with Fester, even peace was suspicious.
[…]
She had spent several minutes contemplating the paper between her fingers, sometimes rereading its contents over and over, and at others simply observing the stamp on the front of the envelope.
She intended to respond, after all, that was what one did with letters. But this particular one had no return address. It was obvious it came from her roommate, but the envelope bore no postal information, nothing to indicate where the response, already forming in the seer’s mind, should be sent.
If the wolf wanted a reply, why omit such important information? Did she not want one? It made no sense. She knew her well enough to be sure that wasn’t the case.
If this letter reached you, there are probably more on the way.
That was written on the page in shaky, almost illegible handwriting. Fortunately, the raven-haired girl had an extensive knowledge of reading old scripts.
She appreciated the gesture of maintaining communication even from a distance. After all, the blonde seemed far too occupied with her domestic tasks to focus on anything else.
Good. The amount of time she used to spend in front of that device was concerning, almost an addiction. A bit of distraction wouldn’t hurt her, she thought.
If she did have the chance to respond, what would she write? What would she share? Her routine was already well known, and her hobbies had caused more than one fainting spell in the wolf. Though reading about them wasn’t the same as witnessing them, when it came to her roommate, it was impossible to know for sure.
But all of that would be a matter for another moment, she reminded herself. Her mind returned to where she was. She was in the living room again, seated in front of the fireplace that burned in a furious orange hue, threatening to consume the mansion, if such a thing were even possible.
Just as her father had announced the day before, her uncle wouldn’t take long to arrive.
Her brother was restless, going up and down the stairs, sometimes throwing himself from the second floor or rolling down the steps. Her parents, on the other hand, swayed back and forth in front of the main window, holding each other as one of their favorite classic records played in the background.
And so the minutes passed, each of them wrapped in their own little bubble. Until an almost deafening noise from outside caught the attention of everyone in the mansion.
The seer stood up, she knew each family member well enough to recognize exactly who it was. A smile already adorned her face, and she didn’t bother to hide it. How could she? Her uncle was one of the people who had taught her truly valuable things, memories she quietly cherished.
She peeked through the front door, where her parents and brother were already gathered. A cloud of smoke covered the entire front yard. A silhouette emerged from it.
“Brother!” her father shouted, quickly approaching. Fester ran toward him, arms outstretched, “Ugh!”
Her father’s body tensed for a moment as he made contact with his brother. In response, the bald man bared all his teeth in an attempt at a smile, followed by a loud mocking laugh. He stepped back and raised his arms, revealing an electric shock device hidden in his sleeve.
“Time passes and you still fall for it!” Fester mocked, letting go of the device and moving in for another hug, this time without the electric jolt.
“Well, nothing like a little electricity to wake you up, right, Mon amour?”, this time her father turned to her mother, who was watching the scene with a smile.
"Ya lo creo, querido" she said
Her brother, who was standing beside her, ran toward the two men, joyfully joining the embrace. She, on the other hand, chose to remain by her mother’s side, her smile widening on her lips, though not enough to show her teeth. Had she known her uncle would resort to his old trick, she definitely would’ve greeted him first. She made a mental note for next time.
“I don’t mean to interrupt this moment, but lunch is served. Lurch cooked in abundance”, her mother said, pointing toward the front door, urging everyone to come in and take their seats. Which they all did, amid laughter and hugs.
“Hello to you too, little scorpion” her uncle spoke to the seer this time, stopping his walk.
The dark-haired girl stepped forward and gave him a strong hug. Words weren’t necessary, her uncle already knew. He returned it with equal strength, lifting her a few inches off the ground just to annoy her. She rolled her eyes, still smiling. Once her feet were firmly back on the floor, he spoke again.
“I missed you too. But now, let’s eat! Running from the police makes me hungry” he said smiling.
They entered the mansion, each one taking their respective seat. Everyone nodded in thanks to the butler, who grunted and quietly stepped away.
The dining room was quickly filled with laughter, applause, and all kinds of conversations. Her uncle had countless stories to tell, both old and new, after all, he had spent months on the run from the police, and every day brought a tale worth sharing. From a bank robbery to a chase through a water park after stealing a lifeguard’s car keys. The police didn’t realize that, for an Addams, that was just another hobby.
“Who leaves a bag unattended? Like it or not, I taught him a lesson” he added proudly, earning more laughter and a congratulatory nod from Gomez.
More stories followed, until everyone was satisfied with the meal. Though her uncle had arrived less than an hour ago, the change in the atmosphere was already evident. Every member of the family, even herself, radiated happiness.
It happened every time a loved one came to visit. When Grandma showed up those few times a year, it was the same. It was pleasant to share experiences and stories, many of them bizarre. After all, that’s what united them as a family. The macabre ran in every Addams' veins, they found joy in what others called frightening.
She felt satisfaction in the reaction she got whenever she announced her last name. The astonishment, the fear that painted their faces. And even more so when they dared to underestimate her, as if the family history hadn’t been enough, and she had to show them what she was capable of.
The Addams family was, and would continue to be, a case study for many normies and outcasts. No one understood it, and no one ever would. And she wouldn’t be the one to explain it. Because there, in the enormous mansion filled with the spirits of their honored ancestors, everything made sense.
To her, it all made perfect sense.
And that was enough.