Chapter Text
The young woman stepped out her front door. She was followed by a younger black haired boy who looked upon her with a mix of fear and adoration. She held a bundle of papers. He wore a harness which held fast a metal cylinder. A hose ran out the cylinder and into a nozzle held in his right hand.
They approached a large hole that based upon the rocks strewn around it had likely been created by an explosion. It looked to have happened many years ago.
At the bottom of the hole was an ever growing pile of ash.
The young woman threw her bundle to the bottom of the hole. The papers that made up the bundle separated and fluttered as they fell. She reached her hand out, waiting for the boy to place the nozzle in her hand.
The boy asked, “Can I do it?”
The way his voice sounded so hopeful dropped adrenaline into her bloodstream. She recognized the feeling and narrowed her eyes at her brother. Disgust at his weakness and the resulting fire in her blood as it prepared her to do anything to protect him.
“Pugsley, this insipid begging is beneath the Addam’s name.” She lowered her hand and stepped clear. “But very well.”
Pugsley's mouth curled into a beaming smile as he ignited flamethrower and burned the pages in the hole. He began laughing as the fire burned with an intense heat. At first his laugh was that of any other young boy Moments later it changed. It grew dark and maniacal. His eyes wide open and his pupils fully dilated, as if he was lost in madness.
Wednesday smiled. A smile that had in the past caused those who had dared cross her to run in fear. There he is. The man he could be someday. A true heir to the house of Addams.
Pugsley released the trigger on the flamethrower. Like the fire, the look in his eyes and the crazed laugh were also gone in an instant. He smiled affectionately at his sister.
“I know I should hope you get over your writer’s block soon, sis. But I don’t. I really like spending time with you.”
Wednesday glared at her brother. To the uninitiated, it would appear that she had said nothing but simply turned away without another word. She walked back toward the front door of their home leaving Pugsley standing alone.
Pugsley however had seen the look in Wednesday's eyes. The almost imperceptible way her face briefly relaxed. Her meaning was clear.
Pugley returned her unspoken words and called to her, “I love you too, sis.”
She paused mid stride one foot still in the air. Evidently she decided not to turn and admonish him but instead continued into the house.
Wednesday opened the door to her room. Upon returning from Nevermore, she had placed all her belongings in exactly the places they had always been. Her cello rested in its place in the corner of her room beside her music stand. Her desk, closed and locked, sat opposite her bed. Her typewriter sat on a small table beside it.
She eyed the typewriter warily. She knew the fault lay not in the machine but in her own inability to form a coherent plot. However the location was increasingly being associated with failure in Wednesday’s mind.
I will not admit defeat. This is just part of the writing process.
While the room was exactly the same as it had always been, in truth nothing felt the same. She had only been at Nevermore a brief time. A mere blip in her sixteen years of life. However, Wednesday had to acknowledge the change. Although she only allowed this thought to enter her mind during moments of weakness. The truth was she was different. She had changed and hadn’t realized until it was far too late. Unaware that it had even happened.
This weakness is something I’d expect from Pugsley.
It was infuriating. She would get to the bottom of this.
She reached to her neck to pull a chain and the attached key from beneath her top. She inserted the key into the lock of her desk. She heard the first click, which signified the lock was now open. She continued to turn the key until the second click, which signified the traps had been disengaged.
She lowered her desktop and placed her hands, palms down upon it. She felt a moment of warmth as a perfumed odor flooded Wednesday’s nose. Once upon a time it would have turned her stomach and filled her with the need to track down the offending article for destruction.
Now, however, she inhaled deeply. She saw the fountain pen that rested upon an intricate carved wooden tray. The letter that had accompanied the pen sat underneath.
Enid had mailed the pen to her a few weeks ago. The note smelled of her perfume. Wednesday had hoped for a moment upon opening it, that Enid had sprayed perfume upon it as some courting ritual. A ritual Wednesday became aware of after reading a book on romance. Read purely for research for her novel and for no other reason. At least that’s what she insisted to herself.
Logically, Wednesday knew Enid thought of her as only a friend. Of course the perfume she wore that day simply embedded itself in the paper.
That could be the only explanation.
She knew the letter’s words by heart.
Wednesday,
I saw this at an antique store and thought instantly of you. I hope you like it. Maybe you can show me how to use a fountain pen when you come back next year.
My cell number is below if you want to call or text. Xavier gave me your number but having your number and having permission to call isn’t the same thing. I would never invade your privacy like that.
Anyway, I really hope you will call me. Nevermore isn’t until next year and I can’t wait that long to talk to you.
Sorry, I’m rambling. You know I do that sometimes.
Love,
Enid
Wednesday reached underneath her desk and released the clasp of the hidden drawer and slid it open, being careful not to be struck by the spring loaded poison needle whose job it was to ensure that anyone invading her privacy would not live to pass on her secrets.
The sound of the needle sounded off. Sounded harsher. If someone had disabled it there would be nowhere they could hide.
She ran the fingernail along the needle to scrape off the residue. It was dry. The poison was nearly inert.
She retrieved a leather journal and then slammed the drawer shut in frustration. The poison had lost most of its potency. Any thief would probably only be horrifically sickend. Unacceptable. I’ll talk to Grandmama to find a more effective replacement.
She undid the clasp on the notebook
The opening page was entitled: The Journal of Wednesday Friday Addams
She flipped through the pages that held her thoughts and observations until she found the first blank page. She uncorked a bottle of ink and reached for the pen. She hesitated.
A Mont Blanc No 2 from the 1920s. An extravagant gift. I hope the antique dealer didn’t know what they had and charged Enid a mere pittance of the pens true monetary value.
She hesitated for a second reason. Every time she picked up the pen, she would have a vision of a previous owner. Not terrible in and of itself. Her visions, however, were increasingly running out of control.
The last vision, she saw the original owner as he wrote a letter to his children the day after Black Tuesday. He then picked up a pistol.
Wednesday came out of the vision and found herself lying on the floor, Thing holding her hand.
She pulled away and scolded him for treating her like an invalid.
“I was worried,’ he signed. ‘You were unconscious for an hour. I would have gotten your mother but..’
Wednesday frowned. An hour? No, only a few moments passed.
A look at the clock confirmed that Thing told the truth.
Wednesday scowled. “You remembered what I told you I would do if you ever involved my parents without permission.”
‘The visions are getting worse. Can’t your mother help?’
“She’s a dove. I must be contacted by the spirit who will guide me.”
Wednesday refused to allow fear to dictate her life. She reached out and picked up the pen.
Wednesday appeared to be in a hospital but unlike any she had seen before. There was a line of beds on each side of the room. A small portable screen gave a few patients some modicum of privacy. The door opened and two men in military uniforms carried in a stretcher. With practiced hands they transferred him to an open bed and then turned and returned the way they came without a backward glance.
It was clear they had done this many times before. As Wednesday walked through the room she heard the telltale sound of fast and efficient handwriting. She followed the sound and found a young woman in her twenties. On the table next to her was a blood stained letter. The woman was transcribing that letter onto a clean sheet of paper.
Wednesday read over her shoulder. It was a soldier’s letter home to his family. In the event he would never return. Clearly he never did.
She was transcribing it so that his family would not be sent a letter that was covered in the man’s blood.
Wednesday was back in her room, holding the pen in her hand.
Thing was on her desk as well. He signed to her. ‘Are you ok?’
“Of course. I am perfectly fine.”
‘You’re crying.’
“That is absurd.” Wednesday lifted her left hand to touch her cheek to prove Thing wrong. Her face was damp and her vision blurry.
She wiped her eyes and glared at Thing. “You will tell no one about this!”
‘I promise. But maybe you should.’
“Get out!”
Thing hopped off her desk and went out the door.
Wednesday gritted her teeth. Once more my weakness has compromised me. I need to finish this.
For the past few weeks, she had tried to put down her thoughts on her experiences at Nevermore. The page of each prior attempt had been torn out and burned.
Wednesday was undeterred. She would continue until it was correct.
She wrote:
According to popular belief, Nevermore Academy was founded in 1791 by Nathaniel Faulker on the former estate of Joseph Crackstone. Crackstone himself was a supposed exemplar of tolerance and understanding. The students of Nevermore and the townspeople of Jericho were to look to him as a model of fellowship and solidarity.
Fools.
That people are willing to believe so many lies at once is a testament to the failure of humankind.
Was Nevermore a place for outcasts to learn in safety or a way to gather us together to better control us. Or failing that to have us all in one place for easier slaughter?
Was Jericho a friendly and prosperous town or a parasite who suckled the teat of outcast money while simultaneously looking at us with suspicion. A town that, without us, would long ago have died out. Leaving behind a husk of dollar stores, fentanyl addiction and hopelessness.
Let us not forget the worst culprit of all; Goody Addams. My ancestor. The spirit who saved my life. The one who was supposed to train me in this curse of sight and is gone forever.
What were the odds that I would end up at Nevermore just as Gates’ plan reached culmination? Rowan’s mother drew the illustration of Crackstone and I facing each other, years before I was even born.
There can be only one explanation. Dark magic. Goody must have placed some spell of protection upon the grounds of Nevermore. Grandmama believes she used Crackstone’s own soul to power it. Twisting fate to bring an Addams back to Nevermore at just the right time to save it.
Before Nevermore, I was my own person. I made my own choices and woe to anyone who dared to threaten me or my own. I had free will. She stole that from me. Damn her. I hope Goody is suffering somewhere dark and cold.
She knew the consequences of
Wednesday’s phone buzzed. She glanced over, furious at the interruption. Her gaze softened as she read the name of the one who texted; Enid.
She laid the pen down and picked up the phone to read the text.
Enid: Can I call you real quick? I gotta talk to someone or I’m going to lose it.
The phone was to her ear in an instant. Enid answered before Wednesday heard it ring.
“Wednesday, hey. I hope I didn’t interrupt.”
“It is my writing time Enid.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”
“Enid, stop. Don’t hang up.” It felt good to talk to Enid. She swallowed hard, grimacing at the bitter taste caused by the implications of that emotion.
But Wednesday was fearless. Fate twisting magic wouldn’t change that part of her. “I want to talk to you.”
A hopeful voice responded. “You do?” Followed by a self-conscious one. “I mean, shit of course you called me back, so you’d want to talk. That’s a dumb question. I mean..”
“Enid,” Wednesday interrupted, “you are rambling. What is wrong?”
“My mom. Now that I’ve wolfed out she wants me to go to this local meet and greet.”
“I assume from your tone that this is disagreeable to you. I admit I’m not fully acquainted with werewolf culture. Why should this ‘meet and greet’ worry you?”
“It’s a dating thing. All the eligible werewolves meet and mingle and see if they find someone they click with. You know. To meet someone you might want to be your… um….your…” Enid trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
Wednesday could feel the edges of the phone cut into her fingers as she squeezed with all her strength. “To meet a potential mate.” Wednesday said coldly, finishing Enid’s sentence.
A weak voice responded. “Yeah. I feel … I feel like I’m…a thing being paraded around. I don’t want to go.”
“Was there a package waiting for you when you returned from break? A package from me?”
Enid was confused by the change of subject but the package and its contents snapped to the front of her mind. A whispered voice answered. “Yes. I mean what the fuck Wedneday. You sent me silver daggers! Do you have any idea how messed up that is?”
“I wanted you protected. Those daggers could keep you alive. I won’t apologize for that. But there was also a vial of perfume in the package. Do you have it?”
Wednesday could hear Enid rummaging in her room. “Got it. It’s full of some red fluid. Your note said not to open it.”
“Open it now.”
“It’s not going to do anything weird is it?” Enid asked, worried. Evidently she had removed the rubber stopper as she exclaimed. “This smells good! What is it?”
Wednesday didn’t answer Enid's question. Grandmama said this would work but Enid would never wear the perfume if she knew that among its many ingredients was Wednesday’s own blood.
“Dab a finger and put one small amount under each ear. The werewolves will leave you alone tonight.”
“It won’t hurt anyone will it? And don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided my question.”
“It contains nothing harmful. It will just counteract your normal scent. It will wash off the next time you shower. And Enid?”
“Yes?”
“I won’t lie to you. If you ask again for the ingredients, I’ll tell you. But I need to ask you. Do you trust me?”
“I do.”
“Then please don’t ask. Just use it.”
Enid hesitated. Wednesday’s use of the word please stopped her short but also filled her with a warm feeling. “Ok. I’ll use it and I won’t ask. Can I call you when I get home?”
Wednesday’s heart fell as she saw her fountain pen waiting for her.
“I’ll be up late. Call as you wish.”
Wednesday put down the phone and took a deep breath in through her nose and retrieved her pen.
She knew the consequences of dark magic are always measured in blood and lives.
Perhaps I’m not to blame for Rowan. I’m certainly not responsible for the mayor.
I’m also not responsible for the other victims while the inept police department looked for a “bear.”
The rest of the victims, however, tell a different story.
Eugene almost died because of my obsession.
Kinbott? Kinbott’s blood is on my hands. She wanted to help me, despite her ineptitude. Had I solved it sooner she’d have lived.
The sin of Kinbot pales in comparison to Weems. No matter my disagreements with her, in the end she trusted me. Trusted me as I led her to her own death.
Dark magic has claimed so many. However, now with Cracktone and Goody Addams both gone, the spell should be laid to rest.
Should.
I’m lying to myself again. I must stop doing that.
I’ve allowed myself to grow closer to people. Xavier, Eugene. Enid.
I'm a fool. Nothing good can come from this. How selfish must I continue to be? How many more will pay the price?
I don’t even know if any of this is real. Do any of those who wish to be my friend even have a choice in the matter?
Or is this just the spell continuing to twist fate because it hasn’t yet claimed its last victim; Wednesday Addams.
Later that night Wednesday sat by the window of her room and looked out. The view overlooked the cemetery beside her home. This view was once calming. Knowing that she’d one day rest with all the relatives while a new generation played ‘Wake the Dead’.
At the time she thought they’d have stories to tell of her, much like the ones she heard as a child.
Now however, she wanted no stories told or to even to be remembered at all for her time on earth. If she could guarantee with any certainty that the Book of Shadows had some spell that could ensure she was completely forgotten she’d consider it.
The cost however, would fall on another. Unacceptable.
She smiled. Unless of course it was Pugsley.
During her dark turn of thought she hadn’t heard her phone buzzing. Thing who had kept an ever more concerned daily vigil on Wednesday, tapped her foot.
She came back to herself instantly. “What!” she asked harshly.
Thing signed, ‘Your phone. Enid called.’
Wednesday stood up and with two quick steps was at her desk. Her phone’s screen had the words: Missed Call - Enid. The accusation contained in those three words caused her heart to fall. Let her go. Nothing good will ever come of this.
Instead she ignored her thoughts and hit redial.
The phone rang for a moment. Wednesday was about to give up, thinking she had gone to sleep when Enid answered.
“Wednesday,” Enid sounded out of breath. “Sorry, I was down the hall.”
I was hoping you’d call, Wednesday wanted to say. It was inexcusable for me to have missed you.
Instead what she said was, “I missed your call. What do you want?” Wednesday hated the way her voice sounded.
Enid was nonplussed. She knew in some weird way that with Wednesday actions always spoke louder than words. “I wanted to thank you. The perfume worked. Everyone who came close, turned away almost instantly.”
“You doubted my word? I knew your online habits would rot your mind.”
Enid chuckled. “I don’t get it though. I think it smells good. From the reaction of everyone at the dance you’d have thought I was dipped in dog doo.”
“It was a dance?”
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t know until I got there. I kinda linked the music but was a bit sad there was no one to dance with. Which I guess was the point of that perfume. I just...”
“Enid, I didn’t know it was a dance. I would have suggested something else. I know you enjoy dancing. I’d have never left you partnerless.”
“No, I’m glad I used it. I was just sad. I wanted my friends there. It’s dumb.”
“Insulting your intelligence is my job. Do you dare suggest you’re more capable than I?”
Enid laughed, “I could never replace you.”
Wednesday loved Enid’s laugh but right now to her ears it was a pale imitation. She didn’t want to hear Enid laugh. She wanted to see Enid laugh. The way her eyes lit up. The way she would rock slightly forward as if she couldn’t get enough air.
“Was this the last event of its type for the near future?”
Enid’s voice fell. “Yeah. My mom won’t make me go again.”
“Enid, what is wrong?”
“Yeah. No. I mean everything is great. I’m just a bit tired.” Enid tried to make her voice sound happy. She failed.
“I know you’re lying to me.” Wednesday sighed. “I’m trying to keep my tendencies to overstep under control. If you don’t want to talk about a subject, I’ll respect that.”
“You mean that?”
“I mean everything I say.”
Enid scoffed. “Come on. You said you’d nail Ajax’s heart if he broke mine.”
“No, I said I’d nail-gun his heart. Details matter. Foolish of you to think I didn’t mean every word.”
“Ok, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t get mad.”
“I won’t promise that. However, I promise I won’t act on my anger precipitously. I’m attempting to become a more adequate friend.”
Enid laughed, “You’re more than adequate.”
Enid took a breath loud enough that Wednesday could hear it clearly over the phone. “My mom thinks the reason no one wants me is because of the scars on my face, “ Enid said, her words rushed.
“Your mother is a fool.“
“You haven’t seen me since I left. You don’t know how bad they are. I probably didn’t even need the perfume.”
Enid’s phone screen lit up. Wednesday was asking for a facetime call. Enid almost hung up. Instead she clicked to accept it. Wednesday wouldn’t hurt me .
Enid’s face appeared prominent on Wednesday’s phone. She could see Enid’s room was lit by her string lights which illuminated her face with a gentle glow. She could also see Enid’s scars. A sin she had neglected to add to her journal. She would rectify that immediately afterward.
“You are truly beautiful. One day you will find your mate and they will see them as the sign of courage and honor that they truly are.”
“You mean that?” Enid asked hopefully.
“I mean everything I say.”