Chapter Text
Wednesday Addams didn’t keep in touch; she kept tabs.
So when letters began to accumulate like kidney stones at the Addams Family estate, Wednesday didn’t deign a reply. She knew well from a glance who each letter was from. Was the envelope bedazzled in a myriad of colorful stickers? It was from Enid: saccharine and incessant with her updates. Did the very paper smell like honey? Eugene’s: probably with a picture of the colony enclosed. On rarer occasions, the mailing address was nearly illegible– from Ajax in a rush. Once, even, to Wednesday’s mild interest, an envelope with perfect calligraphy arrived– Bianca’s, despite her clear hesitance.
At the beginning of summer break, Wednesday would receive letters stained in graphite. Those were Xavier’s after he realized she had disposed of the phone. Wednesday was pleased when his envelopes of lead began to wean from the inbox.
Today, however, a new envelope fell from Lurch’s hands. The paper was yellowed and plain. The sender, I.M. Hastings, unfamiliar.
Wednesday glanced at Thing beside her typewriter, “Perhaps I have gotten lucky today, and a foe has finally attempted to poison me with anthrax. Grab my PPE. M50 mask this time.”
Thing scampered away, dutifully.
Half an hour later, Wednesday stood garbed in black protective gear, gloved hands at the ready.
“Scapel.”
Thing supplied her quickly.
Wednesday tucked the blade into the corner of the fold, calmly rending a new fissure into the envelope.
“Forcepts,” She considered her poor visibility of the letter’s contents. “...And more light.”
Thing switched out the scalpel for forceps and then hopped onto the desk lamp, craning the dull frame closer to Wednesday’s work.
Wednesday stretched the new incision open, peering through the plastic of her mask.
Not seeing anything immediately alarming, Wednesday closed the forceps around the letter itself– trawling purpose from a papery corpse.
The mass Wednesday removed was a quotation. In dark typewriter ink on plain stationery, it read:
“Have you reason to fear for him on any account?”
“Yes. The period of youth will soon pass away.
Overweening and fickle, he will go on committing one mistake after another, incapable of repairing his errors, or of profiting by the daily lessons of experience. His genius will be merely an implement of mischief. His greater capacity will be evinced merely by the greater portion of unhappiness that, by means of it, will accrue to others or rebound upon himself.”
Jericho is but a grave.
Do not become Althorpe.
“At least my stalker knows their gothic literature,” Wednesday could feel Thing’s imploring gesture. “Charles Brockden Brown– pioneer of the American Gothic novel. It seems after I removed their primary communication method, my stalker decided to find another means of threatening me.”
What’s the plan? Thing sighed in reply.
Wednesday removed her gloves and mask, firmly grasping the thin page. Wednesday closed her eyes, emptying her mind to a soundless vessel. The sensation of the page blurred into a hurricane heart, waves of ichor pouring over the brim. It drenched the vessel of Wednesday’s mind, scouring the basin with hairline fractures.
A slosh, and the ink became a silk handkerchief embroidered in strawberries. Another, and the fabric is saturated in scarlet.
Overwhelming. It’s overwhelming– a cacophony of anguish and mortal flaw.
Wednesday Addams has mastered her psychic abilities, a power so refined that she solved the elusive Kansas City Scalper case in two weeks flat.
The psychic tsunami of this stationary squalls Wednesday back to reality in seconds, leaving a black tear reeling down her cheek.
Thing moves close, concerned. Wednesday wipes the tear away, a dismissal.
“It appears my stalker is… melodramatic. Regardless, I return to Nevermore in two days. I will deduce the culprit once I have returned to the scene of the crime.”
Thing helped her pack the night before. She’s folding a shirt into the suitcase when she catches a glimpse of color in her monotone luggage. Wednesday dug through, pulling one of Enid’s letters from the suitcase.
With an eyeroll, she turned to Thing. “I don’t remember putting worthless sentiment on my packing list.”
For his part, Thing just shrugged. “It’s not worthless. You’ll see.”
“How many?’
Thing had the decency to look a bit embarrassed. “All of them.”
“Watch your lotion, Thing. I’ll strike when you aren’t suspecting."
~⥈~
But first, Wednesday had to survive the Autumn semester drop-off. Pugsley would be joining her this year, which, at the bare minimum, would divert some of her parents' worries. The benefit certainly was not worth the cost of his being on campus, but Wednesday would make do. Her first attempt to right the situation was to launch him out of the car.
“Hit the ‘O’ dead center.”
He succeeded, annoyingly. Wednesday couldn’t help but deflate at her missed opportunity.
Morticia grinned, and Gomez clapped, giddy in their pride over both children. Their adoration always made Wednesday nauseous. But it always softened her glares, too, so there wasn’t much to do about it.
“Wednesday,” Morticia called her from her thoughts.
“Yes, Mother?”
“I do not doubt your capabilities. But I must warn you, do not get ahead of yourself. Our family, quite often, falls into the habit of seeing one miracle as proof we are infallible."
“I have mastered my psychic ability, Mother. Your concern is unfounded.”
Morticia raised an eyebrow at the statement.
“Your confidence in your visions is exactly what concerns me.”
“Just because your Dove abilities are notoriously inaccurate does not equate to mine being defective.”
Morticia’s composure was stiff, but she let the subject pass anyway.
Driving through the gates of Nevermore oddly felt like a guillotine primed; some derivative prophecy clasping the cobbled columns unabashedly.
Wednesday left the car like it was any other occasion, ignoring the itch.
“My little storm cloud, I will be taking your brother to his dorm in Caliban. Play nice.” Gomez moved quickly, ecstatic at the prospect of his son moving into his old hall.
Morticia waited until just Wednesday was left by the car.
“I know you have Goody’s book. I'm not blind to the progress you have made in so little time. I hope you will come to understand that this… ancestral shortcut can not replace a genuine understanding of your powers. Exhume bodies, my darling, but do not lead your brother to an early grave.”
“I will look after Pugsley, Mother. Do not worry.” With that last warning, Wednesday began to cross the courtyard. Within minutes of setting foot, Wednesday knew something hideous had shifted in the paradigm of the academy. Students were pointing at her and… smiling? Some were snapping photos? Before even reaching the stairs, she was accosted by a gaggle of freshmen.
“Can I get your autograph?” A mousy ginger girl asked. Wednesday almost recoiled.
“I only sign my name in blood.”
The girl seemed even more excited at the notion.
Perturbed, Wednesday spun on her heel and strode up the stairs.
“Perfered to be an Outcast in a school of Outcasts, did we, Miss Addams?” A lean man in a tweed suit asked from the landing. Wednesday appraised the man, wondering if he was Weems or Thornhill’s replacement. He shifted his fedora between his hands, smiling kindly. He was nervous, worried over an impression on one single student. The new principal then.
“They will realize the error of their idolization quickly.”
“I’d sure hope not,” the man laughed, greased-down hair shimmering. “Your heroics last year did wonders for repairing our optics. Crackstone and Thornhill were both anti-Outcast humans. Tyler Galpin? Raised in town. Maybe if Donovan had been reasonable and sent Tyler into our care earlier, we could have prevented many deaths with Nevermore’s attendancy. Our students, in the end, prevented a much worse outcome for Jericho. Like it or not, you led that charge.” The man shuffled forward. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. Sam Hilliard,” He bowed lightly, “Your new principal.”
Wednesday narrowed her eyes. “I am not a marketing campaign.”
“Of course not! That honor goes to Miss Barclay. When she speaks with donors, I don’t need to worry about losing money. Can not say the same about you,” Principal Hilliard joked. “I’ll see you around, Miss Addams. I expect you’ll be in my office soon. I wish you a warm welcome back to Nevermore.”
~⥈~
There was fan art on their door. Hideous. Despicable. Not to mention the raucous resounding from in the room itself.
Wednesday opened the door to find the pack making themselves upsettingly comfortable. Based on what Wednesday knew of werewolf behavior, it wasn't all that surprising. They were all about territory, and what belonged to one belonged to the whole pack. Crucially, however, these dogs seemed to have forgotten that this room wasn't Enid's alone. It was Wednesday and Enid’s.
“Howdy, roomie!” Enid beamed, invading Wednesday's space quickly. Thankfully, Enid knew the distinction of possession well by now: the minutiae of which caskets Wednesday left out for Enid and which ones she just left.
“Enid.” As much as Wednesday loved control, the tone of a name was a different beast to tame. Enid looked at Wednesday, truly looked. It was different then before. When they first met, Enid was so desperate to be liked by everyone– by anyone. The werewolf that stood in Ophelia Hall now, with long scars across her face, had lost that almost pitiful temperament. Still, Enid cared what Wednesday thought. She dismissed the pack after a glance.
“Alright! Thanks for the help, I'll see you all tonight.” The pack piled out, except a stray with a simpering smile and broad shoulders.
The boy tapped the surface of a shelf, “Don’t put too much pressure on it.”
“No pressure. Right, got it.” Enid replied, an odd breathless quality taking to her voice.
Despite all that had changed in Enid, it appeared she was still stuck on the one notion that captured most adolescents: Mr. Right.
What a waste to be so defined by another.
“Catch you later at the Lupin cages?”
“Absolutely, Bruno- Can’t wait!”
Great. Now there were two Ajax’s to micromanage during a plan.
Enid’s eyes darted to Wednesday’s as soon as the door shut. “Did you get my letters?”
“Like a debtor collects threats.” Wednesday was already unpacking.
Enid frowned. “You never replied.” Thing skittered over to greet Enid, who extended an arm down for him to climb up. Thing tapped Enid’s cheek gently, and if Wednesday didn’t know better, she would say he was consoling the girl.
Wednesday set out her typewriter, “Passion took precedence.”
“Well, if you didn’t read them, then… I guess I’ll have to tell you about my amazing summer now!” Enid continued, undeterred.
“I’m sure I'll want to kill you after you tell me so… we both win.”
“I won’t bore you, Wends. But-” She rocked on the balls of her feet, “I got you a present! It’s in your style. Don’t worry, it's not a snood.” She held out a midnight gift bag.
Wednesday reached into the bag and pulled out a dress. It was a silky black, sheer across the collar bones and sleeves. Embroidered like a spiderweb out from the neck line were strawberries on the vine in black. It was a nice dress and a terrible omen.
“I saw it, and it reminded me of what you wore to the Rave’N. I couldn't not get it for you.” She added sheepishly.
“Enid. Are you familiar with a fabric patterned like this, but in white and red?”
Enid looked startled. “Wow. You catch on quick. It was supposed to be a surprise, but yeah, I got a matching one in white. No, red though– not really my color, ” She laughed.
Vague. Too vague. There was work to be done.
But first,
“I got you a gift as well.” Proudly, Wednesday presented Miss Kansas City to Enid.
“Oh… Thank you,” Enid held it. “I mean, it’s a bit creepy… But, uh, I love how soft her curls are!”
“It’s made from real human hair,” Wednesday informed her. Enid set the doll down quickly.
“Anyways, any chance I can convince you to come to the Welcome Waltz tonight?”
“I’d rather break both my legs.”
A knock from outside the door.
“If this is another groupie, I’m trapping our front door.”
It wasn’t. It was Ajax with a ugly plushie in tow.
“Hey, Wednesday! Is Enid around?”
Enid had immediately hidden behind the door upon realizing it was Ajax knocking.
“No. Out with the pack.”
“Oh… well. How was your summer?”
“I scalped a serial killer.”
Ajax laughed, “That’s Wednesday for awesome, right?” He gripped the plush tight, “Enid gave us your address, so I hope you enjoyed my letters. I took a page out of your book and gave creative writing a try.”
“Do you need help with something, Ajax? Your narrative voice, perhaps?”
“No- no. I like my flow where it is, just uh-” He held out the plush, “Could you give this to Enid? Tell her I’d like to waltz with her tonight?” He was so nervous. It poured off him in waves.
Wednesday looked at the atrocity in his hands, then at his bashful smile, and back to the plush. She pinched the horn, slammed the door in his face, and tossed it to Enid.
“Thanks, roomie~ You’re the best,” Enid sounded distraught. “I know the only thing you hate more than color is teen relationship drama, but I could really use a Wednesday perspective on all this.”
“Machiavelli once said that friendship is watching a person’s slow drip of miseries and feeling honored to be present for their most dismal moments.”
“You really know how to make my day,” Enid replied, only a little starstruck.
“Twenty-five words or less. Go,” Wednesday began to move her new dress and apparel to the closet.
“I’m not sure how I feel about Ajax anymore. He’s sweet! And cute. But… he’s still in love with the old me, and I’ve changed,” Enid looked down at the plushie dejected. Then paused, face lighting up, “Hey, look at that! Exactly twenty-five words.”
“Then tell him what you just told me,” Wednesday sighed, hand on the closet door.
“If I do that, then it’ll be like an arrow through his-”
A crossbow bolt launched past both their heads.
“Ahh! You arrived ten minutes ago! Why are people already trying to kill you?!”
Wednesday paused on the crossbow hidden in her closet and noticed the position. Angled. Her eyes traced the trajectory to where something was now pinned to the far wall.
Thing scampered over in interest. It was another note on plain stationery:
“And now, to punish me, she keeps afar her jocund band,With the merry, merry pipe, and the tabor, and the lute; If I creep near yonder oak she will wave her fairy wand, And to me the dance will cease, and the music all be mute.”
You are not as smart as you think.
“So. What the hell are we looking at?” Enid already sounded tired.
“Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho. Seems my stalker likes the classics.”
“You have a stalker?”
“Don’t be jealous. They are more of a nuisance at the moment than anything else.” Wednesday pulled the paper from the bolt and hesitated. It lasted only a moment: that knee-deep doubt. But it was more uncertainty than Wednesday ever allowed.
She closed her eyes and focused. Her mind emptied. The basin filled. And Wednesday ignored the newfound flaws in her perfected vessel.
The birds flew past first. The forest was electric with sin, but that wasn’t why Wednesday was here. No. It was the crows. They moved with a sentience unbecoming. Rally called against a blue van.
And it was gone. Throwing Wednesday back to the present. She could feel the heft of Enid’s gaze on her face. “Are- are you okay?” Enid pointed to the black fluid rolling down her cheek.
Wednesday wiped it away as quickly as she registered it. Not soon enough, however. “I’m fine. I have crows to find.”
Enid stumbled, following after the shadow of Wednesday’s small figure.