Chapter Text
My name is Wednesday Addams, and by the time I finish this story you will realize there are no heroes or villains in this world.
Only outcasts.
My story begins in the place where I experience the most torture and unfortunately it's not the pleasant kind.
High school.
I'm not sure whose sick idea it was to put hundreds of hormone-raging teenagers into underfunded schools run by people whose dreams were ripped apart in adolescence, but I do admire their sadism.
As I walk down the hall, the sounds of familiar whimpering and pounding from the locker next to mine fills my ears. The rusted metal breathes and dents with every hit, flakes of paint drifting softly to the floor.
They really should mop in here.
“Wednesday,” Pugsley whispers quietly. “Anyone?”
I stare at the locker, unsure whether to open it or enjoy my brother's suffering a little longer.
I would love to leave him groveling in this position. However, I'm an Addams, which means I can only enjoy his suffering if I'm the one who inflicted it.
I take my sweet time turning the dial knob on the locker.
9-7-8
Pugsley spills out like melted ice cream, red-faced and slick with sweat, gasping like he’s just surfaced from deep water.
“Oh my God, Wednesday,” he gulps. “I am so happy to see you.”
I can smell the desperation coming off of him in waves. A pungent scent of fear and meekness.
It’s nauseating.
“I want names.”
I grab him by his shirt, twisting the fabric around my hand, so he understands I mean business.
“I don't know who they were, honest! It happened so fast,” he squeaks.
“Pugsley, emotion is weakness. Addams are not weak,” I deadpan. “Pull yourself together, or I will do much worse than shove you in a locker.”
He stares at his sneakers, shoulders folding inward. A look of defeat shadows his face. I keep my defeat internal: deep down where it belongs.
“I’ll be better,” he says quietly. “I won’t let you down again.”
I can feel the guilt bubbling up inside me. I push it back down immediately.
I do love Pugsley — though I’d sooner gargle bleach than admit it. The world is cruel to people like us. The sooner he builds a cold exterior, the better.
Down the hall, a pack of jocks laugh and shove each other.
I can feel the familiar electrical sensation crawling up my spine.
My head snaps back like a thumb across a sparkwheel.
I can see Dalton and his friends forcing Pugsley into the locker. Their taunting filling the air, while Pugsley’s terror is evident.
Two can play that game.
My head slams forward, leaving me with the dull echo of whiplash.
“Uhm, Wednesday?” Pugsley whispers. “Are you alright?”
His eyes are wide and full of worry, searching quickly over my face.
Sigh.
When will this boy learn to hide his emotions?
“I’m fine,” I snap.
I’ve recently been plagued by visions, a touchy subject, to say the least.
I remember my first vision like it was yesterday.
Probably because it was yesterday.
I woke up with the sensation of a spider creeping up my neck. It’s furry legs stroking my vertebrae. My family and I were sat at the dining table, the place where we come together to pretend everything is normal.
For the first time in my life, I looked visibly uncomfortable.
Publicly.
Against my training.
“Is everything alright, my little death trap?” Father asked. “You look paler than usual.”
“Don't be silly darling, she's just finally taking after her mother.” Mother said, gazing into my father's eyes. “I became a bit more fair at her age.”
A bit more is a serious understatement; she makes the finest ivory look off-white.
I looked over at my father, so enthralled by my mother that he’d stopped eating his favorite snack: mice on toast with grape jelly.
I felt ill.
Everyone knows mice on toast goes best with peanut butter.
“May I be excused?” I asked, pushing away my plate.
“Why yes, you may,” Mother said, furrowing her brow.
I fled up the stairs to my bedroom, finally satisfied with being alone.
That's when I felt it.
The electrical feeling started in my chest, desperately crawling up my neck, leaving a searing burn in its path. My head cranked back showing me the future.
One I wish I wasn’t a part of.
I saw a glimpse of myself in the backseat of our limo. My parents in front of me.
Disappointed. What else is new?
My head jerked forward like it was on a spring.
I knew exactly what this meant.
The special time in every young Frump girl's life when she finally becomes a woman.
I heard a knock at the door.
“Wednesday?” Mother's voice floated through. “Is everything all right?”
“Come in, Morticia.”
The word hung between us like a blade. A sharp one, threatening to cut the ties of mother and daughter.
She entered slowly, shutting the door with deliberate gentleness.
The kind that precedes violence.
“You may address me as Mother,” her voice was scarily low. “Anything else would be…unwise.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I was stoic on the outside and terrified on the inside.
It’s not her that scares me.
Her shoulders eased, her face softening as she made her way over to me, pulling up a chair.
“I don't understand,” she said, voice cracking. “Have I upset you in some way?”
When she tilted her head, her silky black hair fell perfectly over her shoulder, never a hair out of place.
Per usual.
My mother does love us: in her own dramatic, operatic way.
I think.
Even the suggestion of disrespect sends her spiraling into gothic despair.
“No, it’s just… I don’t know how to say this.”
A laugh slipped out of me.
Sharp. Foreign. Wrong.
I slapped a hand over my mouth.
I know better than to express any signs of glee. That was…alarming.
No one told me that the visions came with side effects of insanity.
If this is what visions do, I may request an exorcism.
Although, the last one didn’t do much.
Mother stared at me, wide-eyed, her chest heaving up and down.
“Did you just..?” she trailed off.
I swallowed the second laugh clawing up my throat. Keeping my emotions in check has been difficult as of late. I find myself doing many things I used to refuse to do, such as crying myself to sleep every night.
“Mother, I am now a woman,” I declared.
“I thought you were taking after your Uncle Fester for a minute. You scared me!” She exhaled, finding relief. “You know your emotions can get a little crazy around that time of the month. I want you to know there is no need to be shy—getting your period is very normal—”
“Not my period.” I interrupted. “A vision.”
I searched her face for the approval I'll never admit I want.
A grimacing smile spread across her face. “That is wonderful news indeed, Wednesday.”
She stood abruptly. Unsteady.
Her legs began to shake, color seeping into her face.
If it wasn’t blasphemy, I’d say that she almost looked alive.
Perspiration dotted across her brow.
I don't know as much about my mother as I wish, but I know that she never sweats.
“Should I get father?” I looked her over, searching for signs she might actually be dying.
“That would be lovely.”
She collapsed in a dramatic flourish, still not a hair out of place on the ground.
Her default method of fainting.
“Uhm, hello. Earth to Wednesday.” Pugsley snaps his fingers in front of my face, yanking me from the memories of yesterday.
“I have to go.” I say, already turning away.
Those jerks aren’t going to get away with what they did to Pugsley. I also don’t mind a distraction from the conversation with my parents awaiting me when I get home.
My mother spent yesterday sick in bed, apparently worried I would turn out like her twin sister, my Aunt Ophelia.
Crazy. Missing. Destitute. Extremely good-looking.
I decide to skip my classes. My usual routine.
I find them mundane and my teachers nothing more than puppets of the state.
I go outside and dial father’s number.
“Hello, daddy's little guillotine,” his voice cracks through the phone. “I see you’re skipping class again.”
“Let's cut to the chase. I need your help. This is the third time today I've had to let Pugsley out of his locker.”
“What do you need from me?” He sighs, clearly upset.
Pugsley is the mini version of him; of course he takes this personally.
I’m not the mini version of my mother. She wanted a son, not a daughter.
Pugsley is the apple of my parent’s eyes.
I'm the speck of dust.
“I need you to see a man about a fish. I'll be waiting out back.” I state.
“Anything for you, pickles.”
Out of all of my father's nicknames for me, pickles is my least favorite.
“And Father, whatever you do, do not tell mother about this, or I will be forced to tell her what actually happened to her Venus Flytrap.” I warn.
“I can't believe you’re blackmailing your pops,” he laughs. “I'm so proud of you! Don't worry, this is our little secret. I wouldn't dream of telling her.”
I hang up the phone. I know he wouldn’t dream of telling her.
He never sleeps.
He spends every hour of the night staring at my mother. They really do have the perfect love story on paper.
It disgusts me.
It feels like hours before my father arrives with the piranhas.
“Pickles,” he whisper-yells out the car window. “I got the stuff.”
I pop the trunk open, “I’ll pay you later.”
“It’s for your brother,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Consider it a gift.”
He helps me package the piranhas into loose baggies before wishing me luck and speeding away.
I’m sure this is so he can have deniable culpability.
I make my way down to the pool where Dalton and his friends are having water-polo practice.
“Hey, look! It’s the freak,” Dalton jeers.
“Hey, freak! This is a closed practice!” Ryan, Dalton's best friend, yells, tossing the ball my direction.
I say nothing, choosing to simply stare. I won’t give them the satisfaction of being graced with the presence of my voice.
I know one thing though: the only person who gets to torture my brother is me.
I drop the baggies into the pool. The plastic hitting the water with a splash before sinking to the bottom.
I watch Dalton and his friends try to swim as fast as they can, but my piranhas are quicker.
The pool quickly turns the color of red Kool-aid as the sweet penny scent fills the air, overpowering the chlorine.
Along with their screams.
I watch the piranhas get to work, their razor-sharp teeth filleting Dalton's skin.
A satisfying death by a thousand cuts.
This is the best day of my life.
It is, unfortunately, followed by the worst day of my life.
My vision has come true.
Rhiannon by Stevie Nicks plays softly on the radio while my parents refuse to keep their hands off each other. Their moaning fills the air as they tongue-wrestle, giving me a slight demonstration of how Pugsley and I were made.
A demonstration that I have seen many times, always against my will.
I hate kissing. I find it unpleasant. Unnatural.
Aggressive.
Pugsley gets the luxury of riding in the front seat.
My parents finally break away long enough to notice my irritation.
“Darling, how long are you going to give us the cold shoulder?” My mother pouts.
“Lurch, please inform my parents that I am still not speaking to them.”
I watch Lurch roll his eyes in the rearview mirror before grunting my message to my parents.
“I promise you, my little pit viper. You will love Nevermore! Won't she, Tish?” Father says, his enthusiasm a little too exaggerated.
Surely this is to cover up the fact that he was my co-conspirator in the piranha incident.
However, as much as I enjoy stitches, I am no snitch.
“Of course she will. It's the perfect school for you. You’ll make lots of friends, and you'll finally be among peers who understand you,” Mother coos.
She is wrong.
I hate living in the shadows at home and I know I will hate living underneath her shadow at Nevermore.
She was Captain of the Fencing Team, Queen of the Dark Prom, and President of the Séance Society.
I have no intention of following in her footsteps.
“Listen,” Father says. “Nevermore is like no other boarding school. It's a safe haven for outcasts. It's magical! It's also where I met this beautiful woman beside me.”
He leans in to continue their makeout session.
I have to put an end to this.
“You guys are making me feel extremely nauseous, and not the enjoyable kind.”
“Darling, we aren't the ones who got you expelled. That boy's family was going to file attempted-murder charges, and how would that have reflected on us?” Mother says. “Everyone would have known that you failed to finish the job, and that is not how we raised you.”
That stings worse than any bee could.
I would have finished the job if it weren’t for JROTC practicing outside and coming to “save the day.” I guess those first-aid lessons really did pay off.
Although when I was tackled, their footwork was shoddy…amateurs.
We roll up to the gates of Nevermore.
The sky is overcast, lightning cracking across the clouds. It disturbs me that such beautiful weather accompanies my being dropped off here.
Against my will.
The campus is huge and tiny at the same time, with the main square appearing to sit at its center.
Lurch and Pugsley stay behind to unpack the limo while my parents and I make our way to the headmaster’s office.
I expect to see a man.
I don’t.
The woman behind the oak door is unnaturally tall and imposing. Her blonde hair an exceptionally light shade, which makes her choice in lipstick all the more ghastly.
Unlike my mother, her complexion is akin to cheap ivory: off-white eggshell.
She stands behind her desk, pretending to look at a piece of paper. As I look around, I notice she permeates every inch of the room with her presence through her choice of decor.
My mother's eyes are scanning too, before locking in on the Medusa fireplace.
I swear, if I come home to one of those, I will scream bloody murder.
The woman finally looks up at us, motioning for us to sit.
”My name is Larissa,” she says, taking a seat. “You may address me as headmistress Weems.”
”You may address me as Ms. Addams,” I respond.
She isn’t amused, neither are my parents.
“Wednesday is certainly a unique name. I’m guessing it was the day you were born?”
Larissa's voice is very posh, unexpected, and annoyingly polished.
I hate it.
“I was born on Friday the 13th.” I say.
“Her name comes from a line in my favorite nursery rhyme: ‘Wednesday’s child is full of woe,’” my mother interjects, “I was born on a Monday-”
“I know.” Larissa looks my mother up and down. “‘Monday’s child is fair of face.’ You always had such a unique perspective on the world, Morticia. Did your mother tell you we were roommates back in the day?”
She oozes false positivity.
I can see the auric slime of it dripping onto the hardwood floor.
I turn around to watch my mother’s reaction to being cut off.
Her nostrils are flared and her eye is twitching, but the faint rosiness on her collarbone tells me she’s flattered.
Despite the slight insult, she’s drinking up the attention. I’m sure she likes that she has stayed on Larissa’s mind rent-free after all these years.
I can’t tell who has a hold on whom, but I’m about to find out.
“And you graduated with your sanity intact? I can’t imagine the shenanigans you two got up to—” I quip, raising my brow. “What was it: a lesbian love affair, shoplifting, vegetarianism?”
“We wouldn’t dream of being vegetarians and it was before I got with Gomez, so it wasn’t an affair.” Mother scoffs. “Although, it was a triangle.”
I think she’s joking until I look over at Larissa’s face.
Mortification.
It’s painfully obvious her façade is meant to cover up the fact that she is still in love with my mother.
Larissa clears her throat. “Wednesday, I trust that will stay in the confines of this office.”
It won’t.
She continues, “Moving on, I see you’ve attended eight schools in five years. Why is that?”
“They haven’t built one strong enough to hold me — or my lesbian triangles.”
I hear my father stifle a laugh.
“What Wednesday means to say is that she greatly appreciates the opportunity,” Mother says through gritted teeth.
Larissa sticks her tongue in her cheek before glaring me down.
“Nevermore doesn’t usually accept students mid-term, but given Wednesday’s perfect grades and your family’s long history with the school, I’ve spoken with the board, and we’ve made an exception. I’ll be personally selecting your schedule!”
Her grin is as wide as the Chesire cat.
“Larissa, what about Wednesday’s, um…therapy sessions? The court ordered them,” Mother whispers behind me.
I roll my eyes.
“The school has a good relationship with a therapist in Jericho. She can meet twice a week. I’ll drive Wednesday myself.” Larissa says, pulling out a planner to make a note.
My father reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Did you hear that, my little storm cloud? You’re in excellent hands!”
“Let me guess. I’ve been assigned to my mother’s old dorm, Ophelia Hall.”
Larissa nods slowly, looking me over.
She seems impressed by my perceptiveness, while I am verklempt at her predictability.
“Refresh my memory — Ophelia’s the one who commits suicide after being driven mad by her family, correct? I’m starting to feel as if I can relate.”
The truth is I always relate.
Larissa purses her lips, “To be frank Ms. Addams, I doubt you feel much at all.”
Bitch.
But at least she put respect on my name.
She stands, towering over me. “Now, shall we go meet your new roommate?”
We make our way down the winding staircase toward Ophelia Hall.
Remnants of my mother's time at Nevermore line the walls. Trophies. Photo ops. Medals.
It appears that no matter where I run to, I will never escape her legacy.
“Alrighty, here we are,” Larissa says, pushing open the wooden door in front of us.
If it wasn’t for the fact that my mother feared I was going criminally insane, I would have screamed my head off.
The room is drenched head to toe in color, clinging to every surface like gum on a shoe.
In the middle of the room stands what I can only assume is my new roommate. Her blonde hair contaminated by the pink and blue streaks clinging to the bottom. She’s doe-eyed and quite thin. She’s actually very adorable, which I find pathetic.
Even worse, she reeks of werewolf.
“Hey there roomie! My name’s Enid!” She sticks out her hand.
I stare at it.
Her nails are impeccable, although her choice of color is garish.
“I'm guessing you're not the touchy-feely type. Are you feeling alright?” she asks, retracting her hand and avoiding eye contact.
“Half-dead is Wednesday's normal color. If she begins to look alive, then you should call for emergency services” my father chimes in, wagging his finger.
He’s not joking.
Unfortunately.
Enid looks terrified, pulling at the strings on her sweater.
“You’ll have to forgive Wednesday, darling. She's been acting strange lately.” Mother says, leaning in. “She's recently become a woman.”
Enid nods apologetically. “Don't worry, I keep Tampax and chocolate in my bottom drawer. You’re more than welcome to help yourself! Mi casa es su casa.”
She flashes a thousand watt smile. I can tell she's been hitting the whitening strips a little too hard.
I resist the urge to correct her poor Spanish pronunciation, although the teeth in my cold dead heart are gnashing at the opportunity.
“She's allergic to color, dearest. She'll break out into hives, and then flesh will peel off her bones. That might be an issue considering your room is quite…vivid,” I hear mother say behind me, searching for any kind word she can find.
I’m more annoyed that she hasn’t corrected Enid. The last thing I need is her believing I have PMS. The mere concept of a menstrual cycle is beneath me.
Luckily, my grandmother Hester helped me get a hysterectomy behind my mother's back when I stayed with her last summer. A little fact that I have no plans of sharing with anyone soon.
No uterus. No baby.
No baby. No case.
“I can't believe that Morticia Addams just complimented me!” Enid squeals. “And no worries about the allergy, I'll be extra careful!”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Does everyone here know my mother?
As if she reads my mind, Larissa leans forward, whispering in my ear. “You will find that Morticia has left quite the unscrubbable legacy, and believe me, I’ve tried to scrub.”
She says that last part under her breath with the clear contempt of unrequited love. By the posturing of my mother's body, she definitely heard her.
Good.
Larissa straightens back up, “It also helps that Enid here is my daughter.”
I find that hard to believe. Larissa doesn’t strike me as the motherly type—or heterosexual.
This day cannot get any worse.
How can my new roommate be Larissa's daughter?
You can't convince me that she managed to keep a man under her glittered thumb long enough to make a baby.
However, if she wants to make my time here miserable, then I have no problem playing hardball, starting with corrupting her daughter.
“Enid, sweetheart, could you please take Wednesday down to the registrar’s office and pick up her schedule, as well as her hypoallergenic uniform? Give her a tour of her new home away from home.”
Larissa turns to me with the same predatory smile of a serial killer.
“Welcome to Nevermore, Wednesday Addams!”