Chapter Text
Bonus Chapter: The Follicular Reckoning
Wednesday entered Cousin Itt’s room at precisely two minutes past midnight.
The door made no sound.
She had oiled the hinges earlier.
Enid followed behind her, carrying a black canvas bag in both hands.
Pugsley came next with a tool roll under one arm, his expression solemn with the dignity of an engineer approaching sacred machinery.
Thing slipped in last and shut the door behind them.
The guest room was dark.
Heavy curtains covered the window. A single candle burned low on the writing desk, casting long shadows over the walls.
Cousin Itt slept in the centre of the bed.
Or, at least, Wednesday assumed he slept.
It was difficult to tell.
He resembled a pile of hair that had reached a peaceful understanding with gravity.
His hat rested on the bedside table.
The translator device sat beside it, silent.
Enid glanced towards Wednesday.
“Are we sure about this?”
“No.”
Enid blinked.
“That was not the answer I expected.”
“I am sure about the revenge. I am not sure about your ability to remain silent if you begin laughing.”
Enid pressed her lips together.
“I can be quiet.”
Wednesday looked at her.
Enid took a deep breath.
“I can try to be quiet.”
Pugsley unrolled his tools across the desk.
“I still think we should have used the spiders.”
“No,” Enid whispered.
“They were trained.”
“No.”
“They wore tiny saddles.”
“Pugsley.”
He sighed.
“Fine.”
Wednesday crossed to the bed and stared down at Itt.
For several days, he had made their lives intolerable.
His first lecture had turned Wednesday into Nevermore’s most eligible student.
His second had included a slide titled Why Wednesday Addams Is Difficult But Worth It.
His third had ranked Pugsley’s childhood explosions by theatrical merit.
His fourth had included an entire section on Addams courtship traditions, during which he had helpfully displayed a photograph of Wednesday aged six holding a ceremonial dagger and glaring at a wedding cake.
Then he had attempted to add Enid’s courtship letter to a slideshow.
Wednesday had confiscated the projector.
He had produced a backup projector from his hair.
Pugsley had called that both impressive and unforgivable.
Now justice had arrived.
It carried a canvas bag.
And a tool roll.
And possibly divine endorsement.
The candle flame bent sideways.
A shimmer of green light moved along the wall.
Tyara’s face appeared faintly in the glass of the darkened window.
She smiled.
“Is he asleep?”
Wednesday did not turn.
“You said you would ensure it.”
“I did.”
Itt snored.
It sounded like a small engine caught in a hedge.
Tyara’s smile widened.
“He is dreaming of cheese, applause and a very flattering waistcoat.”
Enid leaned closer to Wednesday.
“Is that normal?”
“For Itt, yes.”
The goddess’s voice softened with amusement.
“I will keep him dreaming.”
Wednesday looked towards the window.
“This is not assistance.”
“Of course not.”
“You are merely present.”
“Unofficially.”
“Interfering.”
“Artistically.”
Pugsley picked up the hat.
Wednesday’s eyes moved to him.
“Do not damage it permanently.”
Pugsley looked offended.
“I’m not an amateur.”
“You once made Father’s pocket watch scream.”
“It gained personality.”
“It bit Lurch.”
“That was also personality.”
Enid placed the canvas bag on the floor.
Thing opened it.
Wednesday looked at the contents.
Her expression did not change.
Enid looked at the contents.
Her shoulders began shaking.
Wednesday pointed at her.
“No laughter.”
Enid clamped both hands over her mouth.
Pugsley peered inside.
His grin became dangerous.
“Beautiful.”
“No commentary,” Wednesday said.
“This is art.”
“It is vengeance.”
“Same family.”
Thing handed Wednesday the first item.
Wednesday accepted it with the gravity of a surgeon receiving a scalpel.
Enid stood at her side, still fighting laughter, eyes bright and wicked.
Pugsley bent over the hat.
Tiny tools flashed.
A wire was removed.
A crystal was adjusted.
A spring was wound.
Something inside the translator gave a faint squeak.
Pugsley froze.
Itt snored.
Tyara’s green light pulsed once.
The snore deepened.
Pugsley resumed working.
Wednesday and Enid worked in silence.
Mostly.
Every so often, Enid made a tiny strangled sound and had to bury her face against Wednesday’s shoulder.
Wednesday allowed this because it reduced the chance of exposure.
And because Enid was warm.
Neither reason was romantic.
Probably.
Thing assisted with admirable dedication, though he did request a photograph for personal archives.
Wednesday denied him.
Then reconsidered.
Then allowed one.
For evidence.
The hours passed.
At one point, Pugsley stepped back from the hat and wiped his hands on a cloth.
“Done.”
Wednesday examined his work.
Nothing appeared different.
That was promising.
“What did you do?”
“Enhanced clarity.”
“Pugsley.”
“Adjusted pitch.”
“Pugsley.”
“Improved audience engagement.”
Wednesday stared at him.
He smiled.
“You’ll like it.”
“I rarely like anything.”
“You’ll appreciate it.”
“That is more probable.”
Enid leaned over Itt and made another dangerous sound.
Wednesday placed one hand over her mouth.
Enid’s eyes watered with the effort not to laugh.
Tyara hummed through the window.
“Almost dawn.”
Wednesday surveyed their work.
A faint satisfaction settled through her.
It was not enough.
It would never be enough.
But it was a beginning.
She stepped back.
“Remove all evidence.”
Thing began gathering supplies.
Enid wiped down the bedside table.
Pugsley replaced the hat exactly where it had been.
Wednesday adjusted the blanket over Itt with disturbing gentleness.
Enid looked at her.
“That was weirdly sweet.”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed.
“It increases the psychological impact.”
“Of course.”
They slipped from the room as quietly as they had entered.
Behind them, Cousin Itt continued sleeping.
On the dark window, Tyara’s reflection remained.
The goddess looked at the bed.
Then burst silently into laughter.
By morning, Nevermore had achieved a fragile state of anticipation.
The previous day’s race had already become legend.
Half the school had argued over whether Enid’s ravine jump should count as strategy or insanity.
The council had remained overnight, partly because formal statements still required signatures and partly because Bastian had won money and wanted witnesses.
The Addamses and Sinclairs filled the central tables again.
Morticia sat with one hand resting over her magically advanced pregnancy, looking serene.
Gomez looked blissfully exhausted from several consecutive emotional events.
Pugsley appeared unusually focused on his porridge.
This made him immediately suspicious.
Agnes noticed.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“You are smiling into oats.”
“I enjoy oats.”
“You once called them grave paste.”
“They matured.”
Agnes studied him.
Then looked towards Wednesday.
Wednesday sat beside Enid with her hands folded, face perfectly blank.
Agnes looked at Enid.
Enid was biting the inside of her cheek.
Agnes slowly smiled.
“Interesting.”
Rosin entered with the posture of someone prepared for disaster but no longer foolish enough to believe she could prevent it.
The council sat nearby.
Severin reviewed papers.
Maribel quietly sipped tea.
Torren spoke with Enid’s parents.
Bastian appeared to be waiting for entertainment.
Tyara occupied a chair no one had placed there, eating blackberries from a bowl she may or may not have stolen from Gomez.
She looked radiant.
Rosin noticed.
“No.”
Tyara blinked innocently.
“I have said nothing.”
“That is what concerns me.”
Breakfast progressed.
Toast was eaten.
Tea was poured.
No explosions occurred.
Wednesday began to suspect Itt was oversleeping.
Then the dining hall doors opened.
A hush fell.
Small footsteps clicked across the stone.
Cousin Itt entered.
For three seconds, no one moved.
Then Ajax dropped his fork.
It clattered against his plate.
Cousin Itt’s hair was no longer its usual warm brown curtain.
It had been dyed in vivid bands of colour.
Red curled into orange.
Orange bounced into yellow.
Yellow spiralled into green.
Green tumbled into blue.
Blue sprang into violet.
Every inch had been set into glossy, perfect curls that puffed outward in rounded layers, springing and bobbing with each step.
He looked like a prize-winning poodle that had been struck by a rainbow and decided to pursue aristocracy.
His hat sat proudly on top.
Too proudly.
Possibly unaware of its own crimes.
The entire dining hall stared.
Cousin Itt stopped.
His hair bounced.
He spoke.
The translator emitted a voice so high-pitched that several glasses trembled.
“GOOD MORNING.”
Silence.
Then Pugsley made a noise.
It began as a choke.
Then became a laugh.
Enid collapsed forward against the table.
Ajax screamed.
Bianca slapped both hands over her mouth.
Micah fell sideways into Silas.
Fester applauded.
Cousin Itt turned.
His curls sprang.
The translator squeaked:
“WHY IS EVERYONE LOOKING AT ME?”
That finished them.
The dining hall erupted.
Students howled.
The Sinclairs lost all dignity at once.
Caleb buried his face in his hands.
Jonah turned red from trying not to laugh and failed.
Silas pointed, then realised pointing was rude, then pointed again because the situation required it.
Micah wheezed.
“Rainbow poodle.”
Cousin Itt’s hair bristled.
This made the curls bounce higher.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”
The translator’s chipmunk voice made the accusation sound like it had been delivered by an outraged squirrel.
Bastian slammed one hand on the table, laughing.
Torren leaned back with a grin.
Maribel’s shoulders shook.
Corvin had hidden his face behind one wing.
Ysadora whispered something to the empty air beside her.
Whatever answered made her laugh too.
Severin alone attempted dignity.
He lasted four seconds.
Then the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
Rosin stood very slowly.
Her gaze moved from Itt to Pugsley.
Then to Wednesday.
Then to Enid.
Then to Tyara.
The goddess looked at her with perfect innocence.
“I slept very well.”
Rosin closed her eyes.
“That was not my question.”
“You had not asked one.”
“I am afraid to.”
Cousin Itt reached up and touched his curls.
His hands froze.
Then moved faster.
His whole body shook.
The curls sprang in every direction.
The translator squealed:
“WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY HAIR?”
Wednesday lifted her teacup.
“An improvement.”
Itt spun towards her.
“WEDNESDAY FRIDAY ADDAMS.”
The name emerged as a furious chipmunk trill.
Enid made a strangled sound and hid against Wednesday’s shoulder.
Wednesday did not move away.
“You should thank whoever did this,” she said. “The colour placement is mathematically competent.”
Pugsley nodded gravely.
“The symmetry is excellent.”
Itt turned towards him.
“PUGSLEY PUBERT ADDAMS.”
Pugsley winced.
“Low blow.”
The translator squeaked again:
“MY VOICE.”
Agnes studied the hat.
“Your pitch has altered.”
“I NOTICED.”
“Fascinating.”
Pugsley looked proud.
Agnes glanced at him.
“You did that.”
“No.”
“You are glowing.”
“I’m always radiant.”
“You smell like solder.”
He sighed.
“Fine. I improved the hat.”
Itt’s entire body quivered with outrage.
The curls jiggled violently.
“IMPROVED?”
Pugsley spread his hands.
“Your lectures lacked range.”
Wednesday looked at Itt.
“You have spent three days weaponising family history.”
Enid lifted her head, still red-faced from laughter.
“You put Wednesday’s childhood fencing injuries in a slideshow.”
Itt’s curls dipped.
The translator squeaked:
“EDUCATIONAL CONTEXT.”
“You ranked my romantic prospects,” Wednesday said.
“PUBLIC INTEREST.”
“You attempted to add my courtship letter to your presentation.”
“CULTURAL IMPORTANCE.”
“You used a backup projector concealed in your hair.”
Itt hesitated.
The curls drooped slightly.
“INNOVATION.”
Pugsley pointed at him.
“You showed everyone the explosion rankings.”
“They were flattering.”
“My number three explosion was clearly number one.”
Wednesday looked at him.
“That is your complaint?”
“Accuracy matters.”
Morticia had been watching with shining eyes.
“My children.”
Gomez clasped both hands beneath his chin.
“They have avenged themselves together.”
“Beautifully,” Morticia said.
“Collaboratively.”
“With style.”
Cousin Itt turned towards them.
“YOU APPROVE?”
Gomez looked at his cousin.
“You do look magnificent.”
Itt’s curls bounced.
“THAT IS NOT THE POINT.”
Grandmama Frump leaned forward.
“The blue section brings out your shoes.”
Itt looked down.
Then back up.
“MY SHOES ARE NOT VISIBLE.”
“Exactly,” Grandmama said.
Tyara clapped softly.
“I think the curls are delightful.”
Rosin turned towards her.
“Did you assist?”
Tyara placed one hand over her heart.
“I did not touch his hair.”
Wednesday sipped her tea.
Truth.
Rosin’s eyes narrowed.
“Did you help keep him asleep?”
Tyara smiled.
“Dreams are private.”
“That is not a denial.”
“It was not meant to be.”
Itt pointed at her.
The translator shrieked:
“BETRAYAL.”
Tyara looked delighted.
“No, no. Unofficial facilitation.”
Enid lost control again.
She laughed so hard that she slid partly down in her chair.
Wednesday looked at her.
“Control yourself.”
“I can’t.”
“You are a true Alpha.”
“He sounds like he inhaled a helium banshee.”
Pugsley looked offended.
“That took precise engineering.”
Itt advanced on him.
Every step made his curls bob.
Pugsley stood.
Agnes casually lifted her garden shears from beside her plate.
Itt stopped.
The translator squeaked:
“WHY DOES SHE HAVE THOSE?”
Agnes looked calm.
“Breakfast.”
“THAT EXPLAINS NOTHING.”
“It rarely does.”
The council had given up on solemnity.
Bastian wiped at his eyes.
“I second the improvement.”
Severin tried to regain order.
“This is highly inappropriate.”
Itt turned towards him.
His curls swayed majestically.
The translator piped:
“THANK YOU.”
Severin looked at him.
“I did not say it was not funny.”
The vampire elder’s composure cracked.
Bastian began laughing again.
Rosin inhaled.
Then exhaled.
“What precisely do you expect me to do?”
Itt pointed dramatically at Wednesday and Pugsley.
The translator squealed:
“PUNISH THEM.”
Wednesday set down her teacup.
“On what grounds?”
“VANDALISM.”
“You have no proof.”
Itt gestured at himself.
“I AM THE PROOF.”
“You are the outcome.”
Pugsley nodded.
“Important distinction.”
Enid wiped tears from her eyes.
“Also, you look amazing.”
Itt froze.
The curls bounced one final time.
“AMAZING?”
Enid nodded, still grinning.
“Honestly? Yes. The rainbow is working for you.”
Wednesday looked at her.
“You are encouraging him.”
“I’m not wrong.”
The hall began murmuring agreement.
A vampire girl called, “The curls are iconic.”
A werewolf shouted, “Ten out of ten.”
Someone near the back yelled, “Projector hat voice forever.”
Itt straightened.
The curls rose with him.
His body language shifted.
Just slightly.
From outrage to consideration.
Cousin Itt had always been vulnerable to applause.
Cousin Itt was, at heart, an artist.
He turned in a slow circle.
The curls moved beautifully.
The room applauded.
Gomez leapt to his feet.
“Bravo!”
Morticia joined the applause.
Fester whistled.
Grandmama banged her cup on the table.
Tyara threw green sparks into the air.
Itt stood in the centre of the dining hall, rainbow curls gleaming beneath the morning light, hat squeaking softly atop his head.
Then he bowed.
The translator chirped:
“I ACCEPT YOUR ADMIRATION.”
Wednesday closed her eyes.
Pugsley stared.
“He’s keeping it.”
Enid leaned against Wednesday’s shoulder, still laughing.
“He’s definitely keeping it.”
Itt turned towards Wednesday.
His curls framed the hat like a technicolour halo.
“YOU ARE STILL MY FAVOURITE NIECE.”
Wednesday opened her eyes.
“I am your only niece present.”
“IRRELEVANT.”
Pugsley folded his arms.
“What about me?”
Itt faced him.
“YOU HAVE EXCELLENT ENGINEERING INSTINCTS.”
Pugsley blinked.
The compliment landed harder than expected.
Then Itt added:
“AND POOR JUDGEMENT.”
Pugsley smiled.
“Family trait.”
Rosin sat down.
“I refuse to write this up.”
Severin nodded.
“The council will not record it.”
Bastian leaned over.
“I will.”
“No,” Severin said.
Cousin Itt climbed onto a chair.
The translator voice squeaked loudly over the hall:
“NEW LECTURE TOPIC.”
Wednesday went still.
Enid stopped laughing.
Pugsley’s smile faded.
Itt lifted one tiny hand.
“THE ADDAMS ART OF REVENGE.”
Wednesday looked at Pugsley.
Pugsley looked at Wednesday.
Enid leaned between them.
“Absolutely not.”
But the hall was already cheering.
Cousin Itt’s curls bounced with triumph.
His voice rang out across breakfast in the pitch of a jubilant chipmunk:
“SLIDE ONE.”
The hat projected onto the wall behind him.
A photograph appeared.
Wednesday, Enid and Pugsley entering his room at midnight.
Enid gasped.
Pugsley stared.
Wednesday’s eyes slowly moved towards Tyara.
The goddess smiled.
“Unofficially.”
Wednesday’s knife was in her hand before anyone saw her draw it.
Tyara laughed and vanished into green sparks.
The dining hall roared.
And Cousin Itt, rainbow-curled, poodle-fluffed and chipmunk-voiced, began the most successful lecture of his career.
--FIN--