Work Text:
This was never supposed to happen. The outcome Wednesday had expected was far less terrifying than what was standing before her now. She and Pugsley had played with a ouija board hundreds of times and nothing like this had ever happened. Usually they would talk to an ancestor or two. Once they got Elvis on the horn, but not this. This was terrifying. It was unholy. It made Wednesday for the first time in her life want to get down on her knees and pray.
“Mother?” Pugsley gasped, looking at the strange woman in front of them.
“It can’t be,” Wednesday said, shooting back from the round table in utter shock.
“Of course it is, only now she looks like Aunt Ophelia!”
Wednesday shook her head, refusing to believe any of what she was seeing. She was so elated when she realized she and Pugsley had summoned a demon that she called in whoever was closest to come celebrate. What she did not expect was for the demon to fly into their mother and promptly change everything from the color of her hair to the pallor of her skin.
Morticia, at least it was Morticia’s body, looked around the room in startled confusion. “Oh my God, what is this place?” she asked in a voice that was clearly not Morticia’s. It was… bubbly. How horrific.
“Mother, are you alright?” Pugsley asked, taking a tentative step toward her.
“Who are you calling Mother, young man?” Morticia asked, taking a step back from Pugsley. “You look like you just got out of juvie in that outfit!”
“Because I did!” he exclaimed. “You were so proud!”
“I’m going to get Father,” Wednesday said, looking at her now blonde and confused mother with apprehension. “Don’t let her leave.”
Wednesday dashed out the door, fear propelling her to move faster than ever before. She found her father in his study, smoking a cigar without a care in the world. “Wednesday! What's wrong?” he asked as she ran in.
“I’m not sure how to explain it,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the chair. “You just need to come with me.”
“Wednesday! Wednesday, can you please hurry up!” Pugsley was calling as they rushed down the hall. “I’m scared!”
“Okay, I don’t like that attitude, young man.”
“Who is that with your brother?” Gomez asked as they rushed toward the door, not recognizing the strange voice coming from within.
“Brace yourself,” Wednesday sighed.
“Oh, it's just Ophelia,” Gomez said in relief as they walked in the seance room. “I mean, that's not thrilling, but I was worried for a minute.”
“That isn’t Aunt Ophelia,” Pugsley said, a terrified look on his face as he ran to Gomez’s side.
“It's Mother,” Wednesday said, half hiding behind Gomez.
“You guys are funny- aye dios mio!” Gomez cried as Morticia turned around. “Tish?”
Morticia squinted at him before looking down at Wednesday. “Why did you bring the gardener in the house?”
“Excuse me?” Gomez gasped.
“Whos suit are you wearing?” Morticia asked, waving her hand, which now had french tipped fingers instead of her normal red, in a very prissy fashion. “I know you couldn’t afford that yourself.”
Gomez gawked at Morticia, clearly stunned speechless.
“Mother…” Wednesday said tentatively. “This is Father… your husband.”
“No, no, no way,” Morticia said, jutting her hip out. “Kids, does he habla anglaise?”
“I’m so scared,” Pugsley muttered.
“Can someone please tell me what the hell happened?” Gomez cried.
“We may have summoned some kind of demon,” Wednesday began.
“And it flew through Mother,” Pugsely continued.
“And now she’s a… Karen, apparently.”
Morticia rolled her eyes as she flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Listen, I am just as confused as everyone else and I would like an explanation now. What is this place and who are you people? I’m having a hard time believing you’re my family. You all look sickly. And Mexican.”
“I’m Castilian!” Gomez cried.
“Oh, is that your gang?” Morticia whispered. “Oh God, I’m sorry if I offended you, please don’t rob the place.”
“I live here!” Gomez yelled. “I would be robbing myself! Sounds fun, actually…”
“Maybe the demon gave her amnesia, along with the total change in appearance,” Wednesday suggested. “Or we’re just speaking to the demon and it never left,” she added quietly as she eyed Morticia with apprehension.
“How many times can a member of this family get amnesia?” Gomez asked as he put his arms around Wednesday and Pugsley. “You both remember what I was like! I was a nightmare!”
“Why don’t we reintroduce ourselves? Maybe it will jog her memory,” Pugsley suggested before looking back at Morticia. “I’m Pugsley, I’m your son.”
“Pugsley?” she gasped in horror.
“I’m Wednesday, your daughter,” Wednesday continued.
“What?”
“And I’m Gomez, your husband,” he said tentatively.
“Okay, well no,” Morticia said, shaking her head. “If this is really my life, I am making some changes.”
“It's not your life, demon, it's our mother’s” Wednesday said.
“You watch your mouth or you’re going to be on a time out,” Morticia shot back. “First things first, I need to go change. This dress is repulsive, I look like Stevie Nicks. Then after that, we’ll talk about changing your names.”
“What?” Wednesday and Pugsley said in unison.
“You,” Morticia said, snapping at Gomez, “Chico, show me where my room is.”
Gomez’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.
“Be strong, Father,” Wednesday sighed, patting his back. “Remember, she suffered through this with you.”
“Yeah, the difference was my amnesia didn’t make me racist.”
…
“So…” Gomez said as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “This is it.”
Gomez watched her apprehensively as she frowned at the bedroom. Could Wednesday’s theory have been right? Was there a demon in his wife currently, or did it just pass through her and leave this in its wake? In all honesty, he was hoping for the former because then they could at least try and exorcise it. However, if the demon just left this destruction, Gomez wasn’t sure what they could do to make it right.
“Oh this decor is horrendous. Did you take your inspo from Ozzy Osbourne? We just need some live, laugh, love signs, some pink throw pillows, a white bedspread.” Morticia frowned as Gomez gagged at that idea. “Where's the closet, Pedro?”
“That isn’t even remotely close to my name,” he muttered under his breath. He walked over to the closet and pushed the door open. “I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for, Morticia.”
“Ugh, that name.” She shuddered. “I’m all for being unique, but that's going a step too far. Call me Tisha instead.”
“Not just Tish?” he asked in desperation.
“No. Tisha. End of.” She walked into the closet and let out an ear splitting screech. “Gonzo, what the h-e- double hockey sticks is going on in this closet?” She stormed out, holding one of her signature dresses. “Black? They’re all black! Who has the money in this place?”
“Me!” Gomez yelled. “I have the money!”
She raised an eyebrow, looking Gomez up and down. “I’m still struggling with that. Did you win the lottery or something?”
“No! Why do you now assume that I can’t be independently wealthy?” Gomez cried in distress.
Morticia pursed her lips and threw the dress to the side before looking him up and down. “I don’t think I should say. I know that some of you snowflakes get all touchy about stuff like this.”
“Morticia… did you just utter the word snowflake? When not referring to PRECIPITATION FROM THE SKY?”
“Oh my God, Alonzo, chill out.”
“Closer, that's my middle name at least. Darling, I can understand that you have gone through… something. However, I won’t stand for you stereotyping me, that has to stop here and now. I’m a proud, Latin man and if you have a problem with that you need to suck it up and get over it.”
Gomez froze after he finished his monologue. That was the first time in their extensive relationship that he had ever so much as spoken harshly to Morticia in any capacity. He almost didn’t think he had the ability to do that. However, this may not even be Morticia he’s talking to. If this was a demon, it was a nasty one, and he didn’t feel too bad about snapping at it.
Morticia huffed as she started to examine the ends of her obnoxiously blonde hair. “Whatever, Gorgonzola.”
“Gomez!” he shouted, shocking himself once again. “My God, Tish, I’ve never shouted at you before… I’m sorry.”
“Take me shopping and we’re even,” she said flippantly. “Gomez.”
…
Gomez Addams had seen evil. He had seen horror. He had seen the unholy maggots which feast in the dark recesses of the human soul. But up until now, he had never seen his wife argue with a sales person, and he was terrified.
They were at the counter at Saks and Morticia had heaped armfuls of gaudy, brightly colored clothing over to the poor salesperson who was just trying to do her job. Morticia, it would seem, was out to make this poor girl’s life a living hell and was seemingly enjoying it as she did so.
“That was supposed to be on sale,” she said, tapping her finger on the cheetah print dress that Gomez considered to be an eyesore. “You did not ring it up correctly.”
“I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “I’ll fix it.”
“It's not hard,” Morticia shot back.
“Querida, go easy on her,” Gomez pleaded.
“Ugh, where are we, Gomez?” Morticia asked, turning around to face him.
“Um… a department store?”
“In what country?”
“America,” he said flatly.
“Right, so speak english!” she yelled before turning back around to accost the sales girl once again. “Careful! That's Chanel!”
“Oh, Tish,” he groaned. “Chanel, that's French!” He leaped forward and started kissing her arm, only to get a giant smack to the side of his head in response.
“Can you not?” she said through gritted teeth. “My God, are you an animal?”
“Be flattered that I’m still attracted to you in this state!” he shot back. “All blonde and… bitchy.”
“You complain a lot,” Morticia said as she turned her attention back to the register.
“Says the woman who complained about the radio stations the entire ride to the cursed mall,” Gomez said under his breath.
“Oh, no, no,” Morticia said, her tone condescending. “No, that cannot be the correct total. Do it again.”
“It's fine how it is,” Gomez said, jumping in with his card before Morticia could berate the girl further. “Money isn’t an object.”
“No, you’re not wasting my money like that,” Morticia said, grabbing his hand before he could insert the card. “I would like to speak to your manager.”
“Aye dios,” Gomez groaned, feeling a physical pain run through him. He could have sworn that sentence coming out of his wife’s mouth made his balls shrivel up into his body. It was as if an icy chill settled over the room. He wanted to scrub his brain of any memory of his wife asking for a manager.
“Again with the Spanish. We’re in America!” she turned back to the girl. “Manager, now.”
“I am so sorry, she isn’t herself,” Gomez whispered, feeling mortified beyond comprehension.
He needed a way to fix Morticia and he needed it fast. This new her was horrifying. He could have dealt with everything else had she still seemed interested in him in any way, but she seemed indifferent to him at best. It hurt, it really did, though he knew this wasn’t actually Morticia. And he should have felt better knowing Mama was working on a cure, at home but he probably wouldn’t feel better until he had his Morticia back. His Morticia, who didn’t even ever want to go to the mall in the first place and would never dream of yelling at a sales person.
As if the mall nightmare would never end, Morticia insisted on going to Starbucks. Though Gomez rather enjoyed coffee and could often be found snacking on coffee grounds, Starbucks was not a place he thought he would ever set foot in.
“Hi, how are you today?” the barista asked as they stepped up to the register.
“I want a venti, skinny vanilla latte, no foam, no whip, with an extra shot, a sprinkle of cinnamon, just a sprinkle, I do not want to be choking on it, with a dash of soy milk, half caff or else I get jittery, with a pump of chai,” Morticia rattled off at lightning speed.
“I… could you repeat that?” the poor barista whimpered, looking between the cup in her hand and Morticia. “I got about half of it.”
“What, are you deaf?” Morticia shot back.
“Tish, please, you did just rattle off a list the length of Moby Dick,” Gomez cut in as he shuffled the copious amounts of shopping bags in his arms. “Isn’t just a black coffee good enough?”
“What am I, 80?” Morticia snapped. “I said what I said. Can I speak to your manager?”
“I’m going to kill myself.”
…
“Mama, any word?” Gomez asked, sneaking into the kitchen once he returned from the dreadful trip to the mall. “My wife, though I still love her dearly, has become truly insufferable.”
“I’m working on it!” Mama said with a wave of her hand. “Wednesday believes wholeheartedly that Morticia is demonically possessed.”
“Yes, well, the woman I spent the day with was pure evil. And not in the sexy way,” Gomez said, rubbing his temples. “Every store we went in she had to speak to the manager and she threw an extra hot latte in a barista’s face, so I think I’m siding with Wednesday on this.”
“Gogo,” Morticia said as she abruptly entered the kitchen, making Gomez and Mama jump in shock. She was wearing all white beneath a fuzzy pink jacket, which made her look like a republican muppet. It was terrifying, to say the least. “We need to talk about the kiddos names.”
“What… what about them?”
“I’m thinking we change them to Payxton and Wensleigh.” She shrugged as she examined her nails. “They’re much more now, don’t you think?”
“No. They’re staying as Wednesday and Pugsley,” Gomez retorted, looking to his mother for support.
“Morticia, you should go lie down,” she said as she turned back to the potion she was brewing.
“Ugh, for the last time, I want everyone to just call me Tisha,” she snapped before looking down at her phone. “Morticia is a horrendous name.”
“It's a beautiful name!” Gomez cried.
“Anyway, what's for dinner tonight?” Morticia asked, ignoring them both. “It better be vegan.”
Mama snapped her head up. “What the hell did she just say in my kitchen?”
“Vegan,” Morticia repeated, stringing the word out. “Gogo, are we putting her in a home or what? She doesn’t seem very ‘with it.’”
Mama picked up a large carving knife and was about to hurl it at Morticia before Gomez swiftly plucked it from her hand. “That is still Morticia’s body and I will not have you impaling it,” he whispered.
“Are you sure? She doesn’t even look like her!”
Gomez glanced back at Morticia as if to be completely sure. “Yes, yes, it's her body. This isn’t Invasion of the Body Snatchers!”
“But Morticia looks strikingly like one of the actresses in that movie…”
“Mama, please focus!”
“What are you guys whispering about?” Morticia asked, her new, snippy tone sending a shiver down Gomez’s back.
“Nothing,” Gomez sighed. “Perhaps Mama is right, you should go lay down for a bit, my dear.”
Morticia was about to make some retort when Uncle Fester walked in. He gave Morticia a once over before letting out a scream. “Who the hell is that?”
“Excuse me?” Morticia asked, clearly affronted. “Who the hell are you, Curly?”
“Morticia has gone through… some trauma,” Gomez said gently. “We need to all be patient with her.”
“That's rich,” she said with an eye roll. “Patient with me? You’re all giving me a migraine.”
“A lobotomy will fix that,” Fester said.
“Rude.”
“Don’t be too offended, Uncle Fester,” Wednesday said as she and Pugsley also walked into the kitchen. “She’s possessed.”
“Oh, well that's fun!”
“No it's not,” everyone else said all at once.
“Oh, good, the kiddos are here!” Morticia said, ignoring everyone else and the possession accusation. “Listen, here are your new names. You’re now Wensleigh and you’re Payxton.”
Both children’s eyes went wide. “Someone fix her, now,” Wednesday said through gritted teeth.
“I don’t need to be fixed,” Morticia said with an eye roll. “I’m staying. Now, I’ll be in the library watching Jaclyn Hill tutorials on Youtube.”
“Oh no you’re not,” Gomez said under his breath. “Not on my watch. I’m getting my wife back.”
…
Feeling fully convinced that his wife wasn’t just suffering from some lapse in memory and was in fact a demon, Gomez was even more determined to fix the situation. Night time had rolled around after a catastrophic attempt at a vegan dinner, which made him nearly vomit onto his plate. What the hell was a quinoa in the first place? He wasn’t even sure how to pronounce it. However, now it was usually his favorite time of day… and he was determined to keep it that way....
“Tish, my darling,” he said, pulling her into an embrace once they stepped into the bedroom.
“Oh God, oh, ew, no, get off of me,” she said, squirming out of his hold.
Gomez tried not to be too offended. This wasn’t his Morticia, after all. “But darling, it's… bedtime.”
“Yeah, you aren’t sleeping with me, buster,” she said, shaking her head. “Go find a spare room.”
Gomez sighed through gritted teeth. “Whatever you say, my dearest.” He stepped out the door, acting like he was leaving before shouting, “now!”
Before Morticia could process what was happening, she was rushed and tackled by the rest of the family. Lucky for them, the bed came prepared with restraints, a fact that Wednesday and Pugsley were mildly disgusted by.
“Get off of me, you criminals!” Morticia screamed as she thrashed against the restraints.
“Flattery will get you nowhere!” Fester yelled.
“I am calling the police!” she screamed. “You’re all a bunch of thugs!”
“Again with the flattery,” Fester said with a shake of his head. “This is for your own good!”
“Get out of our mom, demon!” Wednesday said, jumping up to sit above her head.
“Yeah, I don’t like blonde Mom,” Pugsley added as he helped Wednesday hold her head still. “She’s mean. And not even in the fun way.”
“Payxton, you will respect your mother!” Morticia all but growled.
“Do it now, Father,” Pugsley begged. “I can’t stand the name Payxton.”
“Mama, the vile,” Gomez said as Mama passed him a small, crystal vial full of clear liquid. He climbed up on the bed and straddled his thrashing wife. “Normally I enjoy doing this under very different circumstances.”
“I don’t want to leave this body,” came an inhuman voice from Morticia’s mouth. “It's built far too nicely for me to just give it up!”
“I quite agree,” Gomez said as he uncorked the bottle. “Which is why I must insist you leave it. I would like my wife back.”
“But there's no manager to complain to in Hell!”
“That's a fair point,” Mama said offhandedly.
“Mama!”
“Okay, okay, we can have sex once a week if you let me stay,” the demon pleaded, to which Gomez laughed loudly.
“That goes to show how much research you did. Goodbye, demon.”
As Fester forced her mouth open, Gomez poured the liquid in, putting blind faith in his mother that she brewed the perfect potion and wasn’t going to poison his wife without her consent. She let out an ear splitting scream and began thrashing even harder than before.
“Children, come over here,” Gomez said, ushering them off the bed and safely away from the exorcising demon.
“This is so cool,” they said in unison, peering around Gomez to watch.
“Should we whack her?” Fester asked.
“Absolutely not!”
For Gomez, the next few moments felt like an eternity. In reality, the scene only lasted about thirty seconds as a hazy ball of black light shot out of Morticia, buzzed around the room, and crashed through the window and out into the night.
Everyone was silent for a moment, and for a while Gomez thought the worst, until Morticia slowly picked up her head and looked around the room in confusion. “Querida?” he tentatively asked, taking a step towards her.
“Gomez? What is going on? Why am I tied up… in front of everyone… wearing a ridiculous outfit?” she asked, shaking her head so her once again raven colored hair was out of her eyes.
“It is you!” he yelled before jumping on the bed and pulling her into his arms. “Thank heavens, for a moment it was touch and go.”
“Does someone want to explain what happened?” Morticia asked. “And also untie me? This isn’t necessarily something I ever wanted the children to see.”
“You were possessed by a demon,” Wednesday explained as she sat beside her.
“Oh how fun,” Morticia remarked.
“No it wasn’t,” said every other person in the room.
“You were a total Karen!” Pugsley exclaimed. “You kept calling us Payxton and Wenseligh!”
“You made several sales associates cry,” Gomez added.
“You demanded I make a vegan dinner,” Mama threw in.
“Oh my…” Morticia sighed as she sat up, pulling the horrendous pink jacket off and flinging it toward the fire place. “That sounds awful. I’m certainly glad the demon is gone.”
“Me too,” Gomez said. “I’m glad you no longer think I’m the gardner.”
“No,” Morticia gasped, raising her hand to her mouth. “Don’t tell me it was a racist demon.”
“Big time. You kept telling me to speak english since we’re in America.”
“Oh, Gomez, I’m so sorry,” Morticia said, winding her arms around him. “How did this even happen in the first place?”
“We were just playing with the ouija board like normal,” Wednesday explained. “I guess this demon was desperate to come through. It shot into you when you came into the room.”
“Well let's be very sure that nothing like this happens again, alright?” Morticia said, once again looking at her outfit in disgust. “My God, this is like the time Gomez had amnesia.”
“But worse,” Gomez said.
“That may be debatable,” Morticia added under her breath.
“We’re just happy you’re back,” Mama cut in. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”
“Mama, wait,” Gomez said quickly. “What was in that potion?”
Mama laughed. “You’re not going to believe it. It was just holy water.”
“Where do you even find something like that?” Fester asked.
“I had to go to a church,” Mama said in a scandalized tone. “They gave me dirty looks but I got the goods.”
With a laugh, everyone said their goodbyes and left, leaving Gomez and Mortcia alone with the aftermath. He smiled happily and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love your hair, don’t ever change it. And on that note, let's get you out of these horrendous clothes.”
“Please do,” she purred, eagerly unbuckling her Gucci belt.
“I’m so glad you are no longer disgusted by me,” Gomez said, his lips moving to kiss her cheek.
“Darling, that wasn’t me,” Morticia said softly. “You could never disgust me, not in a million years. It was just a dumb demon.”
“A dumb demon indeed. Now, how about instead I show you how a demon should behave.”
“Please do.”