Archive of Our Own

“Christmas lights already?” Gomez muttered irritably to himself, staring out the front window. It seemed that it had only been Halloween yesterday, but unfortunately December had already arrived, and with it came that sickening Christmas spirit. He puffed at his cigar, the smoke providing a thin curtain between himself and the garish flashes of red and green. He wouldn’t consider himself a Christian, not in this way. The holiday had been twisted into something far too plastic for him to ever connect with.

“Horrible, aren’t they?”

Morticia stepped out of the darkness, embracing her husband from behind. He let his head fall onto her shoulder.

“Querida, they haunt me. How am I supposed to enjoy the moonlight with that thing staring from across the street?” He gestured with his cigar to a cheery plastic Rudolph with enormous eyes, his red nose flickering on and off to illuminate the painted smile on his face. It seemed to mock him. His mustache twitched as he curled his lip. “If I have to look at it one more time, I’ll set fire to their house.”

Morticia ran a hand through his slick black hair, her nails caressing his scalp and coaxing him to relax slightly. “Let them have their fun. As much as it pains me to look at them, they cannot take our own traditions with something as silly as colored lights.” She smiled. “Perhaps choosing a grater for the latkes this year will lift your spirits? They’ve all been sharpened very nicely.”

Gomez turned to his wife, his eyes regaining their usual light as he smiled back at her. “Perhaps it will. Kitchen?”

The pair of them secured their weapon of choice- a vintage French grater passed down through the Frump family for decades- and within minutes, Gomez remembered exactly what he had to look forward to. How lucky he was to have a Jewish wife, someone to celebrate all of December with and distract him from the sad commercial excuse for Christmas surrounding them. Soon, the kitchen would be full of scents that filled him with excitement. The pungent aroma of onions, drawing tears from his eyes, of potatoes, earthy and tender in sizzling hot oil, of apples boiling away into fresh sauce.

“Test it for me?” Gomez glanced at the grater, then up at his wife, who smirked at him.

“Of course.” She slid her fingertip over the sharp steel, her lips pressing together when it drew blood. With a pleased nod, she presented her hand to her husband. The contrast of red against white was striking, even in the dim light. “Perfectly sharp.”

Gomez grinned wildly, grasping at her hand and pressing eager kisses to her knuckles. There had never been a year where the graters were too dull, but when they could cut through flesh so easily, it thrilled him every time. He took her index finger into his mouth, dutifully cleansing it of the blood that dripped there. She tasted of salt and copper. Morticia let out a soft hum, her eyes fluttering shut. Overcome with a rush of adrenaline, Gomez lifted his head, but before he could ask his wife if she would like to move to the bedroom, Wednesday poked her head into the kitchen.

“Mother? Father?”

The pair pulled away from each other to address their middle child. “Yes darling?” Morticia replied, allowing Gomez time to take a breath and calm his fiery blood.

Wednesday stepped through the doorway, deciding to ignore whatever nonsense her parents had been engaged in moments prior. “I’d like to invite Joel over for Hanukkah this year,” she stated. “For our feast on the first night.” Despite the simplicity of her request, her normally stern face betrayed a bit of emotion.

“Glicker?” Gomez had finally caught his breath, and he smiled. “Of course! It’s so nice when the little fellow comes around.” The young boy had attended Pubert's first birthday party several months ago, and he fit right in with the family. He glanced at his wife. “As long as it’s okay with you, cara mia?”

Morticia smiled fondly at her daughter. “Absolutely. He’s a good Jewish boy, it would be our pleasure to host him. Joel is free to come over whenever he wishes."

Wednesday was silent for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder. A sulking Joel Glicker emerged from behind her, wrapped tightly in a coat with a nasty bruise on his face. "What about right now?"

"Thanks again for letting me stay over, Mrs. Addams." Joel glanced up gratefully at Morticia, snuggling into the straitjacket-like sleeping bag on Wednesday's floor.

"It's no trouble," Morticia assured him. "Every child runs away from home eventually. We're happy to provide a place to run to."

"I'm going to murder your mother," Wednesday said to him for what must have been the thirtieth time that day.

Joel grimaced, his hand raising to touch the bruise on his cheek. "C'mon, Wednesday, don't. Please. She's not usually this bad."

"And she won't ever be again if we kill her!" Pugsley chimed in from underneath Wednesday's bed. Though he had a perfectly good room all to himself, he jumped at the prospect of a sleepover, and by extension, the chance to rattle his sister's bed early next morning.

Truthfully, Joel appreciated the support. Even Pubert seemed to be filled with murderous intent when he had explained his situation to the family a few hours ago. He didn't want them dead, not really, but he had not been looking forward to another Hanukkah with his parents. All their fighting and kvetching had worn him down over the years, and this blow to the face was the last straw. He needed some space, whether they were willing to give it to him or not. "I just wanna rest right now," he admitted, and the other two children nodded in understanding.

"Rest well- and scream if you need anything, Joel." Morticia placed a kiss on Wednesday's forehead, then kissed her fingertips and pressed them to Pugsley's temple underneath the bed. "Unpleasant dreams, children."

"More potatoes! Damn it, we're out already? Where did they-- FESTER!"

Grandmama glared daggers at Fester, who somehow had at least three raw potatoes shoved into his mouth. He dropped his jaw, letting them tumble to the floor. "They're so good when they're still covered in dirt," he said sheepishly. "I couldn't resist."

"Just eat the peels like you're supposed to!" Grandmama scolded, giving him a tap on his head with a large spoon. "Ridiculous man."

She picked up one of the potatoes, passing it to Pugsley who stood at the sink. The entire family had formed an assembly line to prepare the latkes, and each person had their own special job. Grandmama, of course, supervised each one of them, occasionally turning back to her cauldron where she was boiling some applesauce. Under her watchful eye, Pugsley scrubbed each potato with a hedgehog bristle brush until it was cleansed of all dirt- or saliva, in this case. He passed them to Wednesday, who peeled each one as if she were performing surgery. There was no need for a garbage can, as Fester grabbed each piece of the peel and swallowed it down eagerly. The potatoes moved down the line to Gomez, his sleeves rolled up as he hand-grated each one into a large bowl. Morticia stood beside him, grating onions and delicately blinking back tears. As soon as the bowl was full, Lurch scooped the grated ingredients into a black cheesecloth, draining all of the moisture with one firm squeeze. Each Addams knew the recipe by heart, but he was the one to mix in the rest of the ingredients. Starch, egg, matzoh meal, baking powder, a dash of salt, a dash of pepper, they were foregoing the hensbane this year, as poor Joel didn't have an immunity built up, but they would still be delicious.

"This is amazing," Joel murmured, shifting the baby in his arms. Though he was a guest, he had asked multiple times to help the family prepare, and was tasked with holding Pubert. Hanukkah in the Addams household was still very new to him as well, and the little fellow was squirming with excitement. Joel leaned forward slightly, watching as Thing flipped each latke until it was golden brown. The perfect potato pancakes were piled high on the porcelain plate next to the severed hand, and they made Joel's mouth water. "My parents never made latkes like these."

"How do they make them?" Wednesday asked, idly tossing the last potato peel to her uncle.

"Box mix," Joel mumbled, a bit ashamed.

Wednesday made a face at him. "They're monsters."

"This is an old family recipe," Morticia informed him. She had finished grating the onions, and once her hands had been wiped clean with a damp dish towel, she took her infant son into her arms again. "Passed down through the Frump family for generations. The process of hand-grating each ingredient is very important to us."

"Makes them taste better when you add a little blood, sweat, and tears," Gomez agreed, wiping his brow.

"You poor thing. I don't know how you managed all those years with box mix latkes," Morticia remarked with a frown. "I'm sure your family has their reasons, but you can hardly taste any triumph through suffering when it's all packaged up for you."

"It's not that bad," Joel replied with an embarrassed shrug. "They were Maneschewitz."

Morticia shook her head sadly, then turned as her youngest child tugged at her hair. He was reaching with his free hand towards the stove, babbling joyfully at the hot, shimmering oil left from the potato pancakes. A wonderful teaching moment for him.

“Children,” she prompted. “Do we remember why we eat foods fried in oil during Hanukkah?”

Wednesday's eyes lit up as she began to recount the story. "The Seleucid empire destroyed our temple," she began. "And our sacred oil lamp."

"So the Maccabees fought back!" Pugsley chimed in, grasping for a nearby knife and stabbing it into a cutting board. He tugged at it, trying to get it unstuck. "Judah Maccabee and… and his brothers, they led a rebellion…" 

Wednesday rolled her eyes and stepped beside her brother, pulling at the knife with him until it finally sprang free. Her brother smiled at her, and she gave him a curt nod. "And they won."

"They slaughtered those jerks, and restored the temple!" Pugsley continued, waving the knife in the air much to little Pubert's amusement. "And the oil lamp!"

"They only had one night's worth of oil, but they lit it anyway." Wednesday looked up at her baby brother, who was quite enthralled with the story. He wriggled in his mother's arms, as if getting closer to his sister would reveal the ending more quickly. Wednesday smiled. "And the oil was so flammable that it burned for eight whole nights. The Seleucids could never stop the Jews."

Morticia gave her children a pleased smile, leaning in towards her husband who embraced her from her left side. She had taught them well. "Never in a million years." She placed a gentle kiss on Pubert's head, and he gurgled happily.

Joel looked on at the happy family with a longing that ate away at his soul. He had heard this story a thousand times before, he had eaten countless latkes and learned every facet of his history, but never like this. Every single member of the family was passionately getting into the spirit. It seemed the only passion his family had lately was for yelling.

"Stella, you can't be like this every year- he'll never learn how to do it if you don't let him try!"

"Ah- ah- ah! I don't wanna hear it!"

"Stella-"

"Mal, I don't wanna hear it! Joel will not be flipping latkes, he will not be setting foot in this kitchen, he will not be breathing in oil fumes- run the fan, why don't you, be useful!"

"Don't talk to me like that- you're right there, you run it!"

"I'm busy! I have my hands full!"

"Put the damn spatula down! Put it- Joel, how did you get in here?!"

"I just wanted to see-"

"Everyone step away from the stove! Do you hear me? Step away, now!"

"Joel?"

Joel blinked, snapping back to reality as he realized Morticia was speaking to him.

"Yeah?"

"You may want to step away from the stove, darling. Disposing of the oil is Pugsley's favorite part."

With a sly smile, Fester stepped forward to offer Pugsley a small black box of something, but the boy shook his head. "No, not those. I wanna try it differently this year." He glanced at his mother, and at the baby in her arms. "I want Pubert to help."

Gomez and Morticia shared a quick glance, but they seemed to silently agree that there would be no harm in it, and Morticia handed the infant to her eldest son. Pugsley grinned. Once Lurch had exited with the platter of latkes and the family had backed to the furthermost kitchen wall, he advanced towards the stove, bouncing his baby brother in his arms. He stood in front of the shimmering oil in the pan, Pubert's face reflected in it in a twisted yellow portrait.

"It's all you, buddy," Pugsley stated, his grin widening as he slapped a hand onto Pubert's back. The baby belched out a billowing flame, which immediately exploded into the most glorious grease fire that the family had ever seen. In the true spirit of Hanukkah, it burned brightly for eight full minutes, charring the walls to a beautiful shade of black until Lurch returned to suffocate it with a large metal cookie sheet.

"Hey, Wednesday… that's really your menorah?"

"Yes. What else would it be?"

Joel's mouth hung open in awe at the piece of metal the butler was polishing. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. In fact, when he had first spotted it, he was sure it was some sort of torture device, but there was a strange beauty to it that his family's standard bronze menorah didn't quite capture. Nine twisted black spires stretched upwards, reaching higher and higher as they spiraled round each other, and each unforgiving spike skewered a flat, gray stone.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Morticia smiled at the boy, then at Lurch who had finished polishing the glorious centerpiece to their Hanukkah dinner table. "Both functional and sculptural. It was my mother’s."

"Palombo," Gomez stated proudly, a cigar in one hand and the other resting gently on his wife's back. "Wonderful artist, that man. Brutalist. I recognized his work immediately when Morticia first showed me this piece." He took a slow drag from his cigar, watching as Lurch skewered the first candle on the lowest iron spire. "Died in a tragic motorcycle accident- thrilling stuff, truly. May his memory be a blessing." He flashed Joel a grin, and Joel smiled nervously back.

“Tell us the story of how you got the menorah,” Wednesday encouraged her mother.

Morticia smiled at her daughter, rather amused. “I’m surprised you’re not tired of it. I tell it every year.”

“Please?” Pugsley pressed. “For Pubert.”

“And Joel,” Wednesday added. Joel nodded in agreement- he was incredibly curious.

Morticia’s smile widened. “Well, all right.” She looked at Joel, then at her infant son, wrapped safely in Grandmama’s arms. “As your father said, it was sculpted by the wonderful David Palombo. My mother met him on her birthright trip to Israel when she was only twenty-two and in the midst of a bit of a faith crisis. They happened to get along quite well, and they exchanged letters even after she returned home. She was always apologizing for her broken Hebrew- though she can still speak it better than I can- but he didn’t seem to care. He was simply happy she was making an effort to practice it just so they could write to one another. A few years later, when raising a family had nearly run her dry and she had little left to her name, he sent her the menorah as a gift. He left no commentary in the letter he sent with it, just his name, and a single line in Hebrew.” Morticia looked on at the menorah, and spoke as if she was addressing it. "Your name will no longer be Jacob. From now on you will be called Israel, because you have fought with God and with men and have won."

Gomez smiled at his wife fondly, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. He did so love that quote. Morticia smiled back, continuing to speak.

“She passed it down to me- to the family- as a wedding gift. She told me that she would never give her blessing to a strange man I met at a funeral, but as soon as the wedding was announced, she gave it to me and she said ‘Your name will no longer be Frump. From now on you will be called Addams.’ And that was all the blessing I needed.”

Joel nodded slowly. He recognized that passage from the Torah, but he had never truly understood its meaning until just this moment. He felt as if he had been fighting God all his life. Why else would He have given him so many frailties if not to make an enemy of him? But that, he now realized, was the nature of Judaism for the Addamses. Their credo, their entire family’s reason for living was to feast on those who would subdue them, to fight God and win. Their very existence blew smoke into the face of their creator, their ability to prevail against all that came against them was more Jewish than his broken, traditionalist family would ever be.

Lurch grunted softly, placing a matchbox on the table. The shamas stood high on top of the menorah, and the candle for the first night seemed to gaze up at it from the bottom. Joel glanced over at Morticia, who was quietly praising Lurch for his superb efforts in setting everything up. Her husband pulled out her chair, and she sat gracefully, still just as tall and proud as when she stood. The shamas of the family, bringing light to all others. He wished his own mother was anything like her.

“Wednesday, darling, would you like to light the shamas?”

Wednesday smiled wickedly at her mother, striking a match. Any excuse to handle fire was gladly appreciated. “Yes, Mother.”

The family sang a haunting rendition of the traditional Hanukkah blessing over the candles, Lurch's harpsichord providing accompaniment from the next room over. The butler entered the dining room once more to hearty praise and applause from Gomez and a sharp howl from Fester. Once he was finally seated, the family began their feast of latkes and applesauce, yak brisket, eye of tadpole, and jelly donuts. Pubert, in his pillory-like high chair, had opted to eat dessert first, and the deep red jelly gushing from the donut onto his chin made him look like a little vampire. Joel laughed as he glanced over at him, and the baby let out a gleeful little gurgle in return.

"Are you liking Hanukkah so far, kid?"

Pubert shrieked in response and promptly smothered his little face further into the donut.

"That's a yes," Wednesday clarified from the chair next to him. "A very stupid yes."

Joel nodded, grinning. "Figured. He sounds happy."

"Are you happy?"

Joel hesitated, thinking it over. He did feel happy- overjoyed, even. This was the best Hanukkah he had ever had, and it was only the first night. He only wished he could say that about the previous years with his own family. This was beautiful, but all so temporary.

"Mostly." He skewered a piece of brisket on his fork. "Happy, and a tiny bit sad."

"Good," Wednesday replied, not making eye contact with him. "If you got too cheery I'd have to break your legs."

"Ha ha. Very funny." Joel paused, chewing the yak meat thoughtfully. It was delicious, and honestly surprising that he wasn't allergic to it. "Hey, Wednesday? When do I have to leave?" He had been sleeping over for several consecutive nights already. It was the longest he had been away from home aside from camp Chippewa. At some point, he expected the Addamses to urge him to return to his parents. They were probably worried sick anyway, and he felt selfish for not caring.

Wednesday shrugged. "Never, probably. You're stuck here forever." She flashed him an eerie little smile, but he didn't seem convinced. She turned to her parents. "When does Joel have to leave?"

Gomez finished offering his wife a bite of his latke, setting his fork down and turning to the children. "Hmm? Leave?"

"Well, that's up to him, isn't it?" Morticia replied.

Gomez nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. He can stay as long as he likes," he assured them. He paused, a twinkle entering his eye. "At the very least, I'll encourage him to stay even after the eighth night. If he likes the way we handle Hanukkah, he'll love Día de los Santos Inocentes ." Gomez grinned as he spoke of his favorite Christmas tradition- one of the only ones Morticia shared his love for. Deceptively gentle, that name, but it was a Spanish tradition that gave way perfectly to what was almost a second Halloween to him.

"What about Lotería de Navidad ?" Wednesday asked hopefully. "Can he stay for that, too?"

"Ha! Absolutely!" Gomez cried, his spirit increasing tenfold. Each Christmas, he illegally entered the famous Spanish lottery, and each Christmas he lost horribly. He was quite proud of his streak, actually, and adored it when people came to watch the results. He beamed at Joel. "Trust me, old man, you'll want to stick around. This is a holiday you'll never forget."

Joel smiled. He wasn't sure how things could possibly get any better than they already were, but as confirmation of the Addamses ability to escalate any small-scale affair, Fester suddenly lugged a large satchel of genuine golden doubloons onto the table.

"Anyone up for some dreidel? Winner takes all!"

By the eighth night of Hanukkah, Joel was beginning to feel quite at home in the Addams manor, and a week after that, there was hardly anything that could surprise him. He even ended up taking a liking to Bruno, who had tried to bite off his leg the first couple of times he walked by.

"He likes to act tough, but he's really just a doormat," Wednesday had told him, and that pun had sustained him through several bearskin-rug related anxiety attacks until he wasn't scared of him at all anymore.

He and Pubert had grown quite close in that time as well. Part of his attachment was almost paternal- he had always dreamed of being a father, and he had a fair amount of experience babysitting. Gomez and Morticia certainly appreciated his help in entertaining the rowdy infant, and he felt that it was only fair that he offer something in return for them letting him stay so long- not to mention all of Gomez's little childhood suits he had borrowed. At the same time, he felt a certain kinship to the youngest Addams child. He, too, knew nothing of their customs or traditions, and was still feeling his way around the enormous house. If things were ideal, he'd just stay here forever and give the little fellow a second older brother, but life didn't work that way. By now his parents had surely filed a missing persons report, and they would find him here in no time. He was just grateful to receive his own little Hanukkah miracle, and then some. He'd savor it while it lasted. A gentle tug on his slacks brought him back to the present, and he glanced down to see Pubert beaming at him.

"Hey kid. Wanna get swung around a little bit?"

Pubert slapped the living room floor in response, gurgling eagerly. He pulled himself up to his feet by practically climbing up Joel's pant leg, and the gangly teen scooped him the rest of the way up. He had found the baby's favorite way to play that didn't involve weapons was simply being spun in a circle until he was dizzy and cross-eyed. He especially loved it when he spun in sync with the shrill rising tones of the alarm that signaled the mail's arrival each day, and when Joel held out his arms and whipped around to that ever familiar sound, the baby let out a howl of joy.

"Mail's in," Morticia called from her chair, only lowering her knitting needles for a moment to address Lurch as he strolled into the living room. Slowly, the butler reached down to hand Morticia a letter, but before he could let go of it, Gomez burst in at absolutely breakneck speed and skewered all the mail on the end of his rapier. Lurch groaned irritably, and Morticia let out a soft sigh.

"Gomez, darling, I adore your enthusiasm for the mail, but we do unfortunately need most of it in one piece."

"Yes, of course," Gomez replied, catching his breath as he flicked through the letters stacked on his blade. Bills. More bills. Even more bills. Excitement for another time- it wasn't what he had been waiting for. "Sorry, Tish. Sorry, Lurch."

"Are you looking for your lottery ticket?" Morticia asked, a small twitch of amusement playing at the corner of her lips.

"Yes! It was set to arrive today…"

Morticia smirked, reaching under a throw pillow beside her and pulling out a tiny black envelope. "It came late last night. I called your business associate in Toledo and arranged for something special this year, but I do know how you love to open it the night before the drawing."

Gomez grinned, spearing his rapier into the floor and striding towards his wife. "Cara mia, you shouldn't have!" He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand before taking the envelope. Thing, who had been scuttling around nearby, tossed him his gilded letter opener, and Gomez sliced into the envelope as if he was cutting a man's throat. His grin widened when he opened it, and he pulled out not one, but two pieces of paper. 

"Oh Tish!" he cried joyously. " Two chances to lose!" 

He pressed infinite grateful kisses up her arm, and she chuckled softly. "I thought you might like it."

Joel placed Pubert down, thoroughly dizzy at this point, and sat down on the floor with him, clutching his own head. "Wuh… why do you wanna lose the lottery?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Gomez asked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I have no use for the money, it's much more exciting this way. Besides," he added, a twinkle in his eye, "this is no ordinary lottery." He picked up his rapier once more, and swung it dramatically across the room, sending letters fluttering everywhere. "This is El Gordo! The biggest Christmas lottery in all of Spain- in all the world!"

"And you really wanna lose?" Joel asked, still baffled.

"Of course! To keep up the family's streak!" He tossed his rapier away once more, and Thing caught it by the handle to mount it neatly on the wall. "We Addamses have a proud tradition of losing this lottery. My great-great grandfather was the only man in Toledo to lose when he was thirty." He puffed out his chest in pride as he recounted the story. "Everyone else pooled together in groups for the same number, but he got his own ticket. Bought it last minute off the black market for twice as much as it was worth. People always said it was cursed- ever since then, no Addams has ever won again! And I intend to keep it that way!" He laughed, fanning out the two tickets and reading the numbers. "Let's see… ah, this one's unlucky for sure!" He held the first ticket up to Morticia, grinning from ear to ear. "The Devil's number."

"Beautiful, mon sauvage," Morticia purred, smiling back at him. " Le diable vous sourit ."

Gomez grasped at her arm immediately, completely ignoring the second ticket that fluttered to the floor. "That beautiful French…"

"Mr. Addams, your ticket." Joel grabbed the paper rectangle laying on the floor and stumbled to his feet, reaching out to hand it to him, but he was already all too occupied kissing his wife's arm. 

"Keep it," he mumbled against the fabric of her dress. He turned away only for a moment, flashing the boy a grin. "One for my family, one for yours. May we both be losers tomorrow." With that, he turned back to Morticia once more, and as they locked lips in a far more passionate kiss, Joel decided it would be best to scoop up Pubert, sneak out of the room, and continue their chaotic spinning elsewhere.

On the morning of the 22nd at eight o'clock sharp, the entire family was crowded around the television. The winning numbers would soon be read live from the beautiful Teatro Real , and Gomez could hardly contain his excitement. Joel had secured a seat at the front of the crowd with Pubert perched in his lap, and he clutched the tiny ticket apprehensively. He wasn't sure why he was so nervous. There was absolutely no pressure in losing, in fact it was encouraged here.

But what if…

He shook his head. Best to not get his hopes up. He had surely used up his miracles this holiday season. One of the announcers on the television declared something in Spanish, and Gomez flashed Joel an absolutely manic grin. "Ticket ready?"

"Yes, sir."

Two uniformed little school-children on screen began to read out numbers in a sing-song voice, and the entire family leaned in to listen. The enormous cage-like contraptions holding the winning numbers seemed to tremble with anticipation. Each number called that did not match Gomez’s ticket was a little victory, and suddenly Joel understood the appeal to losing. It was a battle to him, a perfectly choreographed little chess game, in which his one move was meant to dodge thousands of his opponents. In that regard, he was succeeding wonderfully.

“ ¡Trece mil ciento veinte! ”

“ ¡Mil euros! ”

Gomez beamed. “Hah! ¡Nada! ”

“ ¡Noventa y seis mil! ”

“ ¡Mil euros! ”

“ ¡De nuevo, nada! ” Gomez turned to Joel. “How are you faring? Losing with me so far?”

“Yeah, so far, I think,” Joel replied, straining to hear the numbers from the television. He wished he had paid more attention in Spanish class.

Wednesday craned her neck to read his number. “You are,” she declared. “You’re not even close.”

“The million euro sections are nothing! You’re not out of the woods yet!” Fester stated, giving his brother a clap on the shoulder. “Wait til they draw the grand prize!”

Joel struggled to comprehend how high the grand prize must be if a million euros was on the smaller end. He glanced down at Pubert, who was babbling along with the children on the television as if he was calling the numbers himself.

“ ¡Quinientos veinticinco mil! ”

“ ¡Mil euros! ”

“¡Veinticuatro mil seiscientos uno!”

“ ¡Mil euros! ”

“¡Cincuenta y dos mil veintiocho!”

“ ¡Sesenta miiil euuuuros! ”

“YES!” Gomez jumped to his feet, laughing maniacally. “That’s it! El Gordo, the grand prize! And I’ve dodged it again!”

“Congratulations, brother!” Fester cried, lifting Gomez into his arms before throwing him to the ground. The entire family had erupted into cheers for his enormous loss, all aside from Wednesday, who stood silently with her eyes locked on Joel’s ticket.

“You won.”

Joel struggled to turn beneath a screeching, flailing Pubert, looking at his friend in absolute disbelief. “I what?”

“You won.”

Pugsley scrambled next to his sister, his eyes popping out of his head when he read Joel’s number. “Lemme see! Fifty-two thousand twenty eight, and that’s- aw, no... holy smokes, that sucks!”

Joel’s mouth hung open, eyes locked on the screen. He could not believe this was happening. “How…? How much did I…?”

Gomez clambered up from the floor, a frown on his face. “What was that about winning?” He glanced at Joel’s ticket and grimaced. “Oof. My condolences. I feel guilty for saying so, but I’m glad I handed that one off to you! Seventy million euros would have broken my streak!” He gave the teen a gentle pat on the back. “Better luck next time.”

“Se… seventy mil…” Joel could hardly form words, and the noise of the room was suddenly drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears. This was crazy . He had become a multi-millionaire in a matter of seconds. He tried to speak, but all he could manage was to open and close his mouth like a dying fish.

“Poor kid. Must be a sore winner,” Grandmama murmured, shaking her head. “Don’t worry. You can get rid of that extra cash real quick if you just invest in a multi-level-marketing scheme. Or a couple New York studio apartments.”

An apartment! Joel’s face broke into an enormous grin. He could afford an apartment away from his parents! He was sure he’d have some trouble getting one as an unsupervised minor, but with this money, he was sure he could weasel his way into just about anything. This was enough for groceries, for transportation, for his countless medical bills, and it all belonged to him. He was free . In such a dismal capitalist society, maybe money did buy happiness after all. Unable to process the intensity of his joy, Joel glanced up at the family, a weak laugh escaping his throat. 

“I think I’m gonna faint.”

About a week later, Joel was almost unrecognizable to those who had known him before. There had been a few legal complications in collecting his winnings- Gomez wasn’t even meant to be entering Spain’s lottery from the United States- but they were slowly being worked out, and with each passing day, the young teen’s confidence grew. That gangly, anxious teen was finally coming into his own. He had been slowly budgeting out what to do with his newfound fortune. Most of it would go to charities, Jewish community centers, various synagogues, but what he kept for himself would fund a brand new life for him. Christmas had come and gone, the carolers had been tarred from the rooftop, and preparations for him to move were already being made.

All he had to do now was tell his parents.

“Something on your mind, old man?” Gomez strolled into the kitchen, a cigar hanging lazily from his lips and his infant son bouncing in his arms. “You look tense.”

“Just this phone call,” Joel replied. In theory it should be easy to cut ties with his mother and father- and in reality, it wouldn’t even be that drastic. He still planned to call, and to visit for the holidays so long as they behaved. It just seemed like it would be a bit easier to love them from a distance most of the time… but he knew how his mother would react to that, and he was not looking forward to it.

“Ah, of course.” Gomez shifted Pubert in his arms, took the cigar from his lips, and handed it to his son. The baby grasped it eagerly, shaking ash onto the ground. Gomez smiled. “Family is a funny thing, is it not? Especially for children. It’s strange to find that your life can be so fully dependent on the actions of spiteful adults.” He paused, turning to face Joel. “Do you know what today is?”

“The twenty-eighth?” Joel tried.

“Holy Innocents’ Day,” Gomez informed him. “An incredible tragedy for children everywhere. On this day in history, King Herod slaughtered all children under the age of two in Bethlehem in an effort to kill Jesus.” He glanced down at his son. “You would not have been spared,” he stated, to which Pubert responded with a laugh.

“That’s horrible,” Joel murmured, his brow furrowed.

“Mm. Isn’t it?” Though his face was perfectly neutral, Joel noticed a small twinkle in his eye. “But even with all the lives he took, he still failed. Mary and Joseph had already fled to Egypt, and Jesus was left unscathed.” He smiled. “A high price to pay for one little boy, but we’ve been laughing at the irony ever since.”

Pubert threw the cigar across the room, letting out an incomprehensible noise and kicking his feet. He had enjoyed the short story, but now he was restless, and wanted out. Gomez placed him down onto the floor, letting him crawl away. “It is a Spanish tradition,” he stated, “to celebrate this day as one big, cosmic joke. I can proudly say that we’ve carried the tradition over to our household quite well, so you’d best watch your back. Folks are already carrying out their pranks.”

“Like April Fools Day?”

Gomez chuckled at Joel. “April Fools Day is child’s play compared to this. No, Día de los Santos Inocentes is far more exciting. More pranks, food fights, role reversals of all sorts… and plenty of delicious treats. I’d much prefer to compare it to Halloween- if only the neighbors respected the tradition, I’d send the children door to door for pastries.” He shrugged, then gestured to a strange decorative cookie jar on the counter. “Thankfully, we have some of our own here. Go ahead and take some if you’d like.”

Joel smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Addams.” He opened the jar, but before he could reach inside, something sprang out at him, smashing a tiny merengue hand-pie into his face. He staggered backwards, falling onto the floor as the family’s disembodied hand scurried across the counter, trembling with amusement.

Gomez doubled over with laughter as Joel struggled to his feet. “Well done, Thing! Fifth person you’ve gotten today!” He sighed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh, good times. Sorry for that, old man. It was too perfect to pass up.”

Joel took off his pastry-coated glasses, shaking his head at Thing with a soft chuckle. “Jeez, what is it with you and jumping out at me like that? Am I just an easy mark to you?”

Thing gave him a thumbs up, then leapt off the counter to scurry into the living room.

“Keep your guard up, Glicker,” Gomez warned him, handing over a damp dish towel. “There’s more where that came from.”

Joel smiled, cleaning the sugary goodness from his face. “You won’t get me that easy next time.” He paused, then sampled a bit of the pie on his glasses, humming in satisfaction. Delicious. He wished more cosmic jokes were this tasty. Unfortunately, he was soon reminded of the nuclear family-sized joke that had been played on him at his birth as soon as he caught sight of the phone across the room. No matter how much fun he had today, he had to call them.

Gomez noticed the frown on the teen’s face, and he approached him, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Morticia has told me of a similar tradition from medieval France. Holy Innocents’ Day was just a portion of the festivities there- they’d call that week the Feast of Fools. On this particular day, it was tradition for a full familial role reversal to occur. Parents would have no authority, and the youngest were given free reign.”

“Wish my family celebrated that,” Joel mumbled, staring at the ground.

“Perhaps it’s time they did,” Gomez told him. He gave him a small smirk. “Would you like to play your first prank of the day?”

“Glicker household, Mal speaking.”

“Mal, old man! It's been quite some time.”

“...who is this?"

“Gomez Addams- we met briefly at Chippewa!”

Click .

"Ah, figures. Perhaps he doesn't remember me," Gomez muttered through the dial tone. "But I won't give up yet." He dialed the number once more.

"...hello?"

"It's about your son."

That got his attention. "About Joel?"

"Yes." He paused for dramatic effect. "The late Joel Glicker."

For a moment, there was such a long silence that he worried the call had been dropped, but a small noise of disbelief on the other line assured him that Mal was still there.

“Don’t say… don’t tell me he’s…”

“Dead? Oh, don’t worry, he won’t be for much longer. My daughter found him sprawled in the middle of the road recently, and since then we’ve been collecting the materials to perform a little necromancy.”

“Oh my God… oh my God… Stella! Stella, come downstairs right now, there’s- it’s- it’s- just come down, I- please!”

“Please, Mal, calm down!” Gomez cried. “The ceremony is beginning in our living room- you and your son will be reunited in a matter of moments.” He paused as he heard distant squabbling between Mr. and Mrs. Glicker. “Would you put me on speaker? I’d like for your wife to hear this.”

Beep.

“-cannot be happening, you can’t take these creeps seriously, Mal!”

“Hello, Stella! Have you heard the news about the necromancy?”

“Mr. Addams! What in the hell are you talking about?! Where’s my son?”

“In our living room laying on a pentagram- or his body is, at least. I would have invited you to the ceremony, but… I understand your family may be a bit squeamish. It would have been a shame to see the wound he died from. Some sort of nasty internal bleeding from a blow to the face. I can’t imagine who could have done that to him.”

Once again, there was absolute silence on the other line, and Joel had to bite his lip to stifle his giggles. He could practically see his mother now, her hand over her mouth as she remembered how she had struck him, and suddenly felt the full weight of the guilt she was meant to suffer from weeks ago. To prove that they were bluffing, she would have to admit to striking him herself. Even if she were to claim that she hadn’t hit him that hard, her knowledge of her son’s frailty would surely lead her to believe that dying from a blow like that was not entirely off the table.

“So… so you’re trying to… trying to...” Stella trailed off, her voice shaking.

“Bring him back for you, yes,” Gomez finished. “My family is well versed in practices of dark magic. Here, I’ll bring the phone to the living room- the ceremony is beginning as we speak.” He paused for a moment, opening a nearby drawer and rustling some silverware for dramatic effect. “Careful with those chains!”

“Oh my God. Mal, these freaks-”

“Stella, I can’t-”

Gomez ignored whatever incoherent nonsense was coming out of their mouths, and began to chant something in Latin. He turned on the stove, holding the phone close by to pick up the whoosh of the flame. The gasp on the other line had Joel in stitches, and he bit down on his fist in a valiant effort to stay silent.

“We call upon the spirit of Joseph Glicker, on this, the Day of Holy Innocents!” Gomez cried, flashing Joel a wicked grin. “Come to us, spirit- let body and soul be one once more!” He beckoned Joel over, mouthing to him: ‘give them hell.’

Joel took a slow, deep breath, and after a moment of pause for dramatic effect, he finally spoke. “Mother…” he whispered, his voice rattling like a sad metal pipe.

“Oh my God…” Mrs. Glicker’s voice trembled with real, genuine horror, and it took all Joel had in him to keep from laughing at her.

“It… was… you,” he hissed.

“No… no…!”

“You… hurt me.”

“ You did this?” Gomez asked, feigning shock before stifling his own giggles.

“My baby, my little boy, you know I didn’t mean it,” Stella sobbed.

“That’s… what you always say.” Joel took in a shaky breath, half for performance’s sake and half to soothe his own anxiety. “You… killed… me. And now… I’ll never… come home.”

“No… please, no!”

“Except… maybe… for Passover…”

“...what?”

“And… possibly… Rosh Hashanah…”

“I… what?”

“Oh, and probably Yom Kippur, but only for part of the day,” Joel added in a completely normal voice.

“...WHAT THE HELL?!”

Joel and Gomez doubled over, practically screaming with laughter. Stella cursed at them from the other line, demanding an explanation.

“¡Inocente, inocente!” Gomez cried, holding his hands up in the air.

“Hey Mom. It’s me,” Joel said through giggles. “I was just messing with you. I’m alive. But I am moving out for good. Sorry. See ya.”

Click .

“Yes! Oh, that was amazing, Joel! Well done!” Gomez gave Joel a firm pat on the back. “If all your pranks are anything like that, you’ll outshine even me!”

Joel beamed. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” He let out a sigh of relief. “You folks have given me a whole lot lately.”

“Ah, it’s no trouble at all- we love having you here,” Gomez assured him. “And you’re wonderful with the baby, might I add. We’ve needed someone like you during the holidays.”

Joel smiled, shrugging slightly. “Thanks. He’s a good kid.”

“I don’t suppose we could convince you to come back every now and then?” Gomez asked hopefully. “When you’re living in a rich man’s world in your fancy new apartment, I’m sure you’ll have no need for a steady source of income, but as you know, our last nanny couldn’t quite handle him.” He flashed him a crooked smile.

“Wait, you mean you’d hire me to babysit? For real?”

“Absolutely! Tish and I have discussed it thoroughly. We couldn’t think of anyone more fit for the job.”

Joel beamed. He had no idea how his life had improved this much in the span of less than a month, but he knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thank you so much. I’d love to.”

“Fantastic! We’ll get you settled into your apartment first, of course, but afterwards, you can-” Gomez was abruptly cut off as he was hit in the face by a handful of fine, white powder. He sputtered, turning around to see Fester and Pugsley holding bags full of flour and giggling maniacally.

“Oh, you want to start the battle now , then, eh old man?” Gomez grinned, knocking flour out of his ear. The traditional Fiesta de Los Enharinados would never reach the same scale here as it did in Spain, but it was still one of his favorite winter traditions, and when it reached full blown flour and snow-covered chaos in the middle of the graveyard, it was a sight to behold.

“¡Inocente!” Fester cried, rushing away. Gomez took off after him, and his son ran close behind, pelting his father with enormous handfuls of flour and howling at the top of his lungs.

The entire family found themselves in the graveyard within minutes, and their black clothing became stained with white as they attacked each other in gleeful chaos. Even Joel had joined in, and for once he wasn’t at all worried about having an allergic reaction to anything that hit him. Traditionally there was a system of ranks involved in this sort of brawl, but with the Addams family, it was every man for themselves, and they all played dirty. What started with flour and snow escalated into tomatoes, clumps of mystery meat, enormous rocks, dynamite caps, until the graveyard was a wreck, and every single member of the family was leaning on headstones, panting and exhausted.

Gomez looked on at everyone around him, letting out a soft sigh. It was moments like these where he felt the true power of his family. That sad, soul-sucking, plastic Christmas he had been so concerned with could never touch what they had, and now with a new addition to the family… two, including Joel, they had even more to look forward to. Morticia glided over to him, brushing a messy strand of black hair behind her ear. She was breathtaking, even with her cheeks flushed and her dress covered in flour, and he knew she was as eager to teach the next generation of their traditions as he was.

“I believe Fiesta de Los Enharinados is traditionally resolved with a dance, is it not?” Morticia asked, a gentle smile on her blood red lips.

Gomez took her hand, smiling back at her. “It is indeed, querida mia ,” he murmured, and the pair of them fell into each other's arms, circling the gravestones in an effortless waltz.