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The Addams Family Mansion sits atop a lone hill somewhere amidst a labyrinth of coniferous trees, cutting a drearily imposing figure against cornflower skies. The gate, ivy-covered, creaks as it parts to let the Pontiac in, and Enid gets a good first glance at the dilapidated mansion.
“Wow,” she mutters, eyes wandering across the towers and spires, the sloping roofs, and the cemetery where Nero the scorpion must've had his resting place. Everything looks vintage, perfectly preserved, except for the fact that there's something off about the entire thing, like she's having deja vu and that the windows are moving ever so slightly whenever she blinks.
Huh, Enid mulls over it, makes sense how Wednesday became who she is now.
Lurch, the driver (butler?) opens the door beside her almost soundlessly; startling Enid. Engrossed in her thoughts, she had barely realized that the car had stopped.
(“Are you Frankenstein's monster?” Enid had blurted out a second after she saw Lurch.
The man poked dejectedly at his faint neck stitches and said, “No, not Frankenstein,” in the deepest, saddest voice she ever heard. Intimidating as he may look, Enid's never wanted to hug a man so bad.)
She thanks Lurch and steps out, heading towards the dismal building in quick footsteps. The cemetery covers the ground on the side facing away from the gate, except a few scattered headstones visible beyond the apparent boundary. Now closer, Enid notices raptors circling the mansion like a dog chasing its tail.
The rusty entrance is banged open in a jiffy, and a flash of light approaches like a hurricane. Before she knows it, Enid is being swept up in a tight hug— she screams as she feels the ground give away from under her; oh my god, talk about an iron grip , her skull throbs— by a blonde woman significantly taller than her, a blinding smile splitting her pale face, a score of daisies crowning and dotting her hair.
“Little Sunshine!” She croons, all saccharine sweet. “I've been dying to meet you! I've heard all about you from our Wednesday, y'know. She has this little smile, she does, see!” The woman plops Enid on the ground to point at herself, her lips slightly quirking up. “She does this when she's talking about you!”
Enid laughs breathlessly, half-amused, half-relieved. “Oh, that's so cute,” she says.
The older woman shoots her a side eye, a knowing glint in her eyes, beaming all the same. “She is, isn't she?” She nods to herself, seemingly appeased.
“Aunt Ophelia, do be gentle with my darling,” comes a voice, and Enid looks down at Wednesday.
“Willa! Hi,” she grins, opening her arms wide.
Wednesday slips into the hug, her unflinching stare strained upon her girlfriend. She has the same smile the blonde woman demonstrated. “I see you met my Aunt Ophelia.”
Enid looks over, and the woman dips herself in an exaggerated bow. “Ophelia Frump at your service, Miss!”
She chuckles at her antics. “And I'm Enid, Enid Sinclair. Nice to meet you, ma'am.”
“Ohh, psssh,” she waves a hand dismissively. “Madam-schmadam, just Ophelia's fine. And the pleasure's all mine, sweetheart.” She looped her arm through Enid's, pursing her lips. “Come on now, sugar, it's about time you met your future in-laws,”
Enid lets out a squeak of embarrassment at that, but lets herself be dragged— she couldn't've refused anyway, the woman was evidently stronger than she looks.
Enid counts no less than a dozen hallways and doorways till they reach the living room, wooden panels emblazoned with obsidian, stained glass windows casting ominous shadows on the walls. Mr and Mrs Addams rush towards them, pachisi pieces forgotten.
“Enid, honey, it's good to see you,” Mrs Addams says, kissing her forehead. Enid wants to melt into the ground, but she wraps her arms around the older woman instead. “Same to you, Mrs Addams.”
Mr Addams greets her with a grin and a pat. “How're you doing, muñeca?”
“Good, Mr Addams,” she grins back. “Better now that I'm here.”
“Ah, ah, now isn't that sweet,” he replies, graciously. “Eh, my scorpion?”
“Yes, papa,” Wednesday says, still looking at Enid. She hadn't really stopped, eyes soft in a way Enid is familiar with, lips set straight in a line but hands fidgeting ever so slightly near Enid's. She reaches out and grabs it, her sweaty palm engulfing Wednesday's. Ophelia coos. Wednesday's ears tinge red. Enid ducks her head, heart swelling with affection and pride. A disembodied hand pops out from behind Mr Addams, flashing a thumbs-up.
“Thing!” Enid cries out, as he jumps and skitters on the ground. She kneels, holding her hand out, “Up top!”
Thing met her halfway, and she grinned, letting him hop onto her palm, then her shoulder. “Atta boy.”
“Thing, would you be a dear and help Wednesday accompany Enid to her room for the stay?”
Thing sends Mrs Addams a two-finger salute and signs of course.
Enid presses Wednesday's hand to her mouth, presses it to her heart, says, “Lead the way, darling,” and Wednesday has never thawed so quickly.
There are twenty-five guest rooms in the Addamses Mansion, and none have a twin. Enid's jaw drops as she's led into the room beside Wednesday's, not too small yet just homey enough to bring back memories of Ophelia Hall. A lofted bed sits in the center, bedecked with disjunct teddy bears and ghoulish rag dolls.
“I took down most of the more morbid decorations,” Wednesday shifts, her eyes trailing across the now-bare walls, “so. This is your room.”
“And you're right next to me, should I ever need you,” Enid grins, and it's not really a question.
“And I'm right next to you, should you ever need me,” Wednesday agrees, and it's a given.
“Can I come cuddle with you when I have a nightmare, or something?”
“Chérie, you know I'll be here before you know it, and I'll be holding onto you like a leech.”
(She does good on her promise in merely a week. Enid's stuttered screams reach Wednesday not a moment later, and suddenly she's being shaken awake to look up at a face set in worry. Enid cries in the crook of her neck, Wednesday whispering soothing words to the shell of her ear.)
Enid meets Uncle Itt completely accidentally.
There she was, exploring the intricacies of the labyrinth that is the Addamses Mansion; Lurch lurking just beyond her periphery ( how was he everywhere? Enid wasn't sure she wanted to know, the more mystery, the better, her meemaw had always said). She's pretty sure at least half of the things this place had could easily be museum-worthy, what with the medieval ass suits of armor and weapons, shiny, polished weapons, swords in scabbards and spears hanging from the wall. One corridor had a carved face of Cerberus on the ceiling. Enid had shuddered on passing that one.
A chimney caught her eyes, taller than her and ornately decorated in silvery details. A curious broom topped with a bowler hat was leant against one side. Enid whipped her phone out, opening her Instagram so she could take a Boomerang story of the fascinatingly weird octroi.
As luck would have it, just as she moved closer the broom came into life, a pair of dark sunglasses visible under the brim of the hat that shook as the broom chittered at her, skittish. Enid's eyebrows shot up.
“Ah, sir. Hello, sir. I've never seen a. . . sentient mop before, sir. But of course, you exist, so I guess I've seen one now, sir,” she stammers, sweating bullets, “may- may I take a picture of you, sir?”
The broom looks at her (well, the sunglasses look into her eyes), and slowly, it nods and Enid reads that as a delayed yes, so she leans towards it and snaps a burst of selfies before it could say anything else, and runs for her dear life.
(Later, these pictures would elicit the first genuine laugh Enid's heard from Wednesday, in like, ever. “Oh, that's rich, that's,” she'd say, wiping tears from her eyes, “that's my Uncle Itt, mon cœur, not a broom.”
Enid would pout and huff, but she'd be busy containing her delight at the sound of Wednesday's laughter bursting at the seams.
“What is underneath all that hair anyway?” she would ask a moment later. Wednesday, bless her heart, would keep a perfectly straight face as she answered.
“Roots.”)