Chapter Text
"This is not amusing," Wednesday whispered to Thing, her sleek black cat, perched on top of the kitchen counter like a dark gargoyle. Her furry companion, who might begrudgingly be considered her only friend, ignored her, sauntering toward the door with feline indifference. Perhaps he was hoping to gather intel on the infernal racket next door. Wednesday didn’t claim to understand the intricacies of cat behavior—only that it was mildly irritating.
"I fail to see how you could find any humor in this," she muttered, her cold, dark eyes narrowing at the disinterested creature. Thing yawned, completely unfazed. She licked her lips, half-expecting her mere presence to be enough to intimidate him. It wasn’t.
Wednesday was not one to be easily irritated. Or, rather, she was irritated constantly, and she enjoyed it—like a slow, burning ember of displeasure she could stoke at will. But it was rare for her to act on such feelings. Her family—while anything but ordinary—had once or twice found her reactions excessive, enough to drag her to therapy. There, she’d grudgingly "opened up" (to the extent one could with a therapist who fainted at the sight of her tarantula) and was told she needed to better manage her emotions in order to "fit in" with society.
Still, this was pushing her limits.
The noise next door was unbearable. Louder than usual, even. But it could be excused—for now. After all, the tenant was just moving in. Wednesday popped a piece of mint gum into her mouth, a stress-relief suggestion she’d once received from a psychiatrist who clearly didn’t know her well. It had stuck with her, much like the subtle distaste she felt for most things.
She drifted to the sofa, casting a glance around to ensure no one was watching before slumping slightly against the cushions. God forbid anyone caught her in such a vulnerable state. She leaned her head back, eyes fixating on the ceiling, as she let the cacophony next door wash over her like a torturous symphony.
Most of it was just heavy thuds and the occasional groan, which she could only assume were from the lifting of furniture. If she were the "neighborly" type, she might have knocked on their door to inform them of the futility of their efforts. Soon enough, they would leave.
Wednesday would make sure of that.
Having reached the peak of her annoyance, she grabbed her landline phone and uncoiled the cord, retreating into the bathroom. Talking to the owners was something that would require solitude.
Her fingers dialed one of the few numbers etched into her memory, each press deliberate and calculated. She took a breath before holding the phone to her ear. The repetitive tone played in her ear, the rhythm matching her slow, mechanical chewing. Finally, there was a faint shuffling on the other end.
"Father," she huffed, her voice low, brimming with irritation. "I—"
"My little death trap!" Gomez’s voice boomed with excitement, and Wednesday could practically see the manic glint in his eyes—one that others found unnerving but to her was comfortingly familiar. How the ordinary confused excitement with terror always baffled her.
“We haven’t spoken in ages! How are you, my darling?”
Her eyes rolled back, an expression she wore freely around her family, though rarely for others. “Spare me.”
Gomez chuckled softly, the sound only fueling her frustration. "Ah, I take it you've already heard about the new tenant?"
"It would be hard not to, considering the racket hasn't stopped for," she glanced at her wrist, her silver watch showing 11 AM, "three hours."
"Isn’t that delightful?" She could hear the faint exhale of a cigarette on the other end. “We all know how much you savor a dreadful morning.”
“Not the right kind of agony.”
Gomez chuckled, entirely unaffected by her morbid wit. "Oh, Wednesday, you know better than anyone—pain is simply a matter of perspective."
"Unimportant," she murmured, the habitual whisper slipping from her lips even in the seclusion of her bathroom. "What have I done to deserve this? I was under the impression we had an understanding."
"There was no such agreement, before, during, or after you successfully drove out the previous tenants," Gomez replied, shifting the phone closer to his mouth, his voice dropping an octave for emphasis. "No deals are on the table, my dark star."
A light scratching at the door caught Wednesday’s attention, causing her to narrow her eyes ever so slightly. Without hesitation, she unlocked the door to allow her cat back in. She loathed being interrupted by loud sounds. "I’ll pay for the other room if it comes to that. Just make them leave."
Before Gomez could respond, a muffled voice in the background shifted his focus. The brief distraction was all Wednesday needed to confirm her suspicions. "Mother."
There was a soft shuffle as the phone exchanged hands. "My darling, how delightful to hear from you," Morticia’s voice purred, warm yet shadowed with an underlying elegance.
"Spare me. Twice."
"Hmm." Morticia let the silence hang between them for a moment, clearly unperturbed by her daughter’s cold response. "I had a feeling you wouldn’t be thrilled by the news."
"Then why?" Wednesday’s voice remained as flat as ever, though her parents were intimately familiar with the storm of irritation brewing beneath her calm surface.
"This is no punishment, Wednesday," Morticia replied, her tone as smooth as velvet, but carrying weight.
"And yet," Wednesday said, eyes narrowing slightly, "it feels suspiciously like one."
"We've been searching for months to find someone willing to occupy the vacant apartment, and they wanted it. This is not, in any way, personal, darling. Business is business," Morticia's voice was smooth, unbothered by the storm she knew was brewing on the other end of the line.
Wednesday swallowed, her throat tight with frustration, despite the frustrating fact that her mother’s logic was sound. "Are they aware of the issue?"
"They are not," Morticia replied, her tone still tinged with that soft, maternal warmth.
"You didn't think that was important information to disclose?"
"It must have slipped my mind," Morticia said lightly, and Wednesday couldn’t help but admire her mother’s effortless ability to lie with such grace.
"Well, no matter," Wednesday said, her voice low and resolute. "They’ll be gone soon enough. So don’t get too comfortable with the arrangement."
"Oh, Wednesday," Morticia cooed, her tone dripping with admiration. "I’ve always appreciated your tenacity."
"Whatever," Wednesday muttered, brushing off the compliment, too agitated to care. The words she was about to speak stalled on her tongue as a series of knocks on the front door echoed faintly through the bathroom walls. Five rapid knocks, followed by two slower ones—distinct and impossible to ignore. "Goodbye."
Without waiting for a reply, Wednesday quietly opened the bathroom door and placed the handset back on its cradle. She paused a few feet away from the entrance, staring at the shadow barely visible in the gap beneath the door.
"Is anyone there?" A high-pitched voice called from the hallway, laced with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "I just moved in next door."
Wednesday refused to indulge in the intrusion. She stood still, silently hoping the newcomer would lose interest and leave. A few beats passed before the person on the other side cleared their throat, whispering a soft "okay" before retreating. She heard the faint thud of the neighbor’s door closing, and with that, she returned to her usual spot on the couch.
Though insignificant things like this always grated on Wednesday, she begrudgingly admitted—to herself, and only herself—that there was something oddly... endearing about her neighbor’s attempt at an introduction.
Not that it would change anything. She had no intention of softening her stance on people. Still, perhaps she’d give this neighbor a day to prove whether they could coexist peacefully. All she required was silence.
Wednesday couldn’t quite pinpoint what caused it, but the wall separating their rooms might as well have been nonexistent, given how effortlessly sound traveled through it. Every firm footstep, every clank of furniture, and every muffled word from the other side was as clear as day if it was slightly louder than normal. It was a constant source of torment, a slow, unrelenting drip of noise that threatened to drive her mad. Of course, her own activities were conducted in utter silence—anyone would be lucky to live next to her. But for reasons unknown to her, it seemed that only drummers, guitarists, or aspiring singers ever chose to move in next door. It was nothing short of exasperating.
So, she resorted to one of her favorite pastimes: scaring people.
Her methods varied depending on the unfortunate soul living next door and what might unnerve them most, but the first step was always the same. She did absolutely nothing. Creating the illusion that no one inhabited the apartment next door was essential. Silence became her weapon, laying the groundwork for what was to come. After all, the unknown is far more unsettling than any noise. And, as Wednesday knew all too well, nothing was more universally feared than the suggestion of the supernatural.
Refusing to dwell on it any longer, Wednesday retrieved her laptop from the coffee table and set it on her lap, opening it with the kind of detached focus that had become second nature. She absentmindedly scrolled through her emails and work-related tasks. Technically, her workday began at 9 AM, but it didn’t take long for her to realize that the actual workload demanded far less time than allotted. Efficient as always, she finished her tasks early, freeing up her day for more important pursuits.
One of her favorites was writing.
Over the past few years, Wednesday had completed five novels, each one darker and more graphic than the last. None, however, had ever seen the light of day. It wasn’t that she lacked the courage to publish them—Wednesday Addams did not concern herself with fear—but rather, it felt inherently wrong to profit from something so intimate. Her stories were raw, violent, and unapologetically grim, unlikely to appeal to the masses. But that wasn’t the point. Writing was sacred to her, a personal outlet that she refused to commercialize. It was a realm entirely her own, a space where she could explore her most private thoughts without interference from the world outside.
To share it would be to diminish it.
Around 11:30 A.M., Wednesday stood and walked over to the whiteboard by the window, its stark surface already marked with fragments of her current project. She spent hours there, silently reading through the requests from her email, carefully jotting down notes and drawing diagrams to map out how best to achieve the desired outcome. The whiteboard became a canvas of her thoughts, lines and arrows intertwining in perfect order as she visualized her next steps.
Wednesday found a quiet satisfaction in her work. Her mind thrived on logic and structure, and programming offered a near-perfect outlet for her obsession with patterns and precision. Every problem had a solution, every line of code a purpose. Depending on her progress, most days involved crafting flowcharts or building line after line of clean, calculated code until her mind teetered on the edge of exhaustion. That’s when she knew she’d reached her peak—the point where her thoughts were too tangled to unravel further.
And that was exactly how she liked it.
At around 6 P.M., Wednesday could no longer ignore the rumble in her stomach. Sometimes she dreaded being human, her mind perfectly capable of enduring discomfort while her body clamored for what she deemed unnecessary sustenance.
With a resigned sigh, she removed the piece of gum that had been in her mouth for hours, wrapping it in a tissue and stepping on the pedal of the trash can to dispose of it. Her gaze drifted to the fridge, where a bowl of pasta—leftover from yesterday afternoon—caught her eye.
She retrieved the bowl and placed a pan on the stove, opting to heat it up the old-fashioned way to avoid the unnecessary beeping of the microwave. It was a small decision, but one that resonated with her need for control. She hadn’t yet determined her neighbor's fate; the anticipation hung in the air like a thick fog. So far she would justify the noise, considering the girl was moving into the apartment. Until tomorrow night, however, she wouldn’t make a sound. Better safe than sorry.
As the pasta warmed, she let her thoughts wander back to her plans. The thrill of what was to come sent a shiver down her spine, mingling with the tantalizing aroma of garlic and cheese wafting through the air. Perhaps she wasn’t as immune to human folly as she would like to believe.
She reached for a dark black plate from the cupboard above the sink, expertly plating her meal before carrying it to her usual spot at the kitchen island. It was a solitary ritual she relished. Wednesday never quite understood why her parents had insisted on purchasing two chairs instead of one, fully aware that she would be the only occupant.
The girl was halfway through her meal when a soft thud reminded her that she was alone, but not truly alone. She glanced toward the infamous wall, easily recognizing two voices engaged in an animated conversation on the other side.
“I’m so glad you made it,” one voice chimed, a hint of familiarity sparking in her memory. “I have to admit, I would’ve been really sad if you didn’t have time to come visit me.”
“Well, I thought you would appreciate the company, even though you literally moved out to have more space.” The teasing tone was laced with a hint of annoyance.
“Yoko, you know very well that I didn’t move out from our apartment because I didn’t like spending time with you.” This voice was unmistakably expressive, every word infused with a bubbly cheerfulness that struck Wednesday as insincere. No one could possibly be that perpetually happy, right? “I needed more space for my things and a quiet place to focus on what really matters. And I don’t think it’s wrong to live alone at 23!”
Huh. That was certainly interesting. They were the same age. Wednesday had initially associated the bubbly voice with an immature teenager, but it seemed she had misjudged. Perhaps they had more in common than she had thought. The realization flickered in her mind, igniting a mix of intrigue and annoyance.
“I know,” the deeper voice replied, hesitating as if weighing her words. “But I still think it was really rude.”
“I know. I’m gonna miss living with you and your very, maybe perhaps even too loud of a girlfriend.”
“Oh. Shut it.” Wednesday could almost hear Yoko’s embarrassment radiating through the wall, a mix of flustered annoyance and playful irritation.
Footsteps echoed through the apartment, prompting Wednesday to remind herself that she was, indeed, eavesdropping on her neighbors' conversation. She turned her attention to Thing, who was peacefully curled in the chair beside hers, and sighed as she absentmindedly scratched behind his ears. She might not be the most affectionate owner, but even she had to admit that his cuteness could be overwhelming at times.
Was it really so wrong for her to listen when she was merely existing in her own apartment? It certainly wasn’t her fault that her neighbor lacked the discretion to keep their conversations private. She carefully twirled the strands of pasta around her fork, taking a bite as she listened to her uninvited entertainment unfold.
“How are you settling in? Do you like the new place?” The stranger’s voice sounded closer, making Wednesday’s ears perk up with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.
“The place is fine, and I can confirm from my earlier nap that the bed is indeed pretty comfortable.”
Ugh. Who indulges in such frivolous pursuits, especially during the day? The idea of napping while the sun was still up struck her as utterly ridiculous. Wednesday couldn’t fathom how anyone could prioritize such mundane activities when there were far darker, more intriguing matters to contemplate.
At least the habit required minimal movement. Scratch that previous thought; the girl could take as many naps as she pleased.
“There’s something good! I have to admit, if you walk outside of this room, it’s kind of creepy.”
Wednesday couldn’t suppress the slight twitch of her lips at the remark. Flattered? Perhaps.
“Yeah, I know the walls could use some painting, especially one that isn’t dark gray. But I guess for now it’s great. The living room is really big, which is pretty important, and the place is pretty chill so there’s no reason to complain, really.”
“Is everyone in the building cool?”
Her neighbor paused, considering the question. “Well, the guy to the right was really nice when I knocked to introduce myself. Apparently, he’s a beekeeper.”
Wednesday’s expression soured at the mention of Eugene. She knew him well enough; on the rare occasions she ventured outside and crossed paths with him, he had always attempted to engage her in small talk. She loathed it.
“But I think the room down the hall is empty. My hearing is pretty sharp, and I thought I heard something after I knocked on the door, but no one replied when I spoke. It was, like, dead quiet.”
The comparison to the dead was almost thrilling.
“Maybe I should move there!” Yoko exclaimed, her voice ringing with enthusiasm, the sudden noise making Wednesday’s nose crinkle in annoyance.
“Yeah, and share the wall behind my bed with you? I’ve heard enough of you two already, so thank you, but no thank you.”
“Whatever,” Yoko replied, a hint of exasperation creeping into her tone as she began to move away, probably towards the exit. “My girlfriend wants to go out for dinner and you are being incredibly rude, so there’s not much of a choice to make. I’m leaving.”
“You just got here!”
“Enjoy your solitude, Enid,” she called, the door to their shared hallway creaking open. “We’re only a couple of blocks away. If you change your mind, or you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
Skipping toward the door, her neighbor—apparently named Enid—groaned, whether in annoyance or affection, Wednesday couldn’t tell. “Thank you! I love you guys. Hope you have a wonderful dinner!”
Wednesday rolled her eyes as the door clicked shut. Some people truly were insufferable. Who wears their feelings on their sleeve like that? It was utterly exhausting.
As usual, Wednesday awoke at precisely 7:30 a.m., her arms uncrossing from their usual position across her chest as she reluctantly abandoned her corpse-like sleep posture. Her eyes slowly opened, drifting to the ceiling before sliding toward the loathsome gray wall a few meters to her right.
It was quiet. Good.
She rose from the bed, adhering to her routine, and straightened the sheets with minimal effort—just enough to satisfy her sense of order. As she walked toward the bathroom, her tongue traced along her teeth, her eyes slightly crinkling at the uncomfortable taste that had set in her mouth through the night. The door clicked shut behind her as she squeezed an extra-minty paste onto her toothbrush, brushing with a methodical precision until she was certain at least two minutes had passed.
Deciding she preferred to get her work out of the way early to make time for her writing, Wednesday divided her dark hair into two neat braids, securing them with the same meticulous care she approached all things. While she preferred wearing her hair loose, she refused to be seen in anything but perfect braids. And knowing her boss, the likelihood of being asked to join a video call was high.
He insisted on speaking with her at least once a week—usually on Tuesdays—to inquire about her progress. Though she had little patience for small talk, she found comfort in his no-nonsense approach. He didn’t care how much or how little she spoke, so long as the job was done, and it always was.
For breakfast, Wednesday made a quad over ice, uninterested in preparing anything to accompany the liquid. It was more than sufficient to sustain her until lunch.
An hour later, she settled at her desk, connecting her laptop to two larger monitors to spare her eyes from unnecessary strain. One screen displayed a search engine, while the other was set to her development environment. She took a deep breath, centering herself before resting both hands on the keyboard. Her fingers moved with a precise rhythm, tapping out code as her eyes occasionally flicked toward the whiteboard she’d worked on the day before.
If her mind ever wandered, the notes were there to guide her back. It was efficient—just the way she preferred everything to be.
A few hours passed in silence before a familiar tune played in her right ear, Wednesday swiftly finished typing her last thoughts and turned to the smaller screen to answer the incoming call. She pressed the green button, and her camera feed appeared alongside Victor's on the split screen.
Victor, her boss, appeared on the left, sitting in his office—a space Wednesday knew well enough but avoided whenever possible. His bald head gleamed under the light, and though his face was calm, there was always a sharpness to his gaze that suggested a mind constantly at work. In his mid-50s, Victor wasn’t one for small talk, something Wednesday appreciated. His focus, like hers, was always on efficiency.
She glanced at the background of his video. The large windows behind him displayed a gray, city skyline—corporate, cold, and sterile. It was a place Wednesday had only visited when absolutely necessary, but even thinking about it made her crave the quiet solitude of her own space.
When it came time to choose her career, there hadn’t been much internal debate. Medicine had a certain allure with its intensity and bloody messes, but the idea of physically interacting with people felt disturbingly intimate. Journalism had the appeal of writing, one of her passions, but the profession seemed to demand networking, socializing, and the emotional tact she had neither the skill nor the desire to develop.
That left computer science, an area where her mind could be engaged with logic and problem-solving rather than people. She thrived on the puzzles of back-end development, relishing the intellectual challenge. It was work she could enjoy for a few hours each day before turning her attention to more important pursuits, like her writing. And if it paid well? Even better.
"Wednesday," Victor’s voice cut through her thoughts. "How are we looking on the current project?"
She straightened in her chair, her expression as composed and unreadable as ever. "It's on track. I’ll have the updates ready by the end of the day so you can take a look."
Victor nodded approvingly, his mouth forming a thin, satisfied line. "Good. Keep me posted if anything comes up."
Wednesday nodded, as she always did, to acknowledge his words. “Goodbye.” With a quick press of the red button, she severed the connection, the screen flickering back to its usual state.
She reached for her glass of water, taking the tiniest sip before placing it back exactly where it belonged. Her eyes wandered to the whiteboard, a reminder of her current project, a safety net if her mind drifted. Yet today, focus felt elusive. There was a gnawing annoyance creeping in, though she couldn't quite identify the cause.
Her shoulders tensed, and she tutted softly to herself in frustration. Why did she feel so... unsettled? Annoyed at her own humanity—how her body and mind responded to such mundane irritations—Wednesday shut her eyes, taking a deep, slow breath, attempting to restore her composure.
She had been under a lot of stress, with a lot of deadlines being moved forward by a couple of weeks, but the raven never felt affected enough by it to consider it stressful. If anything, Wednesday considered it more of a challenge to keep herself busy.
After a moment of stillness, she opened her eyes again. With one final sigh, she placed her hands over the keyboard, willing herself back into the rhythm.
Wednesday’s fingers hovered just above the key when the sudden vibration jolted her from her focused trance. Her eyes snapped open as the thudding sound reverberated through the wall, sending faint tremors down to the floor beneath her. Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, she simply stared ahead, unmoving, listening.
The noise persisted, a rhythmic thudding that reverberated through the walls, and Wednesday could no longer ignore it. Her fingers hovered above the keys, now useless as the invasive sound broke her concentration. This wasn’t the usual clatter of neighbors existing. This was something else—something deliberate and utterly infuriating.
Her brow furrowed deeply, an expression she allowed herself only in solitude. What the fuck was that?
Rising from her chair with sharp, purposeful strides, she crossed the room and perched on the edge of her bed, eyes locked on the offending wall. She listened, forcing herself to make sense of the grotesque noise. A voice—grating and off-key—joined the beat. So it was meant to be a song, though calling it music felt disgraceful.
And then it hit her: Enid. Of course.
Wednesday’s scowl darkened. The unmistakable sound of footsteps fell in perfect sync with the abhorrent rhythm. Clean, deliberate, nauseatingly upbeat.
Because of course, she thought bitterly, Enid just had to be a dancer.
For a moment, she contemplated knocking on the wall, but that felt too much like surrender—acknowledging that the sound had gotten to her. No, she had to approach this in a way that would make Enid leave, immediately.
Oh, it’s on, she thought, a faint smile curving her lips. A touch of chaos in the name of peace would serve as the perfect remedy for this unwelcome disturbance.