Chapter 229 – Past as roommates

Around seven in the morning, the tranquility of the house was shattered by the thunderous arrival of Gómez and Fester Addams.

The door burst open, as if hinges were nothing more than a formality, and the roaring voices of the brothers filled the space.

“That was a great fight, brother!” exclaimed Gómez with his characteristic booming laugh, placing his hands on his belly with enthusiasm. The suit he always wore was in poor condition, cut, wrinkled, and covered in dirt.

“Yes, yes! I hadn’t felt that much adrenaline in ages,” agreed Fester, rubbing his hands together with almost electric energy. “That guy nearly ripped my ear off, did you see that?”

“Ha! And you still managed to bite his hand. Ingenious!” said Gómez with a wide grin, recalling how his brother had bitten off two wrinkled fingers.

From the stairs, a figure appeared. It was Wednesday, descending with a firm step, her expression of eternal disdain intact, and more intense than usual.

Her gaze was icy. Annoyed.

“Shut up,” Wednesday ordered coldly, her tone low but sharp as a blade. “Luke is sleeping.”

Though Luke remained unconscious, she didn’t want the annoying voices of her father and uncle seeping into his subconscious and bothering him somehow.

Gómez looked up toward the stairs upon hearing his daughter’s voice, and far from lowering his volume, he let out another loud laugh.

“It’s been so long, my little viper! Looks like you’ve had an exciting battle!” Gómez exclaimed with pride, opening his arms as if expecting a hug, which, of course, never came.

Fester, with his usual almost maniacal enthusiasm, greeted her with a lively gesture. “Wednesday! As gloomy as ever. What a joy to see you!”

But Wednesday didn’t respond immediately. She narrowed her eyes at them.

Her mood was worse than usual. Not just because of the unnecessary commotion at such an early hour, but because they had woken her up.

Worse still, they had pulled her from her sleep next to Luke.

After nearly losing him, she had hoped to at least have a few hours by his side. Just a few more hours in the silence of the early morning, feeling his breath.

“You’re late. The battle against Elliot and Gabriel Spellman is over. They’re both dead. Their corpses are in the basement,” Wednesday spat, her voice devoid of emotion.

Gómez and Fester fell silent for a brief moment upon hearing Wednesday’s words.

Elliot and Gabriel Spellman. On the surface, the strongest of the Spellman family. From the same generation as them. Rivals during their school days, and later, occasional allies in the chaos of the outcast world.

Gómez blinked, Fester tilted his head. They looked at each other, processing the news with an unusual seriousness for them.

And then, as if an invisible thread had snapped, both burst into laughter.

“Did you hear that, brother? The new generation is already burying the old one,” said Gómez, stroking his mustache.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be!” said Fester, slapping Gómez hard on the back.

“I remember our teenage years… when we faced those two. Nevermore versus the Dark Arts Academy,” Gómez said with a nostalgic look.

“Brother… I didn’t go to Nevermore, remember?” said Fester with a crooked smile.

“Ah, right! I was with John at the time. Mother sent you to… what was it called? Ravenshade Center for Youth with Extreme Behaviors?”

“Yes! Those were the days… I made some great friends there. Unlike Nevermore or the other academy, they taught us to channel our destructive energy into something productive,” Fester said, letting out a guttural laugh.

“A loose education!” said Gómez, laughing for some reason unknown to Wednesday.

“I’ll say it one last time. Lower your voices. Luke is sleeping,” said Wednesday, losing the little patience she had left.

“Does our nostalgia bother you that much? Or… does it bother you that we interrupted your rest with your beloved?” asked Gómez with a mischievous smile, looking at his daughter.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“If you keep yelling and laughing like that, the next bodies in the basement will be yours.”

“Ahem… it’s true we’re a bit too euphoric from our fight,” said Gómez, coughing and lowering his tone to normal.

Fester didn’t say anything, he just chuckled softly as he rubbed his hands and looked at Wednesday. He never imagined the day his niece would find love, he thought she’d be a loner like him. But that wasn’t the case. And, of course, he was happy for her. He actually liked that Poe boy.

Thanks to Luke, Fester had been having a lot of fun since the war started. He’d faced Dolores Spellman and killed her, and now he’d fought two elderly demonic psychics. It had been a long time since he’d had so much fun.

At that moment, Enid appeared coming down the stairs. After getting the hours of sleep she needed to recover, it was finally time to leave. She ran into Wednesday, Gómez, and Fester in the house’s foyer.

She recognized Gómez. She had seen him at the Nevermore event during last year’s Parents Weekend.

As for Fester, she hadn’t met him in person, but she knew it was him by the bald head, manic expression, and pale skin. Wednesday had told her about him during the time they shared as roommates.

Enid approached them, greeting them politely.

They returned the greeting with their usual enthusiasm, having no idea about the complicated past Enid had with Wednesday and Luke.

Enid’s eyes drifted to Fester’s pocket. Resting there was a small scarred hand.

“Thing!” Enid exclaimed warmly, recognizing it. Her voice filled with warmth upon seeing the hand after so long.

During the days she shared a room with Wednesday, Enid had formed a strange but strong friendship with Thing. There was something genuine in their connection, a kind of unspoken bond she never expected to find.

Despite the exhaustion left by the journey and the fight, Thing leapt from Fester’s pocket and quickly scurried toward Enid. With an energetic gesture, it greeted her enthusiastically, prompting a soft laugh from Enid.

Wednesday watched the interaction between Enid and Thing with an expressionless face.

“Oh, it’s rare for Thing to like someone outside the family,” commented Fester, observing the scene with a mix of surprise and amusement. Thing had always been a rather reserved and shy hand, so seeing it act this way was unusual.

“It’s good that he’s connecting with more people,” said Gómez, letting out a low chuckle and looking at Thing as if it were his own child making friends.

Enid said goodbye to Fester, Gómez, and Thing, though explaining to Thing that she had to leave was the hardest part. She’d already be in trouble with her family, but the later she got back, the worse it would be.

Then she looked at Wednesday and whispered quietly:

“Yesterday you broke your promise not to cry, didn’t you? Even if it was just a few tears, I’m not sure how many it takes to break a promise,” Enid said with a smile that wasn’t meant to be cruel, just playful, as if trying to nudge her out of her comfort zone.

Wednesday looked at her without changing her expression, but something in her eyes showed a flicker of surprise. She wasn’t used to that kind of teasing from Enid.

The memory of that conversation came back strongly to Wednesday’s mind. That night, at the start of their fleeting friendship at Nevermore.

That night, on the balcony of the dorm they shared, Enid, with a strange mix of sadness and frustration, told her about one of her most pressing concerns at the time: she needed to grow stronger to keep a promise she’d made to someone.

But despite being part of one of the most powerful werewolf bloodlines, she was stuck in her training and couldn’t see any visible progress.

Then, with tears in her eyes, she asked if Wednesday had ever cried over something, anything.

Her past self had hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to share one of the most personal and private experiences of her life. But something about Enid made her feel she could trust her.

So she told her about the pain of her childhood. When she was six years old, a group of outcast children her age, during a high-society gathering of outcasts, had forced her to watch as they killed her pet, Nero, a scorpion who had been her companion.

That group of children had pulled off his limbs one by one, and then finally crushed him under their shoes, stomping him.

Helpless, she could do nothing but watch. That same night, she buried him in the snow, tears welling in her eyes. But in that moment of deep pain, she made a promise to herself: she would never cry again. She wouldn’t let pain rule her, because crying wouldn’t change anything.

She told Enid about this that night. She didn’t know why. Maybe sharing that wound for the first time with someone brought her some kind of relief.

“Yes, I broke my promise yesterday, when I saw Luke… even if it was just a few tears,” Wednesday said after a moment of silence.

The word “just” left her lips as if she were trying to downplay it, to make it seem less important than it truly was. Even so, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from drifting back to Luke, how she had felt when she saw him after believing he had died.

“It’s not a bad thing to cry. We all need to now and then. It doesn’t make you weak,” said Enid, shrugging, not making a big deal of it, she was just teasing Wednesday a little.

“I wonder if Luke has ever cried,” Enid murmured loud enough for Wednesday to hear.

“Well, goodbye! Stay in touch, you know the website for my blog. You can contact me there,” Enid said, saying her farewell and walking out of the mansion.

If she wanted to help in the war, she needed someone to tell her what the hell to do, who to fight, when and where.

Wednesday watched as Enid left the house, her mind filled with thoughts.

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