Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*******

The confirmation that Enid was, in fact, also an outcast amongst outcasts, shifted quite a few things into place for Wednesday about the girl. The split personalities, the one she had created and the one which was forced upon her. She had been trying to form her own pack, shunned by one who did not accept her. It was astounding that Wednesday had neglected to ask this question to those who knew Enid for so long, but perhaps she had disregarded the trivial fact as irrelevant. 

But as she sat there now, tucked away in the hummer's shed while Eugene tended to his bees, she was faced with the truth. The glaring common factor between Rowan, Branor and Enid was the fact that they had all failed to manifest their abilities. For Rowan, it seemed the catalyst for the destruction of his life. 

In his diary entries, he raved about a solution he had found for his problems, something which would ‘fix him’. Whatever he was talking about eluded her, but it seemed to be somewhat relevant to what happened to him. Perhaps he had been tricked, promised life and led to death. 

Branor, on the other hand, was resigned to his poor treatment, choosing to disappear into himself, the world he created.

Using her personal computer, the one Eugene had set up for her, she pulled up the page of Enid's Nevermore Gossip Blog. It was not an easy feat, but using a combination of deduction and stalking, Wednesday created a list of many unmanifested students at Nevermore. There did seem to be a small percentage of them. Thanks to Enid's blog, she had all the tools necessary to find the select students and confirm her suspicions. Wednesday was almost certain that there would be more of the students whose memories had been altered. 

Closing the laptop shut gently, Wednesday stared down at the small bee sticker Eugene had insisted on sticking for ‘decoration’. It was no doubt an eyesore, but it lacked enough colour that she tolerated it. Yellow was one of the more evil pallets, but everything could be accepted in extreme moderation. 

Decidedly looking away from the sticker, Wednesday opened up the small drawer of the desk, pulling out a more severe, familiar eyesore. They had yet to unlock Enid's phone, the question nagging at her more every day. The password was hidden even from Enid's closest friends, and they had been unable to guess correctly. Eugene surmised they had about one more guess before it went into complete lockdown. It was almost cruel, having a device which could answer all her questions, but was withheld by something as ridiculous as a 6-digit code.

More than being fully absorbed in this reconnaissance, Wednesday was possessed by a frenzied urge to make her way back to the Gates house as soon as possible. Her plans were constantly being thwarted by Ms Thornhill, who seemed to have increased her authority as dorm mother since the incident with Mayor Walker. It had left her unable to slip away, with her new promise to attend all classes on her schedule and… ‘engage’. The interruption to her plans was quite unwelcome, and every day, Wednesday battled with the urge to hit Thornhill over the head with a blunt object and go about her investigation. For the sake of discretion, she refrained. 

Wednesday had also considered asking Principal Weems, who would agree to any of her demands, to exempt her, or make up some excuse. But the feeling of being watched everywhere she went had not decreased, and she needed the perpetrators to remain under the delusion that she thought Weems innocent. 

So she settled for an alternative solution. Wednesday instructed Weems to distract Thornhill, bog her down with several tedious and time-consuming tasks, on such a sudden deadline that she would forget to watch Wednesday. The plan worked like a charm; Thornhill was locked away in her office like a prisoner, leaving an investigation finally unshackled and ready to progress.

*******

A chill was in the air that night, as Wednesday readied herself in her room, dressing in her typical movable gear. A black gilet paired with thick combat boots, over her usual black and white base layer. Wednesday briefly considered wearing a scarf, but decided against anything which might get in the way. Though scarves were at times an excellent asphyxiation tool, it was too bulky for today. She turned to Thing, who was dutifully awaiting command from her desk, tapping away his concerned fussing.

“I’ll be fine, Thing. I’ve been in situations marginally more dangerous than this. You know what to do, right?”

She received a quick thumbs-up in return, Thing shifting away from where he had been solving a Rubik's Cube and taking up position at her typewriter. 

Clicking the door shut behind her, Wednesday was careful as she crept past Thornhill's office, a small sliver of light visible from underneath the door. She reached the school gates with no further obstacles, listening to the whistling of the wind that night, closing her eyes to take it in for a second. 

“Wednesday,” an excited whisper sounded out, almost causing her to jump. She needed to get her nerves under control, almost being jumpy in her paranoia of being watched. Turning to the source of the noise, Wednesday took in an incredibly eager Eugene Ottinger, clad in all black, along with a rather large, unnecessary backpack.

“Eugene,” She greeted, acknowledging his presence, mentally noting they were only now waiting on Divina's arrival. “What’s in the bag? It's going to be a hindrance.”

“Oh… Just a few jars for sampling. Abandoned houses are a hotspot for all kinds of rare insects!”

“Just a few?” Wednesday questioned drily, eyes drifting back over to the enormous bag on his back, causing him to hunch over slightly. 

“Please let me keep it! Who knows when I’ll be able to get rare samples again?” Eugene protested sadly, Wednesday feeling her firmness on the matter dissipating.

“ Fine ”, she sighed tiredly, shaking her head despite herself. “But if we need to run, you will drop that bag. Understood?”

Nodding quickly, Eugene settled down next to her, revealing to her immense displeasure that his bag made an extraordinary amount of noise every time he moved. Wednesday hoped sincerely she wouldn't regret her decision.

Divina was ten minutes late, ambling up to them with no backpack, but with sufficiently dark clothing. She seemed to have opted for a brown scarf, small and snug around her neck. Her expression was anxious and hesitant as she joined them, lacking that distinctly audacious playfulness which she always brought to the group dynamic. Gnawing on her lip worriedly, Divina shuffled her feet enough times that Wednesday decided to intervene.

“If you do not want to come, we won't force you.” Wednesday offered, knowing full well the answer she was going to get. Anything to stop the fidgeting.

“No… I can't let you guys go into a creepy abandoned house alone . But I’m not thrilled about all this.”

“I won't let anything happen to either of you.”, Wednesday tried to reassure in her least harsh tone, though it came across more jarring than kind. Both Divina and Eugene flinched, as if considering for the first time that there was something to harm them there. She chose not to mention the fact that she was sort of using this as a trap for Xavier, a way to confirm his monstrous secret. There was no need to worry them. 

“This is exactly why I’m carrying several extra blades today,” Wednesday added, trying to sway their dark thoughts, unzipping her gilet to reveal the four sharpened knives strapped to the inside. She chose to keep the lethal amounts of sedatives, nunchucks, throwing knives, pocket mace and other weapons she also had stowed away. 

“Wait, if that’s extra… How many do you normally carry?” Divina asked, eyes bulging at the sight. 

“The night awaits us,” Wednesday added before beginning the walk towards the running path they would be following, Eugene trailing behind her wordlessly. 

“Wednesday!”

*******

As they finally reached the end of that trail, the trees on either side of them thinned, revealing a familiar gate, now fully chained and padlocked. Speeding up, Wednesday beat them both to the gate, pulling out her bolt cutters, making quick work of the chains. They fell to the ground with a short metallic ring, and she pushed the gate forward. Divina winced at the grating sound it made, stopping just outside the boundary.

“This place is so creepy,” She all but whimpered, snapping her head to either side at each small sound. Wednesday thought briefly that she could hear some snapping of twigs, but was quickly distracted again by Divina's behaviour. Eugene, though carrying a small air of nervousness himself, was hiding it much better, as if he wanted to impress her. 

“Again, if you want to leave, you can. I’m going to check out the garage.”, Wednesday reiterated as she rushed forward, eager to explore such a dreadful place. 

She clicked her torch on, scanning the terrain ahead of them. It looked even more decrepit in the night. She could hear the sound of the gate closing on its own, as two pairs of footsteps trailed after her. Nobody but the crickets, chirping, spoke as they approached the double doors, and Wednesday grabbed the handle, pulling in vain to discover it locked. 

Without hesitating, she raised one combat-booted foot, slamming it right between where the two doors met, just below the latch. The impact rattled the hinges, sending a crack through the frame. Her second kick splintered the wood around the lock, and the door begrudgingly burst inwards.

Without pausing, Wednesday continued inside, unaware of the two petrified, awed statues standing behind her. Flicking a small switch on the wall, Wednesday activated the dated lights of the garage, taking in the room as they groaned and flickered to life. Immediately, a vehicle, covered by a particularly dust-free cloth, stuck out. 

The fallen leaves around the tires had clearly been disturbed. Pulling back the cloth, Wednesday revealed a familiar sight of a blue Cadillac.

“This is the car that hit the mayor,” She remarked softly, a slightly surprised shift in her tone. 

Her companions chose not to comment, nosing around the room themselves but seeming not to find much. All that could be heard was the irritating jangles of Eugene's bag.

Deciding to move forward, Wednesday pushed open the door adjoining the garage to the rest of the house, taking a deep breath of the brilliantly still air which hit her senses. Behind her, a few coughs echoed out, perhaps less pleased by the idea of decades-old, barely touched air. All furniture in the hallways seemed covered by a generous layer of dust; the floor, however, was littered with shoeprints. They belonged to more than one person, not just Mayor Walker. 

Floorboards creaked as they all inched their way further into the house, Wednesday eventually stopping to shed her torchlight on the enormous family portrait adorning an accent wall in their main room. Wednesday took in their appearances, immortalised in painting, considering how terribly normal they all looked, despite their psychotic nature.

She set her eyes on the previously unseen daughter of the gates family, her golden, long locks and piercing blue eyes standing out, almost leering back at her. Laurel Gates. Garrett was there too, his long hair hanging around his face, clumsily. 

Shifting through another doorway, Divina and Eugene followed her into another room, which seemed a library, everything utterly caked in cobwebs. The skulls of various types of game hung on the wall. It seemed the Gates had possessed a penchant for hunting. A chandelier lay broken on the ground, the supports holding it up having given out, candles half burned still in their holders.

Approaching the bookcase directly, Wednesday began pulling a few books back, hoping to find a mechanism, though they all seemed equally dusty. Her attention was then drawn to the wooden panelling of the bookcase, intricately carved flowers caked in dust. Only it seemed one was suspiciously clean.

Pressing the panel gently, it slid back easily, the sound of gears clicking echoing out. The hidden mechanism retreated a section of the bookcase, revealing an altar behind it. 

There, in all his twisted and cruel glory, stood a large oil painting of Joseph Crackstone, the ancient ancestor of the Gates family. Dozens of old candles lay in front of it, some burned completely, while several looked almost new. 

“Is anyone else creeped out?” Divina whispered, breaking the silence that had befallen the group. Eugene, who had apparently been on the floor, unfazed by the grime and looking for dark, damp places, shrugged.

“ Just me then ,” she muttered, more to herself than either of them. “Why did these people have a spooky, built-in altar in their family library?”

“Ours is in the living room. More seating for year-long Dia de los Muertos ”, Wednesday offered, turning her head back to face the painting again. As she looked closer at the candles, Wednesday suddenly zeroed in on a small wisp of smoke still being emitted from one of the candles. Touching it gently, she realised it was, in fact, still warm.

Informing the rest of the group, Wednesday decided that they needed to speed up this operation. It seemed danger might be more imminent than she’d initially thought.

“I think we should split up. One of you two should check the rest of the ground floor, while I check upstairs.” 

“I can stay down here!” Eugene immediately piped up, fiddling around with his jars, apparently already having located a few specimens of interest. “I think I saw some signs of Deathwatch beetles!”

Wednesday, not a fan of this idea, immediately tried to object, only to be interrupted by more of Divina's fearful whimpers. Almost sighing, Wednesday realised she would need to stay with the other girl, whose nerves seemed more temperamental than her fellow Hummer’s.

“Fine. But you call for me if you find anything amiss. And if you need to run, Eugene, drop that bag. And your specimens.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eugene dismissed, already running into another room in excitement, mumbling something about another insect. The bag rattled as he went along, Wednesday resisting the urge to rub the bridge of her nose tiredly. 

The stairs creaked just like the rest of the house, as both girls crept up them, Divina trailing close behind Wednesday. They reached the top, revealing another hallway. 

“Alright, you go left, I go right,” Wednesday ordered firmly, already favouring the right. 

“You want to split up!? Here? Wednesday, this is how people die in horror movies.”, Divina hissed, fear painting her face.

“The faster we search, the sooner you can leave”, Wednesday retorted quickly, turning to begin her search, almost excited at the prospect of finding someone here. The weapons in her pockets were itching to be used. She heard more of Divina's cursing and mumbling as she retreated in the opposite direction. 

The rooms on the right side turned out to be especially dreary, but disappointingly empty. She came across the laundry room, old clothes which would never be worn again, still hung up like they had just been washed. If you overlooked the cobwebs and dust caking each item. 

Wednesday had been growing bored when she suddenly heard the urgent tone of Divina, beckoning her over.

“Wednesday, you need to see this.”

Briskly, Wednesday walked the few paces back over to the left side, stopping at the doorway of an unpleasant room, untouched by time. Its glaring difference from the rest of the house was astonishing as she ventured in further, everything utterly pristine, as if someone still lived there. 

“The beds made. No dust or cobwebs.”, Divina offered weakly, shivering reflexively, though not because of the cold. 

Glancing over to the bedside table, Wednesday shone her light on the fresh, very alive, pink roses placed there in a vase. Divina opted to check the other side of the room, stopping at the dresser to look at a music box.

“LG?”, she read, a slightly disgusted lilt to her tone. 

Wednesday took the box in, a small, flimsy ballerina in the centre, the interior lined with red velvet. The box itself had an interesting polished wood grain, with the initials LG, decorated on the side in golden cursive font. 

“Laurel Gates,” Wednesday whispered incredulously, as she crouched down to better look at the box.

“Do you think she moved back into her old room or something?”

“It's not possible. She died 25 years ago, drowned overseas.” Wednesday muttered, a thought about her name beginning to connect in her head, before being quickly dissipated by sound from outside.

While they had been talking, Wednesday had noted the noises of Eugene’s bag, the clattering of glass jars sloshing around inside. Each time the boy moved, it created a sound. So the sudden increase in the frequency of those sounds had indicated to her that he was running. And the incredibly loud smashing that followed it told her he had fallen. Or been attacked.

Eugene.

Rushing out of the room, Wednesday had almost begun to barrel down the stairs when she saw the snarling and growling silhouette of that cursed monster, growing larger as it inched closer. The sound of slashing, blood spilling, rang out from downstairs, Eugene's screams shrill and raw. His scared voice as he yelled out warnings.

“Guys, it's here, Ru-” Eugene all but moaned out, his voice faint and waning, as if he was struggling to stay awake.

“EUGENE”, Wednesday yelled out despite herself, overwhelmed by fear for the boy she had left alone, who she had brought here in the first place.

Not having a second to spare, Wednesday turned, spotting a dumbwaiter she had noticed earlier. 

“The dumbwaiter. Go!” Wednesday hissed, grabbing Divina harshly by the arm, all but shoving her in. 

It left her with a split-second decision to make. While she possessed the weapons to fight this monster, she couldn't guarantee her victory with such little time to prepare, to even pull out her weapons from their hiding places. If she were to die here, she would not be able to save either one of her fri- partners who were stuck here because she had brought them with her. 

It seemed she, too, needed to flee, to find a way to get to Eugene as quickly as possible. 

The monster was all the way up the stairs now, snarling in its hideous rage, pouncing closer with each bound of its deformed legs. In a flash, Wednesday had leapt into the dumbwaiter and slammed its cover shut behind her. Divina seemed to be practically hyperventilating behind her, chanting some self-soothing mantra under her breath. Silence befell the world outside for a few moments, Wednesday holding her breath and trying to make herself as still as possible. 

Nothing.

Then a jarring ‘CRASH’ as guttural snarls resumed from outside, shaking the dumbwaiter and trying to find a way inside. Without thinking, Wednesday's hands were at Divina's neck, tugging off the brown scarf she was wearing without a word, tying it to the handles of the door, acting as a makeshift lock. Divina just remained silent as she finished tying, staring forward, frozen. 

Still again. No sounds, as Wednesday surmised, the creature was confused as to why the door wasn't opening. Had it given up and retrea-

‘SLASH’, came the sound of the creature's gnarled and filthy claws, tearing through the thin metal of the door in three clean cuts. They saw a sliver of its eye through the gap, bloodshot red and cloudy, hazel irises tiny in a sea of pink.

It's pale, sickly grey skin, and those yellow, pointed teeth. It was looking, right at both of them, with its human awareness still there, but an equal anamalistic bloodthirst, a desperation to KILL KILL KILL, to tear them limb from limb.

Wednesday truly feared for Eugene then, shuddering to think of what might have become of him downstairs, where she had left him.

This was the thought, which meant she failed to recognise the distinct sound of decades unused rope, fraying under the strain of two people, and the pressure from outside. It was just as she tore her eyes away from the monster to check the rope when it gave out with a snap.

Down they plummeted suddenly, Divina screaming as she was pushed upwards by the motion, Wednesday’s mouth agape with shock, trying to hold onto something as they were at the rapid mercy of gravity. 

Gravity did prove rather merciful, as the fall was brief, their descent finishing with a great big ‘BANG’ as the metal hit its lowest limit, the door entirely falling off from the impact, which left Wednesday to be flung out of the dumbwaiter ungracefully. The door clattered to a stop a few feet away, a massive plume of dust and dirt rising up from the sheer impact of the fall. 

Divina similarly rolled out of the dumbwaiter, coughing bitterly as she tried to stand up. 

Wednesday, who was already at her feet, struggled to steady herself as she took in the room they had fallen into, a storage space entirely free from the dust and grime of the rest of the house. With a confused grimace painting her face, she pulled a light on, which came on immediately, bright and new.

How telling.

The disturbing place they found themselves in seemed to be somewhat of a butcher's station, where cleaning chemicals sat in big bottles atop the equally bloodstained wooden slab. Pushed to the side, a small trolley of medical equipment sat, used and bloody. It was just like she had seen in her vision of that man's fate, the doctor.

The walls were lined with dozens of freezers and medical fridges, stacked on top of each other, humming, powered by electricity that this building shouldn’t have still had. Shelves lined with jars also littered the room.

Running over to one of the freezers despite her disorientation, Wednesday yanked a door open, revealing what she thought she’d find.

Tightly vacuum-sealed bags, encasing all kinds of organs, as labelled crudely on their containers. Small markings of initials and dates were scrawled in pen, cataloguing them.

Some bags were murky red, colour dulled by the freezing cold, which was escaping in a cloud of icy vapour. 

Stepping back in something close to shock, Wednesday gawked around the room, eyes darting between charts of pickup times, the grimy drain in the corner of the concrete floor, another door, leading somewhere else. Her vision had begun to darken slightly now, overwhelmed by her discovery. 

‘BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, ’ suddenly went the sounds of enormous bounds above them, indicating the monster had figured out where they’d fallen and was quickly on its way. With each impact, sawdust billowed down, dusting their head with the oppressive material. Its growling could be heard again, as it began trying to break down the flimsy door leading to the basement. 

Divina, suddenly springing back to life from her stupor, spotted a small window in the room, immediately scrambling to climb up to it. Pushing her feet upwards, Wednesday watched as she finally manoeuvred herself out, and was about to join when she spotted a large jar on one of the shelves closest to her filled with preservative chemicals, carrying an utterly gruesome sight.

There on that shelf sat a fully preserved severed head, hair and all intact, floating inside the chemicals. In fact, there were rows and rows of them, all containing the same thing. But this one, she recognised 

The greying and swollen face of Rowan Laslow stared back at Wednesday, mouth open, like he was screaming for her help, from beyond the grave. Without even thinking about anything else, Wednesday reached out, like an entranced fool, placing her hand on the glass, taken away to another world.

Wednesday sees Rowan's whole life. The essence of his existence, all crammed into one vision, summed him up entirely. 

She feels joy, youth, carefree glee.

She feels different, shunned, outcast.

She feels hopeful, inspired, determined

She feels hopeless, betrayed, dead.

A short scene, a conversation with someone, an arrangement of sorts, those woods, a doctor, a paper.

That cursed operating table and that cursed doctor, inching closer and closer while a boy wails and screeches.

Why me? Why not her? 

A mother, quietly whispering his doom on her deathbed, cursing him to a life alone, a life without acceptance. What good is to have a life when you can't live?

He thought they’d be different. He thought they were helping. 

Oh, how wrong he was.

“Wednesday, wake up, WAKE UP,” the shrill, desperate voice of Divina screamed, as she rummaged through Wednesday's coat, grabbing all the knives strapped there and turning to face something.

Oh, the monster.

THE MONSTER.

In an astonishing act, Wednesday watched on in awe as Divina stepped in front of her, throwing each knife with a surprising amount of skill at a now mere feet away monster, whose blood-thirst had tripled

The first knife missed, clattering down to the ground, drawing the monster's attention for only a second. It gave her a moment to aim her second knife true, landing in one of the monster's deformed legs, piercing the flesh there and eliciting a feral, growling wail. In quick succession, the remaining two blades met their mark in the other leg and an arm, immobilising the monster momentarily.

For just a second, Wednesday's gaze dragged over the impaled arm of the beast, noting the presence of 4 slashes, scars.

Deciding her attack was enough, Divina grabbed Wednesday, who was still in somewhat of a daze from her vision, pushing her through the window before jumping through herself, slamming shut behind her just in time to avoid a now enraged beast, slashing and snarling.

It was quiet for a second as they sat there, panting and in disbelief at the events which had just occurred. 

“You aimed for the limbs. Smart.”

Divina let out a snort, mixed in with the tears that Wednesday did not know had begun.

She basked in the relief of still being alive for a single moment more, before her brain reset itself, finally processing the situation.

Making haste, she rose urgently, barely picking up her flashlight before starting to sprint, Divina watching her, slightly confused.

“Where are you going?” she panted, barely about to keep up after their ordeal.

“EUGENE!”

*******

The scene was all wrong when they finally got back to the main house, entering in through the same door Wednesday had kicked in, only without the previous hesitation. Reaching the room they found the altar in, Wednesday observed with a heavy heart, a lone open jar, intact on the ground, its lid rolled far off somewhere. Following through that doorway, a clear path could be seen. More jars, these ones shattered into millions of fragments, some bugs crushed along with them. Past that was a large bag, one she should have insisted he not bring, one that made him a walking target. Past that… broken glasses, crushed under the claw of something hideous, bent at odd angles.

Then there was the heaped, bleeding body of a small boy, lying on his back, far too still. Wednesday ran, immediately checking and sighing audibly with relief when she saw the small rising and fallings of his chest. The relief quickly disappeared when she took in his injuries, the three garish slashes into his chest. If they didn't get help soon, Eugene was going to die. They couldn't have that. They couldn't.

“Call 911,” Wednesday ordered emotionless, reigning everything in as Divina began sobbing behind her. “NOW”, she reiterated, beginning to panic. 

Wednesday could barely hear the call that took place after that, her ears ringing in shock, daze broken by the appearance of two shoes ahead of her, completely clean.

Looking up, Wednesday was met with the sight of none other than Xavier Thorpe, his eyes comically concerned, mouth agape, quickly pulling off his scarf to put pressure on the wound. 

Wednesday might have previously thought faintly about her plan working, the boy falling right into her trap, but now, all she could see was red, blood red, crimson.

That red faded into the lights of the ambulance, and police sirens, and people.

She came back to awareness some time in the hospital waiting room, the sterile white environment all tinged with crimson in her vision. She thought she might have seen Divina, sat next to her, saying something, when she felt her vision blackening again.

*******

“Addams, wake up.”

Wednesday jerked to life in a start, suddenly completely aware of her surroundings, seemingly out of the humiliating hysteria she had fallen into. Her back and neck ached from where she had been uncharacteristically slumped in a hospital waiting room chair, completely unconscious. Beside her, Divina was equally asleep, snoring away as she tucked her head into her own elbow, knees drawn to her chest.

And in front of her, stood a very angry, very accusing Sheriff Galpin. 

“This was all you wasn't it? I’ve got a boy in a coma because of you!”

“Coma? Eugene, is he alright?” Wednesday blurted hurriedly, rising to face the man, though creating more space between them.

“He’s in critical condition, but hanging in there. What I want to know is, why were you at the Gates mansion in the first place, after my explicit orders to mind your own business?”

Wednesday had no words to provide after that, suddenly remembering the entire troves of evidence she had discovered in that abandoned house. She was about to tell the Sheriff just that when the sudden loud, sharp alarm of a cardiac monitor sounded out, indicating a flatline happening somewhere nearby. Nurses immediately sprang into action, urgently rushing into a room, yelling something about an open window and a cord pulled
The sheriff, who had been completely red-faced in front of her, immediately turned sheet white, rushing over to the doorway where she surmised Mayor Walker was staying.

The happenings of that moment suddenly clicked into place for her, the fact that someone had possibly just sabotaged Mayor Walker's medical treatment. Why? To distract them from the mansion full of incriminating evidence.

“Sheriff, I have something you need to see. Now.”

However, it was all much too late, for when they arrived back at that cursed house, Wednesday almost sensed the change. In all the places they had been, Laurel Gates' room, the garage, the basement, the altar. All the evidence was gone. Like it had been a cruel figment of her imagination. Like she had dreamt it all. 

The sheriff was made even more furious by this all, spitting insults in her face, ordering her to drop her investigation or face immediate arrest next time she was caught anywhere.

They had been examining an astonishingly empty basement, and even the knife Divina had thrown and missed was gone. Wednesday's gaze had strayed back to the doorway, the one she had briefly seen before the monster reappeared.

“What about that door? Have you checked behind there?”

“Just the entrance to an old storm bunker the family had. It's completely sealed off.”

“Are you-”

“Don't test me, Addams.”

So she had given up, resigning to wallow in her own guilt, speechless the entire ride back to Nevermore, unable to bring herself to say a single word to Weems, and making her way back to the dorm.

Thing awaited her, but she couldn't talk to him either.

Her room was too dark, too cold, too still.

She tried to sleep, but it was a fruitless endeavour. Her eyes closed, but they still saw, red, endless red.

So she resumed her research, numb in the matter but still trying to push forward.

Her first matter of business was to search online for the current ownership of the Gates mansion; nearly no news was available about it. It took her an entire hour, dawn starting to poke its head out, when she finally found an article. 

Dated from three years ago, it reported the Gates mansion had been bought by an elderly candy heiress, who died soon after leaving the property to her caregiver.

‘Teresa L. Glau’

For a second, Wednesday stared at the name in utter disbelief. It was ridiculous when she thought about it that she hadn't considered an anagram

Dr Aleus Gratel, ‘Selena Targul’ and ‘Teresa L. Glau’

They were all almost perfect anagrams for Laurel Gates.