One of Ethan's older brothers jumps up high and snags a turquoise frisbee in his mouth. As he lands on the soft grass the other four brothers surround him and try tackling him in order to take the frisbee. The pack growls playfully a little distance away from their Father, Mother, youngest brother and his girlfriend, all sitting on tree stumps.
The spacious clearing surrounded by tall trees displaying warm autumn colours of yellow okar and auburn had those beautiful golden leaves scattered on the ground. Parents' Day was yet to be over, and all the other families were sitting in their own groups in the clearing, enjoying the day.
Ethan's family was sitting in a triangular shape around a small bonfire burning inside a small black fire pot, with Misaki sitting on Ethan's right, protectively away from his Father— Earl Sinclair. His little Mother— Mary Sinclair, was facing her husband and youngest son.
An American inspired red, blue and white checkerboard picnic mat lay unused by Mary's side while a small wooden picnic box was next to Misaki's other side, her and Ethan sitting close together, a partially drank bottle of orange juice and a small white mug sat on top.
The warm crackling fire couldn't mask the sombre air between the four.
Both Earl, dressed somewhat unkempt in black and grey fur and Ethan, sporting an all bright blue attire with a bright blue hoodie, slightly darker slim fit blue slacks and complete with a stylish blue vest, gazed at the group of Sinclair boys, as the one with the frisbee playfully rolled around on the ground littered with golden leaves.
His Mother was roasting three small marshmallows on a thin skewer.
Earl grinned pleasantly as looked around at his family, juxtaposing Ethan's anxious expression.
"Here. I brought you a gift." Earl offered his youngest son a dark envelope wrapped by a thin string with a beaming smile, extending his right arm.
"That's so sweet. You didn't have to get me anything." Ethan broke out into a grateful smile.
"I know, but I thought we got off on the wrong foot this weekend." Earl continued pleasantly, slightly furrowing his pale brows. Mary's creased brows accentuated her worried expression as she glanced at her husband nervously.
"I just want you to know that all I want is the very best for you." upon hearing his Father's words Ethan's face bloomed with happiness.
He took off the string bounding the envelope and took out the various pieces of paper inside...
The bold, capital, red word S U M M E R followed by camp greeted him.
His Father continued grinning, while a shadow fell on his own pale face.
Multiple pictures such as a powerful wolf howling in a full moon and the words:
LYCANTHROPY SUMMER CAMP
filled all those pages.
Ethan's brow wavered. "What are these?" he asked, resentment filling his deep voice.
"Brochures." Earl returned with a handsome smile, revealing his charming high cheekbone dimples. He widened his sparkling crystal blue eyes and whispered excitedly, "For summer camp."
"These aren't just ordinary summer camps." Ethan returned with worry, glancing down at the brochures. "These are camps for lycanthropy conversion."
Earl tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. "Oh, no need to be dramatic, Ethan."
"You want to send me to conversion therapy for werewolves?" The boy's voice was filled with hurt as his Mother worriedly looked down onto her half roasted marshmallows.
"It worked wonders for your cousin Lucius, didn't it?" Earl fired back gently. "Seven weeks in the Balkan countryside and he was howling at the moon in no time." Ethan was breathing in and out very quickly, his lip trembling slightly, closing and opening his eyes in anger. Misaki softly placed her small hand on Ethan's and he interlaced his fingers with hers, bringing it down to his side, out of his Father's view.
"As it should be. Don't you want to wolf out and finally be normal, son?" Earl asked his son icily, that smile wiped completely from his pale face. "Instead of the disgrace that you are." he hissed, narrowing his piercing blue eyes.
Mary trembled slightly and looked down.
Ethan abruptly stood up and left without another word, pulling Misaki away with him.
Mary's face paled as she looked at her son leaving. Earl didn't spare the pair another glance.
☟☟☟
On the other side of the golden forest, far away from all the happy families, Pugsley sat alone on a small wooden pier looking out onto the lake. The bright golden sun had descended from the pale blue sky, illuminating the clearing with a warm glow.
Saturday stalked up to him, his black leather long strap shoulder bag hung on his left shoulder while his pale right held two wooden fishing sticks.
He stopped a few yards away behind his younger brother, standing stiller than a statue.
Pugsley saw him from the side of his eye. "Go away." the young boy simply replied.
On the sound of his brother's voice, Saturday stepped closer. "You forgot your fishing gear." he said simply, his deep voice sinking a tone deeper, as he dropped the two wooden sticks on the wooden planks next to Pugsley.
Taking off his black leather bag, he gently placed it next to Pugsley and sat down next to him, leaning his long legs against the edge so that his leather shoes didn't become submerged in the water due to his height.
Pugsley frowned, partially looking at his older brother. "Stop trying to be nice. It doesn't suit you."
Saturday's obsidian eyes flickered. "Father packed your favourite bait."
Pugsley reached into the black leather bag without looking at Saturday.
Upon opening it he smiled at the contents inside, grabbing a forest green grenade with a black metal top and lifting it up to his face.
But his face quickly dropped and so did his hand, as he again thought about his beloved Mother, now in prison with no way out. Saturday eyed his brother carefully.
"What'll happen to her now?" Pugsley asked softly.
Saturday glanced at Pugsley with lowered eyelids. "Well, she's confessed, so there won't be a trial." He quickly glanced away, looking attentively straight forward.
Pugsley looked at his brother properly for the first time. "After she's sentenced, she'll be sent to a state penitentiary, where she'll lose her mind being separated from Father." Saturday raised an eyebrow as he glanced to the side upwards, away from Pugsley.
"Did you know they haven't spent a night apart since they tied the knot?" he suddenly turned his head and gazed back towards his younger brother as he asked.
Pugsley grimaced as he shook his head slightly. "I always thought I'd be the first one in the family behind bars." he returned as he gazed down at the waters below.
"Lurch and I had a bet going." Saturday said quietly, as both younger and older looked at each other.
"Come on. Let's see if the fish are biting." Saturday urged Pugsley.
The younger looks down at his hands and pulls out the safety pin.
The grenade pin clicks.
Plop!
Pugsley quickly threw the grenade far away into the water.
BOOM!
The water explodes magnificently in the middle of the lake.
As the droplets fall, many dead fish float to the surface.
"That's quite a catch." Saturday praised.
"I'm gonna miss her, Saturday." Pugsley confessed abruptly, his voice cracking as he turned his head to his brother.
Saturday whipped his head back to Pugsley. "It's not over yet. She's innocent." he reassured.
"Well," Pugsley turned to look at the vast waters, "if anyone can figure out who really committed the crime...it's you." before turning back to his brother, responding simply.
"You have to find out the truth and free Mum." Pugsley urged with a slightly harder tone.
Saturday glared down at the waters below.
"Well, until that happens, we both know Father will be falling apart." older said as he glanced back at younger.
"Which means we have to be strong." Saturday's obsidian eyes pierced into Pugsley's as he spoke. "And by "we," I mean you."
The sun shone the wavy, ever changing patterns of the water onto both brothers.
"Now, give me one of those." orders Saturday coldly, holding out his hand closest to Pugsley, palm up.
Pugsley obeyed, grabbing a grenade from the bag and handing it to his older brother.
Saturday swiftly pulled out the pin and threw it far into the water.
Plop.
Another big explosion ensued in the water, seemingly larger than the first.
"Where is Father anyway?" askes Saturday, turning his head ever so slightly, sharp eyes on his younger brother.
"He said he wanted to be alone." Pugsley replied, looking back at his older brother. Saturday's immaculate black brows furrowed. "Somewhere where no one would find him."
Saturday's clever obsidian eyes darted.
☟☟☟
Mortician Addams welcomed the dark, eerie scenery in front of him with open arms, as he stood in the very centre of the room with the strange pale star design, in the very centre of the white nightshade.
He slowly and grandly returned his arms back to his sides and lowered his head to look straight ahead at the paintings of Nevermore's famous alumni.
He elegantly stalked forward slowly, looking up at the numerous very ancient books on the shelves, which contained the most forbidden and powerful secrets.
Although occupied with his own thoughts, he vaguely sensed the presence of his oldest son coming down the spiralling stairs. A presence so similar it almost felt like his own.
"Hello, Father." Saturday said coldly to the man in front of him.
Mortician turned his ghostly pale face around to greet his son, long sleek black hair twirling ever so slightly, obsidian eyes glistening with sorrow.
"Hello, Saturday." he whispered hauntingly.
The boy continued descending down the stairs, not gazing back at his Father. Despite the bone chilling room, the boy did not have any sort of coat on.
"So you're a Nightshade." the man mused proudly, lips curling into the slightest of smiles, revealing his perfect white teeth. "That didn't take long."
"Actually, I rejected them." Saturday returned curtly, as he walked down into the room and faced his Father.
"Why? Because I was a member?" Mortician questioned gently.
"I'll never live up to your legacy here," Saturday concluded icily softly, "so why try?"
"I win the Poe Cup, you claimed it four times. I join the fencing team, you captained it."
The boy paused.
"Why would you send me somewhere where I could only ever exist in your shadow?"
"It's not a competition, Wednesday." Mortician replied solemnly, slightly shaking his head.
"Everything is a competition, Father." Saturday fired back cooly, lowering his gaze. Mortician did the same.
The boy returned his shining obsidian eyes back into his Father's, the weak light casting stark shadows on his ghostly pale face. "But mostly I rejected them because they're a trivial social club."
"We used to be so much more." Mortician smiled solemnly, reminiscing. "Our mission was to protect outcasts from harm and bigotry."
Saturday remained silent, listening intently.
"In fact, the group was started by an ancestor of mine from Mexico." Mortician said as he nodded. "One of the first settlers in America." He gave another sincere smile.
"Goodman."
His smile disappeared, wondering how his son knew of the name.
"I saw his painting at Pilgrim World." Saturday explained, in a much quieter tone.
"Oh." The man raised then lowered his eyebrows quickly. His deep obsidian eyes continued to glitter. "How ironic, since he was the one who killed Joseph Crackstone."
"The Nightshades were his secret, but deadly, answer to Crackstone's oppression." Mortician whispered. "I know why you've come here, Saturday."
"So go on. Ask." the man continued.
"Mother didn't kill Garrett Gates, did she?"
"No."
☟☟☟
Thunderclaps, illuminating the dark night in bright white light.
The clanging of swords rang in Mortician's ears, as the young boy faced the deadly scene in front of him.
"By the time I made it up the stairs, I found your Mother fighting for her life. It was terrifying."
"Garrett, no!" A young Mortician shouted desperately as he ran to protect his date.
Both were viciously fighting, though Garrett clearly had the upper hand.
Garrett grunts as he is pushed into a stone pillar.
Mortician was panting as he neared a bloodied Gomez.
Garrett rushed for her again, shoving her by the collar into the hard stone wall, both grunting and struggling.
Garrett flings Gomez to the wet wooden floor— onto the balcony still under construction, and continuously kicks hard into her side.
"Garrett!"
Mortician abruptly rushed to Gomez's side and punched Garrett square in his jawbone, forcing him away from Gomez. But Garrett, with a surge of crazed rage, rushed his whole body against Mortician, who stumbled slightly, before Garrett crashed his fist into Mortician's stomach.
"Augh!" Mortician grunts as he crashes against the floor, his eye-mask slid off his face and onto the ground, the fall taking the wind out of him, though he was still conscious.
Garrett returned to assaulting Gomez, the sounds of his punches filled the empty night.
"Garrett, stop!"
The pair rolled haphazardly, and Gomez ended up on top.
"Leave her alone!"
Before she gets to do anything, he kicks her powerfully away from him.
Mortician gasped in horror, hand still over his stomach as he hurried to Gomez's side.
"I'll never forget the way he looked at me." the older Mortician whispered huskily.
"He was even foaming at the mouth."
Thunder clashed around a maniacal looking Garrett.
"It was like I was staring into the eyes of a rabid beast." Mortician's sharp obsidian eyes glistened as he whispered.
Saturday stared back intently, transfixed.
The crazed Garrett stalked quickly to Mortician and Gomez.
In an instant, Mortician instinctively stepped protectively in front of Gomez and grabbed the long sword from the ground with one hand...
There is a wet squelch as the blade pierces through Garrett's stomach.
The Gates boy seemed to lean slightly into the sword, before lifting his face to meet Mortician's.
A thin layer of cold sweat formed over Mortician's ghostly pale face, and he started shuddering uncontrollably.
The blade rasps as Mortician pulled it out of a shocked Garrett, who cupped both hands over his deadly wound.
"Oh, no." Mortician choked out a barely audible whisper as he shook all over.
Garrett slowly walked backwards before falling over the edge.
There is a dull thud followed by Lukas Weems' bloodcurdling scream: "AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!".
"It was only when I heard the scream that I realized what I'd done."
The young Mortician froze in terrified horror, as a panting Gomez's small, clammy hand eased the sword from his ice cold ones.
"Your Mother was so...calm and brave."
Gomez slowly hobbled to the edge as Lukas' gaze trailed upwards, thunder, wind and rain bellowing around the two figures, revealing herself to be the assumed killer.
White lightning flashed continuously.
She hurriedly limped back to Mortician and grabbed his large, dry, icy hands.
"Mort, you need to leave right now." she urged him. "Go to your room and lock the door." her calm, solid words were the only things ringing in his ears as he shivered uncontrollably.
"You were never here." she raised her voice slightly, not sure whether her erratically panting love had heard her. "You understand me?" Mortician continued shivering, his mind blank.
"Mortician?" her steady call brought him back, and he looked straight down at her.
"Put this back on the table." she looked down and guided his trembling hands onto the bloodied sword.
"Go." she urged.
"Okay." he replied in an almost inaudible whisper as he cupped her behind her ear and pulled her into a passionate kiss.
Lightning surrounded the two as they separated.
☟☟☟
"Your Mother took the blame in order to protect me." Mortician whispered huskily to his son, obsidian eyes still glistening as he smiled a sad smile.
His smile wavered as he struggled to hold his composure.
A single tear slipped down his pale cheek.
"I was so grateful when they cleared her of any wrongdoing." his deep voice cracked as it became a soft whisper once more. "But I knew, someday this would come back to haunt us."
Saturday lowered his pale eyelids, as his shining obsidian eyes gazed down, considering, deducing.
"You said Garrett was foaming at the mouth." he said coldly, piercing eyes gazing back into his Father's, taking a few small, calculated steps forward. "His eyes didn't look human."
"I've never seen someone so blinded by rage." Mortician replied quietly as he shook his head slightly, restraining himself from any more tears.
"Maybe it wasn't rage at all." Saturday's cold, logical voice returned. "Foaming saliva, dilated pupils, mental confusion." The boy's calm voice had a slight edge of excitement to it.
"What are those all textbook symptoms of?"
Mortician's glittering obsidian eyes slowly moved, analysing.
The man gasps. Saturday's lips curl ever so slightly.
"But how can that be?" Mortician whispered as he looked back into his son's eyes.
"There's only one way to find out." Saturday lifted his brows ever so slightly as his lips form a wicked smirk.
☟☟☟
Saturday shoves a large metal shovel roughly into the loose dirt, as he flings the dirt into a mounting pile.
He was in a large, perfectly rectangular hole.
In Garrett Gates' grave.
Dust billowed around Mortician like a faint mist, who stood above ground a few feet away from the gaping hole. He chose not to join his son in this...delightful endeavour.
"Aah." the man sighs dreamily. "This reminds me of when you got your first grave-digging kit." his voice was back to that honeyed, seductive tone.
"You were so happy, you nearly smiled." the man shook his slightly tilted head as he mused with a smile.
Saturday stopped abruptly, lips curled up slightly, black overcoat unbuttoned, white shirt sleeves rolled up exposing his pale, muscular, veiny forearms, his posture immaculately straight as he looked up into his Father's eyes.
"Are you sure you don't want to join?" he invited enticingly.
"Uh...mm..." The man glanced down hesitantly at his long, pale, supple fingers, at his spotlessly clean, shiny, perfectly manicured black nails. "No, that's okay, dear son. I don't want to spoil your fun." he refused as he furrowed his brows.
Saturday turned back to digging, scoffing and grunting quietly.
Mortician smiled slightly as he checked down at his perfect nails once more.
The shovel made a hollow thud as it hit its target.
Saturday smirked in satisfaction.
He banged the shovel against the wood before leaning it to the side.
Wiping the dirt off the golden plague with his pale fingers the writing underneath was revealed.
𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒
𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟐 - 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟎
Saturday's sharp obsidian eyes darted around, quickly reading the writing.
"Moment of truth." the boy said resolutely.
He lifted the heavy wooden lid with ease, the moving air swirling his sleek black hair, and inhaled the wafting putrid smell fondly with a cold, closed-eye smirk.
His expression immediately turned serious as Garrett Gates' swivelled, rotted body greeted him, his full mouth of filthy pale teeth standing out against the dark bluish-purple hue of his lips and skin of his face.
"Hello, Garrett." he greets menacingly softly. "I was right." his obsidian eyes glittered.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" mused Sheriff Donovan's tall, bulkily muscled, black right hand man, Santiago.
He inhaled in satisfaction. "Guess there's gonna be an Addams family reunion in lockup tonight."
Mortician put his pale hands high up into the air, his solemn face an unreadable mask, Santiago's large, strong torchlight shone a piercing yellow hue on his neck.
Saturday, still in the hole, put his hands up too, though reluctantly, opening his palms after a slight pause, an unreadable, cool expression on his sharp features.
"You're both under arrest."
☟☟☟