"Pugsley," Wednesday said calmly, looking at the arched window of the Salem Witch Museum. "We're not going in."
"Wednesday!" Pugsley whined and folded his arms on his chest in a prayer. "Could we at least look through the gift shop?"
"Save that expression for a later visit to the Satanic Temple," Wednesday sighed and grinned slightly. "Maybe they make sacrifices there, and I'll get lucky."
"It's mostly Normies there," Pugsley said, and glanced at Lurch. "As well as here, actually."
The Addams' butler had been showing for about ten minutes how tired he was of all this. After all, all these annoying tourists who had some courage tried to take pictures with him. Why a person, whose external characteristics matched with Frankenstein's monster, got linked to the subject of the witch hunt cases that took place in this town, Wednesday could not even guess.
"Let's just walk through the park to the east of here, and maybe we'll have time to attend the funeral or cremation celebration," Wednesday suggested, and again even sighed in resignation. "And we're still here on business. So hurry up with souvenirs. And take Lurch with you. You never know what might happen."
"Really? You wait here?" Pugsley raced to Lurch surrounded by fans, took his palm, dragged him towards the entrance and shouted. "I'll get you a postcard!"
Wednesday took a folded battered map of the city and a note with the address from her leather backpack. Her prolonged search was interrupted by laughter behind her, too close to be accidental. But there was still a glimmer of hope.
"Just look at this freak! Hey! Can I help you?"
Hope died when Wednesday felt the movement of another person behind her, looked up from the map. And her reflexes made her dodge the outstretched hand. Only the general fatigue after eight hours of travel kept this hand intact. But Addams could not give any guarantees for the future, because the owner of this hand also had a mouth.
"Hey, are you a walking exhibit? Well, like in Disney, just an attempt to add some horror? I didn't know that's included!" A boy a bit older than Wednesday smiled as soon as he met the girl's gaze. "Well, surprise, surprise! You should have glued a wart, or something, you don't look like some medieval witch! Though you could curse with such a gaze, yeah! You been practicing for long?"
"For curses, you should address my second cousin's grandmother on my mother's side," said Wednesday without much emotion and carefully folded the map. "Are you local?"
"Yep!" He pointed to the building on Wednesday's left, across the street. "I work part-time in this bakery. If you want, you could come in, we have decent coffee. I'm on break, wanted to get some air. And then your buddy attracted much attention with his height."
Wednesday did not fill in the pause that this guy had deliberately created with some unnecessary chatter. The boy kept looking expectantly at Wednesday. She showed him the note and looked unblinkingly into his eyes.
"Tell me, do you know where this street is?"
"Uh, you won't even ask my name?" the guy frowned and tried to take the note, but Wednesday immediately pulled it away. "Uh, well, okay, I could read it anyways. I don't know where it is. Now, why don't you tell me your name?
"No. This conversation is over."
"Come on, why not! I'm just asking! Is it so hard to answer? Arrogance is a sin, you know!"
"I said, the conversation is over," said Wednesday in a bored voice and glanced towards the doors of this Museum of Witches, or whatever it's called.
"I didn't know that bitches start this early, whoa!"
Wednesday almost rolled her eyes at the overwhelming feeling of the meaninglessness of this conversation and the irrevocability of the time spent. But the excessive expression of emotions was interrupted by Lurch and Pugsley, who got out of this trap for tourists. Pugsley held a postcard, and Lurch had a weird ball cap on. Her brother's face was saturated with universal sorrow - and usually it could mean only two things. Either he couldn't manage to mess up anything, or someone messed up something before he did.
"It's some kind of alternate history," Pugsley shared and handed over the postcard. "Not exactly what Mom told us."
"Maybe your mom didn't want you to shit your pants, chubby," this unnamed guy with obvious suicidal tendencies, as it turned out, started to tease the younger Addams.
"You're getting sick in one, two, three," Pugsley said in an almost sympathising voice.
"Lurch," Wednesday threw the backpack to the butler and in one smooth movement knocked over the local imbecile with her precise fist to the middle of his thorax.
Having competently avoided the flow of vomit that erupted from the unfortunate and annoying idiot, Wednesday polished her knuckles with a handkerchief and, ignoring the gathering crowd of concerned citizens, said once again.
"Lurch."
The butler handed the backpack back to her, and she took a crystal ball out.
"Mother, father," purple smoke swirled inside, and a few moments later the parents answered her call.
"Cara mia, our little viper looks excited!"
"Father, I find this comparison inappropriate."
"You!" the half-wit who came to his senses interfered.
"Lurch," repeated Wednesday, without even looking up, and Lurch understood her without any other hints. "So, Father, as it turned out..."
This time, Wednesday got interrupted by the loud sound of a falling body, Lurch's grunting and Pugsley's overly joyful exclamation. Well, as it is known, the additional "d" in the Addams is not only for dismemberment, but also goes for diversity or being different.
That is why Wednesday still came to terms with certain peculiarities of her brother, though she kept in mind extensive plans for his death. She was still torn between "his body will not be found even in a hundred years" and "this will be the most remarkable occult death of the millennium, which every American and their dog would talk about."
"As it turned out, Father, the address you gave us is somehow inaccurate. What exactly is the reason of this, I do not know, but I can assume that an error has crept in at some step."
"Dear," her mother's voice sounded perplexed, and the slight turn of her head seemed bewildered as well, "they definitely live in Salem. But you and Pugsley forgot the plane tickets on the dining table. Wednesday, ask Lurch why he hid from us the existence of a new wormhole suitable for the travel of the living, or in your case, dear, somewhat living. But still! To make the journey from New Jersey to Oregon this quickly - such a feat!"
Wednesday closed her eyes and lifted her face to the overcast sky.
Small pleasures.
"Wednesday?" Pugsley asked, worried, right beside her. "What is it, Sister?"
"We're in Massachusetts, right?"
"Well, yes," her brother shrugged and thrust his thumb behind his back, "This is the Salem Witch Trials Museum, you could see for yourself. And we took the ferry from Boston, you wanted to take a break from the hearse. What is it, Sister? You don't usually ask obvious questions."
"I thought, there was nothing to spoil, Pugsley. Why does your luck always strike at the most inopportune time?"
"Sister?"
Wednesday chose to ignore her brother's innocently wide eyes and looked up at Lurch.
"Gr-r?"
"We had to get to Salem, Oregon, Lurch. Pugsley's obsession with werewolves couldn't even bring him any evil, that's right. It's rather awkward for our relatives. They kindly offered to help Pugsley with his self-identification, and that's how he payed them. Even the guillotine won't help him. Next time I'm planning the trip. It's just an awful end to and awful summer, and not the good awful."
"Gr-r-r-rm."
"You're saying there are positive things found in anything? Lurch, I had no idea you were such an optimist! How long have you been hiding this from the family?"
"Gr-r-r-ar-R."
"Since we're not that far away anyway, we could stop by Ipswich? Lurch, the last cannibal there was lynched by local Outcasts, so as not to spoil the statistics. Back in the twenties, Lurch."
"Gr-r-ru-r-ra-R."
"We don't have enough equipment to explore the swamps, Lurch, we'll have to procure lots of it and..."
"My little scorpion, I don't quite want to upset you," Gomez Addams interrupted his daughter, who'd almost lit up with this new idea, and brought his face closer to the crystal ball so that he obscured his wife, "but no investigations capable of causing mass madness and disappearances until you graduate College. We already negotiated!"
"Father?" Wednesday raised her left eyebrow in an unspoken question.
"This is Ipswich, mija, even Fester won't go into those swamps without a flamethrowing cover squad or several. And while everything is quiet there, it's better not to disturb..."
"Does Uncle Fester know something about it?" A sincere half-smile touched the girl's lips, but almost immediately disappeared. "You're serious, Father. I'll listen to you this time. Pugsley!"
"Wednesday?"
"We're leaving. Unless, of course, you want to set fire to something in order to enliven this mockery of our species' genocide. Then..."
"Setting it on fire is a good idea, Wednesday, but my arson kit is still in the hearse. I thought we were going to the Addams', and the Addams always have a spare."
"And the hearse is in Boston. Lurch?"
"Grm-m-m?"
"This day can officially be considered the worst of the whole summer. Let's go to the ferry. Perhaps Pugsley will manage to drown himself after all."