Chapter Text
Thunder sounds loudly outside making Enid jump a bit, spilling some popcorn from her hand onto her lap. Her eyeballs are glued to the screen as they watch The Blair Witch Project which Wednesday feels like will never end. It’s endless talking, whining, and close up shots of dripping noses.
“Will they ever show the witch?” She asks her girlfriend for the third time. She imagines said witch showing up and murdering the three filmmakers heroically, putting everyone-viewers included-out of their misery.
“I don’t remember,” Enid responds. “I haven’t seen this since I was a little kid.”
“You don’t remember if they show the witch?” Wednesday frowns. “The entire plot of the movie is them trying to see the witch. How could you not remember?”
More thunder sounds and the lights flicker, so does Wednesday’s heart with hope. Maybe they’ll lose power and they’ll have to save the rest of this dreadfully boring film for another night. She counts her blessings-it could be worse-it could be something like Mean Girls or Wicked. She doesn’t think she could sit through one of those again-not without accidentally on purpose sticking her head in the oven.
“It’s really coming down out there,” Enid says, pausing the movie and shifts around their tangled limbs to go and peek out of the narrow window beside the front door of their cozy apartment.
“Maybe it’s too scary to try and watch the movie when it’s storming,” Wednesday says flatly, though she hopes her tone conveys some kind of sympathy. Enid isn’t a fan of storms.
“I think you’re right,” Enid says with a sigh. She removes herself from the window and confesses, “They don’t show the witch.”
Wednesday stares at her.
“I’m sorry!” Enid holds her hands up defensively. “I wasn’t even born yet when they made that stupid movie.”
Wednesday continues to stare at her and Enid says, “God, I gotta piss. Come with me?”
“To pee?” Wednesday frowns.
“Yeah,” Enid says. “In case there’s a monster or something.”
“You’re a werewolf,” Wednesday reminds her.
“Toilet snakes then,” Enid says.
Wednesday nods approvingly. That’s a valid enough reason to have extra protection in the bathroom. She follows her girlfriend, who giggles when Wednesday slaps her on the ass through her pajama pants. Enid knows she’s blessed for getting to see a side of Wednesday Addams that nobody else gets to. She remembers all of the nights as a child and teenager she cried herself to sleep thinking she’d wind up alone with eighteen cats (Wednesday says she still wouldn’t mind eighteen cats) because she just never connected with someone so deeply and personally. Sure, she had friends, but Wednesday was different. She felt like Wednesday really and truly cares about her and she really and truly cares about Wednesday.
“Alright,” Wednesday says, picking at her face as she stares at the bathroom mirror. “Piss already.”
Enid sits on the toilet and asks, “What movie should we watch next? Maybe we could start a series!”
Wednesday is overcome with the horror of all of the reality TV series her girlfriend likes to binge on Youtube. Lately it’s been bad American Idol auditions from the early 2000s.
“True crime,” she finally says.
“Fair enough,” Enid agrees. “Did you like the ‘Poop Cruise’ documentary?”
“I enjoyed their inconveniences and suffering,” Wednesday responds neutrally.
Enid flushes the toilet and then moves to wash her hands. She pecks her girlfriend on the cheek.
“It’s still early,” she says, grinning as she nibbles at her ear. “We could do something besides watch TV.”
Wednesday turns to give her a proper kiss and then they’re both startled when they hear the opening and slamming of the front door. Enid hugs onto Wednesday.
“Holy shit,” she breathes.
“Don’t worry,” Wednesday replies with a sigh, opening the bathroom linen closet to retrieve a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and covered in studded nails. “You know I’m always prepared for the occasional intruder.”
“He could have a gun,” Enid whispers.
“Even better,” Wednesday says, leaving the bathroom, Enid holding onto her arm.
“Aw shucks,” Wednesday says flatly when they get back to the living room and the front door is still open, rain coming inside, but no sign of an intruder.
“TV is still here,” Enid points out. “My laptop, my ipad, Murphy-”
Murphy is their disgruntled, one-eyed, three-legged cat. He was the crankiest cat at the Jericho shelter, estimated to be over twenty years old, and had survived being hit by a car, a bicycle, and a moving van. Wednesday knew he was the cat for them.
“Murph,” Enid says, going over to the old cat who hacks and spits. “What did you see?”
“They’re still here,” Wednesday says, feeling the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand up.
“What do you mean?” Enid squeaks. “Let’s leave! Let’s call the police!”
“I’m going to give you one chance to come out,” Wednesday calls. “If you miss that chance, I start with a finger and then another, and then I like to pluck out an eye.”
“Wednesday!” Enid hisses, shaking her. “You’re scaring me!”
“One,” Wednesday says. “Two…”
“Omigawd!” Enid bites her nails. “Can we just go? What if it’s the Blair Witch? What if it’s that creepy guy from 2A who exposed himself to us when we went to get our Doordash order?”
“Then I won’t start with a finger,” Wednesday says. “I’ll start with something else.”
“Okay!” Someone calls back from behind the sofa. “I’m coming out!”
The voice is small and it makes Wednesday’s brows furrow even more than they already are. She and Enid watch as a small child, no older than six or seven, crawl out from behind the sofa on her hands and knees. She’s soaking wet from the rain, wearing a dark hooded sweater over her head. She’s wearing black leggings and sneakers, also soaked. She comes out fully and moves to a standing position, dripping water on the wood floor. She raises her hands and closes her eyes tight.
“If you’re going to start with a finger,” she says, a slight raspy texture to her voice. “I’m left-handed so do it to the right.”
“Oh my God,” Enid says, moving towards her, kneeling. “Kid, are you okay? What are you-how did you…”
She pulls down the hood of the sweatshirt to reveal sopping wet hair the color of straw. The little girl opens her eyes and they are dark brown, large and solemn and somehow knowing.
“I’ll get you a towel,” Enid says.
“Who are you?” Wednesday asks, not letting go of the bat but letting it dangle at her side. “How did you get in here?”
“The wind blew me in,” the little girl says. She hugs herself, shivering. “I’m cold and wet.”
“And you’re not supposed to be here,” Wednesday adds. “Where did you come from?”
“He was chasing me,” the little girl says. “The Bogeyman. I had to run. Mama told me to run and I didn’t know where to go and then the wind blew me right here.”
Wednesday doesn’t even blink. She watches Enid return with one of her favorite fluffy pink towels and begins to dry the girl off, a little roughly. Enid means well, but she’s stronger than she looks.
“The Bogeyman chased her here,” she tells her girlfriend.
“Oh.” Enid stops drying her hair. “Wow. Okay.”
“Her mother told her to run and she ended up here,” Wednesday continues.
The little girl shrugs the towel off and squints at Wednesday. She looks at her and then Enid, back at Wednesday, and then back at Enid.
“Mama…?” She says, her large dark eyes falling on Wednesday. They fill with tears.
“What?” Wednesday frowns.
“Mama!” The little girl bursts into tears, like a water balloon being pricked, and throws her sopping wet body into Wednesday, crying hysterically. Wednesday can feel the mixture of her warm tears, cold clothes, and snot against her tank top and pajama pants.
“Help,” she says to Enid, who looks like a deer in headlights.
“Hey.” Enid finally says, gently trying to tug the little girl away. “I know things must be really scary right now and you’re probably so tired. We’re going to call someone to help you find your mom, okay?”
“Mommy!” The girl now throws her arms around Enid’s neck, wrapping her legs around her waist. There are deep, heaving sobs coming out of her.
“Um…” Enid pats her back awkwardly. “No…honey…I’m not your mommy. I’m only twenty and…”
“Your name is Enid Addams,” the little girl says, pulling back. “Mommy, it’s me! It’s Trixie!”
“Trixie?” Enid frowns worriedly, looking at Wednesday.
“And you’re Mama,” Trixie says, pointing at Wednesday. “Why don’t you ‘member me?”
“If I had a daughter,” Wednesday says carefully. “Her name wouldn’t be Trixie.”
“Maybe it’s short for Trix Cereal,” Enid jokes dryly.
“My name is Enid Sinclair,” Enid tells the little girl. “But it’s okay. We’re going to get help, okay?”
The little girl cries some more, burying her face into Enid’s neck. Wednesday rolls her eyes and goes to touch her shoulder. When she does, it’s suddenly like she’s falling down very fast. Like she’s just been hit with a tsunami wave or got thrown from a cliff.
She’s having a vision.
“Listen to me,” she says, placing her hands firmly on the little girl’s arms, forcing her to make eye-contact. “You’re going to run. Do you understand? Trixie, look at me. You’re going to run and you’re not going to stop. You’re going to follow the light.”
“I want to stay with you!” The little girl whimpers.
“I know,” Wednesday says. “But this is to keep you safe.”
She releases Trixie, who grabs at her hand again.
“Mama!” Trixie sniffs.
There’s a low, growling sound and it’s getting closer. Trixie tugs at her mother’s hand.
“Mama! Mama!”
“Run! Trixie, run! Go!”
There’s a blinding light as Wednesday shoves the girl out of the way and then blackness.
“Wednesday?” Enid is shaking her now. “Hey! Talk to me!”
Wednesday gasps, clutching her girlfriend’s hand as she’s finally able to take a much needed gulp of air. It still feels like the vision, like whatever plowed into her at full force left a deep ache in her side and the wind has been knocked out of her. She breathes heavily, Enid rubbing her back, and then she looks at Trixie.
“Who are you?” She asks.
“I’m Trixie Addams,” the little girl says. “You’re my moms.”
—----
“Okay,” Enid says, pacing the living room. “Okay, okay, okay-”
She stops, hands in her short blonde hair, and looks at Trixie, who’s bundled up on the sofa in one of Wednesday’s t-shirts and Enid’s fluffy pink blanket with unicorns printed on it.
“Your mother-” Enid points to Wednesday, who makes a face. “Did some kind of magic and sent you here.”
Trixie nods.
“And she’s your mother?” Enid asks, still pointing.
“You’re both my mothers,” Trixie says. “Mama-” she points to Wednesday. “Carried me in her tummy and you carried me in your heart.”
The sentiment is so thick that Wednesday feels nauseous. She could never imagine herself saying something so ridiculously sappy. It reminds her of one of those Hallmark Christmas films Enid forced her to watch last year.
“I carried you? I birthed you?” She asks. “And you’re blonde?”
“Maybe my egg,” Enid says.
“The witch did it,” Trixie says. “She took some of you-” she points to Enid. “And some of Mama and mixed it together and Mama put me in her tummy because she likes all the gross things that comes with childbirth and then I was just born.”
“That actually sounds accurate,” Enid says, nodding slowly. She looks at Wednesday.
“I birthed a blonde child,” Wednesday says, shaking her head. “Let me guess. I named you ‘Trixie’.”
“It means bringer of joy,” Trixie says.
It’s quiet for a moment and then Enid bursts out laughing. She’s laughing so hard that she’s crying.
“Oh, holy fuck,” she says, catching her breath. “What the fuck?”
“I think you broke her,” Wednesday tells Trixie. “Bringer of Joy.”
“I wanna go to my own house,” Trixie says. “I want to make sure my Mama and Mommy are okay. The other ones. And Pearl.”
“Who’s Pearl?” Enid asks. “Your sister?”
She hopes not. This is already too weird.
“My pet tarantula,” Trixie says. “I miss her. She sleeps with me every night.”
“Trixie?” Enid asks gently, moving to sit beside her. “How old are you?”
“Six,” Trixie says. “And a half.”
Enid nods. “Okay…”
She looks at Wednesday for help, eyebrows raised.
“She’s blonde,” Wednesday says flatly.
She is a beautiful child, however, Wednesday notices. She has the same dark mysterious eyes as herself and fair, slightly wavy hair as Enid. God how she loves to absent-mindedly play with that golden blonde hair.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Enid asks. “Or a dad maybe?”
“No,” Trixie says. “It’s just us. Just me, you, and Mama.”
She lets out a long, shuddering sigh.
“What if the Bogeyman got her?” She sniffs. “She said she had to go save Mommy. What if he got both of them?”
“The bogeyman isn’t real,” Enid says, trying to reassure her.
“Don’t tell her that,’ Wednesday tells her. “He’s definitely real, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be defeated.”
She notices Trixie politely cover a yawn and says, “You can stay here for tonight. We’ll sort things out in the morning.”
Trixie nods, her eyes heavy.
“I don’t have a bed,” She says, her eyes filling with tears.
Oh lord, is she about to start blubbering again?
“You can sleep with us!” Enid pipes up. “I have plenty of stuffies you can choose from.”
“I love stuffies!” Trixie says, wiping at her eyes. “Do you have a kitty?”
“Duh.” Enid scoffs and they both laugh.
“I have to pee first,” Trixie says. “Will one of you come with me? I’m scared of-”
“Toilet snakes,” Wednesday says, looking at Enid, thinking about their joke.
“I don’t want them biting my vagina,” Trixie says seriously.
This makes Wednesday snort. Honest to god snort-laugh.
“Oh my God,” Enid says, smiling. “I think you broke her.”
“Let’s go pee,” Wednesday says, fixing her face. “And then we’re going to bed.”
“What if the Bogeyman comes?” Trixie asks as they lead her to the bathroom.
“I’m going to show you where we hide all of the weapons in the apartment,” Wednesday tells her.
“Even the mace?” Trixie asks. .
“Like, bear mace?” Enid frowns.
“No.” Trixie makes a face. “A mace.”
“Maybe she is our daughter from the future brought here by magic,” Wednesday says. “And yes, no home is protected without a mace.”
To Be Continued…