Addams Family 1977

Another note from the author:

The characters in this story are (loosely) based on The Addams Family television program which originally aired on broadcast television for only two seasons in the mid 1960s. This story begins about the time of the not so memorable made for TV movie in 1977,

Halloween with the Addams Family

, roughly eleven or twelve years after the final TV episode.

Please note:

everyone

is over the age of eighteen.

Chapter 1 - The Empty Mansion

0001 Cemetery Lane,

Wood Lawn Area,

Green Briar, USA

Our tale begins with the solitary figure of Gomez Addams standing within the shaded interior of the garret, a small four sided look-out tower which graced the roof of his family's gothic style mansion. His dark hair was disheveled, his face shadowed by three days growth of beard. Addams was dressed in one of his favorite suits though he, most uncharacteristically, wore no tie. His white shirt as well as his black pinstriped suit coat and trousers bore the telltale creases of having been slept in. Several times. His black wingtip shoes had obviously not been polished for several months.

The mansion too had seen far better days. Over the centuries the impressive structure's once grand exterior has been allowed to fall victim to the ravages of time. The edifice had stood on this spot, tucked snuggly between the swamp and the long abandoned cemetery since long before the suburban community of Green Briar and its environs sprung up around it.

Within the tower, the rough hewn cedar floor measured roughly six foot long by six foot wide, and there was just enough room beneath the rafters supporting its shallow roof for a very tall man to stand comfortably. That very tall man being the family's butler, Lurch, who measured just a few inches short of an impressive seven feet in height. In the shadows between the ancient rafters dozens of bats nested sleepily awaiting the onset of twilight. Located in the center of the wooden floor was a trap door. This allowed access to the garret from the winding staircase below. Each of the four slightly inwardly sloping walls contained one centrally located arched top window. Each of these was equipped with a heavy iron latch on one side and iron hinges on the other so they could be swung open to admit the cool breezes that so often swept in from the ocean. As with the rest of the mansion, several of the windows had cracked over time. Much of the ancient glazing was either broken or missing altogether thus allowing the panes of glass to rattle noisily in their frames given the slightest hint of breeze. Here and there corners of the glass had long since fallen away. The slightest ocean breeze would cause the brittle window glass to rattle within their sashes. The casements also opened to allow access to the narrow widow's walk surrounding the garret. Every one of the windows was tightly latched today. Curtains of spider webs enshrouded the brittle glass, layers of dust and grime partially obscured his view of the street below.

Heaving a long and pitiful sigh, Mr. Addams leaned on his telescope and gazed out through the cracked front window. The street below was distorted by the irregularities in the ancient glass but he did not care. He was not really seeing the peaceful scene below. His mind was entirely focused on his troubles. Again and again over the past few months Gomez had found himself ascending the ancient iron staircase that led from the dusty attic to this tiny sanctuary as if drawn by some unknown force. Sometimes, under cover of darkness, he would step out through the open window onto the narrow ledge of the widow's walk. There he would skulk about until the first light of dawn drove him back into the mansion's dank, dark and welcoming interior. Even in happier times, though it was technically part of the butler's private suite, the garret as well as its accompanying widow's walk had always been two of his favorite haunts. This was especially true when Gomez wanted a place of solitude in which to brood, which given his innate good nature was not very often. The lookout tower's best assets were its proximity and easy access to the lightning rod on top. From here, on moonlit nights, Gomez Addams could look far out over the ocean. Like a sailor high up in his crow's nest, Gomez would watch in eager anticipation for the squalls and storms that so frequently blew onto the coast. During thunderstorms he would often scramble up onto the tower's steep roof. As the rain soaked him to the skin he would stand precariously atop slippery slate tiles with his limbs draped about the rusty iron lightning rod. There he would wait in eager anticipation. He came here even more often these days. His heart might be broken but, deep inside, Gomez Addams remained ever hopeful. There was always a chance, no matter how small, that he if he was vigilant and if he was patient he just might be struck by lightning - again. And what could be more pleasant than that?

During inclement weather (that is to say when the sun was shining and the weather was warm) Gomez had taken to wandering through the dusty rooms of his now silent mansion. Sometimes he felt like a ghost, haunting his own ancestral home alongside the ghosts of Grandma Squint who haunted the attic and Cousin Blob who preferred the musty cellar.

Odd how still and peaceful the old homestead was now. Much too peaceful. The mansion, filled to the brim with a bizarre array of family curiosities, had for so many years teemed with all of the happy sounds of life and of love. Now the badly neglected structure was as quiet and as peaceful as the proverbial tomb. As appealing as that simile might have once sounded to him, Gomez was miserable.

Throughout his life, being miserable had been one of his favorite leisure-time pursuits. No longer. His misery brought him little pleasure these days. There had been precious little pleasure in his life since the children had grown and moved out, his son Pugsley to Africa to study medicine under the watchful eyes of a witchdoctor named Mobogo and his daughter Wednesday to the Music Academy to study the flute, and his beautiful wife Morticia whom he loved more than life had withdrawn from him, informing him that she was suffering from some strange malady called

'Empty Nest Syndrome'.

And then, inexplicably, she had decided to become involved in politics

.

Politics

!

No, these days Gomez found little pleasure in his misery.

Grandmamá, too, was gone now. She had left for 'the old country' just before Christmas last year. Now she were somewhere in Old Castile staying with relatives who lived in a medieval castle. Grandmamá was boning up on the lost art of fortune telling as well as the fine arts of spell casting and potion mixing. With Morticia, Grandmamá, and the children gone, even old Uncle Fester had become bored and restless. One day he had simply wondered off, in search, so he said, of the 'meaning of life'. Gomez had other relatives, of course, but they were few now and widely scattered across the globe. Most of the Addams clan lived very far away and, of course, all had their own lives, their own worries, their own problems. Even the perpetual bachelor Cousin Itt had married and now was busy with his growing family. He had little time for Gomez. The patriarch of the western branch of the Addams clan, Gomez tried to be understanding. He knew what it was like to have a wife and a family to look after. Well… he used to know.

Turning toward the rear windows of the tower Gomez spun his telescope around on its tripod and peered through the lens across the vast expanse of green lawn. Since Morticia had been away Gomez found it nearly impossible to control the growth of the lush grass in the back yard, so thick now it was literally choking out the lovely thistles, thorns and crabgrass. Even the gnarled and twisted limbs of the ancient trees scattered about their property, trees which until recently had seemed completely devoid of life, were now determined somehow to revive. Even the deadest trees were proudly sprouting bright new yellow-green leaves.

Had the world gone completely mad?

Gomez could hardly bear to look at them.

Across the back of the property was the ancient cemetery. It abutted the property all the way to the swamp. Beneath the canopy of live oak trees, some of which dated back to the turn of the century in which the mansion had been built, the carpet of grass had grown so tall that in places it totally obscured the moss covered grave stones. In happier days, the old cemetery had been a source of great joy for he and his family. When he and Morticia had returned from their honeymoon they had spent their first night in that very cemetery. What a beautiful Halloween that had been. Though the spirits of the dead all arise to walk the earth on All Hallows Eve, they had all made themselves discreetly absent while he and his lovely young bride made love on the ground beneath the leafless trees. Could it really have been twenty-three years ago? It seemed only yesterday. There among the broken headstones which decorated the graves of his dearly departed relatives the happy couple spent the entire night making love, the incredibly romantic scene lit by black wax candles and a huge harvest moon which gazed down at them from just over the treetops. He and his beloved Morticia were so young then, so very much in love. How beautiful his bride had been dressed in a gown of sheer black lace. Was it any wonder that they would choose to live here in his ancestral home and subsequently raise their children in this idyllic spot, in close proximity to the cemetery where so many of his family members already resided. And how many happy hours had his growing children spent within the graveyard's high walled confines, playing hide and boo, digging up their ancestors, or burying their playmates?

Like her husband, Morticia adored living in Green Briar. The climate in this part of the country, so near the Northern Pacific coast, was very nearly perfect. Most days the weather was blissfully cool and the skies gray and cloudy. Tucked snuggly between the sea and the mountains it rained nearly every afternoon, and even on those rare occasions when the rain did not fall gloomy gray skies usually held the promise of rain. Morticia's favorite weather brought thunderstorms, Gomez enjoyed them too but what he loved most of all were those rare and special days when a thick blanket of fog enshrouded the mansion, the swamp and the neighboring cemetery. In his imagination their home was a ghost ship adrift in a sea of clouds, the trees were tiny islands and the tombstones were the jagged peaks of coral reefs on which their vessel was about to be smashed to bits. It was all so very romantic.

Unfortunately today, as Gomez stood alone in the belvedere, the midsummer sun had managed to break through the gloom and was now shining brightly in an azure sky. Even the Gothic graveyard with its ancient gnarled and twisted trees and broken headstones appeared bright, almost cheerful today. Gomez had never been so depressed. Twisting the telescope on its tripod he aimed it down toward the ghastly scene. He could only gasp in horror when he saw the abundance of rose blossoms, each petal as red as blood. They covered the gnarled rosebushes. What a pity

!

The blight of flowers almost completely obscured his view of the lovely thorns. Thorns that Morticia loved so dearly that she had taken cuttings from the rosebushes to plant in her own garden during the early years of their marriage.

When Gomez could look upon the cheerful sunlit scene no longer he swung the telescope and shifted his attention farther to the right. Peering down into the eyepiece he readied himself for a magnificent close-up view of the swamp. To his dismay, however, the view through the lens seemed fuzzy, out of focus. He could barely make out the detail of the bog's beautiful scummy green surface. When he tried to adjust the focus the telescope he realized what he was actually seeing was a thick cloud of insects hovering just above the algae. That realization brought with it a sudden pang of longing. Oh, how he yearned to be down there, standing naked, knee deep in that stinking, clinging muck while he relished the insects' stinging bites. Gomez sighed deeply. As tempting as it was he knew he would not go. Even that enormous pleasure would not be the same without his beloved

Cada Mia

to share it with him.

Forsaking his telescope Gomez was considering abandoning the tower to the inclement sunshine when, through the grimy rear window, something below happened to capture his attention. He glanced down into his wife's beloved garden. To his horror her garden, too, was a riot of color from the abundant flower blossoms. Blossoms that threatened to overtake the carefully cultured plot. He shook his head. In his misery he had been very neglectful of his Morticia's lovely garden.

The familiar 'whoop-whoop-whoop' resounded through the mansion alerting Gomez to the arrival of the daily mail. Thing would retrieve it. He always did. If there was anything of importance his butler Lurch would inform him

.

But no!

Gomez had all but forgotten, the butler too was away. When last Gomez had heard Lurch was sailing solo toward South America and a well deserved vacation on Devil's Island. He had been gone now for months.

Bless Lurch's Herophilian heart,

thought Gomez. Even the family's ever loyal butler had, in the end, been unable to abide Gomez and his broken heart.

A moment later the lid lifted on the trapdoor with a creak, and a decidedly masculine hand appeared clutching a small stack of envelopes. Gomez sighed … again … and tried to smile. At least his faithful old childhood friend Thing had not deserted him in his time of heartbreak. Though not much for conversation, the disembodied hand as well as its lovely wife Lady Fingers had been a great comfort to Gomez during this time of suffering.

"Thank you, Thing," Gomez said. "I'll read those downstairs in the parlor in a few minutes." Obligingly the hand withdrew beneath the trapdoor taking with it the stack of correspondence.

The warmth and bright sunshine finally convinced Gomez to abandon the tower for the remainder of the day and return to the cool darkness that awaited him below. Downstairs in the parlor he could sit in his upholstered leather chair and peruse whatever the daily post had brought. Perhaps there was a letter from Washington in that stack. It had been days since Morticia had written. He could almost smell her perfume on the envelope now. The very thought of her scent aroused his Castilian lust. She had been away so long his passionate blood burned for the smell, the touch, and the taste of her milky white skin. If there was a letter was from her in the mail he would hold the envelope to his nostrils, inhale deeply and imagine she was there in the room with him and perhaps relieve his frustrations by splashing his seed across the living room rug… but, alas, his fist and his imagination was a poor substitute for the genuine flesh and blood of his beautiful Morticia. Besides Bruno's once silky white fur was becoming awfully sticky lately.

He hoped for a letter from Morticia. There could be an letter from his daughter Wednesday. Or there might be an exotic Congo stamp affixed to an epistle from Pugsley. Gomez and Morticia were so proud of their son, the witchdoctor. Even a postcard scrawled with Lurch's all but illegible hieroglyphs would be welcome today, even though Wednesday was the only soul in the family who could decipher his scrawl.

Gomez sighed yet again. Best not to get his hopes up. If nothing else, there might possibly be a bill… maybe two. Bills, especially past due and threatening ones, had been known to cheer Gomez when he had the blues. And today Gomez Addams definitely had the blues.

Gomez slowly made his way down the winding staircase. With each step the rusty iron stairs creaked familiarly under his weight. Perhaps, he thought, if today's mail was a disappointment he might just sit in the parlor and check on the value of his stock holdings. Every day his ticker tape machine still spit out mile upon mile of stock market gains and losses on demand for his viewing pleasure. However even his stock investments had been a great disappointment as of late. The stock market might be volatile but, no matter what he did, the values of his stock holdings kept going up and up. As he continued his descent Gomez consoled himself with the thought that perhaps today there would be some bad news for a change. He was due for some. The taxes on his earnings were draining his bank account. Sometimes it seemed that he could not give his money away

!!

The third floor attic was lit by the sunshine filtering through the dusty windows. Dust motes caught the light as they slowly drifted in the warm, moist air. With the exception of the butler's room and a small, but pleasantly gloomy guest room, the entire upper floor of the mansion was filled to overflowing with a variety of moth-eaten antiques and family memorabilia, most of which had been displaced over the years from the overcrowded rooms on lower floors. To Gomez this attic was a treasure-trove. How many lovely stormy afternoons had he and Morticia spent rummaging through these precious Addams family heirlooms?

Moving to the main staircase, Gomez continued down to the second floor. The first door he passed was Pugsley's bedroom. Or at least the room that had been Pugsley's when the boy still resided within these walls. Deserted now, the room was still filled with all of the accoutrements so necessary to the happiness of a growing boy. Dynamite caps and

DANGER

signs. Gomez glanced at the faded paintings of baby vultures still painted on the bedroom door and shook his head. He remembered when his bride Morticia, then heavy with child had painted those lovely, graceful birds on the ancient wood. She was always the artistic one. The next room he passed had been his daughter Wednesday's. Inside a maze of spider webs stretched across much of the areas where his young children once played. Gomez paused to gaze inside. A thick layer of dust and a latticework of spider silk festooned even the electric chair in the far corner where Wednesday had so often attempted to execute her older brother. For a moment Gomez immersed himself in those fond memories. In spite of himself, Gomez almost smiled. Almost.

Wednesday's pet spiders had certainly been busy since she had been away, he mused. The most artistically spun webs had been created by the descendants of Homer. Wednesday's very first Black Widow. Their butler Lurch had given Wednesday the venomous spider as a pet when the girl was only six. Homer, too, was now no more than a fond memory, though her descendants still thrived. As beautiful as the lacy webs appeared, today even these homey sights could not cheer Gomez. In fact, their beauty only added to his melancholy.

Shaking his head, Gomez continued down the corridor. He paused for a moment as he passed the open door to the master bedroom. Puzzled, he frowned. He'd shut that door, hadn't he? He had vowed never to enter that room again until his beloved Morticia returned to him. Stepping into the open doorway he gazed inside. He and his bride had shared this room for throughout the years of their long and happy marriage.

'It had been a happy marriage, hadn't it?'

The room lay in darkness now, its wooden shutters bolted tight against the intrusive sunlight. Dark, gloomy and inviting. The still air held that faintly musty smell they both so adored. Gomez remembered in vivid detail every single night he and his 'Tish' had spent together in this room. Long, wonderful nights when his

Cara Mia

lay sleeping by his side. With very few exceptions, every night since they returned from their honeymoon in Death Valley had been spent together in that room. On that enormous bed with its lovely mattress as hard as concrete. Nearly every night of their marriage they had made love on that bed, often filling the night with the chorus of groans from the bed's wooden frame, its ancient springs squeaking in time to the rhythm of their movements, their panting breath, the guttural sounds of their growling and snarling as they nibbled and bit and scratched at one another. Some nights they went at it several times before the dawn brought an end to their frolicking and sex play.