Tuesday was desperate. Thanks to Wednesday's idea, he now had to interact with the Addams family.
How could he possibly become friends with those lunatics? Even holding a normal conversation with them seemed impossible.
As far as he could remember, the last person he'd interacted with besides Wednesday was Grandmama, right after she'd nearly killed him by throwing swords.
The shock was so intense that even now, just thinking about her gave him chills.
The only suitable friends were those who hadn't tried to kill him yet.
There were two members of the family who fit that description: Lurch and Thing.
Thing was just a hand—a very expressive one. He had bad habits at the table and played pranks, but nothing that could truly endanger Wednesday's life; he only scared people for fun.
Appearance-wise, he wasn't all that scary, once you got used to him.
Lurch, on the other hand, was different. He looked intimidating but wasn't particularly frightening in his behavior. His presence was overwhelming, yet aura-wise, he was the least troubling member of the family.
Though all the Addams shared a peculiar sense of "common" sense, Lurch and Thing were the best candidates for friendship. It was safer to try befriending them than any other family member.
Now he had a plan, but there was still one problem.
His legs wouldn't move.
"Wednesday, are you there?"
'...'
No matter how many times he called, she stayed silent.
"I get it now. Why are you playing this kind of stupid game?"
'...'
He tried everything, appealing to all kinds of emotions.
But it was meaningless—Wednesday kept silent.
Anyone could see he was scared.
Lurch, Thing, or even their pet Kitty—he had no real interest in befriending any of them.
There was no advantage in getting close to them, but he didn't have a choice.
If he didn't make a friend, he'd have to stay here even longer. Better to suffer briefly than endure it for a lifetime.
Wednesday didn't seem like she was going to help, either.
Tuesday took a deep breath and looked down at his own trembling feet.
"Okay. I'll do it."
Lingering wasn't going to help; he had to do something about the situation.
He didn't know why he was in this predicament, but that didn't mean he had to stay paralyzed forever.
The best approach was to treat it like a horror game.
If he got into character, he might even enjoy it.
The goal was simple: interact with a "monster" and survive until the end.
Tuesday tried to convince himself as he took a step forward.
He gripped the door handle, and the door opened under his hand.
Before him was the quiet, sprawling Addams mansion.
The last time he was here, he couldn't even take a step without Wednesday's help.
Months had passed since then, but he still felt the intense pressure.
He glanced toward the door beside his parents' room.
That strange door was eerily quiet now. The dark aura once surrounding it had vanished, but his instincts still sensed something unsettling.
The second floor was overwhelming.
Opening any of those doors felt like a death wish.
It was an irrational fear, and he knew he was being paranoid, but he couldn't help it.
Fear makes people irrational.
Tuesday stayed rooted in place for a long time, his eyes darting around as if on the lookout for threats.
His vision blurred, and his legs wouldn't stop trembling.
When his mind was on the verge of breaking, he managed to focus.
He concentrated on the sensations beneath his feet, the cool floor, the air brushing against his skin, the faint taste of mint on his breath.
Bit by bit, his fear began to ease, though it was still present.
When his fear finally subsided a little, he checked the time. It was night.
His parents were likely in their room, doing whatever they did every night.
The first floor should be empty by now.
The only wildcard was his grandmother, who occasionally brewed tea downstairs.
She was clingy and unpredictable. If she realized he was in Wednesday's body, she'd likely approach out of curiosity.
He vividly remembered the strange looks she gave him.
Every time he moved Wednesday's body in front of her, she'd keep a close eye on him.
He had two options: stay on the second floor or risk running into his grandmother downstairs.
Sleeping wasn't an option, either.
The Addams family often had lunch together, which meant if he slept now, he'd wake up to face an even worse situation the next day.
A meal with all the Addams staring at him.
He honestly wasn't prepared for that.
He'd likely faint before getting a word out.
His best option was to go downstairs, even if it meant risking an encounter with his grandmother.
He wouldn't gain anything by staying here.
But was there any way to take precautions?
Grandmama seemed able to sense it was him even when he only partially controlled Wednesday's body.
His movements were very different from Wednesday's.
Everything about them contrasted: from posture to personality.
Wednesday walked with her back straight, maintaining unwavering eye contact with an impassive face, indifferent to making others uncomfortable.
Tuesday, on the other hand, slouched, avoided eye contact, and spoke hesitantly. He wasn't inherently shy, but fear prevented him from acting any other way.
If he wanted to deceive Grandmama, he'd have to imitate Wednesday so perfectly that she couldn't tell the difference.
He needed to wear a mask.
Luckily, that was something he was good at.
In his past life, only two people had seen his true self—his best friend and girlfriend.
Until now, he'd always hidden behind a cheerful mask, putting on his best smile.
Wednesday was the opposite.
'How would Wednesday act in this situation?' he thought, trying to picture her.
She'd likely leave with a book in hand, reading no matter where she was.
Tuesday opened the door and picked up the book Wednesday had been reading.
It was an old book on human anatomy.
He shifted it from his right arm to his left, positioning it as she would.
His fingers were cold with anxiety, and his body was still trembling.
Wednesday would never look so pitiful.
She'd walk with steady steps and calm breaths.
He adjusted his posture and regulated his breathing.
Strangely, straightening his back and breathing steadily gave him a sense of stability.
It felt as if he weren't in control, but rather Wednesday was.
Tuesday glanced at his reflection in a small mirror.
Staring back was a small girl with a worried expression and sweat beading on her forehead.
Seeing Wednesday looking as if she were about to faint was ridiculous.
He felt embarrassed by his own reflection.
He tried to control his expression.
Tuesday was naturally expressive, so his fear was easy to see on his face.
He needed to hide it to pass Grandmama's scrutiny.
He focused on creating a perfectly blank mask, imagining an idealized version of Wednesday in his mind.
In the mirror, a child with a dominant, icy gaze appeared.
Tuesday had embodied every detail that reminded him of Wednesday.
He walked with confidence, his posture straight yet careful, not wanting to look unkempt.
"Perfect." he said in a cold voice, suppressing a smile.
Strangely, he heard a sigh in his mind.
It could only belong to Wednesday.
For a moment, he forgot he'd spent a long time in front of the mirror, adjusting his expression.
He could only imagine how strange he must have looked from her perspective.
His ears reddened, but he kept his mask intact. If he let shame break his act, he'd never call himself an idol again.
"It's time." he said, opening the door.
At first, he opened it cautiously, but now, with his mask on, he opened it boldly.
It felt as if a protective wall shielded him from fear.
Wednesday's mask was indeed powerful.
The door closed behind him.
Tuesday held the book and looked straight ahead, saying nothing.
"...!"
Suddenly, a hand appeared near his feet, twitching.
It was Thing, the living hand.
Watching him writhing like a worm was so unsettling that Tuesday froze.
After an awkward moment, he finally stepped aside.
Thing adjusted his position slowly, then started shaking as if he were angry.
The pause before Tuesday moved had been too long, and Thing looked ready to lunge at him.
If he did, Tuesday knew he'd break character and scream.
So he poured all his willpower into his mask.
"What?" he said, looking at him as if he were a speck of dust. "Who told you to be that small?"
"!!" Thing shook even more.
It seemed the mask had backfired. Tuesday could feel his soul fleeing his body.
Thing's fingers twitched as if he might leap at him any moment.
Without thinking, Tuesday kicked him.
Thing rolled on the ground like a scrap of trash.
Tuesday stared blankly, stunned by his own actions.
He'd only kicked him because Thing looked like a cockroach about to pounce.
Thing regained his balance.
Tuesday knew he was doomed. He'd provoked Thing and even kicked him.
Thing would probably leap at him any second.
But Tuesday kept his act together.
He looked at Thing with cold, dismissive eyes.
"..."
He expected Thing to jump, but he didn't. He stayed there, shaking yet motionless.
Tuesday sensed something instinctively. Thing was angry, but also a little scared.
Thing turned his palm toward him, raised his middle finger, and left.
In an instant, the conflict was over.
"Phew..."
Tuesday exhaled, struggling to catch his breath.
It was the first time he'd interacted with a family member since he was a baby.
"I'm sorry, Wednesday..."
Thing would probably hold a grudge against her now.
'...'
For once, Tuesday was relieved Wednesday hadn't spoken.
If Thing had been fooled, his act was convincing.
It hadn't been a complete waste of time leaving his room, but a new problem loomed.
How could he make a friend acting like this?
All attempts to befriend Thing had failed from the start.
He'd literally trampled on him and treated him like dirt.
How could he possibly try befriending him now?
Thing would probably jab his eyes out with those fingers.
And there was no guarantee the act would work as well next time.
In the end, he had just one option left.
The scary, unpredictable man who handled all the household chores—Lurch.
Thing was probably the best option for a potential friend.
After all, he didn't have a mouth.
That meant no need for conversation, unlike Lurch.
How could he make a single friend with such an arrogant attitude?
"Shit."
The mask that had let him step outside his room now felt harder to maintain.
*
This chapter was written in only 2 hours. Is the quality okay? My new strategy is writing without stopping and then thinking critically in the end. That's what I did here.
I removed a lot of lines and scenes in the edit.
Also, a notice: for the first two weeks I'll release only on Wednesdays a single chapter. I didn't write much in the previous month, so I need to accumulate more chaps.