An Addams Family Genesis

 Hello guys! I just want to share the fanfiction I am working on right now. I hope you enjoy it!

CHAPTER 1: THE FUTURE

            She was seated in front of her bureau, leaning towards the mirror as she dabbed her plump, full lips with a maroon lipstick, when someone knocked her bedroom door. She puckered her lips before turning her attention to the reflection of her door in her mirror.

            “Yes?” her icy, low voice rang out.

            The door slowly opened, letting out a loud creak. The young woman, who somehow looked like the lady in front of the mirror, except for their hairs and the obvious contrast of their clothes, frowned at the creaking door.

            “Your door is too noisy, Morticia,” she said, still eyeing the door with distaste.

         “Good morning to you, too, Ophelia,” the young woman called Morticia replied. She turned to face the other lady, Ophelia. “Please, Ophelia, ignore my door and have a seat. I like my door that way.” She gestured towards her bed before reaching out for the hair brush on her bureau.

            Still appalled by her sister’s door, Ophelia pursued the topic. “You know, Morticia, whenever you open this door, you can be heard all over the house.” To prove her point, she pushed and pulled the door several times.

            “I do not really care about being heard, Ophelia,” Morticia replied nonchalantly. She watched her sister continue playing with her door. “And please stop pushing and pulling that, the creaking will not go. Besides, since you said that the creaking is heard all over the house, surely Mother will be bothered by that.”

            The warning about their mother reprimanding her stopped Ophelia from playing with the door. She shrugged and abandoned the creaking door.

            “But how can you sneak out if your door wakes everybody up during the night?” she finally asked. She crossed the room to sit on Morticia’s bed and watched her sister brush her ebony hair from roots to tips.

            Morticia chuckled softly. “When I need to sneak out, I can always use the trapdoor,” she said, pointing on the floor. “That leads straight outside of the house. There are also several secret panels in this room which can lead to almost anywhere inside and outside the house.”

            “Lucky duck!” Ophelia exclaimed with envy in her voice.

            “Dear, you hardly have to sneak out,” Morticia pointed out. “Between the two of us, you can get away with almost anything.”

            “Except leaving at the dead of the night,” Ophelia answered. She crouched on the floor of the room, trying to look for the tell-tale signs of the trap door.

            Morticia stopped brushing her hair and stared at her sister, an appalled look evident on her face. “You have intentions of leaving the house during the night?”

            Ophelia turned to her sister, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Oh, do not look so surprised, Morticia. I do have social life, after all.”

            “Oooh,” breathed Morticia. She resumed brushing her hair. “What kind of social life? The one that involves romance?”

            “Oh, don’t tease!” Ophelia hastily said, her voice several octaves higher than usual. She tries to stop herself from blushing. She straightened up and sat back on Morticia’s bed. She turned her attention to the decorations inside her sister’s room. “After all these years, I should have been used to your… eccentric taste, apparently, I still am not.”

            “Dodging the subject of romance, I see,” Morticia commented knowingly. “Very well. But do not expect me to forget about that. I will learn about your so-called social life in one way or another. And to answer your comment, I, too, am still getting used to your penchant. Looking at the two of us, who would have really thought that we are twins?”

            “True enough,” Ophelia agreed, quite glad that Morticia dropped the subject of romance. She scanned the room with a look of mixed amazement and confusion crossing her face.

            “So, what brought you here, Ophelia?” Morticia asked to stop her sister from attempting to ask her about her boarded up windows.

            “Oh, Mother wanted to make sure that you are coming to breakfast,” her sister replied.

            “Now that is news,” Morticia commented. She put down her hairbrush and started braiding her hair into two identical plaits.

            “Morticia, don’t be hard on Mother,” Ophelia scolded. “She does care for you, you know.”

            “Does she really?” Morticia questioned in a flat voice to hide her sarcasm. She picked up two hair ties and tied the braids. “What does she want?”

            “Of course, she does!” Ophelia replied indignantly, her shrill voice ringing out.

            “Ophelia, do not talk to loud. Cleopatra might wake. It is hard to stop her tantrums when her sleep gets interrupted,” Morticia said nodding towards an African strangler, potted on her bed side table. The plant shifted but did not seem to wake.

            “Sorry,” Ophelia said apologetically. She lowered her voice and continued, “Just do not speak of Mother like that. You might not believe it, but she cares. Anyway, she is calling for a family meeting during breakfast.”

            “Alright, fine, I am coming,” Morticia said reluctantly as she stood up to go. “I wonder what this is all about. Last time it was about a trip to Hawaii.”

            “Oh, it won’t be that bad, and Hawaii wasn’t too bad, too,” Ophelia replied. She also stood up, patted the daisies on her blonde hair to check if they are still there, before hooking her arm on the crook of Morticia’s. “She said it’s about our future.”

            “Wonderful,” Morticia commented, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice, before slamming down her bedroom door.

From the bedside table, Cleopatra shifted and continued to sleep peacefully.

***

            “What are you wearing?” an elegant-looking woman, who looked so much like the twins, asked Morticia as the twins enter the dining room. The smile on Morticia’s face slowly disappeared as she watched the woman’s frown deepen while she eyed her dark clothing.

Morticia was wearing a dark gray, long sleeved smock that stopped a little above her knees over a black, fishnet stockings, and a pair of black, leather heeled ankle boots.

The woman’s frown transformed into a deep scowl as she eyed Morticia’s equally dark makeup. Besides her maroon lipstick, Morticia looked even paler with the black, heavy lines around her almond-shaped, icy blue eyes. Her thick, long, and permed eyelashes looked even thicker with the black mascara applied on them, with matching gray to black gradient of eye shadow on her eyelids.

Morticia sighed before replying, “Day clothes?”

“Day clothes,” the woman repeated in distaste. “Ophelia’s clothes are day clothes. Can you not be normal? Even with just the clothing?”

Morticia opened her mouth to respond but Ophelia stopped her by replying, “Now, now, Mother. What happened to pleasantries first during the morning? Good morning, Mother.”

“Morticia happened,” Mrs. Frump murmured. She walked around the table, sat on her chair, and started eating. “And don’t you dare start, Ophelia.”

“Mother,” Ophelia began as she and Morticia sat on their chair on either side of Mrs. Frump’s. “None of us is normal.”

“It does not have to show, does it?” their mother retorted. “You father’s late again. And thank goodness you finally showed up in this family’s table, Morticia.”

“Regretting it already,” Morticia mumbled. She picked up her dining knife and forcefully stabbed the toast on her plate.

“Have I not repeatedly told you not to play with your food, young lady?” Mrs. Frump barked. She glared at her daughter, and for a miniscule amount of time, a look of love and longing crossed her eyes. And as fast as it came, it was gone.

Morticia once again sighed. She let go of her knife and sat back on her chair, her arms crossed. She looked at Ophelia, who was already spreading a gray jelly on her toast, and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow but sad nothing.

“I am not late, you just want to eat early,” a deep, booming voice of a man said. He was a beefy man, but with a kind twinkle in his eyes. “And Esmeralda, stop whining about Morticia’s clothes. You do that every time, and on the next meals, she does not come to the table and eat with us. I hardly see our daughter because of your rants. Good morning, angel,” he said kissing Ophelia’s flowery head. “Your daisies look well, Ophelia.”

“Thank you, Father,” she replied, looking up at Mr. Frump. “I just watered them this morning.”

Mr. Frump smiled at Ophelia before crossing to the other side of the table to kiss Morticia on the head. “Good morning, my dark angel.”

“Hello, Father,” Morticia replied, a hint of warm affection in her voice was evident.

            “That is why she continues on doing whatever nonsense she is doing, Hector,” Mrs. Frump angrily said as Mr. Frump sat on his chair across hers and began eating his breakfast.

            “You spoil her,” she said after a few moments of Mr. Frump’s silence to ignore her. She said the word as if it was a bowlful of fruit cereal with fresh milk. Still, Mr. Frump chose to ignore his wife’s comment. He and Ophelia continued eating in silence. Morticia glared at her mother, but still said nothing.

            “Eat,” Mrs. Frump commanded Morticia.

            Morticia closed her eyes for a few seconds before sighing and picking up her for and taking out her knife from the toast. She took a deep breath and started spread some algae jelly on the toast. When she finally took a bite, Mrs. Frump relaxed on her seat and continued eating. For a while, they looked like a traditional family, enjoying a quiet meal.

However, that illusion was disrupted when Mrs. Frump clapped her hands together to remove the bread crumbs from her hands. She briefly glanced pointedly at her husband, conveying some sort of message – if not a threat. He pursed his lips together in reply, and released the knife and fork from his grasps in a clutter, as he sat back on his chair. Morticia and Ophelia both looked at their father expectantly.

“Your mother wants to discuss something with the both of you,” he simply said, not giving anything away.

Ophelia quietly laid down her knife and fork and turned to face her mother as Morticia, fully aware of her mother’s irritation to most of her actions, let go of her fork on the plate and moved to stab her toast once again with her knife.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Morticia?” barked Mrs. Frump angrily. “Do not play with you –”

She was not able to finish her sentence because her daughter already stabbed the toast with her knife, before finally shifting her attention to her overly irritated mother. She curled the sides of her lips to humor Mrs. Frump’s irritation.

“I’m warning you, young lady,” Mrs. Frump said through gritted teeth. She took a long, deep breath before speaking again. “Now, I want to discuss about your future. Have you already decided to which college will you be going in the fall?”

“Yes, Mother,” Ophelia replied, intending to pry her mother’s scrutinizing glare from her sister. “I am going to West Parker and take up agrarian studies.”

“Good choice,” commented Mrs. Frump with a proud smile.

“I’d really want to know which plants can grow on my head,” Ophelia added. “I was hoping I can grow a garden.”

            “That’s wonderful, dear,” Mrs. Frump replied, still smiling. Her warm affection visibly waned as she turned to her other daughter. Her smile melted and her eyebrows drew close to each other. “And you, Morticia?”

            “Salem University, witchcraft,” Morticia proudly replied. Both Ophelia and Mr. Frump smiled in agreement to Morticia’s choice. But Mrs. Frump thought otherwise. Her face hardened and paled, while her eyes dance with rage.

            “Salem University in Salem, Massachusetts?” she asked, her voice constricted with a mixture of fear and anger. She grabbed the table cloth so hard, as if her sanity depended on it.

            “Yes,” Morticia happily replied. Her happiness was very innocent, void of the usual sarcasm and estrangement she would give her mother, that when she turned to face Mrs. Frump, she was hoping to see her as happy and proud as she is, after all, Mrs. Frump had her college at Salem. But when she saw her mother’s livid eyes, she gasped in fear. Mr. Frump and Ophelia’s smiles also melted at the sight of Mrs. Frump’s reaction.

            “You will not be going to Salem,” Mrs. Frump said, looking straightly to Morticia’s eyes.

            “What?” Morticia and Ophelia asked in identically shocked voices.

            “You heard me, Morticia. You will not go to Salem,” Mrs. Frump turned to her other daughter. “And stay out of this, Ophelia.”

            A long silence enveloped the room. The air was so thick with pressure that Morticia had a hard time breathing properly. She felt as if she was doused with a boiling pot of caramel in a rainbow colored aquarium.

            “Why?” she finally asked, her voice so hushed that it was barely audible.

            “You do not have to know why.”

            “I am a witch. I have to go to Salem.”

            “No,”

            “You went to Salem, why shouldn’t I?”

            “I said, you will not be going!”

            “But –”

            “No buts. I said no!”

            “Father…” Morticia pleaded for her father’s help with very beseeching eyes that Mr. Frump could not resist.

            “Esmeralda, maybe –” he began but Mrs. Frump stopped him with a glare.

            “Don’t you dare, Hector!” she shouted in rage. By this time, she and Morticia were standing up, both very emotional. The former, in fury of her daughter’s persistence, while the latter, in pleading for her mother’s change of mind. Mrs. Frump took another deep breath and sat down.

“Morticia, sit down,” Mr. Frump said, trying to calm his daughter down. Morticia ignored him and remained standing. Ophelia crossed the table to Morticia’s side, held her sister by the shoulders and tried to make her sit. Still, she did not budge.

            “You heard your father, sit down!” Mrs. Frump cried as she glared at her. Her face was red and a vein on her temple was visibly throbbing. Reluctantly, Morticia sat down. Ophelia remained standing next to her, still holding her shoulders to show support. There was silence at first, but broken by Mrs. Frump.

            “My decision is final, Morticia. You will not go to Salem. Where else were you accepted?” she asked in a tone of finality to dismiss any more discussion about Salem University. However, her daughter chose not to answer.

            “Morticia…” she warned.

            “Esmeralda, let us talk about this later, when the two of you have already calmed down,” Mr. Frump said. He stood up to go.

            “No one is leaving this table until we’re done discussing about Morticia’s schooling. And I am calm!” she nearly screamed, stopping her husband from leaving. He sat back down as she pressed Morticia on.

            “Where else have you been accepted?” she repeated, her voice full of malice. Still, Morticia remained quiet. “Morticia! Answer me!”

            Morticia winced as her mother threw her dining knife in frustration. It whizzed past her right ear, missing her about a quarter of an inch, and hitting an ancient china plate on display behind her. The plate broke and fell on the floor into hundreds of pieces.

            “West Parker. Yale. And Stanford,” she finally answered, her voice maintaining its hushed volume. “For literature.”

            “Fine, you will go to West Parker with your sister,” Mrs. Frump said with a tone of finality.

            “No, Mother,” she spoke up, reflecting her mother’s tone. “I am going to Salem.”

            “Why do you have to be so stubborn? So hard-headed?!” her mother asked. She balled her fists in irritation. “I clearly remember that I said no!”

            “Alright, if you will keep on insisting on what you want given the irony that what we are having is a discussion,” Morticia began. “I will not go to college at all.”

            “What?” Ophelia incredulously asked. She dropped her hands from her sister’s shoulder.

            “Morticia, you should give this a further thought,” Mr. Frump added, similarly shocked as Ophelia.

            “No, Father. I’d rather not go to college at all if I will not be studying in Salem,” Morticia replied. She challenged her mother’s glare.

            “Then leave this house,” Mrs. Frump retorted.

            “Esmeralda!” Mr. Frump exclaimed as he stood up in defense for their daughter.  “Do not be rash!”

            “It’s alright, Father,” Morticia quietly said, adapting the calm intonation she previously had. “I will leave if that is Mother’s wish.”

            She pushed her chair back and stood up to go.

            “Leave this dwelling and do not bother coming back,” Mrs. Frump warned as Morticia was about to step out of the room. “And you will be cut off.”

            Morticia swiveled and faced her mother. Her eyes were like circles of Antarctic glaciers. She smiled without humor.

            “Like that matters to me, Mother,” she frostily said. Then she turned around and continued walking away.

            Ophelia, however shocked, pursued her sister. Mr. Frump glared at his wife but said nothing, before pushing his chair backwards with so much force that the legs broke off. He turned his heel, and followed his daughters out the dining room.

            Mrs. Frump raised an eyebrow in amusement before taking another toast from the bread basket, buttered it, and once again ate, as if nothing happened.

***

            “Morticia, wait!” Ophelia called. Morticia stopped walking. She faced her sister, waiting for her to catch up despite her want to just ignore Ophelia. She glanced behind her sister and saw her father coming as well.

            “You are not seriously considering the idea of leaving, are you?” Ophelia asked the moment she reached her sister.

            “I have never been this serious in my life. And she wants me to,” Morticia nonchalantly replied with a shrug. “Besides, why should I study in a place where I do not want to? And study a discipline that does not interest me? I’d rather not.”

            “But darling, you cannot just leave,” Mr. Frump countered.

            “And you are interested in literature, European literature, to be exact,” Ophelia added.

            “Of course, I can, Father,” she replied, ignoring her sister’s comment. “I am of age, and I can use my savings to go…”

            “Where?” Ophelia pressed on.

            “I do not know. Anywhere but her, I suppose.”

            “And what will you do?” her father asked, his voice full of concern.

            “Father,” Ophelia began. Her eyes were full of panic and her hands were shaking in anxiety. “You cannot let Morticia leave! You heard what Mother said, once she leaves, she cannot come back!”

            “Do not worry about me, Ophelia, dear. I will be fine,” Morticia reassured her twin sister. She turned to her father. “I do not know. Perhaps find a job that will finance my education at Salem. Or look for a scholarship for me in Salem.”

            “Darling, I am sorry I was not able to defend you from your mother,” Mr. Frump apologetically said. “When we started this family, we both agreed that she will be in charge of your education.”

            “It was not your fault, Father. And I am not blaming you for not defending me,” she replied with a weak smile. She patted her father’s shoulder to console him.

            “Morticia, please,” Ophelia begged. Her eyes were brimming with tears. She took Morticia’s free hand and squeezed it, trying to convey a silent message. Then she added, “Please don’t leave.”

            “I never knew you are very much attached to me, Ophelia,” Morticia said, her lips slightly parted in an amused smile.

            “You are my only sister,” Ophelia replied, as if that already explained her actions. “So will you please not leave?”

            Morticia sighed. “I just do not understand why she won’t let me go to Salem. She went there, why shouldn’t I?”

            “Salem University was a traumatic place for your mother, you should understand that,” Mr. Frump told Morticia and Ophelia.

            “Quite contrary to what we’ve seen,” objected Morticia.

            “What do you mean?”

            “We saw Mother’s mementos from college,” Ophelia said. “Her year books, some correspondence during the school year, even her college diary entries said that her stay in Salem was wonderful.”

            “Those encouraged me to go to Salem,” Morticia added.

            Mr. Frump closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, they were raw and fragile, showing great sadness.

            “Something terrible happened in Salem,” he finally said after a long pause.

            “We know,” the twins replied in unison. “Aunt Esther.”

            “How…?”

            “We saw her death certificate in the attic together with Mother’s college things,” Ophelia answered as if that was obvious.

            “And we saw an article from an old newspaper years ago, saying that at big explosion killed an unnamed female student in Salem,” Morticia added. “Besides, you cannot expect us to buy your preposterous story of how Aunt Esther died. Who would die in overdose of cyanide?”

            “Then you should understand why your mother is against you going to Salem,” Mr. Frump replied.

            “Not at all,” Morticia objected. “What happened to Aunt Esther was caused by a number of circumstances, not necessarily applicable to me. Besides, given my knowledge of what Aunt Esther did, I know what I must not do. Over the years, science has proven and disputed a lot of things. I know better.”

            “I know that your mother knows that –”

            “Does she really?”

            “Of course she does,” Mr. Frump sighed. “But she does not want to gamble your chances.”

            “She does not trust me then,”

            “No, darling. She is just afraid that what happened to her sister might happen to her daughter. She doesn’t want to lose you, given that you are the complete resemblance of your Aunt Esther.”

            “So because of her fear, I cannot do what I want to do?” Morticia asked. “That is hardly fair, Father.”

            “Please reconsider this,” Ophelia insisted. “I do not want you to go. Doesn’t that give any weight for a change of heart?”

            “I am sorry, Ophelia,” Morticia replied, her eyes mirroring her sister’s sadness. She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. She waved her hand, gesturing towards the totality of the house. “Mother made her decision, and I made mine. Leaving this house seems to be the only thing we can agree on.”

            “Father! Please do something,” Ophelia pleaded. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet; the petals of the daisies on her head were showering both Mr. Frump and Morticia.

            “You will be fine, Ophelia,” Morticia assured with a slight smile. “You will be an only child.”

            “Oh, Morticia, don’t kid! This is serious!”

            “I am serious, Ophelia.”

            “How about a compromise, darling?” Mr. Frump asked, interrupting the twins. They both abruptly faced him.

            “What compromise?” Morticia asked warily.

            “You will study Literature in West Parker, and I will finance your post-graduate study in Salem,” he proposed. “Or better yet, in Transylvania.”

            “Tr… Transyl… vania?” Morticia asked incredulously, at which Mr. Frump nodded at. After a moment’s thought, she finally responded. “This is not a compromise, Father. This is a bribe. A bribe for me to do what Mother wants.”

            “Be that as it may, I only want you to stay here,” he answered.

            “Well…” Morticia began.

            “Oh, Morticia!” Ophelia cried. “Accept Father’s offer, for goodness’ sake!”

            “Alright, alright,” Morticia replied, putting up her hands in defeat.

            “Oh, thank you, Morticia!” Ophelia almost screamed. She threw her hands around her sister and locked her in a tight embrace. She angled her head towards Mr. Frump. “Thank you, too, Father!”

            “Ophelia,” Morticia rasped. “I cannot breathe.”

            “Oh, sorry!” Ophelia replied as she let go of her sister. “I am just so happy that you are staying!”

            “So I see,” Morticia replied with a smile. She looked at her father and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “At the moment, I do not know how I should feel about our arrangement. But I supposed I should be grateful. Thank you Father.”

            “You are most welcome, Morticia,” he replied. “It makes me happy to see the two of you happy.”

            “Happy…” Morticia murmured, weighing the word on her tongue. Right now, she does not know whether she likes it or not. Especially now that Ophelia linked an arm around hers, distracting her thoughts. She smiled sweetly at Morticia and batted her eyelids.

            “What?” Morticia asked suspiciously. She narrowed her eyes and turned to analyze her sister’s unusual behavior.

            “Let’s go shopping!” Ophelia exclaimed in a musical tone. Her eyes were giddy with unexpected excitement.

            “Shopping for what?” Morticia asked.

            “Clothes!”

            “Clothes?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

            “For the fall, of course!”

            “Ophelia, you and I have a very different taste for clothes. I do not see how we could shop together.”

            “Of course we can, spoilsport” Ophelia countered. “The ghastlier you think the clothes are, the more I like it. And it goes vice versa! We match perfectly!”

            “Hmmm, you do have a point,” Morticia replied after a moment of contemplation. “But we both cannot drive. How are we supposed to go downtown?”

            The twins thought for a moment. Then an identical glint appeared in their eyes as they knowingly looked at each other in agreement. They slowly turned towards their father and smiled sweetly at him.

            “Alright, alright,” he said, smiling broadly. “I will drive you downtown.”

 
            “Thank you, Father!”


If you are interested in reading the whole of the story, or should I say the succeeding chapters of this fanfiction (as it is not yet done), please visit this link: An Addams Family Genesis.

I am more than willing to accept your comments and suggestions. Thank you!