The Junior Novel

by Calliope Glass

  Morticia snorted. “Win them over,” she repeated. That had worked so well in the old country . . .

  Screeee! A golf cart slammed to a stop on the sidewalk by the park, and an aggressively blow-dried woman leapt out, followed by an apologetic-looking man with a headset and a name tag that said Glenn on it.

  “Well, good morning, neighbor!” the woman chirped as she strode toward the Addamses. “I’m Margaux Needler.”

  Gomez stepped forward and offered his hand. “Gomez Addams,” he said, “at your service.” He gestured to Morticia, who was glaring at Margaux. “My wife, Morticia.”

  Morticia gave Margaux a look that could have frozen a lake of lava. “Charmed,” she said.

  Gomez ignored her tone. “And our children, Wednesday and Pugsley,” he said, gesturing to the kids. “And my brother, Fester.”

  Fester stepped forward. “Hey, neighbor!” he said to Margaux, who had instinctively shrunk back. He was still clutching the two bats. “You know we can see right into your windows?”

  Margaux blanched, but she recovered quickly. It wasn’t a coincidence that she was one of the top reality television stars in the world. She knew how to lie.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said cheerfully. “As your neighbor, I’d like to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime. How would you like a free home makeover from a world-renowned interior designer?”

  Gomez Addams, Morticia Addams, Fester Addams, Wednesday Addams, Pugsley Addams, and an adult lion with no leash all stared at Margaux blankly.

  There was a long, awkward silence. Then Gomez said, tentatively, “I suppose it would depend on the designer?”

  Margaux huffed indignantly. Had these people never been in the same room as a television? How was it possible that they didn’t know who she was?

  “Me!” she said impatiently, and then hastily slapped a big grin over her impatient scowl. “I’m talking about me. It will be a challenge,” she added, “but I can beautify that old house of yours so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

  Fester brightened up at that. “I don’t want to brag,” he said, “but mine already does that. Look!”

  He turned his head, and then kept turning it and turning it. Margaux watched in terrified fascination as his head turned completely around until he was facing her again. He smiled. She hastily looked away.

  “I should like to see what this plastic woman has to offer,” the little girl—Wednesday, Margaux reminded herself—said thoughtfully. She seemed to be about the same age as Margaux’s daughter, Parker. Margaux forced herself to smile at the child. “Well, aren’t you adorable,” she said. “I love your dress. Where did you get it?”

  Wednesday smiled stiffly. “It’s just something I dug up,” she said. Margaux looked more closely and noticed traces of soil still clinging to the hem. She winced and moved a few steps farther away from the little girl.

  “Yes, well,” she said nervously. Who were these people? They got weirder with every minute.

  Margaux turned to the mother—Morticia. “When is a good time to stop by?” she asked.

  Morticia stiffened. “Actually, Ms. Needler,” she started. She was clearly about to refuse the offer, but before she could get the words out, her husband elbowed her gently. “Darling,” he muttered softly.

  Morticia paused. She smiled at Margaux through gritted teeth. “Stop by any time you’d like,” she said stiffly.

  Margaux grinned like a shark. “Then it’s settled!” she said. “I’ll see you at your house first thing tomorrow!”

  There. That was that. And now she could flee. Margaux jumped back into the golf cart and sped off. She didn’t bother to wait for Glenn. He could fend for himself.

  The Addamses watched the golf cart speed off with Glenn running along behind it.

  “That woman seems deranged,” Wednesday said thoughtfully. “Her face reminds me of a death mask.”

  Fester nodded. “I must ask her how she does it!” he said.

  Chapter 5

  Gomez had a solemn expression on his face as he opened the antique case. He lifted the lid carefully. Inside lay a sword—an ornate ceremonial sabre. The light caught the blade and glinted across the ballroom, landing on Pugsley’s face as he looked on.

  Gomez looked at his only son. “Pugsley,” he said, “this is the Addams family sabre. Three hundred years’ worth of Addamses have danced the Mazurka with this blade.”

  Pugsley snatched at the sword, but Gomez slapped his hand away.

  “Ah-ah,” he said warningly. “Only when you’ve shown me you’re ready.”

  Fester, walking into the ballroom, chimed in. “Your father was the greatest swordsman in Addams history.”

  Pugsley’s eyes widened. Fester went on: “His Mazurka was the stuff of legends.”

  “But,” Gomez added, “everything you’ll need to learn is in the Mazurka handbook.”

  Uncle Fester opened a huge book. He looked at it thoughtfully. “Few people know that the Sabre Mazurka began as a fighting technique that helped the Addamses prevail against enemies who threatened our very existence.”

  Pugsley looked up at him, eyes wide.

  Fester turned the pages, seeking something specific. “Aha,” he said when he found it. “The steps of the dance.”

  He showed Pugsley the diagrams of the Sabre Mazurka steps in the book. Lurch began playing the Mazurka theme on the organ as Fester and Gomez walked Pugsley through the steps one by one.

  “We start with the Toe–Heel Slash,” Fester said. Gomez demonstrated, sweeping his leg out balletically.

  “Then the Deadly Possum.” Gomez hunkered down, drawing his arms around his head.

  “Then—oh! My favorite!” Fester continued. “The Spadroon Twist!” Gomez spun around.

  Fester pointed at the final diagram. “And finally,” he said, “the Slash and Duck. This lets you attack and defend at the same time!” Gomez did the Slash and Duck. It was pretty spectacular, Pugsley had to admit.

  Gomez straightened up, the dance over. He stared keenly at Pugsley. “You will be judged,” he said, “on your bravery. Your skill. Your passion!”

  Pugsley gulped nervously.

  “And, oh yes,” Gomez added, “I forgot to mention, while you’re doing this, all the Addamses will be trying to stab you.”

  Pugsley broke out into a sweat. He slammed the book shut.

  Gomez grinned. “It’s your turn now, boy,” he said. “Fester, give him the goo-goo-ga-ga baby training sword.”

  Fester handed Pugsley a beat-up wooden training sword. Pugsley waved it in the air experimentally. It felt totally alien in his hand.

  “Pop?” he said nervously. “Has anyone ever failed the Mazurka?”

  Gomez tilted his head thoughtfully. “Once,” he said. “Your third cousin Xander.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Pugsley said.

  Gomez grinned. “Exactly,” he replied. “Music!”

  Lurch began playing the Mazurka again.

  Pugsley gripped the sword. Toe–Heel Slash, he thought. How does that one go again?

  But before he could take his first step, the doorbell rang. Lurch stopped playing abruptly and stood up to answer the door. Gomez and Fester followed him.

  Pugsley breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  Parker Needler didn’t have a lot in common with her mom. She wasn’t interested in interior design, she didn’t like yoga, and she loved K-pop. Basically, she and her mom were from different planets. But if there was one thing they both loved, it was being on camera. In Margaux Needler’s case, being on camera meant having a team of professional union guys with a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of equipment following her up the steps to the spookiest mansion Parker had ever seen.

  In Parker Needler’s case, it meant livestreaming the whole thing to her internet video account from her smartphone.

  “Okay, guys,” Parker said, peering into her phone’s camera. “I’m going up to this creepy old house. If you don’t hear from me in thirty min
utes, send backup.”

  Margaux marched up the steps to the front door. “Oh, I’ve never seen people more in need of Margaux’s help!” she said. “I’m gonna get promoted to saint after they see the charity I do for these poor people. I’m like Mother Teresa in yoga pants!”

  She rang the doorbell.

  There was a long pause. The camera crew all trained their cameras on the front door of the Addamses’ house. Then the door very slowly creaked open, and the largest, strangest man opened it. He looked like a cross between a butler and Frankenstein’s monster.

  “You raaaaaang?” he moaned.

  “Yeah, no,” the lead cameraman said. He ripped his headset off and dropped his camera. “Life is too short. See ya.” He fled down the steps but then stopped short: an adult lion was sitting square in the middle of the walk.

  The cameraman stared at the lion, who growled softly. Very slowly, the cameraman bent down, retrieved his headset and his camera, and backed up the steps.

  Parker caught all of it on her phone. “This is crazy, you guys,” she murmured into her livestream as she filmed the entire team, including Margaux, being herded into the house by—

  “Kitty!” a cheerful voice rang out. Parker turned around and saw Gomez Addams enter the hall.

  “Greetings, Ms. Needler!” he continued. Parker watched from the porch as he swept up to her mother and shook her hand heartily. Then the monster butler slammed the front door shut, and Parker was alone on the porch.

  She shrugged and went off to explore the grounds.

  Inside the house, Morticia and Gomez were greeting their visitors.

  Margaux grinned widely and insincerely. “Good morning!” she said. “I do hope this isn’t a bad time.”

  “The worst,” Gomez said genially. “Please do come in.”

  Margaux held out the welcome basket she’d brought with her. It contained a selection of her very own line of jams and a copy of her book, You’re Welcome in Advance: The Margaux Needler Story. Morticia stared at the basket, then donned a pair of asbestos safety gloves and gingerly took it from Margaux. She quickly passed it along to a—

  A disembodied hand? Margaux stared in horror as the . . . hand took the basket and scuttled away, using its fingers as legs.

  This appointment could not be over soon enough.

  “Are you ready for your Margaux makeover?” she asked, pasting her best television smile back on her face.

  “Quite,” Morticia said unenthusiastically. “Pugsley has been climbing the walls in anticipation.” She pointed one black-polished finger, and Margaux looked over to the other side of the entryway. The young man was indeed literally crawling up the wall . . . backward. She shuddered.

  Eyes on the prize, Margaux, she reminded herself. You’re here on a mission. Do it and get out of here.

  “Well,” she said. “Let’s take a look around, shall we? And before you say anything”—she winked at the camera—“you’re welcome.”

  Gomez and Morticia led Margaux and her crew into the dining room. She looked around. The walls were stone. Medieval sconces with torches burning in them lit the room. Everything was covered with dust and cobwebs.

  Time to get to work.

  “Okay!” Margaux chirped. “Now, if we’re trying for a more contemporary look, these sconces have got to go.” She reached out and yanked on one. The brackets didn’t look all that sturdy. But instead of crumbling off the wall, the sconce slid down an inch, and something in the wall went click. Margaux had triggered a hidden mechanism. One of the walls rotated on a hidden hinge, swallowing a cameraman.

  “Mitch?” said one of the other camera operators, but he was gone. The wall was smooth and stationary again.

  “Hmm,” Morticia said regretfully. “The sconces were a gift from dead relatives.”

  Gomez nodded. “If we get rid of them, they’ll be terribly hurt the next time they visit.”

  Outside, Parker had packed in her livestream and sat down under a tree. This had been fun at first, but there wasn’t all that much going on in the yard, and now she was just bored. She scrolled idly through a gallery of cute kitten photos online and wondered when her mom would be ready to go.

  A hand closed in and yanked her phone away. No, not a hand—a twig. What?!

  Parker looked up, startled. The tree had taken her phone away and was handing it to—a girl Parker’s age. This must be Wednesday Addams. She was wearing an old-fashioned dress, and her hair was in two severe braids. She stared at Parker, then down at the phone, which was now playing a video of Parker’s favorite K-pop star in concert. The phone made a tinny roar as the video showed thousands of screaming fans cheering in the stands.

  “How do all these people fit into that little contraption?” Wednesday asked. The tree wrapped a branch around Parker’s waist and hoisted her onto the branch beside Wednesday.

  “Eek!” Parker squeaked out.

  Wednesday didn’t seem to notice. “My vanity mirror only imprisons fourteen souls at a time,” she added. “The witchcraft in this device is very impressive.”

  Parker tilted her head. “Wait,” she said, “you don’t have a cell phone? That’s pretty weird.”

  Wednesday shrugged. “I may not have a . . . ‘cell phone’,” she replied, “but you don’t seem to have a crossbow, and I thought everybody had one of those.”

  She twirled a dangerous-looking crossbow in the hand that wasn’t holding Parker’s phone. Parker sort of wished she were still livestreaming. This really was too weird to be believed.

  “My name is Wednesday,” the girl added. Parker decided not to tell her that she knew that already. She wasn’t sure how this girl would feel about learning that Margaux Needler had CIA-style dossiers compiled on the entire family and had forced her crew—and her daughter—to review and memorize them on the way there that morning.

  “I’m Parker,” Parker said. She looked around. “How long have you lived here?”

  “My whole life,” Wednesday replied. “Which seems endless.” She struck a tragic pose.

  “How come I’ve never seen you at school?” Parker asked.

  “I’m cage-schooled,” Wednesday replied.

  Parker squinted, confused. “Excuse me?” she said.

  “It’s terribly dull,” Wednesday added, “but Mother insists. She doesn’t trust the outside world.”

  Wednesday gave Parker a sharp look. “And she doesn’t trust normal people.” Then she shrugged. “I’m actually cutting cage right now,” she said. She pointed toward the house. The monster butler was carrying a large cage toward the house, and the little boy—Wednesday’s brother—was inside it, growling, snarling, and tumbling himself around.

  Parker’s head was spinning. “Okay,” she said. It wasn’t okay. But she didn’t know what else to say.

  “So,” Wednesday said curiously, “what happens at your school?”

  Parker scratched her head. “Uh,” she said, “not much, I guess. Just friends turning on each other, girls making other girls feel bad about themselves. Typical junior high stuff.”

  Wednesday nodded. “Intriguing,” she said. “It sounds like Richard III, but bloodier.” She cocked her head. “Can anyone go to your school?” she asked.

  Parker shrugged. “I guess so,” she said. “But who’d want to?”

  Inside the house, the tour continued.

  Gomez and Morticia led Margaux and her crew into the cellar. Margaux tried not to wonder when they were going to be shown the crypt . . . and locked inside. Given how things had gone so far, it didn’t seem that far-fetched.

  “And this is our whine cellar,” Morticia said proudly, gesturing around her. “We have a lovely collection of whines.”

  She uncorked a bottle, and a high, sad whine emerged from it.

  The tour continued. They made their way past barrels of whine and shelves of preserved . . . things until they reached what appeared to be a giant hole in the floor.

  “And this is our bottomless pit,” Morticia said, ge
sturing at it.

  “How do we get across?” Margaux asked.

  “One moment,” Morticia said, and gave the hem of her dress a demure little shake. Thousands of spiders streamed out from under her dress and linked up to make a bridge across the pit. Margaux held her breath and tried very hard not to think about what was happening as she crossed the pit. The moment everyone was on the other side, the spiders all swarmed up to Morticia’s dress and disappeared again.

  “About the pit,” Margaux said. “You really should consider converting it to an infinity pool. It’ll raise your home equity like you would not believe, and they’re great for entertaining.”

  Morticia smiled noncommittally. “Noted,” she said, and the tour continued.

  When the tour of the Addamses’ house was over, they reconvened in the living room. Margaux smiled. It was her move now—and she knew exactly what she needed to do.

  “This is fantastic!” she said brightly to Morticia, and then she turned to the cameras. “There really isn’t much to do to make this place perfect.”

  She took out a can of spray paint and gave it a businesslike shake.

  “All we have to do is pull down these sidewalls,” she said, painting giant red Xs on the walls (which she was certain were structural and load-bearing). “And then we also break down these other two walls,” she added, painting big red Xs through the two exterior walls.

  “And definitely do some demo on this,” she said, painting a big red X across the monster butler, whose name, evidently, was Lurch. “He’s so nineties,” she added. “Really out of date.”

  Margaux looked around thoughtfully. “Open up the ceiling,” she said, looking up. She climbed up onto a table and spray-painted a giant X onto the ceiling. “Just break it. Irreversibly.”

  She climbed back down and rolled up the ancient Persian carpet on the floor. “And just get this nasty old floor out of the way,” she added, painting a big X across the floorboards.

  Margaux stood up and dusted her pants off. She looked around cheerfully. “And there you go!” she said cheerfully. The room was completely trashed. Wobbly red Xs adorned every surface. The butler had one across his face. Morticia and Gomez were looking around in shock.