I don't own The Addams Family in any way, shape, or form.

Thanks so much for clicking on this story! I hope it amuses you.

The old woman sensed her daughter ghosting in the shadows of the kitchen. Esmerelda stirred her noxious brew of a stew and waited patiently for her to speak up.

"Mama, do you have a moment?"

She didn't answer, apparently entranced by the moist steam swirling over the contents of the cauldron, and by the rhythmic, fiery belching of the ancient stove.

Suddenly, the younger woman was next to her, peering into the pot. She gave Morticia a sideways glance and was distressed to see her eyes tighten, knowing the sight of one of her favorite concoctions was turning her stomach. She shoved a butcher block full of toadstools toward her forlorn daughter.

Morticia picked up a wickedly sharp knife and began to chop the toadstools morosely.

"Is it Gomez?" Esmerelda asked the pot.

"You've noticed it, too," Morticia answered the toadstools.

"Hard not to. He's been acting like a loon."

She peeked at Morticia again, who was smiling dreamily over her task. "He has," she conceded, "and it's usually so becoming, but…" She trailed off as a delicate frown wrinkled her forehead.

Esmerelda gave a knowing nod. "Finish those, then we'll talk."

Morticia completed her job with the finesse of a skilled surgeon. Esmerelda picked up the block and dumped the toadstool chunks unceremoniously into the cauldron. The sludge bubbled ominously, and she leaned in for a whiff.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned away from the stove and made her way to the table, where a pile of books waited for her and a comforting pot of hemlock tea steeped in anticipation of her break. Morticia picked out two teacups from the cupboard and joined her mother at the table.

They sat down together. Esmerelda poured the tea. Morticia flicked open her black onyx ring and let her elegant fingers hover questioningly over her mother's teacup. Esmerelda shook her head, and Morticia withdrew her proffered hand.

"Well?" Esmerelda prompted. "What's he done now?"

Morticia lowered her head in shame. "I'm not sure I can talk about it."

"I can't help if you don't tell me everything." She trained her steady gaze on Morticia. It was sympathetic, but pragmatic, too. Esmerelda was nothing if not a realist.

"It started with simple things, like whistling cheerful songs without a hint of irony. Then there was the morning he went out to hit golf balls. Thing offered him a cigar, but he said no, he would rather –" Morticia blinked back a bitter tear, and Esmerelda took her hand in a gesture of encouragement. Morticia gave her a grateful squeeze and continued bravely. "He said he would rather not smoke so he could breathe in the fresh air."

Esmerelda felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. She adored her son-in-law, but would always take Morticia's side first. "I'll turn him into a toad!"

"Please, Mama!"

"It might help," she insisted stubbornly.

"Possibly, but only in the short term." A faraway look crept onto Morticia's face and her eyes grew wide. "Although, he would make a very handsome toad. I wonder if he would still have a mustache." She shook her head to come out of her pleasant musing and gave Esmerelda a small reassuring smile. "I think I'd rather keep my husband's usual size and shape…for now."

"Fine, but my offer still stands. Just say the word!" She decided to get the conversation back on track. "There was the debacle with the kite," Esmerelda reminded her darkly.

"How could I forget?" she muttered bleakly.

"I'm sure you tried. I certainly did."

"Honestly, Mama, who tells his children to go outside and fly a kite when there's not even a hint of a lightning storm on the horizon?"

"No one I know," she declared.

"Then today, over breakfast, he suggested we go for a picnic."

"For supper?"

"For lunch."

Esmerelda cast a disbelieving glance at the windows, which were covered in heavy drapes to prevent the dastardly sunshine from sneaking in. "Is it supposed to rain?" she tried doubtfully.

Morticia shook her head somberly, barely managing to choke out a response. "No."

"Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse…"

"Only it does. You haven't heard everything."

"There's more?" she asked incredulously.

Morticia looked her mother squarely in the eye. "Promise you won't judge him, Mama. He's sick."

"I promise," she said, crossing her toes.

"I hinted that perhaps today was a bit…bright for a picnic, and he said that was exactly why we should go. He said he'd noticed I was looking rather pale, and I might want a little sun."

Esmerelda gasped in horror. She tried to speak, but nothing would come out. All she could do was watch as a single tear rolled down her child's face, sparkling against the lovely pallor of her cheek. Her pale perfection had always made Gomez swoon.

"It's true." She took a deep breath and turned imploring eyes toward her mother. "I don't understand what's happening."

For Morticia's sake, Esmerelda steeled her nerves and assumed a clinical tone. "When did you first notice the symptoms?"

Morticia picked up her teacup and took a thoughtful sip. Esmerelda tried not to let on that she noticed the teacup shaking slightly. "About two weeks ago. He was fine until the last full moon started to wane."

Esmerelda reached across the table to the pile of books and pulled two tattered tomes toward her – her journal and the most recent edition of Witch's Almanac. She consulted her journal first, flipping through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Her eyes narrowed as she digested the information scrawled on one of the pages. "Two weeks ago. Makes sense. That big storm passed in time for us to camp out on the roof and view the blood moon. Unfortunately, the sky has been clear since."

Morticia let that sink in. "Of course. You're right. The sky has been a wretched blue. No clouds, no moon these past few days…" She shuddered.

"Seasonal Affective Disorder," Esmerelda pronounced. "It's actually quite common, and a textbook case. Not sure how I didn't recognize it before. Bad weather can cause depression, as well as less favorable personality changes."

Morticia breathed a sigh of relief that they were able to put a name to the ailment. "Then all we need to do is wait for this nasty weather to break?"

The old woman set down her journal and referred to the Almanac. "It can be that simple, but I hate to tell you: this trend is supposed to continue for another week."

"Another week!" Morticia groaned. "Such torture." She shivered. "I could bear it, but the children – this behavior has them unsettled."

"There are a few things we can do. First – and this is very important! – we must cut off his supply of vitamin D. That stuff is poison. Oh! Which reminds me –" Esmerelda pushed away from the table to check on the stew and give it a quick stir. When she let go of the wooden spoon and it stayed upright in the thick goo, she gave a smile of satisfaction and extinguished the fire under the cauldron.

"We'll have to keep him in the dark," Morticia said when Esmerelda sat back down. "How should we do that?"

She shrugged. "Lock him in the dungeon," she posited practically.

"For a few days, perhaps, but you know how antsy he gets. And if the sun is still out –"

"Zap! Right back to square one," Esmerelda agreed.

Morticia's eyes lit up. "We could go somewhere. Take a trip!"

Esmerelda nodded enthusiastically. "A change of scenery! Does wonders for the spirit!"

"Somewhere delightfully dismal, maybe a little surreal. The Black Forest?"

"I've never been, but it sounds promising."

"Maybe the Catacombs in Paris?"

"Culture and sophistication, with the added benefit of being underground." Esmerelda sat back and clasped her hands over her stomach. "We're on the right track now, my dear. We'll figure it out. In the meantime, we'll make sure he gets plenty of dark foods in his diet."

Comprehension dawned on Morticia's face. "The toadstools?" Esmerelda responded with a sly, toothy grin. "Mama, you are so wise," she said with blatant admiration.

Esmerelda ducked her head, attempting to look modest. "Just a hunch. Doesn't matter much what's wrong with you, that stew will cure you." She chuckled. "Well, either that, or, you know."

"I certainly do. But about the trip. We can't tell Gomez. He won't go for it, not in his current state."

"He might. You'll have to tell him you're taking him somewhere repulsive and sunny."

"As for the real reason, I suppose we'll have to, well, keep him in the dark." She gave a wan smile, but her eyes flashed resolutely. "I do feel so much better, Mama. Thank you."

"Any time." A companionable silence settled over them as Morticia thought of dreary places to take Gomez. "You know, traveling with him might be easier if you'd let me turn him into a toad."

"Mama…" Morticia chided affectionately.

"Just let me know if you change your mind."

The End