The snow fell extremely hard on Candeltop Hill. It prevented anyone from entering or exiting the Addams' estate. Lurch, their zombie-like but loyal butler, had been shuffling all morning.
The Addams estate was thousands, thousands of square feet and acres upon acres of land. The exterior structure was strong, mahogany wood. And there was a balcony coming out of the master bedroom on the fifth floor, which nobody used. It looked like a real haunted mansion, with the boar's head in the living room and the cobwebs that lurked in every corner of the house. The stairs before the door, that extended up to the grand hall were six feet across. A set of stairs was on either side of the miniature second floor, these stairs were three feet across. They led up to the second floor. There were seven stories total in the Addams estate, including the basement/dungeon and attic. The house was grand, and a dream habitat for anyone in the Addams clan, as well as a few spiders.
Normally, eighteen year old Gomez Addams paid no heed to the snow. He actually quite enjoyed it. However, today was not one of those days. How was his family supposed to host the biggest funeral the family had had since he was born? They could hold everything inside... no, perhaps they would just have to reshcedule.
But the real, more pressing matter that troubled Gomez, was that he was to be married soon. He was to be married soon, to a woman he didn't even know existed two days ago! He wanted love, passion... oh, who was he kidding? His wanted love and passion, true. But he also just wanted to be free. He had his way with a new woman every other week. It wasn't that he used them. They knew perfectly well there was no real, honest connection. But Gomez wanted a good time, a dirty distraction, and they could give it to him. But he knew he never really loved them. Not a single one of them. Now, it was all over. He had a feeling this Ophelia Frump, hsi bride to be, would never be his true love. Now, he had to suffer through the rest of his life with this woman, because infidelity was not an option... let alone for an Addams.
Thoughts raced about Gomez's mind as he blew up train after train in his private room in the basement. It had old, dusty birck walls and a grey, stone floor. Artifacts from Addams' past lined the walls. Such as, different types of weaponry and a painting of a giraffe in a tuxedo, or different skulls and other foreign or, weird objects. In the middle of it all, was Gomez's enormous train set. And whenever he was upset, he went down into the basement. And like any red-blooded, grown Ameircan man, he played with his trians. And play, meant blowing them up.
There came a knock at the door.
"Who is it?" Gomez asked, in his sensual Italian/Castilian accent. His voice was naturally sexy, and it helped when picking up women. And if the voice didn't work, his charm would.
"It's your father." Alistair replied. His voice was more American than his son's was. He had a slight accent, so he wasn't sure where his son picked up his. But ever since he could speak, that was what he sounded like.
"I'm busy, Father." Gomez said.
"No, son, you're not." Alistair sighed. "Let me in."
"Father, please. I'm thinking."
"Then you aren't as smart as I thiught you were. You've been thinking for the past four hours now, ever since dinner."
Gomez knew that his father would let himself in, if he didn't. "Come in father."
"That's better." Alistair walked in and shut the door behind him. "Now, take off that ridiculous conductor's cap and sit down."
Gomez reluctantly oblidged, and sat next to his father on the park bench that he and Fester had stolen as kids, that was placed near the train table.
"Yes, father?"
Alistair put a hand on his son's knee.
Gomez was six foot two, and muscular. His facial hair formed two lines above his lip that could arouse the dead. His eyes were dark brown, almost black. His hair was black, and slicked back. And his skin was olive-colored. Formally, he dressed in navy blue, but sometimes black or another dark color, pinstriped suits. But today, he was in his casual ensemble. His style was sometimes sexually swashbuckling, while other times it was dark and classy. He hated bright colors, the only light color he ever wore was white, for his undershirts. Today, he wore black suitpants, a black undershirt and a dark red suit-vest with gothic designs on it. He wore matching black dress shoes.
"Gomez, why don't you want to marry Ophelia?" Alistair asked. Alistair looked just like a fourty five year old version of his son. Only, his hair was not slicked back and he really only ever wore pinstiped suits.
"Father, I don't want to give my life to anyone! I haven't found the right person!" Gomez threw up his hands. "I want to find the right woman, you must understand that!" He stood an walked about the room.
"I don't." Alistair admitted.
"What?" Gomez was shocked.
"At least, not with you!" Alistiar's hand motions were oddly similar to his son's when he spoke, and he stood as well. "Gomez, we've had this conversation every time you've found a new girl! You don't even bring them home half of the time!"
Gomez raised an eyebrow.
"You don't even introduce them to us half the time!" Alistair rephrased the sentence. "Gomez, you need to learn to grow up and take some responsibility!"
"Oh, don't talk to me about responsibility! Who was it who almost lost our entire fortune in a gambling addiction seven years ago?" Gomez pointed at him.
Alistair stepped closer to his son. "Don't bring my gambling into this, Gomez!"
"Well, then don't talk to me about responsiblity!" Gomez yelled.
"At least I still talk to my brother!"
Those words stung Gomez's heart worse than a thousand hornets. "Don't bring Fester into this." He fought back tears.
"Past regrets being brought to the light hurt, don't they?"
"Get out." Gomez was seething.
"Son, I'm sorry. Alright?"
"Leave!" Gomez shouted.
Alistair stepped face-to-face to his son. "You know, somebody ought to put you in your place once in a while."
"Get. Out. Now!" He yelled.
Alistiar slapped him across the face then.
Gomez put a hand to his cheek and was about to give his father a slap back when Alistair grabbed his arm.
"Son... sit down. Right now."
Gomez was still angry, but allowed his father to lead him back to the bench.
"Gomez... look at me."
Gomez looked his father. Tears stung both of their eyes.
"I'm sorry, father." Gomez said.
Alistair chuckled. "You're too much like me."
"How so?" Gomez asked.
"You're way too passionate. God, son, you have to learn to control your temper."
"I wonder where I get that from." Gomez stated, sarcastically.
"Well, you're mother can get pretty angry, too."
"Wonderful, so I'm fucked either way." Gomez laughed.
"You've got that right." Alistair slapped his son's shoulder. "Gomez, I'm going to tell you something. And it's going to hurt. I'm not trying to hurt you..." Alistair sighed. "Gomez, after your brother ran away... I knew I had to make sure that we kept our family growing. Gomez, you were always more reliable than Fester."
"How dare-"
"Son, there's no easy way to say this, but shut up." Alistair continued. "I loved your brother just as much as I love you. But I do trust you more. I trust you to make the right decision."
"What decision? There is no decision!"
"Gomez, ultimately you can choose to be for this family or against it. And I know and trust that you will make the right decision." Alistair explained.
"Father, I want to live my own life. Why can't you trust me to do that?" Gomez asked.
"You wanna know why? I'll tell you why. Gomez, you're an eighteen year old, male slut." Alistair said, honestly.
"Father!"
"Would you like me to call you a pimp instead? I mean, we both know the girls you... like have been reccomended to your ridiculous friends for the price of whiskey!"
"No. I prefer slut, thank you." Gomez responded.
"Look, son... I need you to think of somebody besides yourself for once." Alistair finally said.
Gomez said nothing.
"Can you do that? Please?" Alistair asked.
"Yes, father. I've thought about this family a lot... that's why I'm doing this." Gomez replied.
"Good man." Alistair embraced his son. "Make me beautiful grandchildren."
"Where are the words, make me proud?" Gomez asked.
"I already know you will."
"What, are you saying I might have ugly children?" Gomez asked, jokingly.
"Maybe... if the wife is ugly."
"You're terrible, father."
"Yea..." Alistair broke their embrace. "So are you."
"Did you kill eachother yet?" Rosemary asked from behind the door. Her accent was slightly English.
"No, mother! We're both very much alive!" Gomez called to her.
"Oh, damn it. Now I'll have to make more leg of yak!" Rosemary laughed.
"I'll die next time, mother!" Gomez joked.
"Thank you, Gomez!" The fourty year old ran a finger through her brown-red hair. It was wavy and down to her upper back. She wore dark red gothic dresses, sometimes witch-like. She occasionally wore other dark colors or black. Her eyes were brown and her nails were long. Her skin was fair white, but on the slightly paler side. She didn't tan, she just burned. So, she had to stay out of the sun. She was in her long, silky and flowing, crimson colored nightgown. Her hair was in a bun with two curly strands hanging in front of her face. She was a beautiful lady, didn't look day over thirty five.
"My pleasure!" These words earned him a slap on the shoulder from his father.
"Alright, son..." Alistair stood. "I think you know what you need to do, right?"
"Yes, father, I do." Gomez shook his head, as if to try and convince himself that all of this was for the best.
"Good." Alistair walked out. "Get some sleep tonight, Gomez!" He called.
About an hour of sitting, and comprehending what he should do, and Gomez was completely spent. He put his conductor's cap on the coat rack, bid the little man in one of the train-cars goodnight, and went upstairs to bed.
He laid in bed for hours, confused and upset. He didn't know what was worse... lying to his father about knowing what to do, or lying to his father about thinking about the family. He wasn't doing either of thise things. And right now, he wasn't sure he wanted to.
