"The secret lies in… the concentration." In slow motion, Gomez took a step back, turned his body slightly, and, with a battle cry, released the butcher knife. It landed perfectly outside the target. He frowned and threw another one. Again, it landed outside the target ring, this time on opposite ends.
Morticia picked one up. "Like this?" she licked her lips, squinted her eyes, and with elegant movement, released the deadly object.
"Exactly, angelita mía," Gomez exclaimed when it pierced the bullseye. He expected to see her eyes dance with excitement, but instead found them lackluster. "Morticia, what is it?"
She deeply sighed. "Darling, do you think we made a good first impression on Miss Blackshaw tonight? I do so want us to be dear friends…"
"Of course! What would make you think otherwise?"
"Well she," Morticia moved to seat herself on the edge of the bed of nails. "She never seemed engaged. She acted as if she were waiting for something strange or frightful to happen."
"In this house? Our beautiful, cozy abode?" He shook his head skeptically and removed a cigar from the pocket of his robe.
"It is a grand old home isn't it?" Morticia wistfully gazed around the damp playroom and the old torture relics that lined the brick walls. "Perhaps I'm being overprotective - Lurch is quite smitten. Though, there was something peculiar about her…"
"I knew she was a crock!" Uncle Fester cheerfully bragged as he made his way through the trap door. The couple turned their attention to the big bellied man with a cactus in his hands. "I knew it the moment she told us she had been in Girl Scouts."
"Come, come old man, we all have our flaws."
"Gomez, I'm telling you she's not what she's cracked to be." Before Gomez could open his mouth, he hurriedly carried on. "I just heard it from her own lips. She's a crook – a con – an imposter!"
"Sounds like my kind of person," he smirked to himself.
"Gomez!" Morticia stood up and crossed her arms. "Uncle Fester, what on earth are you talking about? She and Lurch are in the living room, blissfully playing duets on the harpsicord."
"No, they're not." He turned to shut the small door before scooting closer to the pair, his voice growing quiet and excited. "They stopped about thirty minutes ago – I know because I heard Lurch escorting her up the steps. They had stopped at her door and she was going on about how much fun she had tonight and how well he plays – all that mushy stuff you know - and," he eagerly took a bite out of his cactus. "Right before Lurch left she asked him if she could use the phone. So he told her there was one in your office. Well, she didn't know it, but I was in your office under the train tracks, recharging myself with the generator."
"Uncle Fester, you should have told her you were in there."
"It's a good thing I didn't!" he said indignantly. "Morticia, you should've heard the things I heard. She started talking to some guy. Oh boy, did she talk! There was something said about money and freaks and a deal of sorts…"
"Perhaps she's in stocks?"
Uncle Fester gave Gomez a dead-pan expression. He was about to continue his tale when the lid of a turquoise box flew open and a hand ascended from it.
"Thing! Shouldn't you be in bed?" Morticia asked in a motherly tone. For a moment the hand drooped sullenly, then perked back up and swayed left to right, first towards Morticia and then Gomez.
"Well alright darling, tell us. Then you must get straight to bed."
Thing disappeared into the blackness of his box. Seconds later he reappeared with a recorder in hand. Gomez took it, laid it on the torture rack, and pushed play. Everyone watched as the wheels started spinning. The crackling white noise filled the room. Then a hushed voice came on the speakers:
"I'm telling you Sal, something's not right. I can't do it… It's not the same as before. These people – they're real freaks!... I know, I know… But you should see this guy, he's an ogre! I don't care if he does have a million dollars, it's not worth it… Look, the deal's off."
There was a long space of silence. Then Giselle's voice came back on with an evident strain. "I'll see what else I can get, but after that I'm out. OK?... No, they don't. They actually think I want to get married," she choked out a laugh. "Yes… but – fine, one more day."
Thing stopped the recorder and rubbed his fingers together, waiting for a reaction.
Uncle Fester was the first to speak, "A real crock if I ever knew one!"
Morticia shuffled back to the nail bed and plopped herself down. "But why would anyone want to take advantage of Lurch?"
"Money!" Uncle Fester said matter-of-fact.
"Lurch hasn't got any money…or has he?" Gomez pondered.
"I'm sure Lurch has some, darling. He's quite frugal."
Uncle Fester added, "You should see him at the butcher's shop! He's always able to negotiate prices. The men never argue."
"But what would make Miss Blackshaw think he has any substantial wealth?"
Gomez snapped his fingers. "The letters from his mother! She still thinks Lurch is the owner of this great estate. Remember, Querida? Lurch never told her the truth."
"Yes, I remember," she said with a shudder. Flashbacks of being reduced to a maid played in her mind. It took her and Gomez days to brainwash Lurch back into his usual role of butler.
"Oh dear," Morticia laid her chin in her hands, "what are we going to do now?"
"Shoot her in the back!" Uncle Fester enthusiastically replied. "Where's my gun?!"
"No violence!" Morticia shot up. "No, we don't need to do anything rash." With her eyes cast down, she started to pace. She would think of something, even if it took her all night.