"Harry!" Wednesday screeched. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if his sister was a banshee in disguise. She looked around her, her braids swinging back and forth while she looked for him. Harry held back a snicker.
He apparently didn't hold it very well, because Wednesday looked up, a dark, Hades-like gleam in her eyes, and jumped up, grabbed the lowest branch of the tree, and started swinging herself up towards Harry.
What was so wrong about turning her hair pink?
"It was Pugsley! Not me! It was with Uncle Fester!" he yelled, scrambling higher.
"You! Are! A terrible liar!"
Harry was at the top of the tree, and trapped. Wednesdsday was across from him on the tree, which he should have remembered that it was her favourite, as it had the top lopped off years ago, and was quite very flat. He looked down. Dang it. Wednesday was crawling closer now, grinning madly. Harry gulped. Then he did something very, very stupid.
He dropped.
Wednesday screamed. Harry kept dropping, before he landed on the leaf-strewn ground, a little dazed, but none the worse for where. He looked up, and could barely make out Wednesday's pink head moving down the tree. So, he did what any (well, not usually, but sometimes) sensible six-years-old would do when confronted with a headstart on a sister intent on murdering them.
He ran like the Furies were at his heels, inches from tearing his tender flesh. Then again, he thought, that might not be so bad as what Wednesday was most definitely potting and planning and planning and plotting as she raced to check that he wans't dead yet.
After all, it was much harder to exact revenge for pink hair on the all- or mostly-dead.
10th December, 1987
Harry, Wednesday, and Pugsley were decorating the Family Christmas Tree when the doorbell screamed.
"You raaang?" They hear Lurch ask.
When they heard a voice that sounded like a business man, they ignored it and went back to decorating. "Wednesday? Where's the Iron Maiden ornament?"
"Under the stuffed pirannah."
"Thank you."
"If you turn my hair pink again, I'll boil you with the hot wassail for the carolers."
"I know that."
"Hello, Mrs. Addams! Are these your, um, children?"
"Yes, they are. It seems our house has been overcome with a dreadful amount of holiday cheer, so we brought out the tree, and the children found some ornaments in the playroom."
"Ummm... Yes, well, you see, Mrs. Addams, I'm here on behalf of the local school district, and-"
"School district? Whyever would they send you here? My children do not attend public school."
"That's exactly my point, Ma'am, your children are six and eight years old, and they've never set foot inside a classroom!"
"Well, Gomez is the one you would need to talk to about these matters. I believe he's in the upstairs playroom playing darts with Fester. Oh, Lurch will take you, won't you Lurch?"
L;urch groaned and led the man away. Morticia hobbled over to the children. "Oh how remarkeabley ghastly, my darlings! Are you going to add a nightshade string?"
Pugsley grinned like a murderous loon. With a butchers' knife. "Yes, Mother, and some little skeletons, too."
"Oh, how sweet. I'll leave you to it, then. Now where is my food for Cleopatra..." She muttered that last bit to herself, but Harry answered her anyway.
"It's next to the roast beast, Mama."
As Morticia left the room, the man from the school board ran out screaming about his head being cut off. He was very strange, in the children's opinions.
