"Did you hear it? The screams?" Ophelia laid in her bed with the covers pulled up to her nose, eyes wide. Morticia was frozen, knelt in front of the window. She was staring into a pair of brown eyes behind the glass pane. The eyes darted in every direction, and it didn't seem like they could see her through the tint. Ophelia slid out of the bed and tiptoed behind her sister. "Did you? It sounded close... should we wake mother?... Morticia, what do you see?"

"It's a boy." Her eyes never left his. He was clutching his arm close to his chest, and his wrist was limp. He looked terrified, helpless... but what put Morticia at ease was that he looked young. He winced every time he rubbed his hand. "He's hurt."

Ophelia backed away toward the door, "Like a boy-boy, or a boy-man?"

"He looks like us." Morticia backed away once the boy's hand touched the glass. "He can feel the window?" She looked at Ophelia, worriedly, "He can feel the house even through the veil?"

"He's touching it?" Ophelia was wringing her hands, but had a look of sheer excitement on her face. "Let me see!"

Morticia turned back as the boy disappeared into the woods with another small figure, "He's gone."

Ophelia gasped and ran to the window to press her face to the glass; she saw nothing but the trees in the blackness. She poked out her bottom lip and it quivered. "I didn't even get to see him... What did he look like?" She knelt beside her sister who sat in a daze. "What did he look like! You say he touched the window?"

Morticia blinked and glanced at her sister. "Yes... We should go back to sleep, mother will hear us."

"But Morticia, you saw a boy! An actual boy..."

"I know. We'll talk about it in the morning, okay?" She kissed her cheek and stood. "I'm sorry you didn't get to see."

As Morticia started toward the door, Ophelia grew uneasy. "Morticia? Let's not tell mother, okay?... At least for now."

Morticia nodded, "I was thinking the same thing. Goodnight."

Ophelia smiled to herself after the door closed, squeaking and jumping in a circle. She jumped back onto her bed and ripped off the covers where a large book lay open to a marked page. She ran her index finger down the page and read, "Within power, discovery entails... The power of one-times-one returns to us the protection of the veil."

In the hallway, Morticia took off her slippers and tiptoed to the kitchen. She quietly took a chair and gently set it against the counter. She climbed up and opened a high cabinet where inside were several glass bottles of various colors and sizes. She ran her fingers gently over the bottles and moved a few until she found a smaller glass bottle of a dark, yellow liquid.

In the woods, the boys followed Argus who still had his flashlight. They panted and shrieked at any noise or tree branch they encountered. Gomez followed wearily behind, constantly turning his head back toward the cottage that was no longer in view. The hysterical running was sending lightning bolts of pain through his wrist that he held tightly to his chest.

"Guys, my hand-"

"I see the path! I see it!" Argus cried as they stumbled onto the clearing. Nathan puffed his inhaler, furiously.

"I know I saw something out there," Nathan wheezed. "Fuck you guys, I'm running off this mountain straight home!" He turned and fled down the path, his large backpack causing him to jerk from side to side.

Argus nodded at Gomez, "I saw it, I saw the cottage. We gotta go, now." He dashed after Nathan and Gomez followed. However, the more the pain grew the slower he ran, and his friends were soon out of view. He was too exhausted to care. He stopped to catch his breath and to examine his wrist. There was a protrusion in his skin that he knew was a bone. Holding his breath, he suddenly felt a hair raising sensation on his skin that one tends to feel when they're being watched. He looked up to see a pale face beside a tree. His mouth fell open but no sound came out. He fell backwards onto the dirt path and scooted away, quickly, with the heels of his shoes. The face watched, intently, but didn't move. Once the initial shock had faded, he realized he was looking at a girl.

"What are you doing here?" Gomez asked in an agitated tone. It had just occurred to him that she was very young. "Do you need help?"

She shook her head. After a beat, she emerged from the trees and onto the path. Gomez could see her more clearly. A small girl with long black hair in two braids that draped over both shoulders. She was in a little black night dress with a pouch hanging on her side, and no shoes. Her eyes were wide and seemed to be analyzing every inch of him. He feared for a second that she may even be reading his mind.

"Who are you with?" He didn't take his eyes off her. She shook her head, again. "How old are you?"

"Eleven." Morticia answered, softly. Gomez sat up as he slowly relaxed.

"Me too." They stared at one another. "I don't understand why you're here."

"You're hurt." Morticia blinked.

Gomez looked down at his hand in his lap. "Yes... I've never broken a bone before... that wasn't someone else's." He looked back up at the girl, whose eyes seemed to flash wider. She clutched the crocheted pouch that hung on her side.

"May I?"

Hesitantly, Gomez nodded with no clue what he was agreeing to. All he was sure of was that he was safe.

Morticia cautiously approached him and knelt down. Her heart was racing though she didn't show it. She gently touched his left hand and looked into his eyes for any sign of protest. Sensing the boy's approval, she used her other hand to lift his entire arm, carefully. She brushed back his sleeve. He winced.

"What is your name?" He stared at her curious, large eyes as they ran up and down his arm. She didn't answer. With her other hand, she reached into the pouch and pulled out a small wooden spoon and placed the bowl of it against his palm with the handle touching his wrist and forearm. Although he had a multitude of questions, he figured he would just watch. Holding the spoon in place, she reached back into the pouch and took out what looked like a large spool of thick, black ribbon. She began to wrap the ribbon around his hand, between his thumb and finger, and around his wrist.

"Where did you learn this?"

"If a plant droops, you support it." She tore the ribbon and tied it securely in a bow. Gomez analyzed the makeshift splint, although his movement was restricted. He looked at the girl with a wondrous smile.

"Thank you..."

His wide smile squinted his dark eyes, that seemed to sparkle to Morticia. It was incredibly endearing, the thankfulness of this stranger. He sounded foreign, or at least, different from the way her family sounded. She noticed the thick line of hair above his top lip and wondered if facial hair was common in young boys. She was only used to her uncle, who had no hair at all. But this boy had brown hair and lots of it. When it became apparent that she was studying him as though he were an extraterrestrial, she quickly returned her focus to her pouch and pulled out the bottle of yellow liquid and pulled out the glass topper.

"Drink."

"What is it?"

"It will fix it."

"Fix what, this?" Gomez held up his broken wrist, furrowing his brow at the girl. A distant howl of a wolf made him scramble to his feet. She stood up just as quickly and touched his cheek, a soothing gesture that surprised even her. She quickly retreated.

"Don't be afraid."

She held up the bottle. Gomez could hear his name being shouted through the trees from Nate and Argus, most likely just noticing he wasn't with them. Seeing the look of fear in her eyes, Gomez quickly took the bottle and sipped twice, hoping it would make her stay just a moment longer. It was bitter and burned as he swallowed. She quickly took the bottle and placed the topper on as she backed away. The other voices were coming closer.

"Wait, I still don't understand! You shouldn't be here, I-I have a home, you can come..."

"I did you a favor, now you do one for me." She stared, sternly. A bit frightened, Gomez didn't answer. "You don't tell anyone what you saw. Never come back here, and never come looking for me,"

"What, why-"

"She will hurt you."

"She? Who?" Two hands suddenly gripped Gomez's shoulders and he screamed. He was whisked around by Argus who was glaring at him in disbelief.

"What the hell, Gomez?"

Gomez shoved Argus away and turned back to the mysterious girl who had already vanished. He stepped forward and looked in every direction. Nate and Argus looked just as confused as he was, and rather concerned for their friend.

"Are you still there?"


"Are you still there?"

Morticia blinked. The man was gazing at her, inquisitively. Her hands shot up to take his face and bring it closer, her eyes darting to look at his every feature.

He was taken aback by her hysterical expression, but didn't stop her. It was a full on invitation to stare at her. Striking, silvery large eyes contrasted enchantingly with red lips, plump and parted, and hovering closer as she continued whatever she was doing to him. A pale pink was flushing the apples of her cheeks where he had dabbed her tears only seconds ago. Curvy, silken strands poured from the top of her head and down around her arms; an inky picture frame to a pale canvas. Her hands moved from his cheeks, to his temple, to his brow and back. Her touch was cold and gentle, and he thought he should be ashamed for the way it made him feel. Once her thumb brushed his mustache he took her elbows. He whispered, softly, "Is everything okay?"

His voice brought her attention back to his hazy eyes and it had just occurred to her what she had been doing. She gasped and jumped back, her hands clamping over her mouth, "Oh! Oh, my goodness! Oh, my word, please forgive me!"

"No, it's quite alright..." he chuckled and stepped toward her as she stepped further back.

"No, it's not, that was entirely rude, I don't know what came over me, I..." She looked up at him once more and shook her head, "I'm sorry, you just...you look like someone I know."

"I'd like to be, if that's how you greet people you know." A delicious smile spread on his face, squinting his brown eyes... and that familiar sparkle. Morticia was dumbfounded, holding her hand on her chest to remind herself to breathe. She couldn't speak. Reason was telling her that she could not be entirely sure it was him. All she knew was that this was the face that her fingers scribbled in her sketchbooks and painted on her canvases for almost eleven years. The voice with the strange accent that replayed itself in her head on quiet nights, although it was much lower, now. And the widest smile she accepted she would never see again. The memory of those childlike eyes became present, and she hoped they held her deepest secret that even her dear sister didn't know.

"Are you with someone, tonight?" Breaking the silence once again, his eyes almost seemed to plead.

"No. I mean, only my sister. But she's chasing a bee at the moment."

He nodded, processing the information. He found himself staring at her once again, but she didn't seem to mind. His eyes were fighting a gravitational pull from her body yet they never left her face. He motioned his hand toward the cemetery path, "Listen, it seems we both could use a break from the festivities... would you walk with me?"

Morticia turned her attention to the wide cemetery. The mist floated and dispersed amongst endless headstones and statues. Clearly, each one personal. Anthropomorphic trees were scattered about and dripping with Spanish moss. Although she had never seen a cemetery in person, she figured this may be the most beautiful one there could be. She turned back to the man, who seemed to be a step closer than before.

"Remind me of your name?"

"Forgive me, it's Gomez. Gomez Addams."

"Ah, you're the one everyone knows..."

He smirked and shook his head, modestly. "Not everyone, it seems." She took his arm as he offered it.

"I think I could use a walk... Gomez."

He glanced down at her sharp ruby nails curling around his bicep, and he felt the hairs on his arm raise beneath his suit jacket. He met her eyes once more, where the reflection of the moon pooled. She shifted her focus forward as they began their stroll.

The chill of the autumn night on Morticia's skin faded as soon as she took hold of him; heat radiated off him like a hot poker, "Also, my name is Morticia. That detail seemed to have slipped my mind."

"Morticia... Gad, I've never heard anything so lovely..."

"Thank you."

"Slides right off the tongue."

"Like arsenic."

He looked at her as she flashed him a tempting smirk. The humor was unexpected, but excited him nonetheless. "Entirely." He tightened his arm around her hand.

She observed each headstone they passed, being sure to read the engravings. "All Addamses?"

"Yes. Our family likes to stay close."

"I overheard you were something of "Swamp Town Royalty"." She raised a brow at a headstone that was nothing but a large, stone foot.

He chuckled, "Hardly. Just early immigrants from Spain, settling and building. Birthing and dying. We do hold a lot of pride in the accomplishments of our ancestors, however."

Morticia breathed and exhaled. Leaves were burning somewhere in the distance, and it had always been one of her favored scents. "So this is what it feels like to walk with death."

He couldn't take his eyes off her, now. The moon was bouncing off her hair as she walked, like ocean waves after dark. Her voice sliced through silence so lusciously in his ears. "What does it feel like?"

"Tranquil."

"I apologize, I have to bring it up because I myself am not a fan of the grand, annual execution of the Witch of Willow, but I have never known it to actually bring someone to tears."

"I can't see why not, it's horrid." She looked forward again, a stiffness returning to her demeanor.

"That's so fascinating. Your reaction, I mean."

"Has no one else pointed out the wrong in this?"

He shrugged, "The Witch of Willow Peak is a legend... a myth, you could say. Has been since before I was born. She's a favorite, it brings people from all over..."

"It desecrates an entire tribe of women - powerful, beautiful women..."

"Tribe?"

"Witches."

He stopped and turned to face her. He was thoroughly invested.

"And the fire..." she grimaced. "I was under the impression that things have changed."

"No one is setting fire to any witches, here." He chuckled. "Believe me, I wouldn't allow it."

"Yet you allow that display."

Gomez swallowed, speechless.

"If you don't like it, why allow it at your party?"

"They love the tradition, I..."

As he stammered, her eyes fell. Gomez began to panic. He pressed her arms, "You're passionate about this, why?" Morticia stood frozen in his soft grip. She grew anxious as he awaited her response. "You like witches?"

"...You could say that."

His expression shifted, waiting for her to elaborate on her answer.

"...I study them. I do, and they're not whatever that was. And the words in that song..."

"Can I show you something?"

Caught off guard, Morticia didn't answer.

"Please, I-I know it's strange, but I think you're the only one who would appreciate it. Perhaps it could make up for what you saw." He smiled at her raised brow, feeling as though this captivating creature was allowing him to enter a certain barrier. And he eagerly did so. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not."

Their eyes remained fixated on each other's, as if it were a challenge to see who would break contact first. He took her hand and linked his arm around it once again as he led her back to the mansion. He led her through the door of a glass conservatory that Morticia would have been far more interested in, had she not been distracted by her accelerating heart rate. She could hear the laughter, music, and even some glass breaking from inside the house over the overlapping thoughts rushing through her head.

They began ascending a hidden staircase. He looked back at her and she nodded at him, giving him permission to proceed. He took her hand. Following a man she had just met up the backstairs of his home during a loud and oblivious party was something she could see herself scolding Ophelia for, and yet here she was. If not the one sip of red wine she had earlier that evening, she couldn't understand why she felt like she would follow this man anywhere. For the first time in her life, she didn't want to make sense of things.

The staircase went on and on and it began to spiral. She kept her eyes on his back as he continued upward, his shoulder blades alternating with each step he took. It was then that she became aware of his strong scent; leathers, vibrant woods and something else filled the corridor. After what seemed like ages, they reached a plain wooden door. Fleeting thoughts began to crowd her head: Turn and run, find Ophelia, flee to the mountain and crawl back in bed before mother wakes and never ever speak of this again. But here she stood, paralyzed. He turned back to look at her with his hand on the brass doorknob.

"You're very trustworthy. How can you be so sure I'm not a serial killer?"

"A serial killer would have taken his victim back in the cemetery when he had her alone. Not lead her back to a party full of witnesses... at least I hope I'm not going to die tonight by the hands of an amateur." Her eyes flashed, coyly. Gomez suppressed a growl. He had never growled in his life.

"No. No, that wouldn't look good on you." He turned back to the door, desperate to calm himself. He was never known to be anything but cool and collected, and this woman was doing more than just tugging at his reigns - she was taking them off. He took a small key from his breast pocket and unlocked the door which opened with a melodic creak. He walked into the room and disappeared into the blackness before a single bulb flashed on from above, the white chord bobbing beside his head. He looked back at Morticia who stared, curiously, and invited her in with his hand.

She stepped into a small, den-like room with a low ceiling. A couple desks pushed up against the walls, a telescope pointed at a double-pane window. It wasn't until her eyes fully adjusted to the dim light that she became aware of the hundreds of papers, pictures, and articles tacked over all four walls. Books were stacked and scattered on the desks, with multiple objects and items that were familiar to her. She walked to the middle of the room and Gomez closed the door behind her.

"What is this?"

"You see, I... I've been to Willow Peak. Only once, as a boy. And I believe in the Witch of Willow, but not as she is depicted."

Morticia stared at the window in front of her, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. He had just confirmed everything with one sentence.

"Is that so?" She retained confidence in her tone. The articles on the walls were pentacles and pentagrams, rare sightings, diagrams, torn pages from books, old stories, and more. Certain things were circled, noted and marked in red ink. It seemed like the chamber of some mad professor. Morticia moved toward one of the desks, not once looking at him.

"Are you from Swamp Town, Morticia?"

"Of course."

"Pardon my egotism, but you say you've never heard of my family?"

"I never said that. I've just never had the pleasure of attending one of your glorious soirees, is all." She noted the several books on myths, legends, magick and so on. Her hands fought the urge to shake.

"And you study witches here, and have never heard of the Witch of Willow?"

"I never said that, either. I just think it's vile."

Gomez watched her back as she observed the desk. The lacy material hugged her form, adjusting to her body in anyway she moved or turned. He couldn't help but ache to know what it felt like on his hands. Morticia moved to the window, which was a perfect view of her mountain that looked more like a hill from a distance. She realized they had to be in the tower room.

"I must say, I am rather impressed. I admit that I didn't take you as one to be so... invested."

"A mere hobby. Do you know the origin story of the Witch?"

"Some scraggly creature who feeds on children's flesh?" She bent down to peak into the telescope. Gomez shook his head and walked over to the wall to a specific newspaper clipping.

"No. The story that inspired the Witch of Willow was about a suspicious woman in this town, years ago, who was seen fleeing with two infants up to Willow Peak. Several witnesses, but she was never seen since. About 22 years ago."

Morticia could feel the dampness of sweat beading on her forehead. She couldn't begin to process what he was saying. She wanted her sister. She looked at the second desk and noticed two items on a satin cloth: a wooden spoon and a tattered black ribbon. She stared at them.

"So you're saying to me that you've seen the witch?"

"I don't know," Gomez breathed. "I can't really elaborate on it."

"Why is that?" She looked closely at an open book for elixirs and concoctions. Healing drafts were highlighted in yellow.

"I made a promise."

She finally turned around to face him. He eyed her closely from across the room as he took a lit cigar from his breast pocket. "I need to be honest, I watched you arrive to the party from that window, earlier. In fact," he leaned his back on the door, "I watched you fly in."