"Morticia!" the shrill cry rang out through the darkness of the stormy morning, "Morticia!"
Morticia rose with grace from her chair, placing her knitting on the seat as she did so, "Was that Fester, darling?" she asked her husband.
He shrugged, "I suppose so, although I was hoping it was a banshee."
"Darling, you're a dreamer," Morticia said as she stroked his cheek, momentarily forgetting the cry…until it sounded again.
"Morticia!" Fester walked into the room.
"By George," exclaimed Gomez, "it was Fester!"
"What it is, Uncle Fester dear?" asked Morticia with concern.
"Somebody drank my embalming fluid," he moaned.
"Uncle Fester, are you sure?" asked Gomez.
Fester nodded vigorously, "I'm sure, I bet it was Mama!"
"Mama!" exclaimed Morticia with shock, "she wouldn't do such a thing!"
"I bet she would," argued Fester, "she is getting more and more selfish, haven't you noticed Morticia?"
"No, of course not," said Morticia, "are you sure you didn't drink the embalming fluid, Uncle Fester?"
"Why, Morticia!" said Fester, offended, "how could you even ask me such a thing?"
"Well," said Morticia thoughtfully, "you do remember the last time…?"
Gomez suppressed a laugh, "Ah yes, when you poured your cyanide into a glass because you needed the bottle, and then you drank it, thinking it was pond water."
Morticia smiled, "That was amusing."
"Well, this isn't like that!" argued Fester.
Mama entered the room, carrying a rusty bucket full of meat, "Did someone say my name a moment ago?"
"Mama," said Fester accusingly, "have you had anything to drink lately?"
"Now that you mention it," replied Mama, "I am a little thirsty, I'll have some henbane tea, thank you for offering Fester."
"He wasn't offering you a drink Mama," explained Gomez, "he was accusing you of drinking his embalming fluid."
"Fester!" exclaimed Mama, shocked, "you know that I don't drink cyanide! It ruins my complexion."
"Oh yes, I forgot, sorry Mama."
"Now you see," said Morticia, "you shouldn't go around accusing people."
"Well, if it wasn't Mama, and it wasn't me," Fester thought aloud, then he paused, "it wasn't you, was it Morticia, Gomez?"
Both shook their heads simultaneously in the negative.
"Hmmm," continued Fester, "it must have been Pugsley!"
"Ah hah!" exclaimed Gomez triumphantly.
"Gomez," reprimanded Morticia, "you don't suppose our son would do anything like that?"
"Who's to say," said Fester, "but I bet if we interrogated him, he'd confess in an instant."
Mama continued on her way to feed the alligator. Morticia and Gomez, led by Fester, shuffled and walked up the stairs to the bedroom with the two baby vultures painted on the door.
Fester knocked on the door with vigour.
"Come in," came the reply.
Fester opened the door to reveal Pugsley, sitting by himself at his table. There were two places set, each with an empty plate, and an empty tea cup.
"Oh," Pugsley sounded disappointed, "I thought you were Wednesday. She was getting the tea for our tea party, but she hasn't come back."
"Pugsley! You and Wednesday are both much too young to take tea," scolded Morticia.
"We weren't going to use real tea," explained Pugsley, "Wednesday just went to get the teapot, we were just going to pretend there was tea in. But she hasn't come back yet."
"Enough of that," interrupted Fester, annoyed, "Did you drink my embalming fluid?"
"Your what?" asked Pugsley.
"You heard me, embalming fluid," repeated Fester.
"No," Pugsley shook his head.
"He's lying," Fester complained to Morticia and Gomez.
"Fester!" exclaimed Morticia, "our children do not lie!"
Gomez nodded his head in agreement with his wife.
"Well then," thought Fester, "if it wasn't you two, and it wasn't Pugsley, and it wasn't Mama, then…it must have been Lurch!"
They left Pugsley where he was and went into the hall. Fester, very determinedly, pulled the noose that was hanging from the ceiling.
"You rang?" Lurch arrived almost instantly.
"Yes Lurch," answered Fester, "did you drink my embalming fluid?"
Lurch groaned loudly.
"There you go, it wasn't Lurch," said Gomez.
"Thank you Lurch, you may go," said Morticia, she turned to Fester, "are you sure you didn't drink it yourself?"
"Positive," replied Fester. He started counting on his fingers, mumbling, "…and it wasn't Lurch…"
Morticia and Gomez watched with interest as he began to narrow down on the answer.
"Thing!" exclaimed Fester, it must have been Thing!"
"Thing!" repeated Gomez loudly.
"Gomez," Morticia called him out, "Thing can't drink embalming fluid, it makes him ill."
"Oh of course," Gomez looked down, ashamed for even thinking such a thing.
Morticia stroked his cheek, "Bubele," she said affectionately.
Fester was back to counting on his fingers, shaking his head, "Who have I missed…?" he was mumbling to himself.
"Mummy," a small cry rang out.
"Oh, of course it must have been Wednesday!" cried out Fester in triumph.
Morticia shushed him, turning her head as she tried to locate where the call came from, she gave up, "Where are you darling?" she asked, gently, but loud enough to be heard.
"Here," replied Wednesday, vaguely and quietly.
This time Gomez heard where the sound came from, he took Morticia's hand and led her to the bathroom down the hall.
Morticia swung the door open. There was Wednesday, sitting on the tiled floor, her knees pressed up to her chin, leaning against the bathtub.
She looked up as her mother entered the room, "I don't feel so good," she moaned softly.
Morticia shared a look with Gomez before shuffling into the room, and, after a bit of manoeuvring in her tight dress, managed to sit down on the floor beside Wednesday.
"What's wrong darling," she asked gently.
Wednesday moaned again, "My tummy."
Morticia put her arms around the small girl and tenderly rubbed her stomach. She looked up to the doorway, where Gomez and Fester stood.
"Wednesday?" she asked seriously, "did you eat or drink anything that you didn't know what it was?"
Wednesday was quiet for a moment, then she replied quietly, "I drank something on the kitchen counter, I was looking for something for me and Pugsley to use as tea."
"Ah hah!" cried Fester, "I have found the culprit!"
"Fester, please," strained Morticia, "not now."
"Sorry Morticia," apologised Fester.
"Come, Fester, I think I have some embalming fluid in our poisons cabinet," Gomez tried to reconcile as he patted Fester on the back.
Casting one last look at his wife and daughter he led Fester out of the bathroom.
Morticia smiled sympathetically at Wednesday, "Do feel up to moving darling? Or do you think you're going to be sick?"
Wednesday shook her head and snuggled into her mother, Morticia sighed and wrapped an arm protectively over her daughter's back.
A short while later, Morticia tried again, "Darling, do you want to go and lie in your bed?"
Wednesday looked up at her mother, her eyes were moist with tears, she slowly nodded her head.
"All right darling, let me stand up."
Wednesday moved away from Morticia to allow her to stand. Morticia then offered a hand and helped a wobbly Wednesday up to her feet.
"Can you walk darling?" asked Morticia.
Wednesday nodded bravely.
The pair made their way into Wednesday's room, with the small girl leaning on her mother for support. Morticia helped Wednesday into her nightgown and then into her bed.
She felt the girl's head, "Nice and clammy," she remarked.
Gomez entered the room, "How is she?" he asked, looking at Wednesday, who was starting to drift off into sleep.
Morticia shook her head, "I suppose she reacts to embalming fluid the same way that Thing does."
Gomez nodded, walking over to the bed, he stroked his daughter's hair, "I gave Fester our embalming fluid on her behalf."
Morticia nodded, "Very thoughtful."
"He still expects a full apology when she's feeling better," continued Gomez.
Morticia huffed, "How ungallant!" she exclaimed, "where is the Addams honour?"
"Fester can be quite spiteful sometimes," agreed Gomez.
"Of course," replied Morticia, "it's part of his charm."
"Oh," said Gomez abruptly.
"What is it darling?" asked Morticia.
"I just realised that Pugsley is still waiting for Wednesday to come to their tea party," replied Gomez.
"Oh dear," said Morticia, "I suppose we'd better tell him that she isn't coming."
Gomez offered a hand, which Morticia delicately accepted, and they both went to inform their son that he would have to pick another activity for the time being. Both upset that their daughter would never know the joys of drinking embalming fluid, but happy that the little mystery had been solved.