First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2019

Published in this ebook edition in 2019

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

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THE ADDAMS FAMILY © 2019 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures Inc. © 2019 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc.

All Rights Reserved.

METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER is a trademark of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Lion Corp. © 2019 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc.

All Rights Reserved.

METRO GOLDWYN MAYER PICTURES Presents “THE ADDAMS FAMILY” Based on Characters Created by CHARLES ADDAMS Distributed through UNITED ARTISTS RELEASING © 2019 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures Inc. All Rights Reserved. The Addams Family™ Tee and Charles Addams Foundation.

All Rights Reserved.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008357986

Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008357993

Version: 2019-08-01

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About the Publisher

The Old Country: Thirteen Years Ago

AT THE TOP of a jagged cliff over the churning sea, preparations were under way for a wedding.

An Addams wedding.

There were no white flowers. There was no frothy lace. The town church stood empty, and the townsfolk shivered and scowled as they watched the bride stride up the street towards the cliff. Heat lightning flickered in the darkening sky. A few bats fluttered behind the bride as she and her black-clad bridesmaids made their way up to the cliff.

‘They don’t belong here!’ one townsperson hissed to another.

‘They’re frightening the children!’ she replied.

‘Who do they think they are?’ another villager spat.

They watched as the bride and her bridesmaids disappeared into the gloomy night, vanishing into the scrub that lined the path up to the top of the cliff.

The villagers glared after them.

‘They’ve got to go,’ said one, and the rest nodded.

Morticia Frump kept climbing up the hill towards the cliff that overlooked the sea. She ignored how the townsfolk whispered and pointed. She didn’t care what they thought. They were boring, normal people with small minds and prejudiced hearts.

No, today Morticia had better things to think about. She was ready to get married. Not only was she marrying the man of her dreams, but the wedding would bring together two great families. The Frumps and the Addamses were the strangest folk around, and they’d always had so much in common. Morticia smiled at the thought that her wedding would unite everyone.

She’d been preparing all morning. Her knee-high boots were bolted on. Her corset was tightened to the ‘strangle’ setting. Her nails had been dipped in molten lead for that perfect dull grey hue. And her dress looked like it had been stolen from someone’s grave … which it very well might have been.

Morticia looked terrifying. Which was exactly how she wanted to look.

She reached the top of the hill, then paused. Here, the hill evened out into a narrow strip of level land. You could walk about ten paces before you hit the crumbling edge of the cliff. One step past that edge, and you’d plummet two hundred metres down into a churning ocean. The footing was uncertain in the dark of night. The odds that someone might wander off the edge of the cliff by accident were pretty high. It was the perfect place for a wedding.

Morticia smiled. And the collected Addams and Frump clans, gathered there at that cliff to celebrate her wedding, smiled back. There were a large number of people assembled on the narrow cliff’s edge. Every single one of them was strange. Some of them were creepy. Others were kooky. One or two were altogether ooky.

And they were all of them just thrilled to be there.

Awaiting Morticia was Gomez, the groom. He sweated nervously in his funeral suit (nothing but the best for a wedding, after all). The band – a ragtag collection of organ grinders and sackbut players – began a dirge-like rendition of ‘Here Comes the Bride’, and Gomez snapped to attention.

Morticia was coming.

Gomez wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this terrified in his life. His stomach churned. His vision swam. His knees trembled and his ears rang. It was the worst he’d ever felt. He wished he could feel like this forever.

Pat, pat. Gomez patted his pockets anxiously, checking to make sure he had the ring. Pat, pat.

Pat, pat.

Pat.

Patpatpatpatpat – where was the ring?! Gomez looked around frantically. Had he dropped it? Just then, a disembodied hand scampered up. It was running on its fingers like a rat scrambling along on four legs. The hand leaped into the air and snapped its fingers sharply. Gomez looked up just in time. The hand – Thing – tossed the lost ring at him, and Gomez snatched it out of the air with a flourish.

‘Thanks, Thing!’ he murmured.

And at that moment, Morticia appeared. All the thoughts fell out of the bottom of Gomez’s brain. He just stared.

Morticia.

She looked … she looked like seventy snakes stuffed into an evening gown. She looked like someone who wouldn’t think twice before running several thousand volts of direct current through your head. She looked like a hedge witch at a nightclub. She looked like bad news. She looked like the last thing you see when you die.

She looked unspeakably beautiful – scratch that; she looked unspeakable.

Morticia came to a stop next to Gomez. ‘Cara mia,’ he murmured at her. She winked at him.

The priest stepped up, and Gomez tore his eyes away from Morticia. The wedding ceremony was beginning.

‘Dearly be-loathed,’ the priest said, raising his arms and addressing the entire crowd. ‘What an honour to witness the union of these two horrible young people … and these two perfectly awful families!’

The crowd let out a bloodcurdling (and heartwarming) cheer.

The priest turned to Morticia.

‘Do you, Morticia Frump, take Gomez Addams to have and to hurl, in sickness and depravity, until you drop dead?’

Morticia nodded eagerly.

Meanwhile, as the wedding ceremony continued, the townspeople swarmed up the hill. They’d finally had enough of the Addamses and the Frumps. They were armed with torches and ready for mob action.

‘This will teach them not to blindly conform,’ one of them muttered as they hurried along the path up to the cliff.

The priest turned to Gomez.

‘Do you, Gomez Addams—’

‘Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!’ Gomez interrupted him. He didn’t mean to be rude, he just couldn’t wait to get married! Morticia was the perfect woman. She was cold, cruel and terrifying. Gomez clutched Morticia’s hand passionately. She clutched him back, her lead-tipped fingernails digging into his palm. He winced, and shivered happily.

More and more townspeople joined the mob. Soon the crowd streaming up the hill formed a torchlit parade. They waved pitchforks, shovels, torches; several people pushed a home-made catapult.

It would have been festive if it weren’t so murderous.

The priest smiled. ‘I now pronounce you—’

‘Monsters!’ A piercing scream tore through the night air.

The assembled Frumps and Addamses turned round – there, cresting the hill, was a ravening mob of small-minded townsfolk.

‘Oh dear,’ Morticia murmured, her eyes widening. ‘A ravening mob of small-minded townsfolk.’

Frumps and Addamses screamed and ran as the mob burst in waving torches and crude weapons. Several townsfolk were setting up a catapult and loading it with firebombs.

‘Again?!’ Gomez groaned.

Morticia sighed and shook her head. ‘Why do hordes of angry villagers follow us everywhere we go?’ she said, dodging a shoe flung by an outraged farmer’s wife. ‘Don’t they have better things to wave pitchforks at?’

A ball of flame rocketed towards them, launched by the catapult. Gomez swept Morticia out of its path. ‘Perhaps we should discuss it later,’ he suggested. Around them, panicked family members scrambled and ran, slipping through the crowds of angry villagers and scattering into the night.

The villagers ran after them. Morticia and Gomez fled with Gomez’s mother and his brother Fester. Soon they were cornered.

‘I’ll hold them off,’ Grandma Addams said, drawing her sword. She slashed it viciously through the air, and the villagers flinched for a moment.

‘Grab on to my hairy back!’ Fester cried. He tore off his shirt, and Gomez and Morticia clung to his luxurious back hair as he scrambled to safety.

Morticia felt her heart breaking.

Her perfect wedding day, ruined. A memory that should have been cherished, tarnished. A family that had come together, now scattered to the ends of the earth. Morticia loved chaos and anguish, sure, but on her own terms. This … this was just mean.

Normal people were not to be trusted. It only ended in fire and tears.

Gomez wrapped a comforting arm round her. ‘We’re safe, my love,’ he said gently. ‘That’s all that matters.’

Morticia wiped tears away, being careful to smear her mascara and eyeliner as she did it.

‘You look like a zombie raccoon now,’ Gomez observed admiringly.

‘Oh, good,’ Morticia said. She already felt a little better. ‘But where on earth will we go?’ The Frumps had been driven out of nearly every community in Western Europe by now, and the Addamses had exhausted all of Eastern Europe. There had just been so many pitchfork-wielding mobs over the last few centuries. Morticia thought about it. Perhaps Zanzibar? Or maybe they could try their luck in Australia.

As if sensing her line of thought, Gomez said, ‘We will find a new homeland. Somewhere exotic. Somewhere magical. Somewhere that’s truly … us.’

‘Oh,’ Morticia breathed. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

Gomez smiled back at her. ‘Yes, my dear. We both know where we must go.’

New Jersey did not disappoint.

It was barbaric, uncultured, crass, confusing and dirty. And it smelled bad. Everywhere.

‘Unhappy, darling?’ Gomez asked, catching Morticia’s hand and kissing it as they tore along a country road in the dead of night. The trees were tall. The hills were rolling. The moon glinted through the dead marsh grass, where it was reflected in the fetid swamp water on either side of the road.

It smelled terrible. Morticia loved this state.

‘Yes,’ she breathed, ‘I’m terribly unhappy. It’s wonderful.’

But now that the honeymoon was over … Morticia sighed.

‘Darling,’ Gomez said, looking concerned. ‘Is that a wrinkle I see on your pallid brow? What’s wrong?’

Morticia clutched his hand. Thing yanked the wheel, and the limo tore round another curve. A dense fog had suddenly gathered, shrouding the road in dark mist. It was impossible to see further than two metres down the road. New Jersey! What a charming place.

‘We can’t run forever, my love,’ Morticia replied. ‘I want a home again. I want our children to grow up in peace. I want to pick out cemetery plots.’

Whump!

The car gave a huge lurch as it hit something heavy, then screeched to a stop at the side of the road.

Morticia, Gomez and Thing hurried out of the car. About fifteen metres back, a huge body was lying in the centre of the road. It was an enormous man wearing a hospital gown and a straitjacket. He was out cold.

Gomez turned him over. The back of the straitjacket had the words STATE HOSPITAL FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE stencilled on it.

Morticia looked up, and – how had she missed it before? The fog had parted for a moment. Looming up from the top of a hill beyond a wrought-iron gate was a Gothic monstrosity. A hulking, ornate wreck of a building set just far back enough from the road to feel really unfriendly. It had a crooked steeple and a million broken windows. Sudden lightning lit up the sky, and the house seemed to bend and warp in the flickering light.

‘Oh, thank goodness,’ Morticia said. ‘A decent place to sleep for the night.’

A faded sign hanging from the gate banged in the wind. STATE HOSPITAL FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE, it read. The building had clearly been lying empty for a long time, with the apparent exception of the hulking wreck of a man they’d struck with their car.

Said wreck was now peeling himself off the pavement and lumbering towards Morticia and Gomez. His arms were held stiffly out in front of him, and he gave a cavernous howl.

‘NNNNYYYAAAAAGH,’ the hulk roared. He was close enough to crush Morticia and Gomez in one motion.

Gomez smiled cheerfully and stuffed their bags into his hands.

‘Thank you, old boy,’ he said. ‘Lead the way!’

The monster looked down at the bags, surprised. Then he shrugged and led Morticia and Gomez through the gate and towards the abandoned insane asylum.

Morticia smiled happily. How convenient that they had found a house that already had a butler! She watched him lurch up the path. Lurch … what a perfect name. Lurch the butler.

Morticia took Gomez’s arm, and they followed Lurch to the front door of the house. Gomez gallantly swept the POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS tape away from the front door, and they stepped in.

Stale, cold air and absolute silence greeted them. Then a faint sound came through the blackness: the scratching of rats scampering in the walls.

Morticia’s eyes adjusted to the dark. She squinted down the front hall. There was a chalk outline of a body near the staircase.

‘It’s creepy,’ Gomez said thoughtfully. ‘Kooky.’

Morticia looked up and caught the eye of a stuffed moose head. It winked at her.

‘Mysterious,’ she agreed. ‘Spooky.’

Plop! Plop! Blood dripped from the ceiling.

Gomez brushed a spider the size of a pigeon off his shoulder. ‘It’s altogether … what’s the word?’ he murmured, looking thoughtful.

Lurch lumbered up to the pipe organ at the top of the grand staircase. Thing scurried over and hopped up on to the keyboard. Together, the two of them plunked out the few notes of a decidedly twisted little tune.

‘GETTTTT OUTTTTT,’ a voice like a sinking ship moaned, interrupting the music. It seemed to come from every hall, from every nook and every cranny. The whole house trembled.

Morticia and Gomez jumped.

‘It’s hideous!’ Morticia exclaimed.

‘It’s horrible!’ Gomez agreed.

‘It’s home,’ they sighed in unison. Gomez dipped Morticia into a dramatic kiss in the doorway of their dream house, and Lurch took up the odd little tune again, with Thing snapping in cheerful rhythm.

Thirteen Years Later …

A THICK FOG still wrapped itself around the hill. Anyone passing by the wrought-iron gate would be surprised to discover that a hulking house lurked beyond the blanket of mist. But nobody ever stopped to investigate … and nobody had even noticed that the old asylum sign had been replaced with a new sign:

THE ADDAMS FAMILY

The sun was rising, but no light reached the house at the top of the hill. The clouds cloaked it far too snugly. And to make matters worse – or better, if you were an Addams – a torrential downpour was falling on this particular morning.

Morticia threw open the window and smiled as a sheet of freezing rain hit her square in the face.

‘What a lovely morning!’ she exclaimed cheerfully. The window slammed itself shut, barely missing Morticia’s fingers. She smiled slyly.

‘Nice try,’ she murmured. The spirit of the house had been doing its best to wound, maim or kill the Addamses since they’d moved in. Morticia found it extremely charming. She’d always wanted to live in a haunted house – you were never home alone with a poltergeist, after all.

‘GET OUUUUT!’ The hollow, echoing scream floated through the corridors. Morticia rolled her eyes affectionately.

‘Oh, you’re always so grumpy before your morning coffee,’ she said. She picked up the coffee pot she’d brought upstairs from the kitchen for just this purpose and walked into the bathroom.

Plsh – Morticia carefully poured the steaming black coffee into the toilet and flushed it.

‘Better?’ she asked.

‘AAAAAAAAAAH,’ sighed the house. The floorboards and rafters creaked softly as the entire building settled down and began to vibrate very gently.

Morticia patted the door frame affectionately.

The house had been fed. Now it was time for the children. She pressed a button on a call box mounted on the wall.

‘Lurch,’ Morticia murmured into the speaker, ‘it’s time for breakfast.’

Several storeys down, in the sub-sub-basement of the former asylum, Lurch sat on his bed, reading. It had been thirteen years since the Addamses had hit him with their car on that fateful night, and he had been their loyal butler ever since. It beat wandering around an abandoned mental asylum, after all. Lurch gently placed the book next to his other books and groaned as he sat up. With a great creaking and popping of joints, the hulking zombie of a man stood up and shuffled out of the padded cell he called a bedroom, his head scraping along the mattress-covered ceiling.

Morticia’s next stop was the office, to find Thing. The disembodied hand jumped when she opened the door.

‘Thing!’ Morticia said. ‘Get Ichabod to wake the children.’

She swept down the hallway, and Thing scuttled along ahead of her, swinging open a window and nimbly climbing out of it. Meanwhile, Morticia continued her morning rounds. She caught up with Lurch as he emerged from the kitchen with the breakfast tray. Once the meal was on the table, Morticia sent Lurch off on another task.

‘It’s time to begin dusting up for the party,’ she said. There wasn’t that much time left before the big event, and Morticia wanted everything to look perfect. Lurch nodded and obediently headed down the hall to fetch the vacuum cleaner. He looked at the wall critically as he went – a single droplet of blood was trickling down the wallpaper. Lurch shook his head and sighed. Poltergeists. He banged the wall a couple of times with his fist, and the entire surface began oozing blood.

There, that was better.

The old, broken vacuum cleaner was stored in the cupboard off the pantry. When Lurch turned it on, it began spewing dust all over everything. Lurch nodded in satisfaction. He carefully pointed it at the sofa, then at the candelabra, then finally at the picture frames on the wall. Soon the room was coated in a thick blanket of stale-smelling dust. It looked perfect. Lurch almost smiled, his cheeks creaking stiffly, before his face went back to its usual wooden blankness. He continued dusting.

The racket of the vacuum cleaner roared through the west wing of the house, but on the second storey, in the east wing, everything was quiet and peaceful. Two children slept snug in their beds. Ten-year-old Pugsley was huddled under his covers, his head shoved under his pillow. Nearby, in her own room, his thirteen-year-old sister Wednesday slept sweetly in a bed rigged beneath a guillotine, her bare neck stretched out under the razor-sharp blade.

First the window to Pugsley’s room slid open, then the window to Wednesday’s. As the two children slept, wooden tentacles slipped into their rooms through the open windows. Smooth, grasping vines crept across the floor and hovered for a moment over the children’s sleeping forms.

Then, with a mighty SNAP, the branches sprang into action. They twined round the kids and tore them from their beds, pulling them out of their windows and dangling them in the air six metres above the ground!

‘AAAAAHHHH!’ shrieked Wednesday and Pugsley. The tree, whose branches were holding the children like rag dolls, quaked in silent laughter.

Wednesday recovered first. ‘All right, Ichabod,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m awake.’

The tree – Ichabod – gave her a gentle shake, as though to say Good morning!

‘Not for long,’ Pugsley commented, flinging a hatchet at his sister cheerfully. Wednesday snatched it out of the air before it hit her and twirled it in her fingers. ‘Really mature, Pugsley,’ she said scornfully. She sighed, bored. The Addams family had a proud tradition of doing their best to kill each other. They never succeeded, of course, but it was fun to try, and a healthy spirit of competition (and mortal peril) kept the days lively. But Pugsley’s attempt with the hatchet had been lacklustre. It took more than a badly thrown axe to really wake Wednesday up.

‘How I wish something would liven up this already tedious day,’ she said, and yawned.

Ichabod gave a tree-ish shrug and tossed Pugsley through the air towards the house. Pugsley sailed through his open window and landed on his bed with an ‘Oof!’

Wednesday tilted her head. ‘Thanks for trying, Ichabod,’ she said. She patted the branch that was still holding her. The tree gently let her down, and she wandered back to the house.

But before Wednesday could make it very far, a strange noise caught her attention.

Brrrring! Brrring!

It sounded like … a bicycle bell? And it was coming from down the hill, where the driveway gate separated the house grounds from the local road.

Wednesday wandered down through the permanent bank of fog towards the gate. She’d never heard anything other than the occasional noisy car motor, and she was curious. Who was there? Had someone stopped at the gate? Why? The fog thickened as she got closer to the gate; soon it was impossible to see further than two metres in front of her.

Brrring! Brrring!

The bicycle bell sounded again. Someone was hidden in the fog on the other side of the gate and was ringing their bell. In a strange way, it felt like someone was saying hello.

Reaching through the dense fog, Wednesday knocked on the gate in reply.

Clang. Clang.

Wednesday held her breath and listened as closely as she could. A soft gasp sounded from the fog on the other side of the gate. Someone was there! Then Wednesday heard the sound of pedals turning, a bicycle chain going taut and the low hiss of rubber bicycle wheels against the pavement.

Whoever it was, was riding away.

Disappointed, Wednesday turned and headed back up through the moat of fog to the towering house on the hill, where breakfast was waiting.

Back at the house, Pugsley was hiding in the top room of the tallest tower of the house. He had a trunk full of explosives next to him, and a telescope in his hand. He peered through the telescope, seeking, seeking – aha! There he was.

‘Pugsley! Pugsley!’ Below, in the garden, Gomez Addams wandered around the house grounds looking for his son. ‘Pugsley!’

Up in the tower, Pugsley smiled. ‘Let the games begin,’ he murmured.

‘Pugsley!’ Gomez called as he rounded the side of the house and headed towards the hedge. ‘It’s time for sword practice!’

Flooom!

Behind Gomez, a great plume of smoke and fire emerged from the house as a rocket launched from the tower. Pugsley, riding the rocket like a bronco, gave a great ‘Yee-haw!’ as it tore into the sky. The rocket shot straight up, then slowed and reached the top of its trajectory. For one breathless moment, it hung perfectly still in the air. Pugsley held on tightly as the rocket began to fall. Faster, faster, it sped down to earth, aimed straight at Gomez.

‘Death to the oppressor!’ Pugsley screeched as the missile neared his father.

At the last moment, Gomez dodged backwards. Pugsley yanked the rocket’s nose up so it wouldn’t crash into the ground and rode it into the sky for another dive. His father stumbled, recovering from his first dodge, as Pugsley drove the rocket at him again. Gomez ducked again – another near miss. He sprang back to his feet and shook his head impatiently.

‘All right, son, that’s enough,’ Gomez said sternly.

But Pugsley couldn’t hear him. The rocket was sailing up, up, up, spiralling out of control as it tore into the clouds. Gomez watched with some curiosity as it disappeared into the clouds, and then …

Boom!

A distant explosion flashed high above as the rocket finally exploded. Gomez squinted into the sunlight, scanning the sky for his son.

‘YeaaaaaAAAAAGH!’ Pugsley appeared, his scream getting louder and louder as he fell closer and closer to earth. When he was only about thirty metres above the ground, Pugsley yanked the cord on his emergency parachute vest, and a large silk parachute popped open above him. He dangled in the air, gliding gently and slowly downwards.

Not wasting a moment, Pugsley pulled out his slingshot and a handful of small explosive mines and began hurling the mines at his father. Blam! Blam! Blam! They landed around Gomez as he danced and dodged and finally fled.

‘Don’t make me come up there!’ Gomez shouted at Pugsley, who sailed through the sky hanging from his parachute, shooting down more mines at his father.

‘This is your last warning!’ Gomez called, still running.

Pugsley rummaged in his pocket. Only one mine left. He fitted it into the strap of his slingshot and pulled it back, taking aim carefully. As Pugsley released the mine, Gomez produced a baseball bat out of nowhere and turned to face the incoming explosive. He waggled the bat, took a batting stance, and waited.

Bam! Gomez hit the mine straight back at Pugsley, and it detonated in the parachute, sending Pugsley spinning down into the greenhouse, where he landed with a crash.

Gomez gave him a hand up.

‘Morning,’ he said.

‘Morning,’ Pugsley replied cheerfully.

Gomez took his son by the shoulders and stared seriously into his eyes. ‘Pugsley,’ he said. ‘We’re supposed to be working on your swordplay every morning before breakfast. Your Sabre Mazurka is in two weeks, and you’ve barely practised at all!’

Pugsley pouted and shrugged. ‘So I missed one practice. What’s the big deal?’

Gomez’s eyes went wide. ‘The big deal?!’ he cried. ‘Why, the Sabre Mazurka is the most important day in the life of a young Addams man! It’s what makes you an Addams! It’s the day your entire family gathers round you and judges your worth as a human being.’

‘It’s basically Thanksgiving,’ Wednesday offered as she trooped by them on her way into the house.

‘There!’ Gomez agreed. ‘Thanksgiving! Whatever that is.’

Pugsley squirmed. ‘But swords are so old-fashioned,’ he whined. ‘I’m more of a demolitions man.’

Gomez frowned. ‘Explosives have no place in a Mazurka,’ he said. ‘Hand them over.’

Pugsley sighed and handed his father a stick of TNT.

‘All of it,’ Gomez prompted, and Pugsley rummaged through his clothes and produced another stick of TNT, a handful of fire crackers, several roman candles, some bang-snaps, a holy hand grenade and a small pile of other miscellaneous explosives.

‘Is that all of it?’ Gomez asked sternly.

Pugsley nodded. ‘I swear on my honour as an Addams,’ he said.

Gomez nodded his head, satisfied. He knelt down and took Pugsley by the shoulders. ‘Son,’ he said gently, ‘our family hasn’t been all together in thirteen years. Not since your mother and I got married. They’re coming from all over the world to see you on your special day.’

Pugsley stared up at his father, his eyes wide.

‘I just want it to go perfectly,’ Gomez said.

‘Okay, Pop,’ Pugsley said softly. ‘I’ll practise.’

‘That’s my boy,’ Gomez replied, and gave him a hearty pat on the back. It knocked a stick of TNT out of Pugsley’s pocket.

‘Oops,’ Pugsley said insincerely.

MORTICIA SAT DOWN at the breakfast table with a happy sigh. Family breakfast – her favourite time of day. Gomez snapped open a hundred-year-old newspaper, releasing a cloud of moths, and began to read. Wednesday and Pugsley kicked each other under the table. And Lurch slumped in and swept the silver cover off the breakfast platter with a flourish.

A fetid, horrible smell emerged.

‘Putrid,’ Morticia said approvingly. Lurch smiled and nodded his thanks.

‘Horrifying,’ Gomez agreed. Morticia smiled at him. Truly, they were so lucky to have a cook as talented as Lurch tending to their meals. Today’s breakfast smelled like it had spent a few weeks in an overheated funeral home.

As they ate, Morticia began sorting through the mail that had arrived over the past week.

‘Gomez,’ she said, ‘everyone we’ve invited to Pugsley’s Mazurka has threatened to come.’

Gomez beamed. ‘Wonderful!’ he said. ‘All the Addamses and Frumps under one roof again!’ He ducked as Pugsley flung a hatchet at his head. It hit the back of Gomez’s chair with a twang.

‘Yes,’ Morticia replied, ‘but where will everyone sleep?’

Gomez grinned. ‘We’ll get Lurch to fix up the mausoleum,’ he suggested. ‘It’ll be like sleep-away camp!’

Morticia plucked a beeping time bomb out of the pile of envelopes and tossed it casually over her shoulder. It flew out of the open window and detonated outside with an earth-shaking BANG.

Grass and earth flew everywhere, a few rocks pelted into the sky, and a man’s body flew through the window – glass exploding into the breakfast nook – and landed on the ground in a heap.

Whump.

The man sprang to his feet and brushed glass out of his clothing. ‘It’s okay!’ he said. ‘I’m okay; the plate-glass window broke my fall.’

‘Uncle Fester!’ Pugsley cried, and leaped out of his chair to greet his uncle.

‘Brother!’ Gomez said, standing and hugging Fester. ‘I’m thrilled you’re here!’

‘I’m not late, am I?’ Fester asked.

‘Actually,’ Morticia said a little tartly, ‘we weren’t expecting you for another two weeks.’ She shot a sharp look at Gomez, who winced.

‘I apologise, darling,’ he said. ‘I asked Fester to come early to help Pugsley with his Mazurka practice.’

Morticia sighed impatiently. Men. They never thought of the ways they inconvenienced their wives. They knew nothing about the rules of hospitality.

‘If I’d known you were coming,’ she said apologetically to Fester, ‘I would have prepared the dungeon.’

‘Please,’ Fester said hurriedly, ‘don’t worry about that. I’ll just sleep in the attic. You won’t even know I’m here. I mean, you’ll have no idea.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve practised that move in a lot of people’s homes. Most of them never caught on, not even after years.’

Fester turned to greet the Addams children. ‘I can’t believe it!’ he said. ‘The last time I saw you, you were this tall.’ He measured off about half a metre with his hands.

‘That’s because you buried us up to our necks,’ Pugsley reminded him.

‘Ooh, riiiiight,’ Fester said, staring off into space sentimentally. ‘And then those spiders came and laid eggs in your mouths!’

Wednesday nodded.

‘Isn’t family special?’ Fester said.

‘Uncle,’ Wednesday said thoughtfully, ‘can you tell us what’s beyond the gate?’

Lurch, who was on his way out of the room with the breakfast tray, stopped in his tracks and dropped it. Morticia set her fork down on her plate with a sharp clang. She turned to Wednesday.

‘Why would you ask that, dear?’ Morticia asked in a voice that was trying – and failing – to sound casual.

Wednesday shrugged. ‘I heard a strange noise in the fog earlier,’ she said. ‘I want to investigate.’

Morticia shook her head sharply. ‘There’s nothing out there but boring marshland,’ she said.

Wednesday knew she was pushing it. But she kept going. ‘But there must be something,’ she said. ‘We never go anywhere. Who knows what untold horrors we’re missing out on!’

Morticia laid a hand on her daughter’s hand. ‘We have all the horror we need right here, my love,’ she said.

Wednesday scowled. ‘Uncle Fester gets to go wherever he wants,’ she said rebelliously.

‘Now, now,’ Fester broke in. ‘That’s not quite true. There are some legal restrictions. For example, I can’t go to a shopping centre. Or a school. Or a public park. Or—’

Morticia broke in. ‘When you’re older, Wednesday,’ she said firmly, ‘you can travel to your heart’s content. But for now, it’s safer for you here.’

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