Enid sat cross-legged on her bed, facing Wednesday while the steady clacking of the typewriter filled the room.
“Well, I just messaged Oly. He’s fine,” Enid said, glancing up from her phone.
“He really wasn’t joking when he said he was strong.”
Wednesday pulled another sheet from the typewriter.
“I agree.”
Enid tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“But what kind of outcast do you think he is? I’ve never heard of anyone with that kind of durability.”
“I don’t know. But he’s almost certainly an undocumented species. None of the Nightshade records mention an outcast with that level of physical resilience.”
Enid studied her roommate for a moment before smiling.
“And… you seem to like it here now. You even put your escape plan on hold.” She shrugged.
“Okay, maybe a tiny part of me was relieved because I wasn’t ready to lose my creepy roommate, but I’m glad you decided to stay.”
Wednesday finally looked up from her typewriter.
“I don’t like it here.”
Enid blinked.
“Then why are you still here?”
“I’m still leaving. I’m simply waiting for the right moment.”
Enid sighed before brightening almost immediately.
“Then you should come to Jericho’s Harvest Festival! It’s this weekend. Music, games, food… basically everything that makes life worth living.” She added excitedly,
“I’m going to eat my weight in caramel apples.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Why? You’ve never even been.”
Wednesday looked up from her typewriter.
“Harvest festivals exist to commemorate a successful harvest. They were practical centuries ago, when surviving winter depended on it.”
“Today, they’re little more than an excuse for people to crowd together, consume excessive amounts of sugar, and pretend seasonal decorations qualify as culture.”
Enid smiled.
“So… that’s a no?”
“It’s a categorical rejection.” Wednesday returned to her typewriter.
“I have no interest in participating in manufactured joy.”
Enid hesitated.
“Uh… about that. Principal Weems said the Harvest Festival is mandatory. She wants all Nevermore students there. Something about improving relations between outcasts and normies.”
The typewriter stopped.
“Mandatory?”
“Yep. Every student has to go.”
“Forcing people to socialize has never improved relations. It merely creates larger groups of miserable people.”
Enid laughed.
“I don’t think that’s the lesson Weems is trying to teach.”
“Then her expectations are unrealistic.”
Wednesday slid another sheet into the typewriter before looking up, a faint and distinctly unsettling smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Where did you say this festival is taking place?”
Enid looked surprised.
“Umm… the square just outside Jericho. That’s where they hold it every year.”
Wednesday nodded once and rose from her chair, leaving the unfinished page in the typewriter.
“The opportunity has presented itself. It’s about time someone repaid the favor they owe me.”
Enid watched her go with the particular expression of someone who wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or concerned.
***
Inside Caliban Hall, Oliver was fast asleep, sprawled across the bed.
A hand repeatedly tapped his cheek.
“Mmm… two more minutes…”
Thing, who had been sitting on the pillow waiting for a response, paused.
Then pinched Oliver’s cheek with surprising force.
“Ow! What the hell?”
Oliver shot upright and glared at whatever was responsible.
Then his brain caught up with what his eyes were showing him.
A hand.
Just a hand.
Sitting on the edge of his bed.
His brain froze.
“…What.”
Thing gave a small wave.
For exactly one second, Oliver simply stared.
Then instinct took over.
“What the fuck?!”
Thing sprang into the air at the last instant, landing on the headboard as Oliver’s punch tore straight through the pillow.
Oliver stumbled backward off the bed, scrambled upright, and dropped into a fighting stance.
“Why is there a severed hand in my room?!”
Thing casually flexed his fingers, completely unfazed.
Oliver grabbed the nearest object — a textbook — and pointed it like a weapon.
“Stay back!”
Thing tilted his wrist in what looked suspiciously like confusion.
“Don’t give me that!” Oliver snapped.
“You’re a hand! Hands aren’t supposed to move!”
Then Wednesday’s words came back to him.
Thing.
Oliver slowly let out the breath he’d been holding.
His heartbeat was still racing, but at least he knew what he was dealing with.
I mean, who wouldn’t freak out after waking up to find a severed hand tapping their face.
Thing wiggled his fingers impatiently, crawled over to the pillow, slipped beneath it, and emerged a moment later with a neatly folded envelope pinched between two fingers.
He scurried back across the bed and held it out.
Oliver eyed the envelope suspiciously before taking it.
Wednesday’s name on the front.
“This isn’t a love letter, is it?” Oliver asked.
Thing stared at him for a moment.
Then slowly tilted sideways, in what could only be described as the hand equivalent of a deeply unimpressed look.
“Okay… I’ll take that as a no.”
Oliver unfolded the envelope and pulled out the letter.
The handwriting was neat, precise, and devoid of any unnecessary flourishes.
«Oliver,
You owe me a favor.
I’m collecting it.
The Harvest Festival provides the ideal opportunity to leave Nevermore unnoticed.
You will accompany me.
— Wednesday Addams»
Oliver stared at the letter for several seconds before lowering it.
“…She really doesn’t know the difference between a request and an order.”