𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓟𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓸𝓹𝓱𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙨

"Three, two, one,"

The sound of the mailman's scream reached Harry's ear. The black-haired boy smirked in delight, as he and his two laughing siblings stuck their heads through the bushes of their home, watching as the mailman ran, screaming and waving his hands in the air, as a spider climbed down the mailbox and into his little sister's awning hands.

"Good job, Homer, you managed to scare that man out of his wits," commented Harry as he stood up from the ground, Wednesday and Pugsley following. "How did you know he was afraid of spiders, Harry?" questioned Pugsley as he looked up at his older brother, admiration and wonder in his piercing blue eyes. "Yes, how did you know, Harry?" Wednesday asked in a skeptical tone. Her eyebrows rose in question, as her noose braids (braids he helped her do early this morning before elementary school started) swayed as they walked back to the house.

Harry smirked at his siblings. "Simple. I gave him a ring last week and pretended to be a person from a cruise company, saying he won a free cruise to the Caribbean. I asked him a bunch of questions, where he was from, his favorite color, before asking what he was most afraid of. To which he answered, saying: "Spiders, I hate spiders". Before I hung up on him."

Wednesday gave a smirk of her own. She loved her older brother and his schemes. He was very good at plotting a plan and hatching it. Of course, their mother and father taught him from a very young age.

"How thrilling, who shall we prey on next, dear brother?" she asked. Harry gave her an amused look. "I was thinking, Mr. Tully, he should be easy. Knowing that he's a coward would make my job easier." mused Harry, before they walked up the stairs of their home and opened the door. The three Addamses strode into their home, their dirty shoes creating stains and footprints on the plush carpet in the entryway, right by the winding staircase.

"Children!" said a silky voice coming from the top of the stairs. Standing there in a tight-fitting black dress was their mother. Morticia Addams. Her long glossy hair was in waves, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Her blood-red nails tapped against her arm as she arched a brow at her children. "Have you seen your father? He was supposed to be back by now." Harry turned his head to look at his siblings before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, mother. We have not. We'll let you know when we see him." Harry gave her a nod before trailing off to the kitchens, where he knew his grandmother would be cooking some delicious dinner. Wednesday and Pugsley tried to follow, but their mother called their names, making them stop. Harry didn't stick around to hear what his mother wanted from his siblings and continued walking towards the kitchens - passing portraits as he went.

There were many portraits of his family. A lot of them were portraits of his siblings, with a few of his entire family—father, mother, sister, brother, and grandmother,—and a couple of just his parents; who were usually in a passionate embrace; and a few of his distant relations.

Of course, there was a portrait of his mother and him. It was his favorite. His mother and Harry were sitting in the cemetery, his mother wearing her long black dress and her blood-red lips were pulled into a smirk. Morticia had her hand resting on a toddler, Harry. His unruly black hair was as long and curly as ever, and her nails were running through the locks. He wore black shorts and a white button-up shirt with black suspenders, and in his hands was a butcher knife he stole from the kitchens earlier that day. His pale skin looked sickly and his green eyes were narrowed in concentration with his round glasses perched on the tip of his nose, and a sneer was curled at his lips. The portrait was perfect for Harry, and it made his stomach tingle with a feeling he didn't understand.

After admiring the portrait, he made a mental note to tell Lurch to dust this portrait corridor and make sure this particular portrait was extra dusty. He sighed and ran his hands through his black curls before counting his journey to the kitchens. The closer he got, the better he could hear his grandmother screeching the lullaby song she always sang while cooking. His Grandmother's voice could send a man to an early grave, and the thought of it made Harry shiver in pleasure.