Wenclair oneshots

you've done your dirt and you've dug your graves

Summary:
Wednesday enjoys a lovely night in town.

A muffled scream echoed off the walls; it was a desperate, almost animalistic sound.

"Shut up."

The man's screams grew into a low groan at the command. He feared whatever punishment would be given to him if he didn't comply. His eyes squinted, blinded by the rush of tears, at the face of his captor. The man himself was covered head to toe in grime, and his sweat glistened under the moonlight.

The man was also tied to a chair in a room he didn't recognize.

"Interesting," the small girl in front of him murmured. He felt a sudden jolt of pain in his wrist and screamed. He could feel his throat growing cold and raw from the hours of use.

The girl tapped the hammer against the broken bone in his wrist a couple of times for good measure as he writhed in pain. She stopped after a moment and surveyed the damage. The skin turned a striking shade of red.

She set the hammer down; it looked right at home with the other tools on the bloodied tray, and she began writing in a notebook. She wished she had brought her film camera to capture an image of the brutally beaten man.

"I know," her monotone voice interrupted his pained moans, "that you are questioning why this is happening to you. But we both know you deserve this."

"No, no, no, ple-please," he sobbed, his voice choking from his own tears. "I have a family! A beautiful wife and daughter and a handsome boy—please, please..."

The gothic girl rummaged through a bag before smirking when her hand caught something. The sharp glint of the knife was reflected from the moon. Her combat boots thumped heavily against the flooring as she walked back to him.

"Thing, grab the tarp." Her voice ordered something or someone that was hidden in the dark. Then she turns her attention back to the man in front of her and whispers, "We both know your wife and children would do better without you. Why do you think you are here?"

She raises the knife, and a final scream rips from his throat.

Wednesday walked down the hallway of her dorm building. Her boots, freshly dried from being hosed, thudded against the floor. She's wearing a new, cleaner outfit, replacing her heavily stained one. Her bulky backpack was slung over her arm, and Thing rested on her shoulder.

She slows her steps as she approaches the door and cautiously opens it. The light from the hall bled into the darkness of the room, and for a second, Wednesday felt inwardly relieved. She softly closes the door behind her.

That second of relief ended when she heard the click of a lamp and was met with the stern face of her roommate, a laptop resting on her lap.

"So," Enid starts, "Where have you been?" There was a hidden layer of concern in her voice that made Wednesday scowl.

"The library. See, unlike you, Sinclair, I do this thing called 'studying' instead of spending hours scrolling on social media and losing brain cells." Wednesday shoots back at her.  Thing leaps from her arm and dashes over to Enid's side.

The little traitor.

"Sinclair, huh? Also, no need to be rude!" Enid pouted at her. "I was just worried. Apparently there was a body recently found." Enid flips her laptop around to Wednesday. There was an article on the screen.

Wednesday places her backpack next to her bed, taking care not to let the metal inside clack together, and reluctantly reads the first few sentences of the article.

"That's awfully close to this school."

It couldn't have just been the man earlier. She hid the body well; it would take at least a couple of months to find him. Besides, he certainly wasn't anywhere near the school. Was it a past body? She wasn't the type to be sloppy.

"They say he was like a camp counselor," Enid says, breaking the silence.

Camp counselor? Wednesday certainly doesn't remember recently dismembering a counselor. Eugene wouldn't have missed this information, nor would he have forgotten to tell her.

This must've been the work of someone else.

"Interesting," Wednesday commented before pulling away from the computer. The gothic girl stepped over the black line in the middle of their room and over to her side. "Either way, stop worrying, Sinclair. I assure you that I am capable of holding my own."

"Yeah, I'm sure you could, Addams." Enid mocked, her tongue childishly sticking out.

Wednesday ignored her and began changing into her sleepwear. She wasn't going to allow the other girl to try and get under her skin. Enid turned away to give her privacy, instead focusing her attention on turning off the light.

When Wednesday slipped under the heavy covers, she heard a soft, "Good night, Addams."

Wednesday didn't reply.

Question of the day: What's your favorite horror movie?