As The Woe Turns: A World Before Woe

Sheer Boredom W.A.

Wednesday was bored. She was restless. It had been two weeks. Two whole weeks since the incident and the almost immediate court date that followed. Two weeks of waiting for someone else to decide her fate. Two weeks of lockdown hell. It was torture and not the good kind. What bothered her most was her stolen independence. Even if she had brought this on herself.

Usually she was more then content not to leave her room. That was until someone else told her she couldn't. Now, Wednesday was no longer allowed to wonder and explore like an Addams was apt to do. No. She had limits. Boundaries. It was killing her.

She just spent the last two weeks having her location dictated to her as she watched her brother and others have the ability to move about freely. They would pay for this. It was now teetering on The cusp of September. A decision needed to be made. As much as she hated formal education, she hated stagnation more. Wednesday huffed. She sighed. As difficult as it was to admit, there was literally nothing she could do. And she was bored.

She had already played through every orchestral piece, and the few modern pieces she knew by heart. Then played through the sheet music her parents had recently bought her. Pieces by Bach, Wagner, Beethoven Mussorgsky, some metal cello band, somebody named Elfman, and a collection by a band called The Rolling Stones. She took a particular liking to the last one. The music was intricate. It helped her focus and to clear her mind of clutter at the same time. It would do.

She read through the names on her personal reading list. Both obscure and conventional stories. Some, their pages yellowed with age requiring great care as not to damage them. Her list included names like Lovecraft, Wilde, Dickinson, Lord Byron, Plath, Poe and Percy Shelly. She hadn't had the time before. It was a problem. Problem solved. She even made a list of books she wanted to reread in the near future in order to further analyze the work. She made notes in the margins, highlighted passages, and underlined certain words. It was a labor of love.

Wednesday had even walked the grounds as much as she could to make a mental map of just how far she could venture in every direction from the manor now without recourse. She marked every grave stone, every tree, every pebble, and blade of grass that was one step too far. The step that would make the god forsaken mechanical nightmare attached to her flesh alert her captors to her whereabouts.

The only real good that had come from this madness induced, forced hiatus was, Wednesday was able to spend the better part of the last two weeks working un disturbed on her newest novel. The third in her series. She had a strict schedule to stick to if she was going to meet her personal goals. They were not optional after all. However, after having worked on the first few chapters Wednesday need a break.

Wednesday had written through her opening and the first crime scene. But now, the story was leading her, which could be a good thing or a bad thing depending. Good if it flowed and made sense. Bad if well, I think you get it.

Viper her young protagonist had received a cryptic note. She had been drawn out. Made vulnerable. She was led to a new scene in a warehouse near the docks of all places. How cliche. It was well past midnight. The full moon had started its descent dipping low in the still night sky. It was obvious the police hadn't been there yet. The scene lacked the obnoxious yet telltale signs of their presence. Yellow caution tape and hap hazard foot prints everywhere.

Viper took the last few steps towards the building. Her boots crunching on the gravel beneath them. She had found the plywood door partially opened. Just enough for her to slip inside. Beaconing, no, daring her to enter. The killer was toying with her obviously. Something about this seemed intimately personal.

There were two bodies illuminated by a single hanging light. How dramatic. Presumably two young men. To be certain Viper would have to get a closer look. They appeared to be caucasian. Short hair, clean shaven. Aged somewhere in their mid to late twenties by her eye. It was a grisly sight yet Viper stood unmoved. The men were partially flayed. Muscles and bone laid completely bare in some places. The bodies were both suspended by a single chain around their necks and chained to a makeshift platform by their wrists like twisted marionettes. There were various tools on a table but none looked like they had been used. Blood guts and other viscera painted the stage in drying shades of reds, rusts, and blacks. The stench of iron and excrement clung heavy to the back of her tongue like an expensive French perfume. Sheets of skin and bits of flesh were set out on racks near the stage like drying parchment.

Viper was hoping this time the killer had made a mistake, but much like the other scene it was pristine. Up close it looked staged, like the hard work was done elsewhere only to be brought to this location and erected as it was. To what? Garner attention? There was never a note. No calls into the police department or news station. Nothing. Viper highly doubted any mistakes were made. She was stumped as to a motive. Perhaps Detective Ortega would share their report and crime scene photos with her once they finally cleared the scene.

And that was it. Wednesday was stuck for the moment. The killer's motive alluding her at this time. So here she was. Frustrated was an understatement. She was waiting for inspiration to strike. It didn't help that she hadn't been sleeping well for about a week now. Her brain was a bit foggy. She needed it to clear.

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes into hours. Wednesday slammed her hand down on her desk. When boredom strikes time can both move incredibly slow and entirely too fast. It was enough to drive most people mad. Even Wednesday. She believed that's what it was. Madness. Madness was fully taking over. She gave up trying to write for now.

Wednesday was laying on her back in her own bed basking in the peaceful tranquility of her room. She was staring up at the ceiling with her arms crossed her chest. It's not like she could sleep. She had tried. She would drift, but true rest never came.

Of course there were nights she couldn't shut her brain off. There were times she had gotten so caught up in her writing she had lost track of time and typed through the night. She had gone days without rest before and it never really bothered her. Tonight was different. More different in a series of different. Just what she needed. It was another night she wasn't going to sleep added to about a weeks worth of sleepless nights.

However, this wasn't her normal restlessness, although if it were no one would blame her. The stagnation was a lot. No, she was having odd dreams. Although odd is an understatement and dreams was a loose term. They felt more like the visions she had been having. For about a month now, Wednesday had been having visions. There were psychics on both sides of her family. Powerful ones. So it really was no surprise. But these dream visions were different. Powerful. Unpredictable, and difficult to navigate. They completely sucked her in, enveloping every sense. Electricity shot through her body. Her heart rate and respiration quickened. Her head snapped back. Her body went rigid and she couldn't move. It felt remarkably like electro shock therapy but it lacked the satisfying finish.

Every time she closed her eyes for the last few days, her usually blissful nightmares were invaded by colors. Not just any colors. Soft pastels, and shades of neon so vibrant they nearly caused her eyes to bleed. Nauseating shades swirling together outlining a black shadow figure of a female standing against a bright white circular portal. Occasionally Wednesday would grasp a more solid glimpse of a pretty girl with blonde hair and deep blue eyes, her smile blinding like the sun. What the hell! Who was this girl?! What was the point of this? Maybe she was finally losing her mind. Maybe she was so bored her writer's mind was trying to take over. To write in a new character, with a new back story. Wednesday would glower into the darkness, but the answers she was looking for never came.

As the sun rose Wednesday climbed out of bed. Laying there any longer would be futile. Unfortunately it was time to start her day. Another day of waiting and boredom. Wednesday went through her morning routine. She stretched and did a few yoga poses. She worked through her Kata controlling her breathing and focusing her mind. She also did some light calisthenics. Push ups, sit ups, jumping jacks. If she had one, she would have skipped rope. She then showered, brushed her teeth and dressed. At some point toast and black coffee had been brought so she nibbled at that. Her family knew she was not a breakfast person per say. Finally, she sat at her desk, her fingers flexing instinctively but she wasn't going to write. Sketch maybe? Perhaps. She took out a pencil and parchment.

Automatically she started to write. Two letters took form. E. S. Then the word Nevermore. The term in Latin 'Unitas Est Invicta' which exceedingly roughly translates to 'United we are invincible.'
Before she knew it she had filled the page and started on the back. Nevermore Academy. The school her parents had attended. The school several generations of Addams and Frumps had attended. The school her grandmother had told her when the time came she would attend. It was her destiny after all. Wednesday refused to think about it. She had refused to attend when asked in the past stating she would rather stay close to home. Her parents had indulged her. For two years they had done so. Now that option was off the table. Something was looming over her. The dreams. Her expulsion. She could refuse again, but she knew it would do no good. The fates had made her decision for her.

Wednesday needed a distraction. Perhaps a little trap would suffice. It would make her feel better either way. So her plan took shape.