His Pigtailed Crucible of Fate

Wednesday's eyes bolted open the following morning to a distinct, repeated tapping sound emanating from her bedside table.

She uncrossed her arms and sat upright, directing her fury toward the source of the irritating racket.

"What earthly idea possessed you to wake me up at this hour, Thing?" she lashed.

Thing finally halted tapping on the table and pointed out of the dorm window, with morning light streaming through.

"It's Saturday," she scolded, "I'm not late for anything."

Thing pointed again, in reiteration.

She begrudgingly picked herself up out of bed and peered out of the window to gleam what it was that Thing was so intent on. There was a black shuttle bus parked out front of the school grounds, with a handful of backpack-wearing Nevermore students leant against it, chatting loudly.

Wednesday turned back to Thing, unimpressed.

"Why would I want to go into the local town?" she protested.

Thing responded with a complex series of gestures.

"I'd much rather stay in this weekend," she groaned, "we can terrorize the townsfolk some other time."

Thing concluded its argument with a "putting the foot down" motion.

"Ugh, you're insufferable," she acquiesced.

Wednesday resurrected herself from bed and changed into her familiar dark dress with white collars, along with her black tights. As she laced up her boots, she wondered where Enid might have scurried off to — her bed was left unmade.

Thankfully, Wednesday didn't happen upon her on her way down through the foyer and out to the shuttle bus, which appeared about ready to leave. She peered at the decrepit bus driver as she entered the vehicle — a stiff, grey-skinned old man who somewhat reminded her of Lurch, had he been similarly battered by the sands of time.

She took her seat assuming she'd be last to board, however another student sheepishly approached as Wednesday waited impatiently.

She eyed with suspicion as the glasses-wearing boy, Rowan, hopped on and immediately took a seat at the front, without giving a single glance down the rest of the bus. Wednesday raised an eyebrow slightly — she doubted that his odd, anxious fascination with her had simply disappeared.

Her face dropped into a scowl as Principal Weems' lofty frame entered the bus next. The two of them made eye contact almost immediately — Weems returning Wednesday's glare with a false-pleasant smirk. As soon as it was over, Wednesday looked down into her backpack.

"You've brought me on a supervised trip, you idiot," she quietly scowled at Thing.

She zipped the bag closed the rest of the way as Principal Weems sauntered down the aisle toward her.

"Well, it's certainly a surprise to see you here, Wednesday," she spoke with veiled condescension, "your mother typically spent her weekends as a shut-in while we were roommates."

"I can only hope to measure up to her some day," Wednesday retorted.

"Hm," Weems voiced dismissively, turning her attention to another student. "Why Damian, I'd heard your blazer had been torn asunder by—"

Wednesday tuned her voice out and looked on out the window waiting for the bus to begin moving. She placed her head atop her folded arms resting on the windowsill, ignoring Thing as he wriggled around inside of her bag. She considered getting off the bus and returning to her dorm as Principal Weems had assumed she would, however part of her had another idea...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Their deathly bus-driver wrenched the noisy transmission into park, and the students hopped out in front of a worn-down town hall.

Principal Weems exited the bus last. "Now, before you all scurry off," she announced, "for any students who have not visited before: welcome to Jericho. Go off and run any errands you need, however kindly refrain from disturbing the locals, and be back here before 4pm when the shuttle leaves if you wish to sleep in your own bed tonight."

The students agreed and set off to wander the town. As Wednesday glanced around at the town's pretentious flags, she realized she'd lost sight of Rowan, who must have gone off with the others.

'At least I don't have to worry about that idiot following me,' she thought.

What she did seemingly have to worry about, however, was Principal Weems, who had her eyes trained on her like a hawk.

"We both well know that you have a penchant for causing trouble, sweetheart," she called out, in response to Wednesday's glower.

Wednesday rested a hand against her backpack to verify that Thing hadn't yet escaped, and then swung it over her shoulder to begin wandering about.

Jericho seemed to be a quaint town; working class. Small businesses of a remarkable variety lined the quiet, two-lane streets — there wasn't a single mall or franchised coffee shop in sight.

In Wednesday's experience, pockets of society such as these tended to be fairly tight-knit communities, however were typically not very welcoming to those who didn't look like them. She didn't imagine Jericho to be much different, given Weems' implication that Nevermore students often "disturbed" the residents here.

What interested Wednesday was the principal's motivation in having students visit here every weekend.

'Does she desire to bridge the gap between these folk and the people they consider outcasts?' Wednesday wondered, 'and if so, why? What would she stand to gain?'

Wednesday noticed that Principal Weems wasn't trying particularly hard to match Wednesday's walking pace, so she took a few turns through some alleyways and fairly easily shook off her chaperone.

The sight she was met with delighted her to no end, though nobody was present to witness her ghoulish grin. The town's cemetery sat before her, vast and sprawling — to a surprising degree given the presumably small population of the town.

The sky rumbled above her. The dark rainclouds couldn't have been more than an hour away.

"The gods smile upon us today, Thing," Wednesday mused, as Thing knocked obstinately on the walls of its backpack prison.

"Calm yourself," she replied, dropping the bag off of her shoulder and letting Thing free, "I was only waiting until we lost our pursuer."

They both set off down the cemetery's cobbled path, taking turns guessing the death years of the graves they passed, judging by the styles of the tombstones.

Thing veered off from the path, and scurried toward a large, stone mausoleum, scaling it and perching atop its roof.

"You're in an exploring mood today, aren't you?" she commented.

Thing pointed back down at the structure's inscription, containing the names of those inside the tomb.

"Well, obviously our family's is bigger," she replied, "it has room for three generations of Addams', as well as a spot for Lurch."

Wednesday's eye was suddenly drawn to a building just beyond the exterior fence.

"Is it my eyes failing me, or does that say 'County Coroner' over there?" she asked Thing, who turned in the direction she was looking to confirm her query.

"Morgue right by the cemetery," she murmured, "that's fascinatingly efficient."

She lifted her arm to allow Thing to crawl down from atop the mausoleum.

"Shall we give it a look?" she asked Thing, who agreed.

They traipsed over, circling the small building and finding a maintenance door without anybody securing it. Inside, they sat tight for a moment, listening out for any voices. There was only one: a man theatrically humming to himself.

Wednesday stayed low, but let Thing lead the way down the corridor. Stopping at the first doorway, Thing communicated that it was only the one man inside. She creeped along, allowing herself a look.

The coroner was indeed alone, taking his embalming tools to a horribly deformed body — it appeared as though it had been violently mauled by a wild animal.

After having watched him work for only a few moments, the coroner suddenly straightened up in alert, sniffing the air. Wednesday and Thing both ducked out of the doorway before he could turn around.

Wednesday glared at Thing and pointed at her hand, communicating that she believed it was Thing's excessively fragrant hand lotion the man was smelling.

Without having heard the man's footsteps, he stepped out into the corridor to immediately find her, crouching like a ninja. She could only stare wide-eyed back up at him, while he puzzled over his finding.

"Well, I'm sure you shouldn't be in here," he said pleasantly.

He had curled, silver hair and a matching beard, and had a certain kindness in his eyes which Wednesday hoped meant that he wasn't upset by her intrusion.

She stood up slowly, observing Thing scurry around the corner behind the man.

"I'm—" she began, "I'm doing a school project... on rigor mortis."

"Oh, is that so?" he chuckled, "well all of the sneaking about is quite unnecessary, dear girl, I'm sure I would have been happy to make an appointment with you if you'd called!"

He turned and nonchalantly led her into the autopsy room.

"If you're classmates with my daughter then I'm sure she would have opted for a different assignment," he continued, "she finds her father's profession beyond repulsive, the poor girl."

The man's demeanor was surprisingly jovial, given his line of work, Wednesday thought.

"So... you're comfortable with me being here?" Wednesday asked optimistically.

"Well, if it's court-side seats you're after, I'd ideally like you to place on that surgical gown and set of gloves," he replied, "but otherwise, yes, you're fine, dear, ask away!"

Wednesday found it difficult not to immediately ask about the mangled body the man was working on, and to which her eyes were desperately fixed, but she tempered herself.

"...Thank you," she began cordially, "firstly, how long have you worked as a coroner?" She pulled a notepad out of her bag and pretended to write.

"Oh," he responded, "my dear, I'm at the tail-end of a 45 year long career, in fact I'm set to retire next month once the out-of-towner ships in to replace me."

"I see," Wednesday scribbled aimlessly, "and you—"

"—please, Doctor Anwar, dear," he offered with a smile, "Rajesh is my first name."

"A-N-W-A-R?" she asked.

"That's it," he grinned.

"Got it, fantastic," she continued, "now, roughly how many hours post-mortem would you say that rigor mortis reaches its peak?"

"That would be the 12 hour mark," he answered as he worked.

"Correct," Wednesday replied.

He looked up, with a quizzical expression. "I'm sorry, dear?"

"—Oh, I mean, thank you for giving me the answer," she replied, not actually having intended to be rude to the man.

"Next question," she continued, her curiosity burning, "what have you determined as the cause of death on this body?"

Doctor Anwar chuckled. "Oddly specific for your assignment, no? I'll give you this, my dear, you have a strong stomach to have been looking upon it for as long as you have."

Wednesday stepped a little closer.

"Unfortunately for this poor fellow," he went on, "he experienced hemorrhagic shock as a result of these injuries, likely inflicted by a bear — we haven't ever seen any other wild animals of such a size around here."

"These lacerations seem deep even for a bear," Wednesday weighed in.

He gave her a look. "You certainly seem to have a curiosity for the morbid, dear," he said with amusement, "quite unusual for girls your age, no?"

"It would be a mistake to compare me with girls my age," she replied, a small grin forming on her face.

Doctor Anwar continued to find her amusing. "Well, certainly not my little girl," he said, "she's declined to visit here on bring-your-daughter-to-work days more times than I can count. Not that I'd ever blame her of course, she's grown to be a perfectly well adjusted person, unlike me..." He let out a wistful chuckle.

Wednesday offered a look of sympathy, though it felt alien to her. After a moment, she managed to tear herself away from the sight of the gruesome body in order to observe to other materials laying about the room. She glanced over some coroner's reports laying open on the table against the wall — they even contained photographs. Titillated, Wednesday considered making visiting Jericho a weekly routine from here on out, if only to come here every time.

She tilted her head slightly, noticing something as she flicked through a few different reports.

"These other victims also died of bear attacks," she began, spinning around to face him, "there were three others just within the month, is that not considered high?"

"Well— yes," he answered, "I mean, I don't pretend to know whether there are reasons these animals might come out of hibernation early, in... heightened territorial moods, I haven't a clue — we don't have such expertise in this town, and the sheriff here is stretched thin as it is."

"I see," she said, in thought. The occurrence was beginning to intrigue her. She supposed it were possible that the chakra-finding techniques taught to the werewolf students at Nevermore weren't a failsafe, and that an angsty wolfy teen could be the culprit, however the damage inflicted in these cases seemed somewhat extreme to be within the capability of a juvenile werewolf. Besides, given the full moon the previous night, that would only go to explain the most recent attack.

"I'd like to investigate this," Wednesday said after a moment, "may I use your photocopy machine?"

This time Doctor Anwar was truly puzzled. "Inves— I... I mean, I suppose so," he waffled, "you know, dear, you ought not believe those stories people tell about that Nevermore place up the hill... these are just things the older kids make up to frighten you — there aren't really any monsters or anything scary like that up there."

Wednesday pondered how he might react were she to tell him she was in fact a Nevermore student. She supposed he must have simply been under the impression that she was into goth, or some such shallow teen fad.

With her materials in hand, Wednesday turned to take her leave, eyeing Thing awaiting her in the corridor just outside of Doctor Anwar's view.

"I'll... be sure to make an appointment first if I decide to visit again," she said awkwardly.

He looked up and smiled at her. "I do hope you will, my dear," he replied warmly, "despite being by my lonesome here, I do in fact enjoy company."

She managed a nod in gratitude and headed out through the front door this time, sweeping up Thing as she passed by.

"I don't know what your plans are," she murmured, "but I need a hot beverage while I mull over these cases, feel free to meet back up with me when the bus is set to take us back to Nevermore."

Thing looked unimpressed, but hopped off of her to have its own adventure while Wednesday searched for the nearest coffeehouse.

'WEATHERVANE CAFÉ & BAKERY' a corner shop sign said. It would have to do.

Wednesday found a vacant booth for herself with relative ease — it would have been well past the lunch rush, if such a thing even existed in this small town. She wrestled against the tacky laminate seats for a moment, attempting to find a comfortable sitting position, when a barista approached her.

"Yeah, 'bout as comfortable as a plastic-wrapped sofa I'd say, sorry about that," he said with an easy charisma. "Don't think I've seen you in here before, by the way — I can usually remember a face."

The boy was about her age. He was tall, sporting well-kept, chestnut hair, and soft, blue eyes — he had the same type of sickening boyish charm as those teen idols Wednesday often saw on the front of those insipid fashion magazines.

She didn't particularly appreciate his candor, and shot him a look to convey as much.

"I was under the impression I'd be going up to place my order," she curtly replied.

"Oh, it's pretty casual around here," he smiled, undeterred, "the machine tends to act up sometimes as well, would hate to have you waiting up there while I kicked the thing into shape — you seem like you're probably here to read."

Wednesday didn't see any way out of the conversation other than to place her order.

"I'll take a quad. Black," she glared.

"Black, got it," he tapped his pen to his head. "And that's... black so as to, like, match the aesthetic of your whole getup here, or because your taste preference is all things bitter?" He gave her a goofy smile that he probably practiced in the mirror.

Her glare turned to daggers.

"I don't know if this whole "negging" routine typically has the girls dishing out their phone numbers like confetti at a parade," she lashed, leaning forward in her seat, "but all it's going to earn you in this instance is a fork plunged directly into your eye. Do I make myself clear?"

The boy pulled back a little, but his confidence didn't appear to be diminished by her chastising.

"Got it," he chuckled, "a quad, coming up." He paused. "And did you wanna give a name for that order, or—"

This time she looked at him as though she really might kill him, so he hopped away to go prepare her beverage.

While she waited, she began perusing the materials she'd brought from the coroner's, continuing to be perplexed by the details of the deaths that had taken place. As well as the deep gashes through the abdomen, the victims all apparently had extensive amounts of blunt force trauma in common. Wednesday tried to recall from the handful of textbooks on native predators she'd ever read, whether grizzly bears had ever been observed this far north-east in the country. She perhaps should have confirmed with Doctor Anwar, but she was fairly confident that the largest type bear of bear this town was likely to ever see was an American black bear — hardly the calibre of strength and claw length against which these victims appeared to have met their end.

"Some uh, light reading there? Holy hell," the boy startled her.

He stood gawkily with her coffee in hand.

"If you're going to puke," she glared, "I'd like you to place my beverage down first."

He appeared to be genuinely haunted by the images that lay open on the table, setting her drink down without taking his eyes off of them.

"Wait," he murmured, "are those... they're real people?"

Wednesday abruptly closed each of the folders.

"Do you always hover like this?" she demanded.

He turned to look at her, but was silent, as though his mind was elsewhere.

The moment was somewhat interrupted by the pitter-patter of rain on the roof outside.

Wednesday instinctively turned to face out the window, expressionlessly rejoicing over the change in weather.

"Um," the boy mumbled, seeming to have regained some of his faculty for speech.

Wednesday turned back to him impatiently. "What do I owe you…?" she asked.

"Oh," he replied, "it's a dollar fifty, but—"

Wednesday held out some cash. "Here's five dollars. Keep it and leave me in peace."

His facial expression remained distractingly vacant, however he took the money and returned to the counter.

'What a dolt,' she remarked internally.

Continuing to window watch, Wednesday mused over how something as trivial as rainfall seemed to sap the joy out of people, as she observed the various townsfolk grumpily scurry indoors, or wrestle open flimsy umbrellas. It easily equalled her favorite aspect of the gloomy weather phenomenon, along with the way it felt on her skin.

Her attention was momentarily diverted to the joyful chatter of a group of teenagers, dancing about in the rain in animated conversation — perhaps she wasn't the only one with a fondness for rain. As she watched them, she had to begrudgingly admit to herself that she recognized a few as her peers from Nevermore, despite their lack of purple uniforms.

One was the girl from her botany class with the mildly luminescent skin, whom she had earlier concluded must be a siren. She appeared to be giving most of her attention to the tall, pale-skinned boy who had narrowly spared Wednesday from death by falling statue the previous day — Xavier, she remembered.

Wednesday shifted uncomfortably as she realized the group were headed toward the café — she dreaded the prospect of any of them coming over to bother her.

It was too late to leave without running into them, so she did her best to keep her head down at her booth, as they noisily paraded up to the counter.

~~TBC~~