Chapter Text
Enid was used to Wednesday’s midnight rendezvous. She always slept through them, despite being kind of a light sleeper (wolf hearing and all), but honestly, Wednesday was always sneaking up on her during the day, so her level of stealth was unquestionable. It had been a little unsettling to wake up from a bad dream or to use the bathroom and find Wednesday’s bed empty, her sheets in an ultra-rare state of slightly rumpled or simply turned down for her convenience. Sometimes, she even left a few things lying around, like her test tube rack from the junior alchemist kit that lived under her bed or plastic bags with evidence locker labels on them. These sorts of things used to worry Enid, but Wednesday always had it all cleaned up by the morning, and there never seemed to be any sort of repercussions, so the worrying just sort of stopped.
What Enid was not used to was being purposefully woken up, prodded sharply in the small of her back.
“What the fuck,” she grumbled, rolling over onto her other side.
There was Wednesday, standing over Enid in the dark, the moonlight catching on the slope of her jaw and the sharpness of her right cheekbone. Enid forced herself to ignore how striking she looked, how much the moonlight suited her, so that she could choose rightful annoyance over awe. She propped herself up on her elbow, her hair tickling her face as it fell to one side.
“Why am I awake if it’s still dark outside? We graduate in the morning, and I’m trying to get my beauty sleep in before I have to walk.”
Wednesday eyed her carefully.
“Surely, you don’t think you need any more of that,” she remarked.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Enid said, despite the fact that the compliment, roundabout as it was, was definitely dulling her exasperation. Truly, they both knew flattery always worked on Enid.
“We need to go to West Virginia,” Wednesday said, answering Enid’s original question.
As was frequently the case, an answer from Wednesday brought on a thousand more questions.
“I’m torn between asking about the why and asking about the we ,” Enid said. “What do I have to do with West Virginia?”
“It’s a favor to my Uncle Fester,” Wednesday said, which was hardly the start of any substantial explanation. “He needs us to get a message to the Mothman. You are familiar with the Mothman, aren’t you?”
“That bug guy from the ‘70s?”
“That’s the one,” Wednesday said. Enid said nothing, hoping Wednesday would give her a crumb of context for the whole thing. Wednesday seemed to take the hint. “He and Fester worked a job together about a decade ago. We need to find him and deliver a message. I’m unsure of what it is, but I said I would do it.”
Wednesday pulled a wax sealed envelope out of the pocket of her jacket and held it out to Enid, not close enough that Enid could take it but close enough to prove that it was real, that she wasn’t just waking Enid up in the middle of the night to waste her time.
“What’d they do, rob a bank?” Enid asked, examining the envelope with as much care as she could muster without rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“They stole half of a Tyrannosaurus ribcage from Leonardo Dicaprio,” Wednesday answered, always delivering the most interesting of sentences with the most blase of tones
“Leonardo Dicaprio has dinosaur bones?” Enid asked.
“He almost has an entire T. Rex,” Wednesday said. She smirked. “Almost.”
Enid wondered briefly if this was a dream. It all felt so surreal. Mothman. T. Rex bones. Even Wednesday’s Uncle Fester was a mythic sort of figure. Her bed was warm, her comforter so cozy. What if she just laid back into her pillows, shut her eyes, and went back to sleep?
“Will you come with me or not?” Wednesday asked impatiently.
Enid widened her eyes as much as she could, fighting off a bout of slow blinking.
“To West Virginia?”
“Yes.”
Enid huffed.
“You couldn’t have waited to ask me in the morning?”
“You’re more likely to say no when you’re conscious enough to overthink.”
That was fair enough. Wednesday gave Enid that particular stare of hers, the intense one with the hard set jaw and the complete lack of blinking. Enid used to shrink under it. Now, she recognized it as the Wednesday version of a temper tantrum, one that wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted.
“If I say yes, can I go back to bed?”
“Yes.”
Enid sighed.
“Okay fine.”
Wednesday nodded, curt and satisfied. She shrugged off her coat and hung it neatly on the rack by her bed. She turned back to Enid sharply.
“I’m holding you to this.”
“I figured,” Enid said, finally laying her head back down, greeted with the pleasant coolness of her pillow.
She was asleep before Wednesday could say anything more.
The next morning, they graduated. To Enid’s dismay, they made her keep the robe on and closed when she walked, which completely covered the sheer amazingness of her outfit. She tried to ditch it as soon as the ceremony ended, but her mom insisted on taking a thousand pictures, and then they ran into Wednesday and her family, and her mom insisted on taking a thousand more. Wednesday looked ready to drown Mrs. Sinclair in the courtyard fountain at any given second, and the look she gave Enid when her mom instructed them to “act like you love each other” suggested her restraint was for Enid’s benefit only and would be expected to be repaid somehow.
“Did Enid tell you we’re going to West Virginia next week?” Wednesday asked.
It was less an attempt to make conversation and more a calculated statement to ensure Enid wouldn’t try to back out of the promise she made under duress (sleep deprivation surely counted as duress). Enid winced. She wondered if Wednesday had thought about the emotional repercussions that this would bring for Enid, as she had definitely not mentioned anything of the sort to her parents. In fact, she hadn’t even known it would be as soon as next week. Fortunately, neither of her parents were the first to respond.
“West Virginia?” Morticia asked. “I don’t recall you mentioning anything of the sort to us.”
“Uncle Fester asked me to go,” Wednesday said. “He has an old friend that he needs me to deliver something to. And I thought it could be fun for Enid and I to have a celebratory trip. I hear Point Pleasant is lovely in the summertime.”
“That it is,” Morticia said.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” Wednesday said, looking between her parents, asking for permission.
“That sounds nice,” Gomez said, nudging Morticia gingerly with the crook of his elbow. “It’s very considerate for her to offer to help Fester. It’s fine with me, if it’s fine with you.”
Morticia linked her arm with his.
“Yes, I believe you’re right,” she said. “It would certainly be good for her to get a taste of independence before college. And she would have Enid.”
Enid glanced between the three Adamses. Were they trying to convince her parents for her?
“Now hang on a second,” Enid’s dad said. “How expensive is this gonna be?”
“Uncle Fester said he would pay our way,” Wednesday said. “As I am doing him a favor.”
Enid’s dad had no further questions. Unfortunately, the low low price of free wasn’t quite enough to persuade Enid’s mom about the trip.
“I don’t know about sending you off alone just yet,” she said in that patronizing way she always seemed to talk to Enid, like she was too stupid to know what was best for herself.
“Oh, she won’t be alone,” Gomez said. Enid wondered if his misunderstanding was pretense, if he actually knew that alone meant her and Wednesday with no adult supervision, which in Enid’s mom’s mind was even more dangerous than simply sending Enid off somewhere by herself. In this situation, she had a coconspirator. “Wednesday will be with her the whole time.”
“I’ve grown quite used to incorporating Enid into my alone time over the last couple of years,” Wednesday added. “So you can trust that I won’t ditch her due to her chattiness.”
“Enid does love to chat,” her mom agreed. “But still, it’s a big step. How long would you be gone?”
“Five days,” Wednesday answered.
“A week,” Enid countered. “At least. Maybe a week and a half. We’ll play it by ear.”
Enid’s mom frowned. She pulled Enid’s dad to the side. Enid’s dad exchanged a look with her over her mom’s shoulder and said something softly, and then a little more insistently. Enid’s mom nodded once, and the two folded themselves back into the group.
“A week,” Enid’s mom said. “But no longer. Are we on the same page?”
“Yes!” Enid said with quite a lot of enthusiasm for a trip she hadn’t been totally convinced she wanted to take at the start of this conversation. Regardless, any stride she could make in pulling away from her mom’s inordinate influence on her life was a victory.
She grabbed Wednesday’s arms and jumped up and down, squealing in celebration like the teenage girls she had seen on TV as a kid. Wednesday didn’t join in on the jumping and squealing, but to her credit, she did reciprocally wrap her fingers around Enid’s forearms. Over Wednesday’s shoulder, Morticia raised her eyebrows at the display. Enid felt embarrassed. She looked to Wednesday, who was glaring daggers at someone behind Enid, someone who turned out to be Gomez. He didn’t seem to be doing anything other than smiling, but Enid had known Wednesday long enough to be aware that smiling was potentially one of the worst offenses a person could commit.
“What day do you leave?” Enid’s dad asked, expelling whatever tension seemed to be held between Wednesday and her parents, a tension that Enid couldn’t help but feel like she had somehow been caught up in the middle of.
“This Tuesday,” Wednesday said.
“That’s three days from now,” Enid’s mom said. “I thought you said next week.”
“This coming Tuesday falls within next week,” Wednesday said.
Enid cringed, sure that her mom still took Wednesday’s straightforwardness as disrespect.
“That actually works out for the best,” Enid’s dad said to his wife, quietly placating as he so often was. “That way we don’t have to fly her home just to fly her back out here.”
Enid’s mom hummed in semi-approval, a small miracle. The matter seemed to be settled, and with very little time for anyone involved to change their minds. Enid didn’t know whether or not to be comforted by this. Wednesday seemed happy enough, though, even going so far as to hold her chin a little higher and allow her top lip to quirk up around its edges. She decided to place her trust in that, well aware that Wednesday would kill a man before she'd let Enid break a nail.
The next three days consisted of an ungodly amount of packing and an even more ungodly amount of time in close proximity with both Wednesday’s parents and her own. The Sinclair and Addams family dynamics clashed in so many ways that were nobody’s fault and yet incredibly awkward for Enid to experience, which was only made worse by the fact that Wednesday seemed wholly unaffected by the awkwardness. Still, even if she couldn’t relate, Wednesday put in the effort to be cognizant of Enid’s feelings and did her best to put her at ease, packing her instruments of torture with discretion and steering her parents away from some of their more macabre conversational topics. In addition to this, she always seemed to be right there to open doors in Enid’s way, or to sit on Enid’s luggage when she needed to zip it up, or to come up with excuses for the two of them to slip away for a breath of fresh air. Enid felt taken care of, and considerably less frazzled.
Enid’s parents never seemed to get used to Thing, despite his best efforts to lend a helping hand. His scuttling startled them. Enid had caught her mom suppressing a growl on multiple occasions when he got a little too close. Conversely, Lurch’s mid-morning arrival on Tuesday was surprisingly welcomed by Enid’s parents. They didn’t seem to find his appearance offputting, which Enid suspected had a lot to do with the way he compared to the sentient severed hand, and they were grateful for his strength and his willingness to help move Enid’s things out of Ophelia Hall and down to her parents’ car.
“He’s dedicated to helping the family,” Gomez told Enid with a wink. “And if our Wednesday considers you worthy of her companionship, you’re more than welcome to his services.”
The sentiment sent a burst of warmth through Enid’s chest, but there was also a hard edge to the feeling, a stinging emphasis of the absence of this sort of acceptance from her own family. It was strange, the way the Addams forced her to notice how out of place she felt, the way their ease with each other highlighted the difficult-to-navigate intricacies of Enid’s own relationships with her parents. Rather than think about it too hard, Enid trudged through the packing, ignoring her mom’s remarks about her wardrobe and her possessions.
“That Wednesday girl sure is strange,” Enid’s mom said after the Addamses had left the room to take the last of Wednesday’s things to the car.
“You always say that,” Enid said, which, ironically, was what she had taken to always saying in response.
It wasn’t like she could deny it. Still, she resented the judgment in her mom’s tone. Wednesday’s strangeness was something to be appreciated, to be thought of sort of fondly, a silly idiosyncrasy. It served her well. It suited her.
“Yeah, well,” her mom said. “There always seems to be more strangeness to notice.”
“I guess so,” Enid said. Even after two and a half years, she still found it remarkable how capable Wednesday was of surprising her.
“She’s sweeter now, though,” Enid’s mom continued. “Well, not really. Not generally, at least. But to you, she’s sweeter. When I first met her, you’d never have been able to convince me she could be thoughtful.”
Enid’s heart rate picked up considerably. She almost dropped the pillowcase she was folding before shoving it down into the bin they were packing.
“She’d kill you if she heard you say that,” Enid tried to joke.
Her mom shrugged and worked on cramming Enid’s bath towels into the bin.
“All I’m saying is I think you’ve been a good influence on her,” she said. “Some of your sweetness has rubbed off. Although why the two of you have to be connected at the hip, I still don’t understand.”
“Mom!” Enid protested, maybe a little more defensive than she should be.
“What? It’s true,” her mom said. “You’re practically codependent. Aren’t you rooming together next year at Smith?”
“We are not codependent,” Enid said, though she only half believed it, especially given the circumstances surrounding her acceptance.
“I can’t believe we’re not gonna be at school together next year,” Enid had said, dramatically collapsing back onto her bed, which did make her feel slightly better.
“Yes, we are,” Wednesday said, glancing over at Enid like she was ridiculous.
“No, we’re not,” Enid said. “I didn’t get into Smith, remember?”
“You’re on the waitlist,” Wednesday said.
Enid huffed.
“Yeah, like that’s gonna work out. I googled it, and my chances of getting in at this point are like twenty percent. That’s lower than the admissions rate.”
Wednesday pondered this.
“One of my great aunts used to work in the admissions office,” she said. “I’ll have her call them and threaten to come out of retirement unless they let you in.”
“That’ll work?” Enid asked.
“She was an excellent employee but her colleagues always felt there was something deeply unsettling about her,” Wednesday said proudly, her upper lip curling into a sly smile, if only for a moment.
Enid allowed herself the same flicker of a grin before deflating at the recollection of her morals.
“I can’t take that spot,” she said sulkily. “I didn’t earn it.”
She watched a zillion arguments flash in Wednesday’s eyes, sure that each one was as sharp and quick as Wednesday always was; but then something strange happened. Wednesday set her shoulders back, easing out of her combative posture.
“Then where shall we go?” she asked so matter-of-factly that it caught Enid off guard.
“What?” Enid asked before she could think of anything good to say.
“If not Smith, where shall we go?” Wednesday repeated.
“I wouldn’t let you give up Smith,” Enid said. “Isn’t it, like, the most haunted campus in America? You have to go there. It’s perfect for you.”
“Then so do you,” Wednesday said. “If you’re so insistent on my going, take the spot.”
And so Enid did, and that was that. They’d filled out their housing applications together, Wednesday triple-checking that Enid had put her down as her roommate preference (“It would be unbearably displeasing to have to go through the painstaking process of getting to know another person. It’s much more efficient for us to stick together” ). She could just imagine what would happen if by some miracle, Smith decided to fuck with Wednesday’s housing preferences.
Lurch and Wednesday reemerged, Lurch immediately stepping in to help Enid’s dad make another trip to the car. Wednesday took her place next to Enid and began folding a hand towel. Enid’s mom dropped the conversation immediately. The last of the folding was done quickly and quietly, and then Lurch came back up for the bin, and Enid triple checked all of the drawers in her wardrobe and underneath her bed. Wednesday was just about to follow Lurch out the door when Enid grabbed her sleeve. Wednesday stopped instantly.
“Don’t you think we should take a sec and say goodbye to our room for the last time?” Enid asked.
The look on Wednesday’s face revealed that she most certainly did not find that necessary, but she stayed behind nonetheless. Enid’s mom shuffled out of the room, giving them their privacy. Enid stood in the center of the room, her feet straddling where the duct tape used to be. She turned in a slow circle, taking in its barrenness and trying not to feel overwhelmingly sad at the permanent closing of this chapter of her life.
“Goodbye room,” she said, and then looked to Wednesday expectantly.
“Goodbye room,” Wednesday echoed begrudgingly and looked at the door.
Enid sighed, slung her backpack onto her shoulder, and grabbed the suitcase she had packed for the road trip. Wednesday led the way out into the hall. One of the wheels of Enid’s suitcase caught on the doorframe. She stumbled forward a bit before regaining her balance. Wednesday turned back to look at her, which only heightened Enid’s embarrassment.
“Let me take that,” Wednesday said.
“No, I got it.” Enid waved her off.
Wednesday wrapped her hand around the handle, her pinky resting on Enid’s own, and fixed Enid with her most intimidating of stares.
“I am being… nice,” she said. “Give it to me.”
Enid didn’t know whether to laugh or to swoon. She settled for blushing against her will. Damn her pale face and her slightly above average resting internal temperature.
“Okay, geez,” she said and let go of the suitcase.
Wednesday pulled it down three flights of stairs, and if Enid wasn’t mistaken, she did so happily.
Enid’s parents were waiting for them, parked a ways away from the gates of the school. Wednesday quietly took Enid’s suitcase over to Gomez and Morticia, who were a few yards in the opposite direction, standing next to their signature family hearse, allowing Enid to say her goodbyes in privacy. That was, Enid assumed, what Wednesday would have wanted, and the consideration was very sweet in that regard. However, Enid wasn’t exactly about to relish one last solo convo with her mom when she was about to embark on a week of unfathomable independence.
The badgering and nagging was intense. Enid was instructed to keep her phone charged and on her person at pretty much all times, though she highly doubted she’d get much more than a couple of texts a day, if her time at Nevermore was any indication. She was also forced to promise to abstain from any underage drinking or drugs while holding up a Pup Scout sign with her right hand, which made her feel totally ridiculous but honestly probably cut short a pointless fifteen minute argument. Finally, she gave her parents their goodbye hugs and one last promise to be a responsible young woman, and she was formally sent off to the Addams’.
The car parked next to the Addams family hearse was sleek, black, and squatty with a long hood and round white headlights that made it look bug-eyed. Wednesday was standing beside the driver’s side door, a good ten feet from her parents. Enid assumed they had already said goodbye, Wednesday’s embarrassing display of sentiment carefully kept hidden from Enid’s bright eyes.
“Enid, darling,” Gomez said, stepping forward, his arms opening in a sweeping embrace that Enid quickly found herself caught up in. “It was wonderful to see you, even if it was for such an ill-fatedly short time.”
“It was wonderful to see you, too,” Enid said, barely able to wrap her arms back around Gomez through the strength of his hug.
The awkwardness of the gesture was overshadowed by the genuine way he beamed at her as he stepped back to allow Morticia to reach Enid. Morticia’s movements were much more reserved, but the manner with which her hands wrapped around Enid’s upper arms was no less affectionate. She held Enid out from her, a little under arm’s length.
“It truly was a pleasure, my dear,” she said, with a smile that would be saccharine if it wasn’t so sincere. “As it always is.” She cast a playfully pointed glance over at Wednesday, who had folded her arms flat against her chest and was staring at them with the severity of someone looking down the barrel of a shotgun, minus the pants-pissing fear. “Do take care of Wednesday, will you? I know she is the embodiment of self-reliance, but just in case, hm?”
“I’m sure I’ll make myself useful,” Enid said, and, happy as always to neg Wednesday just a little, for the sake of her ego, added, “After all, Wednesday did insist upon my accompanying her.”
“Ah, did she?” Gomez asked, a dangerous twinkle in his eye, one that had Enid feeling somewhat on the outside of the joke.
She murmured a few more words of farewell, and she and Lurch performed their secret handshake, the one Wednesday loathed and the rest of the family was delighted by. Just as Wednesday’s parents were shutting their respective car doors, Wednesday’s head jerked sharply to the back of the car. She popped the trunk promptly and pulled Enid’s suitcase from its place until it sat flat in front of her. Just as Enid had begun to worry that Wednesday was ransacking her luggage for no reason, she pulled Thing from between several pairs of shorts.
Thing put up an admirable fight, struggling against Wednesday’s iron grip until eventually going limp and tapping two fingers against her fist, calling uncle!
“I should’ve known you’d try to sneak aboard,” Wednesday sneered. “I told you you were not to accompany us on this mission.”
She tossed Thing to Gomez, who, to his credit, caught him with one hand and set him upon his shoulder like a pirate would a parrot, all without standing out of his car seat. He patted Things knuckles in a consolatory manner.
“Thing, you fine fellow, you’re supposed to be with us, remember?” he said cheerfully, despite the slump in Thing’s wrist.
Wednesday huffed, zipped Enid’s bag, and shut the trunk with finality. Enid would call it a slam if it weren’t so graceful. The hearse pulled away, and finally, Enid and Wednesday were alone once more.
It was hot out for New England, upwards of 70. A sudden gleam of sunlight directed Enid’s attention to a glimmer of gold on the hood of the car. She squinted at the hood ornament, which resembled a coat of arms, noting the little black horse in its center.
“Holy crap,” Enid said. “Is this a Porsche?”
It was an honest question (Enid knew very little about cars), though a closer inspection likely would’ve revealed the word “porsche” printed at the top of the crest, though the lettering certainly wasn’t meant to stand out by any means, at least not in Enid’s opinion.
“It’s a 930 Turbo,” Wednesday said flatly, meaning yes, it very much was a Porsche. “I wanted to take the Packard, but my parents thought it best not to entrust me with a limousine for an 800 mile road trip.”
“You wanted to take a limo from here to West Virginia?” Enid asked. “That you would drive?”
“A car is a car,” Wednesday said. “It’s nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“Fair enough,” Enid said, though she was still having trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that the Addams owned multiple luxury cars, one of which was a literal limousine. She fought the urge to bring up the fact that they could’ve borrowed it for senior prom but ultimately knew it would only start a pointless argument, and she was sure she had plenty of those ahead. “Are we stopping for snacks on our way out of Jericho, or did you grab some already? If you did, did you get any of those Nerds cluster things? If not, can we stop again before we leave the state? They’re, like, my favorite.”
“I thought your favorite was Starburst,” Wednesday said, but changed course before Enid could respond that that was the old favorite and this was the new favorite, at least for now. “What are you talking about? Why would we do that?”
“Wait a sec,” Enid said, so flabbergasted she was almost offended. “You were about to take us on an entire thirteen hour road trip, and you weren’t gonna get any snacks for it?”
“We would stop for meals, of course,” Wednesday said, a cross between a question and a challenge.
“Wednesday,” Enid said, for emphasis. “Snacks are an essential part of the road tripping experience. Especially since this is like our senior trip.”
“This is a favor to Uncle Fester,” Wednesday said. “A mission.”
Enid tried to make her best puppy dog face. She must’ve been successful.
Wednesday stubbornly jutted her jaw up and out, never willing to appear to swallow any of her precious pride, but said, “Fine. One stop. Leaving town. Five minutes.”
“Seven and a half,” Enid said.
“...seven and a half,” Wednesday agreed.
Enid thought she might try to shake on it. Instead, Wednesday turned at a perfect 90 degree angle and slid into the driver’s seat of the jet black Porsche, leaving Enid to hurry after her. The seat was low to the ground. Lucky for Wednesday, Enid mused, as she was quite vertically challenged , a phrase Enid had used to describe her once as a joke that she had taken a liking to, which, of course she had; Wednesday loved nothing more than a challenge.
They stopped at a gas station at the very edge of Jericho’s town limits. Wednesday seemed quite perturbed that they’d only made thirty five minutes of progress, and it was already half-past eleven. Enid decided she would need to find something suitable for lunch rather than attempt to ask Wednesday to stop for a meal within the next hour or so. She settled on one of those protein trays, the adult equivalent of a lunchable. If Wednesday was mildly impressed by her first choice, she was only setting herself up for disappointment as Enid continued to shop.
Enid did not take the responsibility of snack shopping lightly. She made sure to walk down every aisle with even the hint of a food product, though she kept her pace brisk, mindful of her time constraint and not wanting to push Wednesday anymore than she had to, though a minute or two extra may be necessary. She piled chips, and gummies, and those little plastic pudding cups into her plastic basket until she was content, forcing Wednesday to pick out a few items for herself along the way. Wednesday begrudgingly grabbed a 90% cacao chocolate bar, which Enid was pretty sure was for baking but didn’t want to discourage her, and a couple of bags of the blue heat Takis.
“Last but not least, drinks!” Enid said, situating them in front of one of the tall glass refrigerators.
She reached for a pink lemonade. Wednesday raised her eyebrows and placed about four more into the basket before grabbing a cold brew for herself a few shelves down. Enid was about to remind her that hydration accountability was a two way street and toss in a couple of bottles of water, but then she thought it would be much funnier to try and force Wednesday to drink something pink several hours into the trip.
They walked up to the register. Enid dumped her haul onto the counter and was about to reach for her wallet, already dreading the price, when Wednesday practically shoved her out of the way. She thrust a $100 bill at the cashier, a bored looking high school kid who seemed exasperated with even the idea of holding the little UV light from inside the register up to the bill, much less with shelling out $65.29 worth of change. Fortunately for him, Wednesday only wanted $10 back, putting the rest on a pump outside. Enid watched him pack their spoils into the thin yellow plastic bags while Wednesday tucked the bill into her coin purse.
The first time Enid had seen the coin purse, black velvet with silver balled clasps, Enid had laughed so hard she’d nearly peed herself because of course that was where Wednesday kept her money (or at least her pocket change–Enid was sure a large sum of Wednesday’s money was buried in the ground somewhere, likely marked down on a coded treasure map of some kind); but over time, she’d grown used to it, the way she’d grown used to all of Wednesday’s peculiarities. Still, she couldn’t help the fond grin that spread across her face at the sight of it, always affected by the odd little habits that Wednesday would loathe to label as quirks.
Wednesday pumped their gas, and soon they were on the highway, making great strides in their journey south. Enid had opened the Nerds clusters by the time they were off the exit ramp, and five miles later decided to at least try and savor them, rolling the aluminum bag shut and stashing them in the center console of the car. She frowned when she noticed a slot for something situated between the volume knobs but no spot for an aux plug in, or a charger for that matter.
She tried the radio, quickly skipping through every station, hoping to find something that she liked, maybe Taylor Swift. Next to her, Wednesday gripped the steering wheel. Enid watched Wednesday’s lips push out into a line as she grit her teeth, annoyance but also restraint. Enid settled on the least staticky station she could find in the next thirty seconds.
“The Porsche is cool and all, but I would’ve appreciated some sort of aux option,” Enid remarked, because she couldn’t help herself.
“I’m sorry this 1979 model of an incredibly rare make from my father’s private collection is not outfitted with the modern auxiliary capabilities that you deem necessary,” Wednesday said.
“I’m just saying, it would’ve been nice if you had maybe considered a Bluetooth speaker,” Enid said.
Wednesday was silent for some time, her eyes focused on the road. Enid checked her phone and wished she had notifications to respond to rather than compulsively scrolling through Twitter.
“There should be a box of cassette tapes in the glove compartment,” Wednesday finally said. “Although, I’m not sure how familiar you are with music released before 2010, so I suppose I have no choice but to stop at a department store and purchase a speaker.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Enid said, smiling nonetheless.
She opened the glove compartment and found the box Wednesday was referring to, stuffed with at least thirty tapes, all lined in neat rows, their labels facing outward. Her smile faltered as she realized Wednesday may have had a point about her lack of pre-y2k musical knowledge, especially when the people responsible for the tape collection were two eccentric middle aged people who looked as though they had stepped directly off of one of Tim Burton’s more gothic movie sets and were entirely committed to that bit. Wednesday’s eyes darted over to her, catching her reaction.
“I’m afraid it may be entirely necessary,” she responded. “Though I should tell you that the tapes are organized chronologically, so if you look towards the end of the last row, there should be something you’ll find at least vaguely recognizable.”
Enid ran her index finger up the rows of tapes, starting at the most recent, though most of those seemed to be kooky sounding indie bands that Enid didn’t recognize, and it didn’t take long until she had noticeably reached the ‘80s. She figured the invention of the iPod had something to do with the skewed sample of more modern music. Finally, she came across one she found herself interested in.
“Isn’t this the band that has that song you like? The one from the Rave’N sophomore year?” Enid asked, holding up a Cramps tape and knowing very well that they were the musical genius behind “Goo Goo Muck,” a song she had listened to probably fifty times since she had first seen Wednesday dance to it, watching her from across the dance floor until Lucas had sidled up beside her and made a remark along the lines of Okay, the oddball has moves , which embarrassed Enid out of her reverie.
Wednesday peered over at the tape in that quick manner of hers, where only her eyes moved and her head remained totally still. Her bottom lip quirked in a way that Enid couldn’t quite decipher. She hoped it was one of Wednesday’s ghost-smiles she was always looking for.
“Yes,” Wednesday said. “But that’s not the right album. ‘Goo Goo Muck’ is track two on Psychedelic Jungle .”
Enid flipped the tape over and scanned its tracklist.
“Yeah, well, this one has a werewolf song,” she said before popping it into the cassette player. “We’re listening to it.”
“In order,” Wednesday said in anticipation of Enid’s desire to skip straight to “I Was A Teenage Werewolf.”
“Fine,” Enid said. “But I reserve the right to five skips.”
“Three,” Wednesday negotiated.
“Three,” Enid agreed.
The music started.
“We’ll stop in New York,” Wednesday said, as if to remind Enid about the speaker. It was an effective reminder.
“Can it be at a Target?” Enid asked.
“If we can be in and out in fifteen minutes, it can,” Wednesday said.
Enid noted that this was considerably longer than the five minutes Wednesday had originally offered up at the gas station, so, rather than pressing further, she decided to take what she could get. She popped the cap off of a fresh pink lemonade with the bottle opener Wednesday had found for her in the center console.
“Absolutely we can.”
The Target off of exit 26 of whatever highway they were on in New York state was in a rundown looking strip mall, sandwiched between an abandoned unit that looked like it had once been a Best Buy and the saddest looking Firehouse Subs Enid had ever seen. It was, predictably, dead inside. Also predictably, Wednesday took off towards the electronics section of the store, barely needing to glance at the signs to know where she was going. Just as Enid started to get distracted by the cute little ankle socks with the otters on them at the outskirts of the miscellaneous clothing section, she felt fingers wrap around her wrist, Wednesday’s fingers, Wednesday’s arm pulling her forcefully along to their destination.
This sort of leading touch, gently assertive, was not foreign to Enid, but it still wasn’t quite common enough to not send her spiraling back to the first time Wednesday had done it, over a year ago in the Nightshade Library.
“Wednesday?” Enid said, practically tripping down the steep stone steps as she followed her roommate into the darkened space. “Did you just ask Thing to keep watch? Are we not supposed to be here? Ohmygod, is this the Nightshades’ spot?”
“Relax,” Wednesday said through gritted teeth. Enid imagined she was starting to regret bringing her along. Sure, Enid had insisted, but knowing Wednesday, she probably could’ve just tied Enid up with something and locked her in their closet until she was finished with her business. “I just need a book, a rare one. I know they have it here.”
“Okay, I really don’t wanna get in trouble,” Enid said. “Didn’t they tell you they were gonna retaliate if you didn’t stop using their resources after you rejected them?”
Wednesday scoffed. She had stopped in front of a large oak bookcase towards the back of the library. It looked darker than the other shelves, and it had ornate stone bookends set sporadically throughout the rows of ancient looking books, some kind of organizational system, Enid assumed .
“You’ve known me for how long, and some part of you still thinks I might actually be afraid of the Nightshades? There are so many clowns in that club, it’s practically a circus.”
A brief expression of satisfaction flickered across her lips. She grabbed a small, unassuming book from a stack of nearly identical ones on one of the lower shelves. This book looked to be by far the most beat up, a hard crack running through its spine. As far as Enid could tell, the pages seemed like they had been singed at the top, the edge of the leather reflected a somewhat melted past, as if someone had failed to throw it into a fire. Thing began to tap sporadically from above.
“SOS,” Wednesday murmured as Enid heard him scuttle away.
There was thumping on the stairs, measured steps down followed by heavy, clumsy footfalls. Wednesday grabbed Enid’s wrist and pulled her into a crouching position behind one of the many shelves before Enid could react. Wednesday’s hand was surprisingly rough, covered in calluses that dotted every single one of her fingertips, from her cello, and ran across the top of her palm, from her gravedigging habit. Enid couldn’t take her mind off the harshness of the press of Wednesday’s hand into her own soft skin, her fingers not bothering to be gentle in their curl around Enid’s wrist. It felt too familiar from someone who’d only give Enid a hug when faced with the possibility of her gruesome death, or at the very least, the imminent threat of teary eyes.
“Where are we supposed to look?” Kent asked. Enid matched his voice to the clunkier set of footsteps in her mind.
“It should be on the last bookcase to the left, second shelf from the top,” Xavier answered. “Look for a little baggie sticking out.”
“I don’t see it,” Kent said. “Plus, I can’t reach.”
“Whatever,”
He stepped closer to the shelf they were hiding behind. Wednesday’s grip tightened around Enid’s arm. A book slid off the shelf–Xavier must have pulled it–and then another, and then another, until finally Enid heard the slight crinkle of a plastic bag being picked up.
“A-ha,” Xavier said. “Okay, let’s go.”
The pair retreated. Enid moved to stand back up, her calves starting to burn from holding her squat, but Wednesday pulled her back down, a clear call for Enid to wait, to follow her lead. Enid shifted into a kneel.
“I thought you said you weren’t scared of them,” she whispered.
Wednesday scowled.
“I’m not. But I’m not going to make my life more difficult than it needs to be.”
Enid smirked but let it go, not sure how much teasing she could get away with.
“Are you gonna have to investigate whatever that was?” she asked instead. “It sure seemed suspicious.”
“It’s just drugs,” Wednesday said, and then, anticipating Enid’s burning need for clarification, added, “Xavier buys weed from this sprite in my chem class.”
“Of course you knew already,” Enid muttered.
They waited in near silence until Thing tapped the all clear. It wasn’t until then that Wednesday let go of Enid’s wrist, and tucked the book under her arm, and Enid tried desperately to memorize all the places where their skin had touched while Wednesday led them back up the staircase and into the main hall.
Here and now, in this Target, Wednesday had almost reached her goal. Her grip around Enid’s wrist was just as tight, but the force with which she pulled her along was lenient, trusting. Wednesday wasn’t the type to let go without good reason, but Enid knew that if she for some reason wanted to stop suddenly, Wednesday would let her, and would stand beside her until they figured out which new direction they were going.
There was an entire shelf dedicated to different models of bluetooth speaker in an assortment of sizes, colors, and qualities. Enid picked up a little round pink one with a suction cup on the bottom.
“Look!
Wednesday eyed the speaker with disdain.
“You continue to let abject cuteness affect your judgment,” she said snidely. “I’m sure the sound quality will be unbearably tinny.” She picked up a much nicer speaker, sleek and rectangular and rounded around the edges. “This one seems much nicer. And it comes in pink as well.”
Enid reached for the pale pink variant’s box, noting the price marked underneath it.
“This one’s like forty bucks!”
“It’s an investment,” Wednesday said. “I detest the way your phone speakers sound. Now, when you want to listen to your horrendously upbeat music in the future, you can use this. It will make the experience marginally better.”
“Alright,” Enid agreed, recognizing the gift for what it was, even behind the insults. “Thank you, Wednesday.”
Wednesday scowled. Enid wondered if she resented the idea that she could have generous motivations. If that were the case, she would spend a lot of time resenting things, given how frequently she saved people’s lives, and how luxurious Eugene’s beehive had become since Wednesday had become a Hummer. Suddenly, Enid realized that they’d completed their Target goal far too quickly, that Wednesday hadn’t allowed Enid to get purposefully distracted after all.
“I thought you said I could have fifteen minutes,” she whined. She knew she was pouting, but she couldn’t decide whether that was a net positive or negative for her self advocacy. Sometimes it worked.
“You will,” Wednesday said. “I retrieved the speaker in just under two minutes, leaving you with ten minutes to frolic about this department store however you so choose and three minutes for checkout.”
“And you’ll come with me?” Enid asked.
“Lead the way,” Wednesday said.
Enid grinned. Then, she had an idea. She felt her palms start to sweat, which was not helpful at this time, and wiped them on her jeans before reaching out to Wednesday’s arm, tugging her along towards the homegoods aisle in the same fashion she was used to being tugged, though with significantly more hesitation. Wednesday seemed entirely unfazed and took to being led around the store much more in stride than Enid had expected from a certified control freak.
They looked at mugs. They read through silly greeting cards. Enid smelled every single candle in the building. She dragged Wednesday to the clothing section and became infatuated with two different skirts, a cute top, and a pair of earrings with dangly strawberry milk colored cows. Wednesday studied her, as if she were measuring her level of excitement, and then circled back for the earrings on their way to self checkout.
Enid watched Wednesday pull out another $100 bill, which was miraculously accepted by the checkout machine. Wednesday neatly pocketed her change and gathered their purchases into her arms sans plastic grocery bag.
“How many hundreds do you have?” Enid asked jokingly as they exited the store, though she did seriously want to know.
“A hundred,” Wednesday said. “Actually, I’m down to ninety eight now.”
“What?” Enid exclaimed. “Wednesday, that’s ten thousand dollars.”
“I’m aware,” Wednesday said, offended Enid had presented the fact like it was something she didn’t know, which was insanely unhelpful when Enid needed some sort of explanation for why they were just casually carrying thousands of dollars with them. Was this some weird rich person thing?
“Where did you get these?” she asked
“Fester,” Wednesday answered. “It’s our payment.”
They’d reached the car.
“Oh my God,” Enid said, stopping just outside the passenger side door.
Wednesday got in, giving Enid no choice but to follow her.
“I’m splitting whatever remains after our trip with you. Fifty-fifty,” Wednesday assured her.
“That’s… not what I’m worried about,” Enid said.
Wednesday gave her an expectant look. It made her want to scream. Maybe she should scream.
“Wednesday!” Enid practically screamed. “You can’t just pay for everything with hundred dollar bills!”
Wednesday blinked at her.
“Why not?”
“People are going to think they’re counterfeit!” Enid exclaimed, bug-eyed.
Wednesday just blinked again.
“But they’re not.”
“It’s still suspicious!” Enid said, then remembered who was bankrolling the trip. “Didn’t your Uncle Fester commit some sort of crime to get this cash?”
“Enid,” Wednesday said, offended once more. “Don’t you think I’ve considered this already? Fester has assured me that he acquired it from somewhere it won’t be missed for at least a few months, perhaps even years. Unless, of course, he were to pull a similar stunt, but he has promised me his restraint, at least until we’re out of the state.”
“Well, still. It makes us look…” Enid struggled to find an adequate word. “...kooky.”
She could’ve sworn she saw Wednesday crack a smile.
“While I would never describe myself as kooky , is that not the general consensus regarding my, as you say, vibe .”
“Yeah, you do have a kooky vibe,” Enid agreed.
“So this immediate impression is unavoidable, is it not?” Wednesday said smugly.
“Yeah, well,” Enid said, giving up on the tiff. Wednesday’s logic was frustratingly sound, and it wasn’t like they had any other readily available form of payment. She doubted Wednesday would’ve brought along an emergency credit card with ten grand stashed in the boot of the car.
Enid had expected the driving to be much more enjoyable with the speaker than it turned out to be. It was her own fault, really. She should’ve just played whatever music she felt like listening to, but she’d wanted to show her gratitude to Wednesday, and she’d also sort of hoped to prove that maybe she was cooler than Wednesday thought she was, maybe she knew at least some music that Wednesday would think was worth listening to.
So, peppered between quintessential 2010s hits and TikTok songs and Enid’s favorite indie pop were just a few songs that Enid had been naive enough to think might bridge the gap between her own playlist and Wednesday’s pretentious taste in music. She started with what felt like her best idea, slipping some Mother Mother into the cue, but Wednesday didn’t seem to find it any less distasteful than the Clairo she’d had on moments before. She tried transitioning to some depressed female indie artists at varying levels of mentally fucked up, but none of that seemed to stick either. As a last resort, she put on Olivia Rodrigo’s “Brutal,” and she had no one to blame but herself when Wednesday audibly complained about that one.
By the time they were looking for somewhere to stop for dinner, Enid’s hope at musical bonding had been squashed, and she had resulted to playing Edith Piaf Radio and feeling utterly joyless about it. Plus, she was starting to worry she had spoiled her appetite with peach rings and pudding and Cheetos.
“Where would you like to eat?” Wednesday asked just as the clock on the dash struck seven. It took Enid by surprise.
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes,” Wednesday said, as if it should be obvious. “If you aren’t ready yet, we can hold off until around eight, but I would like to start looking soon.”
The sentiment was oddly considerate. Enid had half expected Wednesday to get off at a random exit, pull through her drive-thru of choice, and order for the both of them without consulting her at all. It was one of those moments where Enid realized that Wednesday was, against her natural inclinations, trying to cheer her up.
“Can we get Taco Bell?” Enid asked hesitantly. “And I would appreciate the wait. I did get a little full of snacks.”
“Taco Bell?” Wednesday asked with the beginning of a sneer. Enid wondered if she was about to be offended in Spanish, and if it would be bad to think that was kind of attractive, but then Wednesday took a short breath and said, “Yes, we’ll get… Taco Bell. The name isn’t promising, but I’ll try to keep an open mind, I suppose.”
It took less than fifteen minutes for Enid to decide she was no longer full of snacks, which totally didn’t have anything to do with her impatience at the thought of the Doritos locos taco, and thus, they began their search. Luckily for Enid, Taco Bell was pretty much everywhere, especially if they were willing to pull through a drive thru at a gas station, which Enid was, though Wednesday’s hesitance did encourage her to look for one that had its own building on Maps.
Very soon, they were pulling off at an exit that offered a modest array of fast food, gas stations, and budget motels. Enid felt herself start to salivate at the sight of the big purple bell. Wednesday pulled up to the drive thru speaker.
“I would like the Doritos Locos Tacos, please!” Enid said excitedly. “Three of them.”
It took a moment for someone to ask for their order, but once they did, Wednesday relayed this information into the speaker. As the exchange occurred, Enid’s eyes fell onto something else on the very large, brightly lit menu, something very tempting.
“Can I also get the cinnamon twists?” she asked, already knowing the answer was yes before Wednesday even opened her mouth. “Oh, and I want a thing of fiesta potatoes.”
“I’m not saying that,” Wednesday mumbled.
“Wednesday, you have to!” Enid pleaded. “I really want them!”
“One order of fiesta potatoes?” the drive thru attendant asked, her voice crackling through the speaker.
Enid flushed at the knowledge that the attendant had heard their bickering, but Wednesday seemed very pleased with the fact that she hadn’t had to resort to speaking the words fiesta potatoes out loud.
“Yes, thank you,” Enid called out through the open driver’s side window. She directed her attention back to Wednesday. “Alright, now what do you want?”
“I have my snacks,” Wednesday said.
“Is that gonna be all for today?” the attendant asked.
“No!” Enid called out again before Wednesday could say anything and then turned sharply back to her argument. “Not gonna cut it. Get something.”
“I suppose I will get a chalupa,” Wednesday said, but she still sounded disturbed.
“Two chalupas,” Enid called into the speaker, determined to get a full meal’s worth of food into Wednesday. “And she’ll want them supreme.”
“Is chicken okay?” the attendant asked.
Enid looked at Wednesday.
“Yes,” Wednesday said.
“Okay, $21.13. Pull forward.”
“What’s supreme?” Wednesday asked once they were waiting at the drive thru window.
“It just means with tomatoes and sour cream.”
Wednesday looked horrified, or as horrified as she could look, her eyes wide and severe and her mouth shrinking into a small ‘o.’
“The default isn’t tomatoes and sour cream?”
“...no,” Enid said, wincing a little as she remembered that it was her idea to come here.
Wednesday huffed.
“Well, thank you,” she muttered. “I do want them supreme.”
Enid beamed at her and was just about to revel in this small victory of knowing Wednesday when the window slid open and a very tired looking person held their hand out for a form of payment. Wednesday went for her wallet. Enid remembered the hundreds.
“Hey, no, Wednesday, I got this,” she said, rummaging through the front pocket of her backpack for her debit card.
Wednesday frowned.
“No. We discussed this. We’re using Fester’s funds for all travel expenses.”
“We’ll write it down and you can reimburse me,” Enid said, jabbing her card at Wednesday. “Here. Please just give this to them.”
Wednesday took the card, but she wasn’t happy about it. They got their food. Wednesday pulled into the empty parking lot to eat under one of the sparsely installed LED light poles. Enid happily dug through the bag for her Dorito tacos. Wednesday gingerly picked up one of the chalupas with just two fingers and cautiously unpeeled the paper wrapper as if the food might spring forward like some kind of taco monster and bite off her thumbnail with the edges of its shell. Enid was glad to have ordered more food than Wednesday because she had a sneaking suspicion she was going to be a faster eater.
Halfway through eating, Enid put on some kpop. Then, she had a brilliant idea, so brilliant she wondered why it took her this long to come up with it–she should play BABYMETAL for Wednesday. She loaded up her cue.
“How do you feel about this song?” she asked excitedly as the heavy metal power chords really got going.
“It’s overwhelming,” Wednesday said, taking a careful bite of her second chalupa. “There’s far too much going on.”
Enid felt her face fall before she even felt the disappointment. She’d burned through her frustration long ago, and the lack of a bite or a sting underneath just made her sadness that much heavier. Wednesday was watching her. She had to shake off the heaviness. Looking into Wednesday’s eyes, Enid could spit a bitter laugh into Wednesday’s face at the hypocrisy in her complaint; she almost always overwhelmed Enid with everything going on behind her big eyes, despite her inhuman stillness, and the worst part was, Enid could never say anything about it because it wouldn’t make any sense to anyone else because of how goddamn quiet Wednesday was. But Enid knew–she knew just how much there was under the surface of every look, every word, every twitch in the muscles around her mouth, every blink of those big, big eyes.
“May I show you a song I think you’ll enjoy?” Wednesday asked, just when Enid felt like she could sink through her seat, or maybe explode into a million bloody, fleshy pieces, which Wednesday would probably love.
Wednesday’s eye contact was forceful, and the thing behind her eyes was set in stone. She set down her chalupa. Recognizing this as some kind of olive branch, Enid handed over her phone. Wednesday, who had grown more accustomed to searching for things on Enid’s phone than her own, quickly and efficiently found what she wanted to play.
The song was in Spanish. It opened with a low, thumping sounding tuba bass line and an eerie blend of a woman’s wispy vocals and a woodwind of some kind, giving it a halloweeny vibe that it maintained throughout the entirety of the first verse, but then fell into a lighter, more pleasant, flowy sort of sound at the chorus, which Enid enjoyed immensely. It felt almost like this weird perfect balance of Wednesday and herself, all wrapped up into one.
“What’s it called?” she asked.
“Did you like it?” Wednesday asked in return, as if the name was something unimportant, especially in the face of Enid’s approval. Though she had begrudgingly allowed herself to be swayed by Enid’s opinions in the past, she had never seemed concerned for Enid’s approval like she was now. It was a rather silly look on her, this self consciousness, silly in a sweet way.
“Yes,” Enid said decisively. She patted Wednesday’s knee in approval. “Very much so.”
“I shall add it to your liked songs.” Wednesday said.
Enid grinned at the preciseness of Wednesday’s tech speak, being reminded that everything she had picked up about the internet, she had picked up verbatim. They finished their food and began driving again. For all her complaining, Wednesday did help Enid finish off the fiesta potatoes. As they got back onto the interstate, Enid found a tape from the band whose song Wednesday had just shown her, inspiring her to switch back to the cassettes. Wednesday seemed pleasantly surprised by this, which was something they shared as Enid discovered she liked more and more of what Mecano had to offer.
Eventually the tape ran out, and Enid was forced to rummage through the box for something else she might find interesting. It was honestly really embarrassing how unfamiliar she was with the Addams’ music collection, especially considering Enid considered herself to be somewhat musically cultured. Somewhat.
“I don’t mind the music you play,” Wednesday said, a subtle suggestion that Enid put down the box.
“Yes, you do,” Enid said back, remembering all the times that
“Okay, I do,” Wednesday snapped. “But I don’t mind that I mind.”
“That makes no sense,” Enid laughed.
“Yes, it does,” Wednesday said.
Enid elected not to respond but chose a new tape anyway. She put it in the player. Wednesday hit the button to pop it out. Enid frowned and pushed it back in. Wednesday popped it out again. Enid shoved it back in, and this time, when Wednesday went to eject it, shoved her hand over the space where it fit into the player.
“You’re going to break it,” Wednesday said sharply.
Enid sighed and gave up. It wasn’t worth fighting, especially since she really did want nothing more than to listen to 1989 , the perfect album for driving at night.
They drove for another few hours, mostly in comfortable silence. The roads were becoming much clearer as it got later, which Enid was grateful for. The charm of Wednesday’s road rage was starting to wear off. Feeling much more at ease, Enid took what she expected to be a short catnap. When she awoke, it was almost one in the morning. She blinked and looked out the windshield at the dark interstate, the little reflective pieces of plastic between lanes. They were alone except for a couple of semi trucks and a sedan going about fifteen under the speed limit. She slowly realized that Wednesday had no intention of stopping somewhere for the night.
“Don’t you think it’s time we get a hotel?” Enid asked. Her voice was groggy and thick with sleep.
Wednesday said nothing, just kept her eyes on the road.
“You need to get some rest,” Enid added.
“I’ll be fine,” Wednesday said. “If we keep going, we can be there in an hour. Go back to sleep.”
“What about gas?” Enid asked.
“We stopped thirty minutes ago,” Wednesday answered.
“And you didn’t wake me up to buy more snacks?” Enid pouted.
Wednesday side eyed her.
“You have all the snacks you could ever want.”
Enid shook her head. She could already feel herself drifting off.
“If you’re lacking anything of importance, I’ll buy it for you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Wends,” Enid murmured.
“Don’t call me that,” Wednesday said.
It was the last thing Enid heard before she drifted back off to sleep. The second time she awoke, the car was stopped and Wednesday was prodding her in the shoulder.
“We’re here,” Wednesday said. “Get up unless you want to sleep in the car.”
Enid groaned and hauled herself out and into the night. It was cool out, but not nearly as cold as she had expected, and much muggier. Enid bunched up her nose at the feeling of the humidity on her face. She followed Wednesday into the lobby of the hotel they had parked at. It was only once they had made it inside that Enid had processed just how many other cars were in the parking lot. They stopped in front of a large wood desk with a tall, friendly looking woman behind it.
“How much for a room?” Wednesday asked, peering up at the woman manning the front desk.
“$101 a night. How comfortable are you ladies with staying in a room with one bed? We’re all booked up these next couple of days.”
“Why?” Wednesday asked, making no comment on her comfortability sharing a bed with Enid, which Enid would’ve obsessed over if she hadn’t been so tired.
“There’s a huge Mothman event this week,” the clerk answered. “Is that not why you gals are here?”
“I thought the Mothman Festival was in September,” Wednesday said.
“It is,” the clerk said. “This is a Mothman Convention. It’s not an official event put on by the town, but every couple of summers, this real big cryptid club all get together and search for Mothman.”
Wednesday raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. Enid wondered if the clerk noticed at all.
“Have they ever considered he may want to be left alone?”
The clerk laughed.
“Please don’t suggest that to them. This is really good for business.”
Wednesday didn’t dignify that with a response, just reached out her hand for their room key, which the clerk handed her happily. Enid dragged her feet all the way down the hallway and up a flight of carpeted stairs before they reached their room. Wednesday swiped the keycard and held their door open for Enid. Upon seeing the queen bed in front of them, Enid pulled off her shoes and dove under the covers, travel clothes and all, reveling in the freshness of the sheets.
“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Wednesday announced, which only made Enid feel slightly bad about not changing or brushing her teeth, and then took her leave in the bathroom. Whatever. Enid would brush for twice as long in the morning. She was fast asleep before Wednesday got back, which nipped a lot of bed sharing panic in the bud, but even as she relaxed back into her pillow, turned on her side and facing the wall, Enid knew she’d be in for a rather startling awakening.