Norman Normanmeyer, that was his name. And he was one of many. Of hundreds, thousands... infinite, in fact.
The multiverse was that outlandish.
The Norman Normanmeyer we know as Norman Three knew he was a little out of the ordinary compared to most of his counterparts serving Norman Prime of the Normalcy Nine. Most Norman Normanmeyers were well into adulthood, middle-aged and with families. Norman Three, on the other hand, was still in his twenties, wore colored sunglasses when he didn't need to, and styled his hair in a mohawk.
Many of his variants looked at him sideways and sometimes even with open contempt just for being punk. As if there weren't any other variants that were more out of the ordinary! There were some Normans who were Normas, born female. And he had seen at least a few green variants and one made of rock...
...but all of them were living images of conformity in their respective worlds, and in that respect Norman Three was a little different. But wasn't that normal too? The multiverse was infinite, damn it. Who were the others to judge him?
He couldn't deny it, this had caused him some doubts on occasion. The Normalcy Nine's mission was supposed to be to restore normality to the multiverse by eliminating the greatest example of freakishness imaginable: the Addams family. But what was really normal about what they did? However, he didn't dwell on it anymore... Norman One had warned him when he heard him express his perplexity aloud one day when he had let his guard down. It wasn't a good idea to let those ideas germinate in his head because the Mistress always found out sooner or later, and the result wasn't pretty...
“Disintegrated into ashes in the blink of an eye,” Norman One had told him, referring to the ill-fated fate of a Crackstone variant who had dared to question the Mistress's leadership.
So Norman Three decided to follow the advice, bow his head, and swallow his resentment in order to redirect it toward what was truly important, toward what united him with all the Norman Normanmeyers.
Killing the Addams Family.
Norman hated the Addams family. And in his opinion, he had had it much worse than his counterparts.
You see, most Normans only know the Addams as neighbors, already as adults. An unfortunate twist of fate that leads them to live next door to the monstrous family. Basically, many Normans spend the first forty years of their lives more or less in peace, unaware of the madness and strangeness of that clan of lunatics.
Norman Three met Gomez Addams in kindergarten. And Gomez Addams decided, for some twisted reason that defied all logic, that Norman Three was his best friend in the world.
No matter how hard Norman tried to distance himself, no matter how many insults he hurled at Gomez, no matter how many times he pushed him, sabotaged him, or tried to attack him with childish rage... Gomez always saw it all as wonderful displays of friendship.
And he responded accordingly: dynamite and other explosives, snakes and other poisonous animals offered as gifts, candy that would kill an adult moose if eaten, invitations to his monstrous home to see his equally abhorrent brother, which little Norman couldn't refuse because for some reason his parents were damn happy that he was “friends” with the heir to a family as influential as the Addams.
Because that was another detail that fueled Norman Three's resentment. The Addams family was rich.
Absurdly rich, the kind of wealth you would expect from someone more suited to a cartoon series than real life.
And they squandered it on the most insane things.
For someone from a humble background like Norman, this drove him crazy. He couldn't help thinking that every move Gomez made was a calculated maneuver to show off his wealth and status, to make it clear to Norman that he was just another possession of his...
That wasn't the case, not really. Gomez was genuinely sincere in his proclamations of friendship, but that was something Norman would never want to admit or accept.
And so the years passed, with his social life ruined by always being associated with the Addams family, whether he liked it or not. He clung to music and punk (or at least, the superficial version of punk that he had misinterpreted) as signs of his own identity and hid his hatred and resentment under a layer of apathy and sarcasm that Gomez and his family found charming.
God, how he hated them.
But that wasn't the last straw. It was much later, in his senior year of high school, when Norman Three began to consider killing Gomez Addams.
And it was all because of Morticia Frump.
She and her sister arrived in town that year. Apparently, her twin sister Ophelia had come specifically to be Gomez's fiancée in an arranged marriage between the Addams and Frump families. It was perhaps the only time Norman felt a slight hint of sympathy for Gomez... an arranged marriage of this kind felt almost medieval, and it was clear that the Addams heir was not happy with the situation. Even a blind man could see that there was little or no compatibility between Ophelia and him.
But anyway, that wasn't Norman's problem. And Morticia was much more deserving of his attention...
Morticia Frump was... well, yes, she was perhaps as strange as the Addams in a way. But at that time she wasn't yet as strange as she would become, at least in Norman's biased eyes.
Norman only saw a quiet, shy girl of inexplicable beauty, overshadowed by the exuberance of her twin sister, who was much more inclined to attract public attention. She was a friendly young woman who always had a kind word for Norman (actually, a kind word for everyone, but Norman never wanted to see that).
Norman fell in love with her on the spot.
Unfortunately for him, Morticia felt the same way about Gomez.
And vice versa.
And because, in Norman's eyes, Gomez Addams always got what he wanted and the universe bowed down before him, it was only a matter of time before his engagement to Ophelia fell apart and Gomez and Morticia ended up together. They got married right after high school.
Gomez even had the nerve to invite him to the wedding. Norman almost wanted to accept the invitation so he could strangle him right there, but that jerk would probably think it was a wedding gift.
He didn't see them again until many years later... not until one day he came face to face with a stranger wearing his own visage, wrapped in a crimson cloak, offering him the chance to join a sacred mission.
A mission to...
Norman woke up.
All those memories had been his mind kicking back into gear as he emerged from unconsciousness.
Oh, damn... everything hurts.
What had happened? Oh, yes! He had caught that kid who had left the Addams' house when he and his companions had gone to investigate the place to find out what had happened to Norman Prime. And Norman One had tried to interrogate the child and had even threatened to kill him.
Norman Three hadn't liked that very much... killing the kid? No, that wasn't right.
If he were at least an Addams... then that would be another story, of course.
But... where was he now?
Well, it was impossible for him to know. He was sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair, bound hand and foot, with a blindfold covering his eyes, and...
“Ah, you're awake.”
Norman flinched when he heard the voice. It was too close, as if the other person was sitting practically next to him.
He remained very still, without saying a word.
“No need to try to pretend you're asleep, I saw you jolt in your chair.”
Norman didn't recognize the voice. It was a man, an adult, and from his tone, he seemed amused by the situation, which was definitely not a good sign for Norman.
“Who... who are you?” he asked.
“Oh, no, buddy. That's not how the game works... Don't you know the rules? I'm the one who gets to ask the questions. You're the one tied to the chair and at my mercy after trying to break into my family's house and hurt them. I hope I don't have to explain it to you because I might have a problem with you.”
Someone pulled the blindfold covering his eyes, removing it. Norman opened his eyes and... saw only darkness.
“But if I'm in the dark, what was the point of wearing the blindfold?”
“For the drama! And didn't I just tell you that you're not the one asking the questions here?” replied the voice.
Norman strained his eyes, trying to make out some silhouette or shape or something... but there wasn't the slightest glimmer of light that his eyes could absorb to even distinguish the most basic contours of the room he was in. The humidity in the air suggested something like an attic or a basement, but he couldn't be sure.
“Look, this can be very simple. I ask, you answer, and everyone's happy,” the voice continued, “I just want to know why you attacked my family and why my niece and her wife have disappeared, leaving their daughters alone, which I don't think they would ever do, even as a joke.”
“I... I don't know anything about that...”
“Oh, no? Well, we're going to have a problem.”
“No... I'm not going to tell you a word,” Norman muttered, feeling a surge of loyalty to the cause of the Normalcy Nine.
A rather inopportune moment for that.
The person in the room with him didn't respond to that. Well, not with words, at least. A short, amused giggle echoed in the darkness.
A giggle that made Norman's blood run cold.
The voice was different... but in the multiverse, it was perfectly normal for variants of the same individual to have completely different voices.
But that giggle... Norman had heard it before. And it belonged to one of the few Addams who genuinely terrified him.
There was a flash of light. A sparkle of electricity shining in an outstretched hand.
A pale, dark-eyed face with a playful smile appeared before him in the darkness, partially illuminated by the sparks.
Fester Addams.
“Well, let's get started in earnest. One little question at a time, and for every one you don't answer...”
The sparks of electricity intensified, illuminating the entire room for a few seconds.
And the objects and instruments in it.
In that moment, Norman regretted many things.
§§§
In the main hall of the house, two pairs of twins (Dora & Theo, Day & Rissa), a young prince (Geraint), and a flesh golem (Varadi) were passing the time as best they could when screams of intense pain began to come from the attic.
Dora raised her eyebrows, “Well, it looks like it's not going to be peaceful.”
“I hope Grunkle Fester doesn't go too far... I mean, I know he's not like the Fester from our dimension, but sometimes they get carried away with their enthusiasm,” Theo commented.
Another bloodcurdling scream shook the house.
“How long do you think it will take them?” asked Varadi.
“Hmm, wanna bet?” asked Dora.
“I say she'll have him confessing in less than an hour,” said Theo.
“Two hours!” exclaimed Geraint.
“Are you playing too, little tadpole?” asked Dora.
“Of course I am! And don't call me a tadpole, I'm a wolf!”
“More like a puppy,” laughed Dora, as she caught the boy in midair just as he jumped toward her, eager to bite her.
Day, meanwhile, just sighed as another scream of horror echoed through the house.
“Aren't you playing, Day?” asked Varadi.
“I can't bet with money, Mom still won't let Uncle take us to rob banks,” muttered the girl.
“What if you bet something else? Candy, maybe?” asked Dora.
“Oh, yes, that sounds better than the gold coins I was going to use!” said Geraint.
“Hmm... Well, for me, put two bags of newt eyes. The salty ones. And one of roadkill raccoon paws for Rissa,” said Day, pointing to her twin sister.
Larissa Tuesday Addams had fallen asleep on her sister's shoulder as soon as the screams began. The terrible sounds of torture echoing throughout the house were like the sweetest of lullabies to her.
§§§
Universes away, in a place outside of time itself, the being known as the Mistress suddenly raised her head, sensing that something was wrong.
In the room around her, thousands of spheres of light resonated discordantly. Among them, a new sphere had emerged, distinct from the others.
Corrupt, different.
The Mistress rose, enveloped in a cloud of shadows and black feathers. Pale, naked arms emerged from the folds of her cloak, seeming to extend further than would be naturally possible until they reached the object of discord.
“What are you?” she whispered, “Who are you?”
She took the sphere in her hands, bringing it closer to herself.
“You are still forming, your essence is...” In the shadows of her hood, her eyes widened, “Oooh, I understand now.”
She aimed without looking.
And she fired.
Hitting the local Enid Sinclair squarely, who fell onto the bed and began to disintegrate in a matter of seconds.
“What an unexpected twist,” she said, a hint of genuine interest sprinkled in her voice.
She dropped the sphere. It fell to the floor and came to a complete stop upon impact with a thud. It didn’t crack or bounce… it simply stopped moving.
The Mistress raised one of her hands and plunged it into the dark folds of her hood, through the shadows that hid her face.
She squeezed with her fingers. A wet sound was heard.
She withdrew her hand. Her fingers were covered in blood, and between three of them she held an eye with a dark iris that had been gouged out. At no point during the process did her body language show any sign that she had experienced any pain or discomfort in doing so. For her, gouging out an eye was as mundane as scratching an itch was for a normal person.
“Hmm... let's see, let's see...”
She opened her fingers, the eye suddenly floating above her palm. A scarlet glow began to envelop it. From around her cloak, a cloud of black feathers began to swirl around her.
“I see... many pieces moving...”
The feathers turned into crows. Birds as black as pitch, flying shadows emerging from the cloak that enveloped the unnatural figure of The Mistress. The cawing of the birds filled the room, becoming deafening.
And The Mistress... saw.
“Many pieces... and some could be problematic.”
Hidden in the shadows of her hood, a smile formed on her face. The kind of smile that would make a baby cry, a dog whimper in pain, or an adult's hair turn gray in an instant as their sanity crumbled.
It was time to turn the board around.
In person.
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