This was for Haloween but I never had the chance to finish it. Quotes are taken from the 'Malleus Mellificarum' and the Addams Family does not belong to me.
His wife had arranged this little soiree, in honour of the holiday of Halloween. It was an oft celebrated holiday in their family; the time when they came together to celebrate the living, the dead and the undecided. But for him it was a time of reflection. He ran his fingers over the worn, cold leather of the tome. It had once been leafed with gold and finely bound; now it was old and worn, the once vibrant gold turned to a pale, muted shimmer.
Malleus Mellificarum - 'Hammer of the Witches'.
He brushed his fingers across the embossed title and thought of her. Of how this book was something she had never shared with him; even though she had owned it for as long as he could remember. He had left her to get ready in their chamber, though her guests had already begun to arrive. He could hear them faintly through the large oak doors as they arrived in the hall, Itt and Margaret, others who had followed behind them. But he did not make himself available as the master of the estate yet. Not while his Duchess was getting ready.
She was the perfect hostess, down the very last detail. Even the library had been decked with fine, spindly cobwebs and orange and black candles. Though he was sure that leaving the book out had been an oversight on her part. She had obviously been reading it earlier in the day. He sat down at the desk and pulled it towards him. The book made a dull thud as it landed on the heavy oak. A thud that would affect his conscience. A plume of dust gusted toward him from the yellowing pages. Yet Morticia never left anything unless she wanted him to find it.
Whoever believes that any creature can be changed for the better or the worse, or transformed into another kind or likeness, except by the Creator of all things, is worse than a pagan and a heretic. And so when they report such things are done by witches it is not Christian, but plainly heretical, to maintain this opinion.
He found himself enchanted. He had forgotten that he had been bewitched. Every time he re-discovered this revelation it hit him with the force of all humanity and it pleased him with all the delight that it should. The door to the library creaked open slowly and he raised his head. He smiled at her, took into account her beauty that seemed to have transcended time. It was appropriate that he should read this on All Hallows Eve. She glided towards him, head bowed, hands still at her sides. Vermillion nails.
"Darling, our guests are here."
Her eyes were glittering in the candle light. He could not resist her.
Is it a Christian view to maintain that witches can infect the minds of men
with an inordinate love of strange women, and so inflame their hearts that by
no shame or punishment, by no words or actions can they be forced to desist
from such love…
The ballroom was decorated with the inventive precisions that she displays in other areas of her life. With that artistic eye. The children took up the initial part of his time in the ballroom. Wednesday was dresses as a plague victim. Her mother, she informed him, helped her collect the congealed blood. He danced with his child; she was nearing 13 and had taken on qualities so like her mother. There was a silkiness to his daughter and hidden behind that was deadliness. She was a carbon copy. Deadly and beautiful.
There are three methods above all by which witches,
subvert the innocent, and by which that perfidy is continually being increased.
On this Halloween night, his Wednesday was most at ease.
He followed her floating figure around the room wit his eyes. But he would not go to her. This, he knew, was not the time. They were entertaining; Morticia, for all she would bleed him of every fibre of his strength in the middle of this hall, was always concerned with manners. She would only condescend to come to him when she seen fit. And he must accept this, as any bewitched man would. At this very moment she was enthralling another victim. Though he was dressed as a doctor, Gomez recognised him as a business associate. She was so entirely able to make these transactions. Any mild form of what she was capable of would have been called flirtation but he knew well that it was more than that. She placed her hand on the man's shoulder and Gomez seen, as beautiful as she was; his eyes were not concentrating on her face. Her whisper carried through the ballroom as she offered the man some wine. Innocence and evil, all in the one gesture. As if she knew his eyes were on her she turned her head slowly toward him. Her bright eyes met his and she smiled slowly, her red lips curling up. The tightening in his chest, the jealousy subsiding as she took him back into her affections. Yet, the millisecond he thought she might deprive him of them was more than enough to make his strength evaporate. He strode, with outward coolness, towards his wife.
"Cara mia," he took his hand in his, kissing the cool skin there.
She pressed her palm against his cheek in a very intimate gesture. Her ice cold hand against his face was exciting in the way that only she was able to manifest. A simple touch.
"French," he growled.
He took her in his arms and began moving with her to the music. To have her in his arms, to watch as she bowed her eyes and smiled was more to him that anything he could ever be given. He swept his hand along her rib cage, though the bones of her corset prevented him from truly feeling the contours of her body. She remained quiet; she did not rebuff him at all. He led her from the dance floor, quietly and without protest. The party would continue without them. They would not be missed and those who came to a conclusion, they would choose not to oppose it. She was bewitching him but he could be the one who had led her astray.
Therefore the devil tries all the harder to seduce all the more saintly virgins and girls; and there is reason in this, besides many examples of it.
He took her to the dungeon, the heart of their home. Their walk was quiet and all he could hear was the shallow quality of her breath. He knew why this was, it was the corset. It was the signature of their silences; that shallow, innocent breathing. It spoke of crinoline and manners, of faint, diminutive females. It belied her truth. The sconces on the walls thrilled him as she slipped in and out of shadow as he removed her clothing from her. On Halloween she submitted to him.
He allowed her to choose her poison. He kept up the momentum should the spell, this rare and interesting moment, be taken from him as quickly as she gave it to him. After, when her blood was spilled, he laid her down on fine pillows of satin and velvet. He couldn't help but let it tumble from his mouth as she lay supine on the satin, shielded from the grime of decaying stones. He stared at the white, pearly skin of her abdomen. Her mouth was full with the smile of satisfaction.
The party raged on above them as it forced its way into his throat, "I am the devil; and if you wish, I will always be ready at your pleasure, and will not fail you in any necessity."
"You found my book," she whispered, a sigh of great satisfaction sliding from her lips, "Happy Halloween."