The aftermath of the Harvest Festival unraveled slowly, like fog refusing to lift.
Wednesday gave her statement to the sheriff—clear, concise, and utterly ignored. She described the creature, the attack, and Rowan's collapse. But disbelief hung in the air like a foul odor.
Part of it wasn't surprising.
Rowan, the only one who could confirm her story, had already been rushed out of Jericho. Too much blood loss, too weak to stabilize—now in a coma several towns away. One witness gone.
The second witness was Ethan.
And Ethan's statement contradicted her's entirely.
Sheriff Galpin read from his notes, brow furrowed. "He says it was dark. Hard to see. Looked like a… large bear."
Wednesday's jaw tightened. "He is lying."
"Or he's telling the truth," the sheriff countered. "You said yourself it was chaotic. Lights, noise—"
"Sheriff," she said, voice flat, "I can distinguish between a bear and a monster."
Before he could answer, Principal Weems arrived, composed and determined to shut the entire incident down.
"Sheriff, I assure you," she said, "there was no monster on school grounds or in the woods. Student Ethan's statement aligns with that. A simple wildlife encounter—unfortunate, but not unusual."
"Children have active imaginations. Especially Wednesday."
Jericho couldn't afford panic.
Nevermore couldn't afford bad press.
And Weems—ever the pristine image-obsessed headmistress—would rather rewrite reality itself than allow the words monster attack drift anywhere near a newspaper.
A single headline was all it would take to shatter the fragile, barely-functioning truce between normies and outcasts. That relationship was already hanging by a thread; Weems wasn't about to let Wednesday snap it.
So, of course, she shut everything down. Denied Wednesday's report. Supported Ethan's "it was probably a bear" statement.
"So," the sheriff said, closing his notebook, "no creature, no proof, and the main victim can't speak. Until we get more, this stays classified as an animal incident."
Wednesday didn't argue. She simply stood, silent and unblinking.
They could ignore her.
Dismiss her.
Call her delusional.
But the drawing hidden in her coat, the blood on the leaves, and the memory of monster told her otherwise.
Someone was lying.
And Wednesday Addams had no intention of letting either remain hidden.
***
Just like that, Wednesday became famous at Nevermore—for all the wrong reasons.
Word traveled fast: the new girl had claimed she saw a monster in the woods, a story no one could verify and the adults dismissed outright.
By breakfast the next morning, half the school had already decided she was an attention seeker. The other half simply thought she was weird… even by Nevermore standards.
Whispers followed her down hallways.
Stares lingered a little too long.
And every time she passed a cluster of students, someone inevitably muttered, "That's the girl who made up the monster."
Wednesday sat at her desk in the dorm, the old sketch spread out beneath the lamplight. Her eyes traced every jagged line, every shadowed figure, hunting for anything—anything—that might tie it to an actual source. An author. A book.
Behind her, Enid fidgeted behind Wednesday , the silence stretching like a rubber band about to snap.
"If you're trying to annoy me with your staring," Wednesday said flatly, still not looking up, "you've succeeded. Now say what you want to say."
Enid hesitated for half a second before blurting, "I'm just—curious. Did you really see a monster?"
Wednesday didn't sigh, but it felt like she did. "Yes. And I'm not desperate enough to invent stories for the sake of impressing a crowd of hormonally imbalanced teenagers."
"Then… was Ethan lying?"
Wednesday finally lifted her gaze—not at Enid, but past her, as if seeing through walls, through lies, through people.
"He wasn't lying," she said. "He was hiding something."
Enid blinked. "You think he's involved?"
"I don't think," Wednesday corrected. " He predicted the monster's appearance. He fought it off. And somehow, he walked away without a single scratch."
"So… you're investigating him too?"
"Of course." Wednesday folded the drawing with precise fingers. "Anyone connected to the creature—willingly or not—goes on my list."
"So how did he fight it?" Enid asked, suddenly brightening. Her eyes practically sparkled. "Was it, like—super badass? Did he do a flip? Or punches? Please tell me there were punches."
Wednesday didn't even bother looking up from the sketch.
"I don't have time to explain," she said flatly. "And if you don't get out of my way, I can't get to the library."
Enid's excitement deflated instantly. Her shoulders dropped, ears practically folding like a scolded puppy.
"Oh… okay," she murmured, clearly disappointed.