Morning dawned grim and gray and the Addams clan stirred slowly from its fitful slumber. Gomez was up with the sun, and he slipped out of bed and into his long robe silently, while the rest of the family was still waking. He pushed open the glass door that led to the adjacent balcony, stepped out and surveyed the grounds.
From this vantage point, he could see across the whole expanse of the property. The sprawling ancestral cemetery, the putrid swampland rife with quicksand and dead trees, the treacherous ravine, the acres and acres of wasted earth, choked with rocks and weeds. He took a deep breath of thick, fetid air and sighed contentedly. He heard the faint pop of knuckles cracking at his side and felt a soft tug on the cuff of his silk pajama bottoms. Looking down he saw the family’s faithful hand Thing, perched on its fingertips by his slippered foot. “Good morning old man.”