Chapter 4: The Incident at the Weathervane

"Bee supply run," Eugene announced, bouncing into our room with the kind of manic energy that usually preceded either brilliant discoveries or complete disasters. "Want to come to Jericho? I need to pick up some equipment, and you should see the town. Know your environment and all that."

Jericho. The name triggered half-formed warnings, but I couldn't place why. Something about the town was important, connected to the larger story in ways I couldn't remember.

"Sure."

The walk to town took twenty minutes through autumn woods that looked like something from a Gothic fairy tale. Eugene provided running commentary about local history—how Jericho had been founded by outcasts fleeing persecution, how the relationship between town and school had always been complicated, how most of the normie population tolerated Nevermore students as long as they kept their powers quiet.

"They're not exactly prejudiced," he explained as we reached the outskirts. "More like... strategically ignorant. Don't ask, don't tell, don't transform in public."

Jericho looked like every small New England town that had ever appeared in a horror movie. Main Street lined with shops that catered to tourists, historical markers explaining battles that happened centuries ago, and underneath it all, a sense of careful performance. Like everyone was playing their assigned role in some elaborate theatrical production.

"There's the Weathervane," Eugene said, pointing to a coffee shop with outdoor seating and windows that reflected the afternoon sun. "Best coffee in town. Tyler Galpin works there—sheriff's son, seems decent enough."

Tyler Galpin.

The name hit like ice water down my spine. My fragmented memories screamed warnings—Hyde, monster, dangerous—but provided no context. Just primitive terror that made my shadow pool closer to my feet.

"You okay? You're doing that pale thing again."

"Fine. Just... coffee shops make me nervous."

Crowds. Enclosed spaces. Potential for witnesses.

Eugene accepted the explanation without question, steering us toward a different shop that specialized in beekeeping supplies. The owner greeted him like an old friend, and they immediately launched into a technical discussion about seasonal hive management that might as well have been conducted in ancient Greek.

I half-listened while studying the street through the window. Normal people going about normal business—shopping, talking, pretending that fifty yards away sat a school full of monsters masquerading as teenagers. The cognitive dissonance was staggering.

How do they not see it? How do they ignore—

Screams erupted from across the street.

Through the window of Pilgrim World—a tourist attraction dedicated to Jericho's colonial history—people burst into the parking lot like they were fleeing a fire. Paramedics appeared within minutes, followed by police cars with sirens wailing.

"What the hell?" Eugene pressed his face against the glass, trying to get a better view. "Something happened at the museum."

Wednesday.

The certainty hit me with absolute clarity. This was it—the incident from the show, the thing she'd done to get expelled from her previous school. Piranhas in a swimming pool during some kind of historical reenactment.

Canon event. Don't interfere.

But I couldn't stop myself from watching as Principal Weems arrived in damage control mode, her expression shifting from concern to resignation when she spotted a familiar figure in funeral attire being escorted toward a police car.

Wednesday Addams sat in the back of Sheriff Galpin's cruiser, looking about as remorseful as a cat who'd just left a dead mouse on someone's pillow. Which is to say, not at all.

"Is that the new girl?" Eugene squinted through the glass. "The Addams kid?"

"Looks like."

"Damn. First day and she's already causing chaos." He paused, processing the implications. "Think she hurt someone?"

Only their pride.

The paramedics were treating people for shock and minor injuries—the kind you'd get from panicking in a swimming pool, not from actual violence. Whatever Wednesday had done, it was psychological warfare rather than physical assault.

Piranhas. She dumped piranhas in their colonial reenactment pool.

The memory came with perfect clarity, probably because it was such an absurd image it had stuck despite my distracted viewing. Wednesday Addams, armed with a bag of carnivorous fish, turning a tourist attraction into an aquatic nightmare.

Brilliant. Insane, but brilliant.

Movement caught my eye—someone emerging from the Weathervane to watch the commotion. Tall, brown hair, the kind of easy smile that probably made normie girls forget their own names.

Tyler Galpin.

He moved through the crowd like he belonged there, scanning faces with casual interest until his gaze landed on our window. For three seconds that felt like hours, we made direct eye contact.

Predator.

My shadow pulsed defensively, recoiling from whatever it sensed in that stare. Tyler's expression shifted—confusion first, then interest that felt distinctly unhealthy. Like he was cataloguing details for future reference.

Why is he looking at me? What does he see?

"That's Tyler," Eugene said, apparently oblivious to the tension. "Seems like a good guy. Helps his dad with community outreach, volunteers at local events."

Sure he does.

Sheriff Galpin's voice boomed across the street, breaking the moment. Tyler's attention snapped back to his father, and whatever spell had held us dissolved. But I could still feel his awareness like a weight between my shoulder blades.

Marked.

The word tasted like copper and fear. Somehow, without speaking or moving or doing anything obvious, I'd drawn the attention of something that my fragmented memories insisted was dangerous.

Monitor closely. Assume threat until proven otherwise.

"We should go," I said.

Eugene nodded, gathering his supplies while the shop owner muttered about tourists causing trouble for decent folk. We slipped out the back entrance and took the long way around, avoiding the chaos at Pilgrim World.

The Weathervane turned out to be unavoidable—Eugene needed caffeine for the walk back, and it was the only coffee shop open. I followed him inside reluctantly, shadows pooling deeper than normal as my nerves ramped up.

Tyler was behind the counter, back in barista mode, but his eyes tracked my movement across the room. Not obvious about it—he was too smooth for that—but definitely watching.

What does he want?

"Two coffees," Eugene said cheerfully. "Whatever's good."

"House blend's popular," Tyler replied, but he was looking at me when he said it. "You guys from Nevermore?"

"Students," Eugene confirmed. "Just moved to town to watch the locals panic about fish."

Tyler laughed, the sound perfectly normal and somehow wrong. "Yeah, that was something. Girl with the braids really knows how to make an entrance."

Wednesday. He's already thinking about Wednesday.

The observation should have been reassuring—if Tyler was fixated on the protagonist, maybe he'd leave random side characters alone. But something about his tone made my skin crawl.

Interest. Calculation. Hunger.

"Here you go." He handed over two cups, fingers brushing mine for a fraction of a second. His skin was warm, normal, completely human.

So why does every instinct I have want me to run?

We found a corner table, and Eugene immediately launched into his analysis of Wednesday's psychology.

"She's testing boundaries," he said between sips of coffee. "Classic transfer behavior. Do something dramatic on day one, see how the authority figures react. Probably hurt something at her old school and wants to make sure this place won't be the same."

Or she's a psychopath who dumps piranhas in swimming pools for fun.

But Eugene's interpretation made sense from a normal teenage perspective. Transfer to new school, establish dominance, force everyone to adjust their expectations. Except this wasn't a normal school, and Wednesday Addams wasn't a normal teenager.

"Think Weems will expel her?"

"Doubt it. Addams family has too much history with Nevermore. Plus, what's she going to do—send the girl back to the school she already got kicked out of?"

Political calculations. Donor relations. Administrative damage control.

The coffee tasted like ash in my mouth as I processed the larger implications. This was it—the beginning of whatever chaos had destroyed most of the people in my nightmare. Wednesday was here, the plot was moving, and I was sitting in a coffee shop trying to pretend I belonged in this world.

You don't belong anywhere.

The thought came with brutal clarity. Not in this body, not in this timeline, not in this story. I was an intruder wearing a dead kid's face, pretending to be someone I'd never been.

But Eugene didn't know that. Eugene thought he'd gained a roommate and friend, someone to share his enthusiasm for bees and tactical analysis. Eugene was genuine in ways I'd forgotten were possible.

Protect him. Whatever else happens, protect him.

My hand shook as I set down the coffee cup. Tyler noticed from behind the counter, his gaze sharpening with predatory focus.

He knows something's wrong with me. But what?

"Ready to head back?" Eugene asked.

Chapter 4 - Chapter 4: The Incident at the Weathervane