𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐩 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐗

Saturday stands in front of the now ghastly melted statue of Joseph Crackstone, the man made of bronze propped upon a ridiculously grandiose stand surrounded by grotesque large eels, his hands propped on top of his long, thin cane like a knight would hold a sword.

The pale, tall, defiant boy in monochrome glared up at the pilgrim, his black slate in his right hand, both his long, lean arms at his sides.

Even though the pilgrim was in front of the large white church and had the posture of a holy knight- as if he was guarding the church from devils, he had a sinister air, and not just because his body and face were melted off. There is just that inherent evil surrounding him.

The church itself had elegantly designed long, arched stained windows, a white tower stuck up in its middle displaying a black clock with gold details- it's numbers in roman numerals and its hands had an ancient, fancy design. 

In Saturday's perspective, to the right of the church was a plain grassy field but to the left was a graveyard, fenced off with thin, black steel barbs and white stoned pillars very similar in design to the rooks in chess. The gate to the graveyard was open. Sparse, thin trees were scattered all around, their leaves all orange and about to flutter off in the direction of the wind.

The boy was on the main, white tiled path, with the paths forming a cross, its centre at the statue, separating the otherwise large glassy field into four even squares of neatly trimmed grass.

Silently, the boy began to slowly circle the statue, his sharp eyes still locked on Crackstone's mangled face, like a predator assessing his prey.

He stopped when he had walked exactly ninety degrees right from his starting position and continued to glare up at the statue with furrowed eyebrows. His clever brain was deducing all the possible answers to this great, intriguing but deadly mystery, but it could not come to a conclusion.

Suddenly, he noticed a tall, pale figure with long, waist length, loose, inky hair in black walking down the straight white path directly leading to the graveyard and the boy's frown ceased, his deadly pale face relaxing while his shining obsidian eyes filled with inquiry.

Mortician Addams, as always, strode with confidence towards the gravestones- on the white tiled path that led to the opening to the graveyard, his right hand casually holding a long stemmed, large, blood red rose. The man's eyes were only in that one direction and he didn't even bother noticing his son next to the large round fountain. His pale face was grim and solemn. 

Sensing something was up, the boy tailed his Father, his thin, black brows furrowed, his pale face, the same colour as his Father's, stony and cold per usual, his long black overcoat over his broad shoulders, over his monochrome uniform to block the chilly wind, which made his soft, floppy black hair flutter.

Mortician was dressed in his own black overcoat, over his tuxedo, and his quick pace made the coat fly out behind him, giving him a similar appearance to a large bat or a dark lord. Saturday watched as his Father strode into the graveyard. The boy stopped behind the black steel bars and simply observed, his face still in a serious frown.

Mortician stopped at a comparatively fancily carved gravestone at the very back of the graveyard and held the large red rose with both his hands.

Birds cawed in the distance. 

Saturday couldn't see his Father's expression as he looked down at the gravestone but he knew it was the grimmest that he had ever seen him. 

To the boy, the tall man was just a tiny figure in the distance, standing between all the gravestones and the death that was buried underneath them.

Saturday's frown deepened.

With an expression that was more grim than it was solemn, Mortician's large, pale right hand closed on all the blood red petals of the rose, and swiftly tore them all off. The man then bent down ever so slightly and threw the long stem onto the grave. It was impossible to read the intent in his dark, dim, obsidian eyes, his ghostly pale face was a cold mask.

The man then turned and nonchalantly threw all the red petals onto the grave, not bothering to even look where they all landed before he started to slowly stalk away, not giving the grave another look.

Saturday pushed open the small steel gate at the side connected to the white church and stalked inside, his brows furrowed and his shining obsidian eyes full of enquiry. The little gate squeaked behind him as he stepped inside.

The boy walked all the way to the back of the graveyard and glared down at the tombstone. It certainly was the fanciest piece of stone in the yard, Due to the wealth of his family. - thought Saturday instinctively, with a skull and crossbones at the very top of the arched plaque- ram-like horns were growing out of the skull and large bat wings grew out of its sides.

Fancy lined patterns were etched onto the sides of the stone and the plaque itself had a grand sailboat carved on top of the writing. The stone was discoloured with age. It read:

☟☟☟