A/N: Eryn here, to tell you a brief tale of horror, mystery, and fiendish ideas that cannot be unlearned. It began, as many such tales do, on MSN Messenger. Late one night, as lightning failed to crash across the sky, someone typed the fateful words: "What if Pubert had been a girl?"

From there, things escalated until the concept had become more like, "What if Ellie and Eryn had written Addams Family Values?" And thus was this story born. The plan is for us to trade off chapter by chapter, round-robin style. Neither of us owns any aspect of or character from any incarnation of TAF.

"It's a boy," said the pudgy boy; his tone was almost overly confident, and belied by anxious tugging at the neck of his striped shirt. His black-haired sister glanced at him, supremely unmoved.

"It's a girl," she replied flatly.

Suddenly, the waiting room door flew open. A tall, swarthy man in a pinstriped suit burst into the room, eyes wide with urgency. Almost before he could open his mouth, the long-awaited announcement was cut off by a bald man in a black robe.

"Gomez!"

"What news?" demanded a rather ragged-looking old woman.

The girl rose slightly out of her chair. "Father, what is it?"

Beaming with pride, the mustachioed Spaniard announced to the room at large, "It's an Addams."

"You're the youngest Addams woman now."

The only response from the cradle was silence, punctuated by occasional gurgles.

"It's not a position of great responsibility. All you have to do is watch and learn. Doesn't that sound easy?"

Another gurgle, followed by the wet sound of a foot being vigorously sucked on.

"It's not. Because there's more to it than that. You have to watch carefully and learn fast. If you don't, you won't live to see five."

When this comment, too, went unanswered, Wednesday sighed and carefully ducked her head beneath the mobile of knives. She regarded the baby solemnly.

"This probably sounds harsh, but it's true," the 12-year-old continued. "I'll do my best to help you not get killed by our moronic brother- not that hard. But you have to stand up for yourself."

The sound of splintering wood echoed in the grim nursery as the newest Addams child sank her already-prodigious teeth into the side of the cradle.

"And I'll play with you, of course. Pugsley and I are playing Reign of Terror tomorrow, and I expect you to help."

A snort from the doorway cause Wednesday to turn suddenly. Her brother stood framed by the dingy lintel, clutching a large, rusted javelin and scowling even harder than usual. Crossing his arms, he tapped one foot steadily against the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked. The girl, still leaning slightly against the cradle, stared back at him unblinking.

"Talking to our sister. What are you doing?"

He shifted his grip on the weapon's handle. "Cleaning my javelin. Or I was, until I heard you in here."

Slowly, Pugsley crossed the creaking floor to stand beside the cradle. With a brief glance at the pallid infant within, he continued, "Why is she going to play Reign of Terror with us? She's just a baby."

"But she's an Addams," the older girl replied, "and she's our sister. We have to make sure she grows up right."

Chubby knuckles whitened on the side of the cradle, causing still more rotting wood to shatter. In the dim light slanting around the edges of the carefully closed shutters, Wednesday was mildly shocked to see a new emotion in her brother's eyes: jealousy.

Once more Pugsley gazed down at his infant sister. For her part, the child lay snuggled in her black blanket against the ebony of the cradle, sucking drowsily on one tentacle of a large cloth octopus. It would be difficult to imagine a more harmless-looking child...or at least, the now-middle Addams sibling thought so. Wednesday, who still remembered baby Pugsley, was prepared to duck at any moment.

But the nefarious, relatively innocent mind of the eleven-year-old boy didn't understand this. All he saw was a dark-eyed, ivory-skinned intrusion.

"She's not even dangerous," he muttered softly, raising the javelin almost without meaning to. "Just a little blob of goo…"

The point was almost parallel to the baby's throat when an iron grip caught the handle and forced the weapon down. Pugsley looked up sharply, gaping at his sister.

"Come on, Wednes! You want some little worm stealing all of Mother and Father's attention?"

Almost before he could blink, the javelin was wrenched from his grasp and its point quivered beneath his chins. Steady and expressionless, Wednesday forced him back until he stood again in the doorway.

"She's not a worm," the girl said, adjusting her grip. "She's my sister, and I want her to get old enough to hold intelligent conversations. If you disagree, we have a problem. Understand?"

When the javelin was moved to a safe distance, Pugsley nodded grudgingly. "But she can't play with us. Especially not Reign of Terror."

"Yes, she can."

The boy gasped, hurt. "But I was going to be Louis this time!"

"We've already done Louis," she replied with a shrug. "I want to do the Princesse de Lamballe."

Pugsley's eyes narrowed. As he stalked from the room, he called over his shoulder, "You haven't heard the last of this."

After pondering for a moment, the oldest Addams child crossed back to the family cradle. The baby, she observed with an unfamiliar pang of affection, was now wriggling and stretching her little arms in an effort to reach the blades dangling above. With a sigh, Wednesday dislodged a large butcher knife and placed it gently within her sister's reach.

"Good luck, Cassandra," she murmured, watching as the walls of the cradle gained several new gouge marks. "You're going to need it."

A/N: Yes, readers, please give a warm welcome to Cassandra Corva Addams. And so it begins…

(Historical note- the Reign of Terror, in case you didn't know, refers to the French Revolution. The Louis in question and the Princesse de Lamballe were real people, both of whom went to the guillotine.)