If Wednesday was the cold, calculating silence of the Addams family, Pugsley was the concussive, deafening roar.
To say Pugsley was an active baby would be a gross understatement. He was a force of kinetic devastation. While Wednesday lay perfectly still in her iron crib, plotting the downfall of humanity, Pugsley threw himself against the bars of his own crib like a rabid wolverine testing the perimeter of its cage. He was a dense, robust child with a shocking amount of physical strength, a tuft of chaotic black hair, and a grin that promised absolute, joyful ruin.
For the sixty-year-old soul masquerading as his golden-haired older sister, Pugsley represented a fascinating psychological dichotomy.
In her previous life, she had harbored a deep, traumatized aversion to sudden loud noises and physical aggression. A slammed door had been enough to send her into a panic attack. A raised hand had been enough to make her flinch and beg for mercy. Her husband's violence had been a tool of control—cold, malicious, and designed to break her spirit.
Her former son's cruelty had been even worse. It was the sanitized, clinical cruelty of neglect and verbal degradation. Her son had worn expensive suits and used sharp, articulate sentences to dismantle her self-worth, never having to raise a fist to leave her completely shattered.
Pugsley's violence was entirely different.
It was pure, unadulterated physics. It lacked malice. He didn't break things to assert dominance or inflict psychological pain; he broke things because the sound of shattering glass and the sight of splintering wood filled his tiny, chaotic heart with genuine glee. It was the violence of a thunderstorm, an earthquake, a force of nature that operated without ego.
Consequently, Sunshine found she didn't fear him. In fact, she found his brand of honest, joyful destruction deeply refreshing.
Gomez, predictably, saw Pugsley's aggressive tendencies as the mark of a true Addams patriarch-in-training. He was determined to cultivate the boy's destructive palette as early as possible.
The true initiation occurred when the twins were just mastering the art of crawling, coinciding with a highly anticipated visit from Gomez's brother, Uncle Fester.
Fester's arrival at the manor was heralded by a massive, booming explosion in the driveway that blew the iron front gates clean off their hinges. A moment later, the front doors burst open, and a pale, bald, barrel-chested man wearing a heavy fur coat stepped into the foyer, smelling overwhelmingly of gunpowder and ozone.
"Gomez! Morticia!" Fester bellowed, his voice like grinding gravel. "I brought gifts! And heavily regulated munitions!"
The family gathered in the grand parlor to receive him. Sunshine sat on a velvet ottoman, her golden curls brushed to a high shine, wearing a pale yellow dress that Morticia had selected purely to contrast with the soot Fester was tracking onto the carpet.
Fester dropped a heavy, clanking burlap sack onto the floor. He approached Morticia first, kissing her hand, then embraced Gomez in a bone-crushing hug. He then turned his wide, crazed, dark-ringed eyes upon the children.
He looked at Wednesday, who was sitting in Morticia's lap, staring blankly at the flames in the fireplace. "Ah. Magnificent. A true creature of the void," Fester praised, reaching into his sack. He pulled out a small, heavily rusted medieval mace. "For the little princess. To crush the skulls of her enemies."
Morticia accepted the weapon graciously, allowing Wednesday to grip the spiked iron head with her tiny, pale hands.
Fester then turned his attention to Sunshine. He froze. He blinked rapidly, rubbing his bald head in profound confusion. He looked at Gomez, then back at the golden-haired cherub.
"Gomez," Fester whispered loudly. "Who let the cherub in? Did an angel get lost on the way to choir practice? Should I fetch the hunting rifle?"
Gomez laughed, a booming, joyous sound. "No, Fester! This is our firstborn! Our little Sunbeam! Cursed with the radiance of a summer day, but blessed with a heart of absolute pitch!"
Fester looked unconvinced. He cautiously approached the ottoman, pulling a beautiful, intricate silver puzzle box from his sack. "Well. Um. Here you go, kid. It's got a poison dart trap inside if you open it wrong. Builds character."
Sunshine took the box. Her sixty-year-old mind instantly calculated the weight and balance of the silver. She didn't smile. She looked Fester dead in the eye, found the hidden seam on the side of the box, and deliberately pressed the release mechanism backward.
Thwack.
The hidden poison dart shot out of the side of the box, embedding itself deeply into the heavy oak paneling of the wall, missing Fester's ear by a fraction of an inch.
Sunshine handed the empty box back to him, her blue eyes flat and unblinking.
Fester's jaw dropped. A wide, manic grin slowly spread across his pale face. "Oh. Oh. She's a sniper. I love her. I absolutely love her."
Finally, Fester turned to Pugsley, who was currently chewing on the leg of a mahogany coffee table, attempting to rip the wood away with his bare gums.
"And for the brute," Fester declared, reaching deep into the bottom of his sack. He pulled out a heavy, canvas-wrapped cylinder. It was a half-stick of commercial dynamite, fitted with a short, rapid-burn fuse.
Morticia raised an elegant eyebrow, but did not intervene. Gomez leaned forward, vibrating with excitement.
In her past life, seeing an adult hand a live explosive to a baby would have induced a heart attack. But Sunshine just watched, her analytical mind whirring.
Fester handed the dynamite to Pugsley. The boy dropped the table leg, grasping the heavy explosive with both hands. He let out a loud, delighted squeal, waving it like a rattle.
"Let's see if he has the touch," Fester said, producing a long wooden match. He struck it against his bald head. It flared to life. Fester held the flame to the fuse.
The fuse caught, sparking violently, burning down toward the canvas rapidly.
Gomez and Fester stepped back, grinning like lunatics.
Pugsley sat on the rug, watching the sparks with wide, mesmerized eyes. He didn't drop it. He didn't throw it. He held it close to his chest, giggling at the bright light.
Sunshine realized instantly that the blast radius was too large for the room. The concussive force wouldn't just damage the furniture; it would shatter the glass of the conservatory doors and likely pepper Wednesday with shrapnel.
She moved.
She didn't panic. She didn't shout. She simply stood up, grabbed a heavy, lead-lined silver serving platter from a nearby side table, and walked over to her brother.
Just as the fuse hit the canvas, Sunshine slammed the heavy silver platter down directly over Pugsley's hands and the dynamite, pressing her own weight down on top of it.
BOOM.
The muffled explosion rocked the parlor. A thick cloud of black powder smoke billowed out from under the edges of the silver platter. The heavy Persian rug was instantly charred in a perfect circle.
Sunshine lifted the platter, coughing slightly as the smoke cleared.
Pugsley was sitting in the center of the scorch mark. His face was covered in thick black soot. His hair was blown straight back.
For a second, there was silence.
Then, Pugsley threw his head back and let out a roaring, ecstatic laugh, clapping his soot-stained hands together. He loved it.
Gomez and Fester erupted into cheers, clapping each other on the back. "He's a natural!" Fester crowed. "A demolitions expert in diapers!"
Sunshine stood beside her brother, her yellow dress covered in gray ash, wiping soot from her rosy cheeks. She looked down at Pugsley's joyful, blackened face.
Her former son had used words to destroy her spirit, leaving no visible marks, keeping his own hands clean while he tore her down. He was a coward.
Pugsley was holding live explosives and laughing in the smoke. He was chaotic, dangerous, and gloriously honest.
Yes, Sunshine thought, looking at her brother, then across the room at the quiet, plotting Wednesday. Wednesday is the blade. But Pugsley is the cannon.
She reached down, patting Pugsley's soot-covered head with a cherubic, golden smile. The wizarding world across the sea prized elegant spells, pureblood lineage, and complex political maneuvering. They thought power came from wands and whispered incantations.
They had absolutely no idea what was going to happen when Sunshine Addams eventually arrived, bringing her walking, breathing arsenal of siblings with her.