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Wednesday Addams had always considered amusement parks one of humanity’s most efficient venues for collective regression.
Cemeteries were at least quiet. Execution grounds never disguised their purpose, and mazes were honest enough to admit they existed to get people lost. Amusement parks, by contrast, used bright colors, excessive sugar, and precisely calibrated screams to persuade people to pay for the privilege of strapping themselves into high-speed metal machinery, then mistake the resulting palpitations, dizziness, and temporary loss of any reliable sense of where their internal organs had gone for happiness. More suspiciously, such places seemed universally convinced that the correct arrangement of sunset, decorative lighting, and an enclosed space slightly above ground level would cause any two companions to generate a romantic plotline.
Until recently, Wednesday had regarded this with only an ordinary degree of contempt.
Then she and Enid had found themselves trapped in a reality governed by romantic-comedy rules, where they had endured background music, accidental physical contact, paired baking activities, and a compulsory final-kiss sequence. They had successfully returned to normal reality and officially become a couple, but Wednesday did not consider that sufficient grounds to discount the possibility of a similar event occurring again.
After all, the previous incident had escalated so quickly largely because everyone had realized far too late that reality had lost its most basic sense of dignity.
So when Nevermore announced that the end-of-term field trip would take place at a large amusement park, Wednesday raised no objection. She merely spent three minutes studying the park map, another two reading the attraction descriptions, and, upon encountering the phrase “Sunset Ferris Wheel—Two Riders Only,” classified the entire itinerary as a document containing potential narrative hazards.
Enid knew nothing about this assessment.
The shuttle had not yet come to a complete stop when Enid leaned against the window and excitedly pointed out the tallest roller coaster in the distance. She then circled the drop tower, the swing ride, the bumper cars, and a haunted house rumored to generate hallucinations tailored to each visitor’s fears. Before they even got off the bus, she had completed a preliminary route plan and announced, in a tone that allowed no dispute, that they had to finish at least three major rides before lunch or the afternoon queues would severely compromise recreational efficiency.
Wednesday waited until she had finished before taking a folded sheet of paper from her coat pocket.
Enid took one look at the neatly arranged boxes and entries and stopped mid-step.
Across the top, in Wednesday’s characteristically precise handwriting, were the words NARRATIVE CONTAMINATION RISK ASSESSMENT. The items below had clearly not been improvised after the shuttle entered the park. She had already listed “background music appearing at emotionally opportune moments,” “external forces causing unnecessary physical proximity,” “strangers expressing baseless certainty regarding the relationship status of companions,” and “repeated coincidences exceeding statistical probability.” Rain, fireworks, sunset, Ferris wheels, and anything marketed as “destined” had each been assigned a separate risk category.
Enid’s gaze moved back and forth among the final few items.
“Why is rain on the list?”
“Historical precedent.”
“Do you have a personal grudge against the weather?”
“No. Romantic comedies do.”
Enid read one line farther. Along the right side were four blank threat levels: low, suspicious, high, and “immediately isolate all individuals displaying romantic tendencies.” She was unsure how Wednesday intended to identify the final category. She was equally unsure how a classification system apparently devised only after the field-trip destination had been announced had already become comprehensive enough to include cross-references.
“You made a checklist?”
“The previous incident established that inadequate preparation is sufficient to produce catastrophic consequences.”
“The previous incident also got you a girlfriend.”
“There is insufficient evidence to establish causation.”
“I am the girlfriend.”
“Which is precisely why you are a confounding variable.”
Enid stared at her for two seconds, apparently deciding whether to take offense or laugh. In the end, she simply caught Wednesday by the arm and dragged her toward the entrance.
“You’d better add ‘have a good time with your girlfriend’ to that list.”
“That does not belong in a risk assessment.”
“It belongs at the top of today’s itinerary.”
Wednesday did not answer. She only refolded the checklist and returned it to her pocket. Enid naturally interpreted this as agreement. Her steps immediately lightened, and she failed to notice that Wednesday had begun surveying the staff, decorations, and any other suspicious element around the entrance that appeared excessively invested in accelerating romantic developments.
The first anomaly occurred when they collected their admission wristbands.
The attendant fastened a black band around Wednesday’s wrist and a pink-and-purple one around Enid’s. The colors themselves were not worth documenting; prolonged cohabitation with Enid had forced Wednesday to develop a degree of tolerance for highly saturated hues. What did merit attention was that each band bore half of a silver design on its inner edge. When they reached for a park map at the same time and their wrists brushed, the magnetic clasps clicked together, joining the two halves into a complete heart.
Enid looked down and immediately smiled.
“That’s so cute.”
Wednesday moved her wrist away, confirmed that the image separated again with distance, and logged it as the first observation in her mental record.
“This design has an explicit agenda.”
“The agenda is to make people who came together think it’s cute.” Enid brought her wrist close again, rejoining the silver heart. “You can’t see every heart and assume the world is about to end.”
“The previous catastrophe began with harmless narrative cues.”
“The previous catastrophe was supernatural. This is amusement-park merchandise.”
“There is no meaningful aesthetic distinction.”
Laughing, Enid pulled her through the entrance, her attention quickly captured by the screams from the distant roller coaster. She gave the wristband no further thought and had no intention of assisting Wednesday in an investigation of narrative contamination that had not yet been proven to exist. As far as she was concerned, Wednesday was merely displaying a touch of residual hypervigilance from their last incident, and a full day of high-speed rides, sweets, and freedom from class schedules was the ideal treatment for the condition.
Wednesday did harbor hostility toward modern marketing techniques, but that did not make her judgment incorrect.
The real problem was that whenever Wednesday prepared to stop and verify an anomaly, Enid could locate another attraction demanding immediate attention within seconds.
“If narrative contamination really exists, field testing is even more important.”
“You just want to go on the rides.”
“The two are not mutually exclusive.”
Enid began by arguing that “high-speed conditions may increase susceptibility to narrative interference” and successfully persuaded Wednesday into the front row of the roller coaster.
As the train climbed toward the top, Enid solemnly declared that she would remain alert throughout the ride and monitor anything inconsistent with ordinary reality.
Three seconds later, she forgot the promise entirely.
When the train plunged, Enid threw both hands into the air and laughed until even her scream went off-key, like an oversized dog finally granted permission to hurl itself into a mud puddle. During the second inversion, Wednesday attempted to consider whether high-speed movement might cause perceptual distortion. Instead, her gaze settled on Enid’s profile, bright with exhilaration, and remained there until the train returned to the platform—at which point she remembered that her analysis had not even begun.
The moment the ride stopped, Enid announced without hesitation that the sample size was insufficient and the trial had to be repeated immediately.
“You just want to ride it again.”
“I’m respecting science.”
“You did not spend a single second observing anything.”
“I did.”
“What did you observe?”
“It was really fun.”
Wednesday filed the result under: Subject has lost all research value.
The next several attractions produced no improvement.
The swing ride, drop tower, and haunted house demonstrated in succession that if a safety restraint remained fastened for more than ten seconds, Enid would forget whatever she had claimed to be investigating. Before every ride, she swore that this time she would carefully observe anything suspicious. The instant each ride ended, she began excitedly planning the next one and cited “establishing an adequate sample” as the universal justification for every decision.
Wednesday was forced to concede that Enid’s research methodology remained remarkably consistent, at least when it came to supplying herself with respectable excuses.
After they left the haunted house, Enid finally admitted that several consecutive departures from the planned route in the name of “establishing an adequate sample” had left her uncertain of their current location. She pulled Wednesday to a stop in front of a park directory and traced a finger along the winding paths in search of their next attraction.
“We’re here.”
Wednesday looked at the spot she indicated.
At the center of the map was a bright red heart containing the words YOU ARE HERE in rounded lettering.
“That is not an acceptable location marker.”
“It tells you where you are.”
“The text provides location data. The heart provides unnecessary romantic subtext.”
Before Enid could object, a nearby speaker cheerfully reminded visitors to explore the park with someone important and create precious memories that belonged only to the two of them.
Wednesday took the checklist from her pocket and marked the box beside “public wayfinding system introducing emotional implications unrelated to function.”
Enid stared at the new mark.
“You’re counting the map?”
“A wayfinding system has no need to comment on its users’ romantic lives.”
“Maybe hearts are just cuter than arrows.”
“That statement is not sufficient to justify any design decision.”
Enid opened her mouth, then decided she was no longer willing to assume responsibility for the park’s visual communication system. She returned her attention to the directory, quickly located the bumper cars, and immediately recovered both her bearings and her momentum.
On the way to the bumper cars, a knife-throwing booth caught Enid’s attention.
The targets were arranged in three rows. Above them hung a black raven plush and an offensively saturated werewolf plush. The attendant was preparing to explain the rules when Wednesday picked up the first throwing knife.
Three crisp impacts sounded in near succession.
When the final target dropped, a scatter of applause broke out around them. Wednesday ignored both the prizes and the attendant. She set down the knife and turned to Enid.
Enid was already looking at her.
The undisguised pride in her expression caused Wednesday to briefly overestimate the game’s value.
“Which one do you want?” the attendant asked.
“The raven,” Enid answered immediately.
Wednesday looked at the werewolf.
“Give her the other one as well.”
“Wednesday, that isn’t how the rules work.”
“Then I’ll play again.”
The next three impacts came even faster than the first.
At least the next attraction finally produced data worth analyzing.
Eugene looked deeply apologetic about the accident he had caused.
“I was trying to help you test whether a collision would trigger some kind of plot development.”
Wednesday looked at the label-covered notebook in his hands and, for the first time that day, felt the faintest stir of hope that she might finally have a reliable investigator.
“What did you record?”
“No supernatural response so far, but Enid laughed roughly forty percent more when she hit you than when she hit anyone else.”
Enid protested immediately.
“How do you even have data for that?”
“I timed it and recorded the volume.”
Wednesday nodded.
“Preserve the records.”
“Wednesday!”
Eugene was clearly delighted to have formally joined the investigation. He even volunteered to use his bees to monitor anomalous activity across a wider area of the park. This arrangement had only one flaw: Enid became no more vigilant. While waiting in line, she listened seriously to Wednesday and Eugene’s analysis and agreed that several details were indeed suspicious. Once a ride began moving, however, she rapidly lost her memory, sense of danger, and most higher cognitive functions, retaining only the capacity to scream, laugh, and locate the next attraction immediately afterward.
Wednesday reminded her of their original purpose several times.
“We are investigating narrative residue, not measuring your decibel level on every attraction,” Wednesday said, eyeing Enid’s hair, which the last ride had blown into complete disarray.
Each time, Enid displayed a brief flash of guilt and promised to take the next investigation seriously. Then she saw another sign and forgot the promise entirely.
By the end of the fifth major attraction, Wednesday had confirmed that Enid’s so-called joint investigation was merely a way to give everything she wanted to do a more defensible rationale.
She should have found this irritating.
Instead, she gradually noticed that after nearly every ride, Enid’s first instinct was to turn toward her. Not to confirm data or discuss whether they had just witnessed a narrative anomaly. She simply seemed to need to know, with surprising urgency, whether Wednesday had seen what she had.
The phenomenon had no legitimate research value.
It did, however, severely interfere with observation.
For the moment, Wednesday made no effort to eliminate the interference.
It was not until the fourth song came over the loudspeakers, as they prepared to cross the park’s main street, that Enid finally stopped.
It was a pop song simple in structure and bright in melody, its lyrics composed almost entirely of summer, destiny, and the danger of missed opportunities. Wednesday classified it as psychological contamination during the opening bars. Enid merely swayed lightly to the beat and pulled her toward a parade about to begin in the distance.
The crowd was denser than expected.
Several visitors with children cut between them. Enid instinctively reached out and caught Wednesday’s hand so they would not be separated by the flow of people.
At the exact moment their fingers interlaced, the speakers lining both sides of the street sang clearly:
Take my hand.
Enid stopped walking.
She looked down at their joined hands, then up at the nearest speaker. The excitement had not entirely left her face, but her expression shifted as though something that had previously existed only at the edge of her vision had suddenly turned and looked back at her.
Wednesday said nothing. She simply waited for Enid to produce another explanation based on marketing strategy.
“It’s really just a coincidence!”
Her voice was loud enough to make several nearby visitors turn and look at her.
The song went on, its next line describing two people finding each other in a crowd. At the same moment, the surrounding visitors happened to part, leaving them in the middle of the street while afternoon sunlight fell between the buildings and illuminated Enid’s hair with an entirely unnecessary degree of precision.
Enid slowly looked around.
“...Wait.”
She glanced down at their still-joined hands, then back at the speaker.
“Is it really a coincidence?”
“You have finally recovered the most basic degree of vigilance toward reality.”
Enid turned on her immediately.
“You are not allowed to make that ‘I told you so’ face right now.”
“I am not.”
“Your entire face is doing it.”
“My face lacks such vulgar expressive capabilities.”
Wednesday did not withdraw her hand. Neither did Enid. They remained where they were until the verse ended, then moved together into a quieter patch of shade when the crowd closed around them again.
For the first time, Enid asked to see the checklist.
From that point on, the investigation advanced significantly, and the situation grew suspicious just as quickly.
They reexamined the wristbands, the park’s wayfinding system, and the main-street announcements, confirming that every anomaly appeared to target visitors traveling in pairs. Eugene reported via the bees that there was no large-scale behavioral disturbance elsewhere in the park, but several groups of Nevermore students had been successively steered toward attractions with obvious romantic coding. The most serious event was occurring on the Ferris wheel.
Yoko and Divina had boarded one of the cabins and completed more than a full circuit without getting off.
“Is the ride malfunctioning?” Enid asked.
Eugene looked at the footage the bees had transmitted to his phone and became visibly uncomfortable.
“The door works. The attendant has asked them to get off.”
“Then why haven’t they?”
Eugene turned the screen toward them.
In the footage, Yoko had Divina pinned in the corner of the seat and was kissing her. Neither seemed aware that the cabin had reached the platform. The attendant waited outside for more than ten seconds, then shut the door again without expression and sent them around for another circuit.
Enid was silent for a moment.
“That... could still just be a them problem.”
“They have missed three opportunities to disembark,” Wednesday said.
“Yoko might do that under ordinary circumstances.”
“Divina ordinarily possesses a functioning sense of time.”
Eugene checked his notes.
“This is their fourth circuit.”
Enid’s expression sobered.
Every piece of evidence appeared to point toward the same attraction. The paired wristbands, unnaturally well-timed lyrics, heart-shaped location marker, and other cues directed at pairs reached their highest concentration near the Ferris wheel at the center of the park. The ride itself deliberately offered sunset sessions, restricted each cabin to two passengers, and used the phrase “confirm your feelings for each other at the highest point” in its promotional materials—a sentence containing no engineering information whatsoever.
Wednesday refolded the map.
“The Ferris wheel is the contamination source.”
Enid looked up at the slowly moving cabins, her gaze settling on the one containing Yoko and Divina, who still had not disembarked.
“So we’re going up there?”
“Every anomaly converges on it.”
“Or it could just be the most romantic ride in the entire park.”
“You have already begun to suspect otherwise.”
“I said it was a little suspicious. I didn’t say there was definitely a curse.”
“Fear causes subjects to regress into denial.”
“I am not afraid.”
“You stepped back half a pace when you saw Yoko.”
“That wasn’t fear. It was respect for privacy.”
Despite her objections, Enid followed Wednesday into the Ferris-wheel queue. She carried one plush under each arm, creating a paired display Wednesday declined to comment on. While they waited, Enid no longer searched constantly for the next attraction. Instead, she looked up repeatedly at the cabins, speakers, and staff, apparently reevaluating every detail she had dismissed all afternoon as ordinary marketing.
When their turn arrived, the attendant scanned their wristbands. The silver heart rejoined over the reader, and a message appeared on the screen:
Optimal Match Cabin Assigned.
Enid looked at Wednesday.
Wednesday looked back.
“Do not say a single word,” Enid warned.
“There is no need.”
“Your silence is saying ‘I told you so’ again.”
The door closed behind them, and the cabin slowly lifted away from the platform.
The sounds of the park receded beneath them, screams, music, and conversation blending into a distant blur. The sun hovered near the horizon, staining the far-off hills an offensively precise shade of gold. Enid sat opposite Wednesday, alternating between looking out the window and checking the cabin for hidden runes, mechanisms, or other supernatural traces.
Nothing happened.
No background music began without warning. No announcement demanded that they confirm their feelings. No acquaintance emerged from beneath the seat to offer unsolicited romantic advice.
The cabin continued to rise.
Enid’s tension gradually gave way to puzzlement.
“Maybe we really are overthinking this.”
“The contamination may not have entered its activation phase.”
“Or maybe amusement parks just really like putting people into pairs.”
“That does not explain the timing of the song.”
“Sometimes coincidences do happen.”
“People are also sometimes poisoned without any apparent warning. That does not mean we should stop conducting autopsies.”
Enid laughed at the analogy, and her shoulders finally relaxed. As the cabin approached the highest point, she turned toward the window. Golden light fell across her profile and eyelashes, making colors that were already vivid appear brighter still. Wednesday had been monitoring the cabin for any irregular pause, but her gaze shifted again.
This time, no screams or high-speed motion could account for the interference.
Only Enid.
The Ferris wheel reached its apex.
At that moment, Wednesday remembered the condition that had ended the previous incident.
The romantic-comedy reality had collapsed after she kissed Enid. Although she still could not establish that the two incidents operated through the same mechanism, repeating a procedure that had previously succeeded had basic experimental value when no other effective test was available.
She leaned forward and kissed Enid lightly on the lips.
The contact was brief to the point of restraint.
Enid went completely still.
Wednesday leaned back and immediately surveyed their surroundings.
The cabin did not shake.
The sunset did not disappear.
The park remained in existence.
Even the objectionable band of golden light outside the window showed no change whatsoever.
Enid’s face flushed.
“You just...”
“I was testing the termination condition.”
“You could have warned me first.”
“Advance warning might alter the result.”
“You can’t double-blind a kiss!”
Wednesday did not respond immediately. She continued observing the cabin and the surrounding environment for a delayed reaction, but the Ferris wheel had already passed its apex and begun its slow descent. Everything remained stubbornly normal.
“No change,” she said.
Enid ran her tongue over the lips Wednesday had just kissed, clearly uncertain where to look. Wednesday’s attention, meanwhile, caught on the movement of her tongue.
“So there’s no curse?”
“Or the stimulus was insufficient.”
Enid looked at her again.
“What?”
Wednesday shifted a little farther forward on the seat.
She could wait for another circuit or attempt a different test of the narrative structure. However, Yoko and Divina had already established that the attendants would allow riders to miss their stop, and the present trial had involved only minimal contact. It was therefore insufficient to rule out the possibility that the termination condition required a minimum response threshold.
At least, that was the explanation she selected.
“The previous kiss lasted longer,” Wednesday said. “If the world has not changed, the last test lacked sufficient intensity.”
Enid’s breath caught.
“So you need to test it again?”
“Replication is a basic experimental procedure.”
“And it has to be... more thorough?”
“Otherwise, insufficient dosage remains a viable explanation.”
Enid watched her for a long moment. The flush in her face did not fade, but one corner of her mouth slowly lifted.
“Wednesday.”
“What?”
“Do you really still care whether there’s a curse?”
Wednesday was silent for several seconds.
She still believed the park contained a highly suspicious arrangement of narrative elements, and she still intended to investigate the wristbands and speaker system before they left. But as she sat inside this excessively obvious plot device and watched Enid’s breathing quicken and her eyes brighten because of one brief kiss, Wednesday realized that whether or not a curse existed no longer affected the necessity of the next experiment.
This change did not appear on her checklist.
“The two hypotheses are not mutually exclusive,” Wednesday replied.
Then she kissed Enid again.
Enid’s hand settled on her shoulder and pulled her closer. Wednesday braced one hand against the edge of the seat and closed the other around Enid’s waist, feeling Enid smile briefly against her mouth before the smile dissolved into a deeper breath. As the cabin passed through the middle of its descent, the park speakers seemed to begin another song about love and destiny, but neither of them paid attention to the lyrics.
They missed their first opportunity to disembark.
When the attendant opened the door, Enid was still gripping Wednesday’s coat, and Wednesday’s hand had not left Enid’s waist. The attendant stood outside for several seconds with the exhausted expression of someone who had already encountered the same situation with Yoko and Divina. They rolled their eyes, said nothing, and closed the door again.
The cabin began to rise once more.
Enid leaned back against the seat, catching her breath. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her mouth was suspiciously red.
“The world still hasn’t changed,” she said.
Wednesday looked out the window.
“The contamination is unusually resilient.”
“So?”
“Additional testing is required.”
Enid laughed with the same unguarded delight she had shown on the roller coaster that afternoon. This time, however, she did not wait for Wednesday to move closer. She caught Wednesday by the collar and pulled her back in.
Only when their second circuit neared the highest point did Eugene receive new footage from the bees.
He watched the screen, where both pairs of investigative subjects had now refused to disembark twice in succession. After a long silence, he wrote one line in his notebook:
There is currently insufficient evidence to prove the existence of supernatural narrative contamination.
He paused, then added:
But teenagers in love evidently exhibit the same symptoms.