Mostly Void, Partially Stars: Welcome to Night Vale Episodes, Volume 1

by Joseph Fink

  Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

  PROVERB: Ask your doctor if right is left for you.

  EPISODE 22:

  “THE WHISPERING FOREST”

  MAY 1, 2013

  LISTENING TO THESE EARLY EPISODES IS A BIT LIKE LOOKING AT OLD MIDDLE school class photos—there’s a feeling of embarrassment at ever being so young and fresh-faced, mixed with a degree of pride of having made it through those “awkward years” intact. This episode came out near the end of our first year of creating Night Vale, when we were just beginning to see people other than our friends and family discovering the show. There’s a lot to this episode that marks it as “classic Night Vale,” an episode that does not necessarily forward any overarching plot, but helps build the world and ambiance of the show with a terrible glee.

  The “teaser” at the beginning of the episode remains one of our most quoted lines from the podcast as a whole, and has inspired many a great piece of fan art. Many of the characters featured in this episode are perennial favorites who would appear in later episodes—Diane Crayton, the Glow Cloud, the Night Vale Psychological Association. It is strange and delightful to go back and listen to the adolescent appearances of these characters, unknowing at the time what they would mature into. Diane would have an entire novel written about her; the Night Vale Psychological Association would make an appearance on stage in over eighty performances in The Investigators; and I still sneakily tag coffee shop, dive bar, and backstage theater walls with Glow Cloud graffiti icons as my personal “Kilroy was here.”

  And then there’s the Whispering Forest . . . The voice of the Whispering Forest was, I think, a surprise to Joseph and Jeffrey. I don’t know what they heard in their mind when writing the voice of this hive-mind forest, but I am pretty sure it was nothing like the Pinocchio-sounding final product. The genesis of this character voice is both pragmatic and enigmatic. One of the lessons I learned from doing classical theater was to throw away presupposed notions of who a character is or how they appear—instead, take note of what is actually said about them or by them, and allow your own imagination to come up with original solutions. In this case, the text for episode 22 says this forest has a “small, ungendered voice” that doles out rather benign compliments with childlike enthusiasm. Pretty simple, right, but what does that sound like? I have no logical explanation for where the inspiration came from, but all these components added up to sound very similar to South Park’s incarnation of Michael Jackson. Random, I know, but it made me giggle and was fun to perform . . . and that is usually the sign you are on the right creative track.

  —Cecil Baldwin, Voice of Cecil Palmer

  There’s a thin, semantic line separating weird and beautiful, and that line is covered in jellyfish.

  WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE.

  Ladies and gentlemen, several of you have noticed the new forest that has formed just to the east of Night Vale. It’s hard to say how these dense, piney woods have cropped up in a vast desert wastescape, nor how they have grown in only a couple of days, but these woods are encroaching quickly on our little town.

  Botanists from Night Vale Community College said that this beautiful, lush woodland is called the Whispering Forest and that, while lovely, should not be approached. Officials from the Night Vale Parks Department agreed with this sentiment in a prepared statement wherein they just wrote the word No on a single piece of paper but with hundreds of Os and maybe two dozen Ns so it reads kind of like Nnnnnnooooooooooooooooo [read in slow-motion style] or maybe it’s more of an echoey scream. It’s hard to say. They did not include stage directions in their press release.

  What we do know is this: There is a Whispering Forest just outside of town and it should not be approached under any circumstances.

  The Night Vale School District announced that schools will be closed all of next week because nothing really matters and is anything even real? They cited the ever-widening night sky as the impetus for this decision. “How can we place any importance on something so insignificant as math or spelling or history when the void has already swallowed our tiny existence? We are ants, crushed daily by the indifferent feet of the universe and it’s just no good anymore. We can’t carry on like this,” the school board said, swigging on a bottle of table wine and bobbing their heads weakly.

  The school board president, an enormous Glow Cloud that drops animals from great heights and casts a looming fog of despair over all it covers, added, “GROVEL MORTALS. PUT YOUR TONGUES TO THE SOIL AND BEG FOR YOUR WORTHLESS LIVES.”

  Some parents, of course, are very upset by the decision to close schools, saying that we can’t let the vast incomprehensibility of the unknowable universe stop us in our tracks. We have to keep pushing forward. Treasurer of the Night Vale PTA Diane Crayton said, “School is a meaningful part of a child’s life and to just shut it down because you’re scared of your own insignificance is ridiculous. See, I’m looking at the sky right now,” Crayton continued, “and I’m saying, ‘You can’t hold me back sky! I can do anyth— . . . I can . . . I . .’ ” Crayton then stopped speaking, lowered her loosening fist to her side, and sighed audibly. She added: “Nothing is real, I don’t think. Whatever. Who cares?” She then stared back up at the sky and a single tear zigzagged down her right cheek and she mumbled something about trees having the right idea.

  And now a public service announcement. The Night Vale Psychological Association, in conjunction with a vague, yet menacing, government agency, has asked that all citizens start keeping dream journals. Dream journals can be a spiritually satisfying exercise in understanding your unconscious mind, helping you to fully examine your being and balance your emotions. They also can be rife with useful data for government officials and corporate marketing executives.

  Of course, dear listeners, many of you are saying, “This sounds fantastic, Cecil, but how do you keep a dream journal?” Good question. I have kept one for years now, and I must say I agree with the NVPA on this. It seems hard at first, because you have to get in the habit of writing first thing in the morning, and also because the City Council’s ban on all writing utensils is still in full effect. But once you learn how to create a makeshift non-pen out of a cocktail straw, some cotton, and any number of colorful municipal food pastes, you’ll be good to go.

  In an effort to educate Night Vale citizens about dream journaling the NVPA has created this helpful how-to.

  Step one: Find a foreign dictionary or hymnal. It is strongly preferred that you choose something in Russian or Ukrainian, but German will work, too.

  Step two: Carve out several pages, creating a secret compartment in the book.

  Step three: Write down your dream, in great detail, the moment you wake up.

  Step four: And this is the most important step of all: Eat the paper you wrote your dream on and then place a bird skeleton in the book.

  Finally, bury the book near a magnolia or willow tree and repeat each day.

  The sooner you start this process, listeners, the sooner you can start actualizing your existence, exploring your inner self, and the sooner the Sheriff’s Secret Police can track down and arrest those vile miscreants who keep dreaming about horses.

  More on the Whispering Forest. Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town, said that he went out to the Whispering Forest this morning just to see what all the fuss was about and said that as he neared the woods’ edge he felt a terrible sense of fear and began to tremble and sweat, but then he heard a small, ungendered voice whisper, “YOU LOOK SO NICE TODAY, LARRY. I LIKE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE WITH YOUR BEARD. AND JUST LOOK AT THAT BELT. IS THAT NEW?”

  And of course, Larry’s beard is looking very good, listeners. He finally grew out his old goatee and stopped dying it black. It’s now a full, even blanket of soft-looking, peppery wisdom comforting his wise, noble face. The forest is totally right.

  So Larry said he entered the woods and all his angst just melted away. He felt young and carefree in a way he’d never felt and the woods told him they loved him.
“WE LOVE YOU LARRY,” the Whispering Forest reportedly whispered, “YOU ARE GOOD. AND YOU LOOK GOOD. DO YOU WANT TO HANG OUT MORE? LET’S HANG OUT AND TELL SOME JOKES AND MAYBE PLAY GAMES. YOU ARE A GOOD FRIEND. LET US BE FRIENDS.”

  Larry said he wanted to stay but that he remembered that he had cable TV and didn’t want to miss anything just because there was some beautiful nature he’d never explored, so he went back home to catch an Iron Chef America marathon.

  So, listeners, it sounds like the Whispering Forest is actually pretty nice. I can’t imagine what all those academic types and bureaucratic pen pushers were going on about. Larry made it sound like a really friendly place. I’m going to send Intern Richard out there and see what else we can learn about this fascinating new addition to our landscape.

  And now a look at the community calendar.

  Monday is the opening of the new exhibit at the Children’s Science Museum. The exhibit is called “THE MOON IS A LIE.” It explores how the moon is a government-created myth to keep us all from knowing about the ancient alien machinery that controls the oceans. In the Hands-on Learning Room, children will be able to make their own moons out of Styrofoam and aggressive propaganda, just like the Masons did.

  Tuesday, Buddy Holly returns to Dark Owl Records. There will be no performance or book signing, and no one will see him. He will just hover over music lovers’ shoulders and disapprove of their misguided musical tastes. Incorrect shoppers will receive a bout of uncontrolled sobbing and a horrifying chill up their spine from the legendary rock and roller himself.

  Thursday is recycling pickup day: paper goes in blue bags, plastic in clear, and any teeth you have lost because of last week’s public water mishap should be gently placed in a wooden box and set afire.

  Friday at the Night Vale Recreation Center are cooking classes for beginners. Amateur chefs can learn about knife skills, the basics of baking, and a seminar about whether or not deer feel pain or are just sad.

  Saturday afternoon is a secret parade. You will know where and when it is, if and when you are chosen to see its secret floats and hear its secret songs.

  Sunday is the day we decided last fall we would clean up around here. You promised. We need to clean up, okay. And that’s this Sunday. Don’t make other plans. You always do that. You always are doing that.

  And now a word from our sponsor.

  You cannot see. You grope around, wildly, as your footing is also unstable. You feel a thin liquid filling your shoes. It is not water, you can tell. A pungent smell of brine or anxiety. Your hands strike something solid. A wall, you think. It is soft, leathery, but also wet. You keep your hands to the surface and it is moving in and out. Like it is breathing. No, more like spasms. You hear a dull rumble from above, a gurgle from below. You still see nothing. The walls jerk back quickly. You lose your balance and slide down to the floor, which is the same surface, but now the liquid is sloshing past you. Something grabs your leg. Something is grabbing your leg. You are being pulled down. You cannot see. Which way madness. “WHICH WAY MADNESS” you scream but no sound comes from your stubborn lips. Your impudent throat. You reach, for what you do not know, only that you reach. A blinding flash. A moment of understanding. You are in an empty storeroom. Tied to a chair. There are others but they are hooded and limp. You recall this living nightmare. You take comfort in its familiar pain. You smell fermentation and can hear a dull, unending beeping. Someone shouts in a language you do not know. You love your family. You love them. Welcome to Red Lobster. Come see what’s fresh today.

  More on the Whispering Forest . . . Intern Richard called to say the woods are stunning and the moment he arrived they were so welcoming. “RICHARD, YOU HAVE LOVELY GREEN EYES. I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST NOTICED THEM. THAT SHIRT REALLY BRINGS OUT THOSE PIERCING GEMS. YOU ALSO HAVE NICE SOFT HANDS. DO YOU PLAY GUITAR? WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY GUITAR? DO YOU LIKE MUSIC?” the forest apparently whispered.

  Richard reported to me that he wanted to stay in the forest, but I told him that he still has intern tasks to do here at the radio station, like filing ad contracts and renaming the wingless insects. But he insisted on staying. Richard told me that his feet started itching at first, then tingling, a very pleasant tingle. He then noticed gray-brown patches forming along his feet and legs and he couldn’t move. Richard assured me that this was exactly what he wanted, but I have already sent for help.

  Ladies and gentlemen, for your safety, please stay away from the Whispering Forest. Do not listen to its hollow compliments, its sappy flattery. Learn from Larry Leroy, stay inside and watch television. There is no reason to go explore nature. No reason. So, as I try to find out what has happened to our station intern, let us go to the weather.

  WEATHER: “Winifred” by Seth Boyer

  Well listeners, there’s good news and bad news from the Whispering Forest. The bad news is that Intern Richard, as we know him, is lost to us forever. As are the dozens of first responders, concerned citizens, and curious nature lovers who all went to the Whispering Forest today. To the family of Richard, let me say I am terribly sorry for your loss. He was an excellent intern, and he will be missed.

  The good news is that none of those we lost today are technically dead. According to Simone Rigadeau, from the Earth Sciences building at Night Vale Community College, the Whispering Forest is a place where we can all plunge our feet and hands into the cool, soft soil, allowing our fingers and toes to grow and spiral into the earth, quickly and deeply intertwining with themselves, each other, snaking in and through a complex organic network to become one. In the Whispering Forest, everyone is one everything. They share each other now.

  I know Simone is only a transient who lives in an unused storage closet in the Earth Sciences building and not an actual scientist, but I thought that was a beautiful story and it brought some meaning to the otherwise meaningless life of an intern.

  Rest easy, Night Vale, knowing that we have lost no one today. They have gained each other. They share the soul of the Whispering Forest now. And we will have them, always, or at least however long trees live, which I think is fairly long. I’m not really sure. I had a hamster as a child and it died in, like, two weeks, so what do I know?

  Stay tuned next for the sound of a rapidly beating heart.

  As always, goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

  PROVERB: If you love someone, set them free. Set them free now. This is the police, and we have you surrounded.

  EPISODE 23:

  “ETERNAL SCOUTS”

  MAY 15, 2013

  THE CONCEPT OF ETERNAL SCOUTS STARTED AS A QUICK JOKE IN THE FIRST episode, and then was briefly mentioned again in episode 10. And, looking at the concept, I started thinking, “Well, what does an ‘Eternal Scout’ mean? What does that even look like?” This episode is me attempting to answer that question.

  I was never in the Boy Scouts. My parents once took me to a Cub Scouts meeting, but I was a terrible and stubborn child and when I didn’t want to do something there wasn’t much of a way of making me do it, so that only lasted one meeting. My dad was a Boy Scout, and so was always in charge of building the fire when we went camping. I never really learned how, and now my wife is in charge of making the fires at home.

  None of that has anything to do with this episode.

  As mentioned in the introduction to this book, the first project that Jeffrey and I worked together on was a play called What the Time Traveler Will Tell Us. Because it’s not likely a play that will ever be performed again, certain scenes from the script have been mined for Night Vale.

  The passage at the end here, which attempts to define a number of important words, is lifted directly from the play. It was a passage I liked a lot, and I wanted more than the one hundred or so people who saw the play to hear it. The play had a motif of toast and the smell of toast, thus the bit about toast in there.

  This episode also marks the introduction of what would much, much later become an important side character voiced by Wil Wheaton: Earl Harlan. Here he
is a fragment of Cecil’s past, mostly characterized by the semi-romantic regret he held for Cecil. When we brought him back, we wanted him to be much more than a crush he perhaps once held, and so we developed a number of story lines for him that are not at all foreshadowed here. People are always much more than the first impression they make.

  —Joseph Fink

  We report only the real, the semi-real, and the verifiably unreal.

  WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE.

  Here at the station we have been receiving many calls and e-mails over the last several months asking us about Khoshekh, the cat found hovering in the men’s bathroom. Well, he is doing just fine, and thank you very much for your concern. In fact, he recently gave birth to an adorable litter of kittens. How does a he cat give birth? Well, how does a he cat hover in an immobile spot in a radio station bathroom? Some things just aren’t meant to be questioned. Most things, actually.

  We slipped a note under Station Management’s door asking if we could keep all those adorable floating kittens. Management responded with a great thrashing behind the closed door of their office, and a localized rainstorm in the break room. We are still working with the station oracle to understand their message, and we will let you know soon what we do with the kittens.

  Exciting news from the Night Vale chapter of the Boy Scouts. Two of their members, Franklin Wilson and Barton Donovan, have achieved all the necessary requirements to advance from the rank of Fear Scout to that final and most terrible of ranks: Eternal Scout. The ceremony will take place at an unspecified time today in the hole in the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs, and anyone is invited to attend. Those who wish to view the ceremony should wear loose-fitting clothing and tell everyone they know that they will be going on a long trip, oh, just somewhere, to clear their heads, you know? And that they don’t know when they’ll be back but it won’t be for a long time probably. I just really have to find myself, and I think the open road is the place to do it, you should say. Don’t look for me, you should continue, taking hold of your loved one’s shoulder and maintaining an intense eye contact. Don’t look for me.