by Joseph Fink
WEATHER: “A Little Irony” by Tom Milsom
We return you now to a safe place. The Street Cleaners have passed. Street Cleaning Day, as so many other days, is behind us. We emerge from hiding spots, from secret locations, from places under other places. We step out into the street, and it is as though it is brand new to us. Certainly, it is cleaner now, but that is not all. We have survived all the way from birth to this very moment, and we look at each other, and some of us start laughing and others start weeping and one or two of us break out into a wordless humming song, and all of us mean the exact same thing.
Look at us. Look at us out in the honey light of the finished day. Look at us and rejoice in our sheer being.
One of us turns to another, clears his throat, and puts a gentle hand upon the other’s gentle arm.
“I’ve never told you this,” that one says.
“What is it, Wilson?” says the other.
“Amber, you are all to me. Will you marry me?”
“Wilson, we’ve spoken maybe twice. Do you think we could start with dinner instead?”
“No, yes, no, you’re right. I was confused,” says the one, although he was not confused.
“Think nothing of it. It’s forgotten,” says the other, although she thought many things of it, and had forgotten nothing.
And then a gradual movement toward Mission Grove Park, no orders or even suggestions given, and yet we all file to that central meeting place, put our arms around each other, grip tight, and then grip tighter. Some of us are not here. We leave space for them, space that has been emptied by time.
“I suppose I should say a few words, to mark the occasion,” says one of us, tall, toward the front. He says nothing more.
The City Council arrives, back from their long-planned Miami vacation, nudging those near them and talking about silver sand beaches and the food, oh those Cubans know how to do it. Even they are accepted into the gathering, despite our usual fears, and we grip them too as friends.
Night has arrived, ladies. Night is here, gentlemen. Night falls on our weary bodies.
And night falls on you too. You too have survived, survived everything up to this moment. Grip tight, hum, laugh, cry. Forget nothing and think many things of it.
Goodnight. Goodnight. Goodnight.
PROVERB: One incorporeal being said to the other, “I’m not here too! Make friends?”
EPISODE 16:
“THE PHONE CALL”
FEBRUARY 1, 2013
GUEST VOICE: JEFFREY CRANOR
THIS WAS OUR FIRST EPISODE WITH A VOICE OTHER THAN CECIL BALDWIN’S. That voice was mine. I played Carlos, the scientist.
It was a short-lived acting gig.
Not that I did a bad job. (I mean, I didn’t do a bad job, did I? You liked it, right?) But as Carlos’s significance grew in the first year of Welcome to Night Vale, so did our desire to actually voice him on the show.
At episode 16, we just weren’t there yet. We weren’t thinking long term. Carlos was still a significant character, but we hadn’t really started considering what it meant to cast a person in a role in an ongoing series. First and most importantly, casting a voice means you are pretty much stuck with that person, so they better be talented and delightful.
Not that I’m not talented or delightful. (Right?)
But here’s the other thing, I’m a straight white man playing a gay man of color. So by the time we started performing Welcome to Night Vale live shows and writing more parts for Carlos on the podcast, it simply didn’t make sense to not cast Dylan Marron, who is way more talented and delightful than I (or anyone) could ever be.
Plus, not casting white people in roles for people of color is the correct thing to do. It’s not a noble or laudable thing to do. It is what you are supposed to do, so we corrected this, by casting a person of color in the role.
It wasn’t until episodes 19 A and B where we really started casting professional actors to play other voices than Cecil’s. As a playwright, nothing is more helpful to the writing process than hearing your words performed. Actors inform characters just as much as writers do, and Dylan has taken Carlos in directions I never thought possible. It’s been an absolute joy to work with him.
—Jeffrey Cranor
Your existence is not impossible, but it’s also not very likely.
WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE.
In light of the ever-declining sales of newspapers and the rise of competition from digital media, the Night Vale Daily Journal announced that it has developed a new business model. Publishing editor Leann Hart, speaking to television and Internet reporters outside the burned-down shell of the Journal’s former distribution plant, said their new mission as a newspaper is to kill news bloggers with hatchets.
In this bold new initiative, a game-changing strategy by one of the industry stalwarts, the Daily Journal plans to just go to bloggers’ homes and places of employment, with hatchets, and then chop them up (the bloggers), until they (the bloggers) are dead.
She added that the Journal still plans to use the AP Style Guide, and they are working to design a newer, more modern-looking masthead.
Several Journal reporters and ad reps then began swinging blades at the nonprint reporters in attendance.
The Sheriff’s Secret Police is issuing an urgent message to all citizens. Attention all citizens: Memorize this list. Memorize it now. It will not now, nor ever, be repeated. Memorize this list for your safety and protection. We cannot tell you when or where you will need to know it, but when you do, you will be safe. Here is the list. Memorize. Now.
Hazelnut. Mystify. Cuttlefish. Lark. Lurk. Robert. Anglican. Pheromone halter top marmalade hardware laser pepper release kneecap falafel period chase chaste leggings wool sweater heartbeat heartbeat heart beat. Heart. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.
Memorize that list, citizens. In order. Secret Police warn that if you miss even one word or transpose a couple of words like lurk and lark, there could be unpleasant consequences.
This has been a special announcement from the Sheriff’s Secret Police.
Listeners, guess who called me this weekend? . . . Well, hey. I don’t like to talk too much about my personal life here. This is your community news station, not Cecil’s personal life station, right? Okay, fine, I’ll just say it. Carlos! Carlos, the dark, delicate-skinned scientist who came into our little town and our littler hearts several months ago.
Well, I gave him my home phone number quite a while back and he never called. And I didn’t think anything of it, right? I mean, sometimes people just don’t call and that’s okay. Well, to the point. Carlos calls, and I’m like “Hello?” (like I don’t even have caller ID) and he’s like “I need to talk to you. This is important.” And I’m like “Um . . . okay.”
I mean, that’s pretty forward, right listeners? But I can’t tell exactly what he wants yet.
And he said, “Cecil” (just the sound of his caramel voice: “Cecil”). He said, “Cecil, I think time is slowing down in Night Vale.”
And then I said, after a slow sip of Armagnac, “Oh?”
And perfect Carlos said, “Last week. Seven Days. Twenty-four hours each day. Sixty minutes in each hour. That’s 10,080 minutes in a week, right?”
“Uh huh. Go on,” I said, trying to sound like someone with a normal pulse and whose palms were not sweating.
“Well, I ran some figures, and during that same amount of time in Night Vale, 11,783 minutes elapsed everywhere else in the world. That’s more than a full day longer. I don’t know what’s happening.”
So that’s what Carlos said.
Listeners, what do you think? I feel like time always slows down when we’re together, Carlos and I. Is that what he’s trying to say? I feel that way, too. But I didn’t say that. I just said. Oh this is bad. I just said: “Neat.”
Oh how embarrassing. I mean, Carlos is so smart, and he says so many smart things. And I’m not dumb. I like science and municipally approved books just as much as the next
guy. So I can’t believe that’s all I could say to him . . . “Neat.”
But I did manage to ask if he wanted to get together sometime and talk some more about this really fascinating subject. He said no, but he needed me to help get the word out and see if anyone has noticed a massive time shift. So that’s what I’m doing now. Anything for the scientific community. I’m very into science these days.
Wow. Can you believe he called me?
Update on the impending invasion from the underground city. The Sheriff’s Secret Police has reviewed Teddy Williams’s grainy security footage from the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, and they say that the nearly indiscernible gray blotch making a slight movement near the cheese dispenser definitely proves that a lost city is moving toward war with Night Vale.
A balaclava-clad man wearing a miter, cloak, and a giant silver star and speaking through a vocoder—you know, the man we all believe to be the sheriff of Night Vale?—announced this morning that all citizens should prepare their town for war. This includes fortifying porches with sand bags, training children to detect land mines, and not taking off our gas masks for meals, even though it is considered polite.
We talked with Teddy himself. He told us that during last night’s league bowling tournament, the jukebox malfunctioned and would not stop playing “Mr. Brownstone.” Teddy says this could be a code, some kind of threatening message or maybe even a subtle call for peace. He also asked that Night Vale citizens learn their shoe sizes. Shoe rentals are taking way too long, and it’s really not that hard to memorize a one- or two-digit number.
The Sheriff’s Secret Police also asks Night Vale residents to please help in their Neighborhood Watch program. Secret Police are in every neighborhood, watching everybody, so here are some tips on how you can help this invaluable community surveillance program:
1. Keep all windows open during clement weather. And if you must close them during rain, dust, or coal storms, please keep them clean and stand near them so cameras and microphones can clearly identify you.
2. When having any private conversation, whether via phone or with those in your home, turn down the TV and radio to cut back on noise pollution. Also, please try to keep your conversations lively—maybe some local gossip or polarizing sports opinions. Too much boring talk about plans for your garden or where to buy good LaserDiscs can make the Secret Police tired and less effective at their jobs.
3. Do not wear tinfoil hats. This hackneyed technique doesn’t work at all. Helicopters could mind-scan you through twenty feet of lead. You shouldn’t wear these homemade hats because it draws unnecessary attention to yourself. It’s pathetic and paranoid. The Secret Police are embarrassed for you.
And as always, if you see something, say “something.” That’s the code word to call a special raid on a neighbor or stranger. If you see something, say the word something.
Now in the news: After several months of protests from ordinary Night Vale citizens of stout and sturdy character, the City Council has announced several improvements for the public library. These improvements are the following:
• An entrance is being constructed at the front of the building so we will no longer have to enter by waking up between two shelves in a dizzy haze, unsure of how we got there, and then wandering around, trapped, until we wake with a start in our own beds, covered in sweat and with a few books we checked out on our nightstand.
• Drinking fountains are being installed in the lobby, as well as dunking chambers and a state-of-the-art fainting pool.
• Librarian repellent dispensers are being placed throughout the building. Remember, if approached by a librarian, keep still. Do not run away. Try to make yourself bigger than the librarian.
• Finally the children’s section is getting beanbag chairs.
That is all. Is it? Yes. But is it? Yes.
And now traffic.
All roads lead to somewhere, and all roads come from somewhere, and in between they are a snarl and a curve, a twist and a bend. Where are we going? I mean, metaphorically. Where are we coming from? I mean, literally. Is it possible to stop or turn around, and if not, what does that mean for the latest polls and economic reports? Ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and gentlemen, Route 800 is looking clear in both directions. The old dirt road to the small wooden shack is backed up at least thirty minutes. There. Now you know. Has that filled an emptiness for you? Are you any happier now? I hope so. This has been, and will always be, traffic.
Listeners, I can hardly stand it any longer, during the past few stories, my phone has been silently buzzing. You guessed who!
Given that I am a radio host and it is therefore my duty to read you the news, it would be completely inappropriate for me to answer my phone regardless of how much I want to soak my ears in the oaky tones of our community’s most significant outsider.
But. Well, he left me some voice mails.
This may be a bit unorthodox, but I need your help, dear listeners, to determine where Carlos is going with all of this. Let’s listen to these together, okay? What do you think he’s trying to say?
[AUTOMATED FEMALE VOICE: “Start of message”]
CARLOS: Cecil, sorry to bother you. I need you to get the word out that clocks in Night Vale are not real. I haven’t found a single real clock. I have disassembled several watches and clocks this week, and all of them are hollow inside. No gears, no crystal, no battery or power source. Some of them actually contain a gelatinous gray lump that seems to be growing hair and teeth. I need to know if all clocks are this way, Cecil. This is very . . .
[Whispering] There’s something at my door, Cecil. I. I need to go, okay. Call you back in well, I don’t know.
[AUTOMATED FEMALE VOICE: “Start of message”]
CARLOS: [Whispering] There’s a man in a jacket, holding a leather suitcase outside my door, Cecil. He’s not knocking. He’s just standing in front of my door. I can’t make out his face. I’m peering through a crack in the living room blinds. I. Oh no, he saw me.
[AUTOMATED FEMALE VOICE: “Start of message”]
CARLOS: [Normal voice] Sorry about that, Cecil. I forget what I was doing. I think somebody came over, but I don’t remember who or what for. Anyway, I need to meet you. Are you free tomorrow afternoon? You have a contact number for the mayor and someone with the police, right? It’s important I find them. And again, can you get the word out on your radio show about the clocks?
Did you hear that listeners? A date! Let’s go to the weather.
WEATHER: “Those Days Are Gone and My Heart Is Breaking” by Barton Carroll
Well, I just got off the phone with Carlos, listeners, and we have a date. Tomorrow afternoon! It’s just coffee, but maybe it’s more. Maybe lots more. Who knows?
You know, they always say, “If you’re trying to meet someone, you may never find them. But it’s when you’re not looking, that’s when they find you.” I’ve always heard this in reference to government agents, but I think it applies to dating as well.
Carlos did want me to ask if anyone has ever actually seen the Night Vale Clock Tower. I told him that it was invisible and always teleporting, and that’s why he can’t ever see it. I mean, that seems sort of obvious.
Okay, that was unfair. Carlos is a very smart man, and I shouldn’t roll my eyes just because he doesn’t comprehend basic architecture. He obviously has a lot of other intriguing interests, though. Like clock making! And seismology. And who knows what else.
Oh, happy day listeners. Thanks for listening and for helping me through this. I’m so very excited.
Before we go, Intern Stacey just handed me this. The Sheriff’s Secret Police would like to issue a correction to their earlier special alert. In their warning, they stated that memorizing a very specific list would keep you safe. This is incorrect. According to the new statement, quote: “We are not safe. We are all being hunted by time and our own deceitful bodies. Memorizing the list will merely prevent additional external pain beyond that which you
experience daily just by being alive. The Sheriff’s Secret Police regret the error.” End quote.
That’s it for our news. Stay tuned next for a community-wide frisson of cosmic fright.
Thank you again, Night Vale. May you, too, find love in this dark desert. May it be as permanent as the blinking lights and as comforting as the dull roar of space. Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.
PROVERB: If I said you had a beautiful body, would it even matter because we are so insignificant in this vast incomprehensible universe?
EPISODE 17:
“VALENTINE”
FEBRUARY 15, 2013
VALENTINE’S DAY IS A DISASTER. ANY DAY THAT IS DESIGNED TO PERFECTLY encapsulate something as messy and personal as two people in a romantic relationship would have to be. But in Night Vale it also kills people. This is called satire.
Subsequent Valentine’s Days in Night Vale have passed with other stories being told, and no mention of any great Valentine’s disaster. This is because, while continuity is cool, it would be really boring to make this same joke every year.
There is an interesting moment in here that involves Night Vale sending for help to their state government, and the state government thinking it’s a joke. This is the start of a relationship between Night Vale and the outside world that only gets darker and more complicated as the years go on.
