by Joseph Fink
All in all, a pretty typical statement from the government, and hopefully this clears up that whole thing with the flamingos.
Due to the recent events we all have read about, the librarians have been more active than usual. Witnesses, who were paid to go witness by others who were afraid to get close enough to see, report that there are steam and sparks flying out of the Public Library’s many chimneys. Howling can be heard both inside the building and from the mouths of the witnesses as, through the windows, they glimpse the terrible physical forms of the librarians.
There are even a few unconfirmed reports that in the confusion of recent events and the resulting damage done to the library building, one of the librarians may have escaped. Of course, a disaster of that magnitude hasn’t happened since, oh, I guess it would have been last year, so that doesn’t seem likely. Truly it would be awful if it did though. We lost so many people from so many different places the last time a librarian escaped.
One of the witnesses, James Patterson (no relation to the famous local dairy farmer, James Patterson), reported that perhaps the librarians have developed the power to mentally influence those around them, since the closer he got to the library, the more strongly he felt the urge to read books. “Are there any good novels coming out soon?” he began foolishly asking, blind to the dangers that books present. “Oh man, I could really use a new novel,” he babbled, the poor thing, not even understanding the ghastly words spewing from his mouth.
We have no idea if this event was an aberration or if librarians have truly developed the terrifying ability to make people want to actually read books, but all citizens would be well advised to stay clear of libraries and any dangerous books they may see in bookstores everywhere quite soon. I mean, you should always avoid books and libraries, but now it might be worth taking extra precautionary measures, like scooping your eyes out with grapefruit spoons and triple-bolting your door.
And now, back to today’s epilogue.
The baristas are continuing to multiply. All over town businesses that were recently useful normal things, like Gas Stations, and Antiques Malls, and Screaming Sheds, are now suddenly coffee shops, full of identical baristas demonstrating their ability to illustrate, using steamed milk on coffee, the exact moment of your death.
This crisis makes me think of the Man in the Tan Jacket, who was with us in so many crises through our town’s recent history. What would he have done with this situation?
Perhaps it would help to start at the beginning. The beginning is usually an awfully convenient place to start, right? But trying to find a beginning means grappling with the question of time. Scientists have a game where they try to explain time to each other without laughing. No one has ever won.
The man came to us first almost three years ago, a newcomer in a tan jacket. I remember him standing by the side of the road in the small puddle of light cast from a burning refrigerator.
And that is the thing, the remembering. When he was here, we did not remember him. We forgot him constantly. A specter in a tan jacket. Now he is not here, and we remember him perfectly. Years of stories and experience come flooding back to us. We remember him scampering over the walls of the Dog Park. We remember him showing us a map to a place very far from here, a place we did not understand at all. We remember him passing out pieces of paper, the content of which was a mystery, the physical properties of which were a nuisance. But here again I cover a story we already know because we all so recently experienced it.
Old Woman Josie released a statement, to me, in person, as part of a conversation we were having privately, without her saying it was a statement, it was just a thing she said to me during a conversation, anyway here it is, she said, “I always liked that Man in a Tan Jacket. Even when I was afraid of him and suspicious of him. Even when he showed up at my door in the middle of the night with that suitcase of his, the suitcase that constantly buzzed, knocking on my door and babbling about how he needed help desperately, how we had to help him save his home. Even then, as I was ignoring him in his hour of need, I liked him. Even when I forgot him completely and had no idea he even existed, I liked him. You know, this fruit salad Carlos made is just delicious.”
And I agree with Josie’s statement. The fruit salad we were having at our lunch together was supergood, and I wolfed it down even though I’ve been trying to cut back on my meat consumption lately.
I got a little sidetracked there. To get back to the point, we’re all likely going to be destroyed by an endless stream of baristas, which is, of course, a direct result of the recent events involving Jackie and Diane. So there’s that.
Listeners, looks like we’re in need of a new intern. Intern Danielle has stopped coming to the office.
I mean, Danielle had all these crazy conspiracy theories about how radio interns are doomed, so she wanted to stay inside and focus only on computer work. She steadfastly refused any field reporting assignments, so I complied with her wishes and let her run our social media accounts, which I thought would make her happy.
But a few weeks ago, after giving her the simple and fun job of taking pictures of Khoshekh, our radio station’s live-in cat, for our official station Myspace as well as to my personal Google Plus and Snapchat accounts, she just stopped coming to work. I guess she just didn’t have it in her anymore.
But listen, if you’re more motivated to learn about a career in radio than Danielle, we’d love to have you come intern here at the station. All you need to do to become a community radio intern is not run away when Station Management surrounds you outside your home shouting, “THIS ONE IS NEXT! THIS ONE IS NEXT!”
And now a word from our sponsors. Personally I find the content of this ad distasteful, given my earlier warning, but I’m informed by Station Management that I have to read it as written. Here goes.
“Many of us like books. None of us like to admit it. We know that reading makes us deviants, perverts, freaks. Many of us might say, on the radio for instance, that books are dangerous and should be avoided. Even thinking the words I like books to ourselves makes us shudder with a secret shame. We know that we should only be reading government pamphlets and the prophecies on the back of cereal boxes, but again and again we find ourselves returning to the dark sickness of literary language. Who among us can say that they do not have, buried in a box of linens under their bed, a well-read copy of Brand New Ancients by Kate Tempest or a collection of Annie Baker’s Vermont Plays?
“Given all this, should we band together, deviant with deviant, a deviance so natural that it is no deviance at all, but an ingrained motion of the heart, a secret desire so common that it is no more secret than the sun? Should we begin to admit together that we all sometimes like to touch and read books?
“No, of course not. We should be ashamed, and hide our love of books from each other, heaping scorn and hypocritical anger upon anyone who dares to reveal that they have the same desires we do.
“Harper Perennial. All of our literature is shipped to you in unmarked brown paper wrappings. Charges will appear on your credit card statement as DEFINITELY NOT BOOKS. No one has to know you are a book-reading freak.”
This has been a message from our sponsors. Ugh, books.
The population of the Barista District continues to grow, doubling almost every hour, through no means known to modern science, antique science, or reverse science. Carlos is working on a solution, but in the meantime, townspeople are overwhelmed and scared by the coffee options suddenly available to them. They are screaming. They are screaming and running away.
Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town, told me that he can see them now, the baristas, and that they are beautiful and surging. There are so many hands holding so much coffee. They are all so helpful.
“This might be it,” Larry is saying. “Anything could be it,” he is continuing. “Any moment could be the last one. We should always be prepared for the eventuality of no more eventualities. We all live on the narrow precipice. But also yeah, this barista
thing is really going off, huh?” he concluded.
Perhaps if the Man in the Tan Jacket were here, he would have some idea, some solution, or even would just be there to add a comfortingly forgettable presence to this ongoing disaster. But of course, he is not here. And we all know why. We all know who he really is now.
Oh. Oh, Carlos is texting me. He, hm, okay he says that he has a solution to this whole barista thing. Hey! That’s quite clever. It also takes care of that other problem, you know the one I don’t even have to explain to you right now because it was so frightful and all-consuming and fresh in our memories.
Okay, while Carlos does his clever plan, I’ll do a clever plan of my own which is: taking you to the weather.
WEATHER: “Endless Dream” by God Is an Astronaut
And now here we are, in the after. Carlos’s plan, well, we read about what it was and how it turned out. No need to summarize here.
What do we do, after such huge events have transpired? After the ones in danger no longer are (meaning either that they no longer are in danger or that in an existential sense they just no longer are).
Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m going to go bowling with Carlos. League Night is tonight, and we’ve gotten the team back together with Old Woman Josie. Of course, she can use her left hand again now, now that this affair we’ve been talking about is all over, so our scores should be up.
And what else? The sky, of course. Always that. Let’s start there and work our way down to earth. Other cities. Other places. This city. This place.
I imagine that soon this town will settle back into the routine of its existence until a new peril arises again soon. Like a heartbeat. A sudden, violent movement. And in between a lull, in itself a rhythm, a counterpart, the silence between the beats.
Night Vale, in a lull. The doctors at the hospital, going about their mysterious routines. The Pawn Shop, its name changed now, of course, after what happened recently. The office district, and, oh it looks like there is a large family of tarantulas heading there now and they do not look happy. I would hate to be whoever it is that they’re looking for.
The Moonlite All-Nite Diner, where I’m sure Steve Carlsberg is going to stop by on his way home for a slice of invisible pie. Our mayor, Dana, getting ready to finish her work. Carlos’s lab, where he is also finishing up his work. See you soon, Carlos.
And, and something else. Over a housing tract across town I can see a dot in the sky, floating high above one of the houses, twirling and soaring higher. I can’t quite see what it is, but it’s lovely.
In any case, an entire town swinging back to the normal, getting on with life in the after. After all of the things that we all now know happened. All of us.
Except, of course, one person. A person missing. A person who we all missed. A person impossible to remember. A person, now, impossible to forget. The Man in the Tan Jacket.
And what next?
Well, I think there may be other people, other stories to tell. We are, each of us, a vast story waiting for someone to tell it.
Stay tuned in just a few days, or depending on where you are in time, any day you decide to get around to it, for a 401-page factual report about the events that led to this epilogue, available in hardcover, ebook, or audiobook from your favorite factual report retailer.
In the meantime, from after the whole of what you haven’t yet read, good night, Night Vale. Good night.
PROVERB: “Late capitalism” is such a sweetly optimistic phrase.
Episode 77:
“A Stranger”
NOVEMBER 1, 2015
GUEST VOICE: JASIKA NICOLE (DANA CARDINAL)
HAVE YOU EVER READ THE UNEXPECTED GUEST BY EDWARD GOREY? IN spite of (because of?) its adorable simplicity, it’s one of the most terrifying books I’ve ever read, and I would call the stranger in this episode a vague tribute to Gorey’s guest.
The stranger here has no explanation, and like Gorey’s guest, no perceived desires or physical action. I’ve always been fascinated with imperceptible movement in horror, like Dr. Who’s angels or even the adventure trope of the cursed object. To some extent, the ambling zombie is part of this.
Additionally, in this episode, we get to hear from Dana. We haven’t heard from Mayor Cardinal in a while—not in her own voice at least. And working with the actor Jasika Nicole is one of my favorite things in the world. So, duh, we wrote another part for her.
Here we have a delightful former-intern-turned-mayor dealing with a controversial issue in town: the decision to financially help a rival city. Desert Bluffs, after all, was home to StrexCorp, which tried to overtake all of Night Vale just over a year ago. It’s easy to see how a public endorsement of helping out neighbors would be a difficult choice.
Since Dana was an intern at the radio station and her subsequent life in the desert otherworld pining for a way home to see her brother and mother once again, I’ve loved her character. I’ve loved how Jasika layered Dana with such emotional gravity, so focused and independent, yet so in need of her tiny network of those who love her—Cecil included.
And yet, here she is, suddenly mayor of Night Vale. And it’s been a hard go for her. The City Council does not entirely support her choices. She’s fairly young—imagine going from radio intern to mayor in like one year. Go on. Imagine it. I’ll wait.
Know what? I’m tired of waiting. Let’s move on . . .
I’m really interested in exploring the faults and favors of all characters. Generally speaking, Dana has thus far been nearly without fault, without many traits that make her difficult to like, to empathize with. I don’t want her to seem like some ideal secondary hero, worthy of our admiration and unskeptical praise. She’s human. She is capable of failings and sins and poor decisions.
So she chews on dirt when she is anxious (among other feelings). She speaks in questions. She is uneasy about her leadership. She is full of self-doubt not noticeably common in our political leadership.
—Jeffrey Cranor
When a window closes, so does a door. So do all the other doors and windows. The house is alive, and it doesn’t know you, and it is scared.
WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE
Today’s top story. There’s a strange person standing in the lobby of our radio station. This person is standing still, in front of the reception counter. Our receptionist, Lance, keeps asking the stranger if they need anything or if they are here to see anyone. The stranger has not moved. Lance said that he never saw the stranger enter. He looked up and the stranger was just there, about eight feet away from Lance’s desk.
The stranger has eyes that are darker than some people’s eyes but lighter than other people’s eyes. The same could be said about the stranger’s hair, teeth, clothing, lips, and skin. The stranger stands with their arms at their side, weight distributed evenly across the hips, a rigid but casual stance. The stranger can be seen breathing. It is hard to say what exactly the stranger is looking at. It is even harder to say what the stranger wants.
Lance told me he would update me on the stranger. And I will do the same for you, listeners.
Now it’s time for another Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner. Did you know that over 70 percent of the earth’s surface is water? It’s true. Scientists believe that the other 30 percent is some kind of animal hide. Their data shows that the world’s continents comprise the leathery back of a slow-moving ocean beast. They don’t know specifically what kind of beast, but scientists hope that it’s cute. Or at minimum nonvenomous and fairly easy to take care of. Scientists are hoping they’re wrong about all of this, but given that they’re scientists, that’s pretty much impossible.
Lest the beast reveal its true nature, please walk gently and speak softly so as not to alert it to your presence.
This has been Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.
Mayor Dana Cardinal announced this morning that she has been in touch with neighboring city Desert Bluffs. “It’s a disgusting town with terrible people, and we will
no longer speak of them,” she would have announced if she were me. But here is what she actually said.
DANA: What does it mean to be a good neighbor, Night Vale? Is it enough that we introduce ourselves? That we say hello? That we avoid eye contact and have sturdy doors and call centers for reporting suspicious activity? How far out does neighborliness extend? Because I have tapped my friends’ phones and am using trained birds to record all of their activities, does that make me a kind person? A neighborly person?
It does, but what about beyond what we can see? Who we can see? How far does our kindness extend? To the limits of our city? To the limits of our eyesight? To the end of our block?
To the tips of our noses?
People of Night Vale. We have a chance to help a neighbor in need. I have been approached by our friends to the north.
Wait. I’m being told it’s not to the north. To the east. [quietly, off mic] Which direction are they, then? What? It changes? Really? Okay. Sssh. SSHHH! [on mic] By our nearby friends in this desert.
Due to financial hardships, the people of Desert Bluffs are in need. We are all in this together, Night Vale. Sickness can spread, whether that sickness is viral or economic. We must not ignore our neighbors, our friends.
Today I have asked the City Council to negotiate a low-interest loan to Desert Bluffs, our proximate civic family. I think they would do the same for us.
[speaking with mouth full] If I sound passionate, it is because my heart is full of blood. If I sound boisterous, it is because my lungs are full of words. If I sound like I am eating, it is because my mouth is full of dirt. Sometimes I chew on dirt when I am anxious. Or when I am happy. Or when I am talking. I like chewing on dirt.
[no longer chewing] I hope you will support your neighbors in whatever direction they live. I hope you will support my decision as mayor. Good day, Night Vale.
CECIL: Mayor Cardinal’s deputy Trish Hidge said there would be no questions. She then picked the mayor up into her arms, pulled her cloak across their huddled bodies, and ran through the crowd, bowling over journalists and onlookers and some random jogger who thinks he’s better than everyone else because he exercises publicly.
