01/10/2013 17:20:00 ¶ ●

## Episode 32 - Yellow Helicopters

A lonely heart, a wandering eye, an empty stomach, a shoulder to cry on. This is what makes us, us.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Sad news, listeners.

Old Woman Josie says that the Angels who have been living with her – helping around the house and ultimately protecting her from all evils – have disappeared. It’s hard to say just how sad this news is, for two important reasons:

1. Angels are not real, and
2. we are not allowed to know about their existence or hierarchical structure.

Josie called this weekend and spoke to Vithia, our station intern. She said that the Angels often leave her for a few hours, or days, at a time…but they’ve never been gone for three straight weeks. She thinks that they are off fighting an important war for good, but she’s worried that maybe she just made them mad, or bored.

“Angels get bored very easily,” Josie said. Which is strange, because they are eternal, and there is a lot of down-time during immortality.

Vithia told Josie that Angels aren’t real, and that we cannot know such things about them. But this just made Vithia cry, because if you talk about Angels, and you are one who has been secretly chosen by Angels, for special Angelic purposes, you will start crying.

Vithia has been sobbing quite a bit this morning, as a matter of fact. I keep asking her, “Are you OK?”

But she just says, “Angels aren’t real,” and then buries her heaving face into her inner elbow and runs off.

Dear listeners, it appears the Angels, if they are real (and they are not), have left Night Vale. And none of us are allowed to know this, so…forget I said anything.

The Night Vale Medical Board wants to know, are you heart-healthy? How healthy is your heart? Have you ever checked? Doctors recommend checking your heart at least once a year. Simply separate the skin on your upper chest, and break open the ribs. Here’s a tip: If you don’t have a bone saw handy, just sterilize any old electric saw you might have in your work shed.

Right behind your ribs, kind of to the left, is a potato-shaped muscle lump filled with straw and maybe some insects. That’s your heart! Pull that out and sew your chest back up. Wash your heart in warm water, pat dry with a paper towel, and roll flat on a floured surface. Brown both sides in a sauté pan, and eat immediately.

Remember, a healthy heart is a healthy life!

This has been Community Health Tips.

Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been getting reports that several Yellow Helicopters have been seen hovering above town. We are all aware of the Black Helicopters (which are World Government), and Blue Helicopters (which are Secret Police), and the Helicopters with Detailed Murals of Diving Birds of Prey (which are the helicopters that took all the children in Night Vale away a few months ago [we still don’t know what those helicopters are but…they did bring all the children back unharmed, and much more well-behaved than before, so they are deemed just as safe as the other helicopters])…but these new Yellow Helicopters, no one quite knows.

They tend to hover in packs of three or more, in fixed locations, for several minutes before moving on. The City Council has said that the helicopters are our guests, and they should be treated as such, but added that the helicopters, more specifically, are uninvited guests, and should be treated with fear, hatred, and uncontrolled panic.

If you have any more information on these Yellow Helicopters, keep it to yourself. There’s no question they can hear every move, every sentence, you make. Be quiet and stay inside. They already know.

Let’s go now to sports.

After a second straight loss this weekend, Night Vale High School football coach Nazr al-Mujaheed expressed some concern over senior quarterback Michael Sandero’s poor play.

Last season, the Scorpions won the division title under Sandero’s leadership…and special powers he had acquired from multiple lightning strikes. One such advantage was the second head he had grown, which helped him see rushing linebackers and get better reads on zone coverage.

But in the off-season, Sandero had one of his heads surgically removed, leaving him with only the head that speaks Russian.

Angry fans speculate that because Sandero no longer looks like his original self, and because he no longer speaks English nor Spanish, he does not have the same rapport with his teammates.

When asked whether or not Sandero was losing the respect of his team, Coach al-Mujaheed said, “Our boys play together. Our boys play good games. We want to…”

And here he paused, clearly upset with his star quarterback’s decision to get off-season surgery without consulting team trainers.

“We want to be good football boys,” he concluded.

The coach then reached his fingers into his mouth, pulling his tongue slowly out. Slowly, slowly, not stopping. He kept pulling his seemingly-endless tongue out, staring at the reporters the whole time. After he stretched it to about two feet, the last reporter left the room, clearly shaken.

The coach remained in his office quietly, and with wide eyes, pulling out his enormous tongue.

Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town, says that just this morning he was visited by a Man in a Tan Jacket, who carried a deerskin suitcase. Larry said the man approached his farm and asked about how much sunshine he had been getting.

“I told him, John Peters – you know, the farmer? – his imaginary corn crop had been good this summer, and the sun seemed to be doing just fine,” Larry said. “Although some days there’s no sunrise at all, and on other days the sunrise is extremely loud.”

Larry added that this was a pretty strange question – asking about how much sunshine he’d been getting – as the sun comes up every day, save those two or three sunless days last week.

Larry said he was a nice enough fellow, though, named Emmett. Larry said he couldn’t remember exactly what Everett looked like, nor what his last name was.

When asked who Everett was, Larry replied, “The Fellow in the Tan Jacket.”

When told he just said the man’s name was Emmett, Larry replied, “Yes, Ernest. I said that. Don’t bog me down, son!”

Then he slapped the reporter’s tape recorder, making the following loud, thumping noise:

[loud thumping noise]

Larry said that after the man left his home, he saw a dark black line in the sky, coming from the heavens down to near where Old Woman Josie lives, down by the old car lot. He said he thinks it was probably something to do with “those weird, tall friends of hers that fly around and make loud trumpet noises and will not stop smiling all the time.”

When asked if he meant Angels, Larry replied, “Don’t bog me down, son!” and then started weeping.

“Angels aren’t real,” Larry said, through quick breaths and incomprehensible tears.

As part of our service to our town, Night Vale Community Radio is taking another moment to allow one of the candidates for mayor to make a brief statement. The following is from Hiram McDaniels:

Hi, I’m Hiram McDaniels. You’ve heard a lot of things from my opponent about how the night sky is beautiful but sad, and how sagebrush is a very important smell. You’ve also heard that I am literally a five-headed dragon. All of that is completely correct.

But what you haven’t heard is that I’m literally a five-headed dragon…who cares.

This is also my campaign slogan: “I’m literally a five-headed dragon. Who cares!”

And what you haven’t heard is that I care about small business owners. What you haven’t heard is that I care about the future of our children. What you haven’t heard is that I care about the future of our small children business owners. Have you ever heard the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home say that? No, you haven’t. Really, you shouldn’t be able to hear her say anything at all. She doesn’t have a mouth. I have five mouths.

What you haven’t heard is–

Do you hear the beating of my terrible wings? Do you feel the flames lick at the corners of a life you once thought belonged to you?

Sorry about that, my green head got excited. We all have human foibles. I don’t, I’m literally a five-headed dragon.

What you haven’t heard is my new plan for an expanded parks system, and more youth sports programs.

AND YOU WILL NEVER HEAR IT! IT’S A SECRET! AND BURIED IN A SECRET PLACE!

That’s a good point, purple head!

So vote for me, Hiram McDaniels. The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home is all about politics as usual. Also, she doesn’t have a mouth, and that’s…weird.

A stillness touches the most frantic heart as we all look up in awe and terror! A sudden shout of fire, and all is forgiven. A gentle touch of flame, and all is as if it never was.

Hiram McDaniels. Whatever you haven’t heard, can’t hurt you.

Listeners, we’ve received word from Old Woman Josie that half a dozen Yellow Helicopters are circling her home at this moment. She also said that she’s receiving no sunlight. She says all of her clocks tell her it’s the middle of the day, but that she is receiving no sunlight.

And, yes, I’m looking at our own station clocks, including the wristwatch Carlos gave me for our one-month anniversary, the watch he said is the one true timepiece in all of Night Vale, and it is indeed the middle of the day. I have only been on the air a few minutes, and before I arrived in this studio, the sun was definitely out – no clouds in the sky,

Josie also told us that she used her old opera glasses to look more closely at the helicopters.

Just an aside for our younger listeners, Josie was the Chairwoman of the Night Vale Opera for many years, until it folded in the early 1990s when a massive puppy infestation destroyed the theater’s infrastructure.

Josie said each helicopter has a large triangular logo with an orange “S” in the middle. She doesn’t know what that means, but she thinks the darkness enveloping her home is the Angels’ last act to try to protect her. Wherever they have gone, they have left behind a protective shade, keeping out the helicopters and all other dark forces.

I reminded her that Angels aren’t real, and she said – as if I hadn’t even interrupted – that if she falls, so does this town.

There was a long pause, and then she said, “We never go bowling anymore, Cecil, why is that?”

“I don’t know,” I reflected. “There has been a tiny underground army living under the bowling alley, and they’ve declared war on all of us…they injured my new boyfriend – also, I have a new boyfriend. Listen, we should totally get the team back together and go to League Night again, just like old times.”

“I would like that, Cecil,” she said.

But then her voice slowed, turning cold, as if we were strangers with wrong numbers. "I’m afraid the sunlight has come back.“

And the phone went silent.

Listeners, I do not know what is happening, or to whom these helicopters belong, but I do know that we must protect our town, Night Vale. Protect it from all outsiders, whether they are flying machines, or tiny war-mongering civilizations, or simply neighbors who don’t say the Pledge of Allegiance loudly enough.

I hope Josie is safe. I hope you are safe. I hope we all live to see tomorrow’s sunrise…or whatever day the next sunrise is.

But for now, I give you the weather.

[”Palabras de papel“ by Nelson Poblete]

Listeners, I just received word from Vithia, who went downtown to the City Records Office. She said she found several Emmetts, Everetts, and Ernests, but there was one particular file that stuck out to her, and she copied that file, and put that copy in her backpack, and then walked out into the street, ready to begin her investigation into the identity of the Man in the Tan Jacket.

But, according to witnesses, Vithia found herself caught up in what looked like a strong wind. She lifted slightly off the ground. Witnesses all agreed that she began to elongate. She began to glow a deep black – a dark, pulsing aura.

And amidst the sounds of bold trumpets, and melancholy cellos, and even the haunting call of a muted French horn, Vithia ascended to Heaven.

To the family of Vithia, let me say that she was a very good intern, and while Angels are not real, we are certain she is in a better place – whatever that place might be. She has become a better thing – whatever that thing might be. Know that your daughter did not die in vain, and perhaps, given the tenuous reality of existence, she may not have died at all – for it’s debatable whether any of us ever truly live.

The witnesses all agreed that Vithia was no longer real, and that we were no longer allowed to know anything about her.

"It was a lovely sight,” said one witness.

“I cannot even describe the beauty of her ascension,” said another.

“You kind of did, though,” said another witness, who was wearing a fedora. “By saying you cannot describe something, that is a sort of apotheosis, a paralipsis, if you will, which gives the object an implied description through non-description,” he continued. “Plus, the word ‘indescribable’ carries with it a universal connotation and is, itself, a description. Here, let me explain…”

But the other witnesses moved a little ways up the sidewalk, so they could no longer hear the man. They said nothing to one another. They just stood in a circle, sharing the knowledge that they had seen something they should never have seen. They looked one another in the eyes, they breathed in unison, they smiled politely, intimately, knowingly, until one of them – in fact, each of them, as individuals, decided that the moment had passed, and they parted ways. They will likely never see the others again, and if they do, they will be but unacquainted pedestrians.

But, before they left, the witnesses said that some low-flying Yellow Helicopters began dropping orange leaflets onto the city streets. The leaflets read:

StrexCorp Synernists, Inc.
Look around you: Strex
Look inside you: Strex
Go to sleep: Strex
Believe in a Smiling God: StrexCorp
It is EVERYTHING.

Oh…oh no. Uhh, dear listeners, we must issue an apology. Those helicopters are completely…safe. Even safer than safe. In fact, StrexCorp recently bought our little radio station from the mysterious, unseen forces who founded it centuries ago. Uhh, I’m glad to know that Josie will be OK, and that StrexCorp has come to Night Vale.

Rest easy, listeners, knowing that this was all just a simple misunderstanding. But now we fully understand everything that is happening, and we are not misunderstanding anything else at all. We are completely…safe.

Stay tuned next for the sound of slow, steady dripping, and occasional screams.

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never quite describe the pain.

05/10/2013 20:36:00 ¶ ●

## Live at L.A. Podcast Festival

This transcript is of the Welcome to Night Vale performance at the L.A. Podcast Festival on the 5th of October, 2013. The performance consisted of two previously released episodes: The Shape in Grove Park and The Man in the Tan Jacket. However, there was new material added (and some short sections removed), and James Urbaniak was there as a guest voice, playing the role of Night Vale Community Radio intern. The weather was performed by Sara Watkins.

Video of the performance is available from LA Podfest in two parts: Part 1 Part 2

The Shape in Grove Park

Close your eyes. Let my words wash over you. You are safe now.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Local historians are protesting the removal of the Shape in Grove Park that No One Acknowledges or Speaks About. While their protest has been hampered by the fact that none of them will acknowledge or speak about it, they did — through a system of gestures and grimaces — convey the message that, whatever the Shape is, and whatever its effects on nearby neighborhoods, it is a Night Vale landmark and should be protected.

The Shape itself offered no comment — only a low moaning and gelatinous quiver. The City Council would not provide any reason for the removal, but they did say that any work in Grove Park was making way for a new swing set, picnic area, and bloodstone circle, which we all can agree are good contributions to our community.

The Night Vale Green Market Co-Op announces today that, after 15 years, they will begin selling fruits and vegetables. Green Market Board President Tristan Cortez said that recent customer surveys indicated that shoppers have grown tired of empty pickup trucks and vacant tents lining the City Hall parking lot every Sunday morning in the summer and fall.

Cortez said that research indicates consumers are more likely to buy products if they are available and for sale, and that Green Market and Grocery shoppers tend to purchase food items. Cortez says that the decision to sell food at the Green Market was a controversial one, as many board members and Co-Op shareholders feel fruit and vegetable sales will interfere with their ongoing secretive domestic espionage operations.

When reached for comment, our source within the Secret Police only breathed heavily into the phone while tapping an as-yet uncracked code into the receiver.

Michael Sandero, starting quarterback for the Night Vale Scorpions, has reportedly grown a second head. It is not currently known whether this is a result of the previously reported lightning strike, or just another odd coincidence in this kid’s odd life.

People in the know say that the new head is looking better, smarter than the first one, and even Michael’s mother has issued a statement indicating that she likes it much better than her son. And that she will be changing the rankings on the public “Which of My Children I Like Best” board outside of her house.

Sandero could not be reached for comment.

Probably.

We didn’t really try.

Friends, listeners; there’s a real tarantula problem here in Night Vale. Many residents have called in to report that illiteracy, unwanted pregnancy, and violent crime are on the rise in the tarantula communities. Animal control is addressing these concerns through after school programs called “Teach a Spider to Read — Stop the Madness.”

Those interesting in volunteering should stand in their bathtubs and weep until it is all gone.

Nothing left.

You can let go now.

Let go.

Shhhhh.

Let go.

And now a message from our sponsor.

Uh, Intern Leland, who is our first sponsor for today’s show?

> It is stamps dot com.

> Tired of waiting in line at the Post Office? Scared of the unexplained blood that pours from P.O. boxes? Confused by screams that no one else hears? Try stamps dot com.

> With stamps dot com, you can print your own postage and avoid the long lines and predatory birds so common at the Post Office. You can even have your postal carrier pick up your packages, as long as you’re careful never to look the carrier in the eyes, as this is a sign of aggression and you may scare your postal carrier away.

> Stamps dot com has a special offer for Night Vale Community Radio listeners. Sign up now, and receive a bag full of magic rocks, $50 worth of self loathing, and a free scale, so you can arbitrarily assign numbers to material objects.

> To claim your new member benefits, simply visit stamps dot com, and press your forehead against the radio mic in the upper-right corner of your screen until your entire body falls forwards into the alternate stamps dot com universe.

> Stamps dot com will tell your family you loved them very much. Stamps dot com will tell your family that stamps dot com loves them very much.

> “Come here, family. You are all our family now,” stamps dot com will say, stretching their many boneless arms around your entire family. “Come here. We are all a loving family.”

> Stamps dot com. You live in a dead world. We love you.

Ah, thank you so much, Leland! And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Ladies and gentlemen, the rumor mill is abuzz. We’ve had a celebrity sighting in our little burgh!

Old Woman Josie and one of her Angel friends reportedly saw Rita Hayworth getting gas at the Fuel ‘n Go over by the bowling alley. Rita Hayworth, ladies and gentlemen! Right here in Night Vale. Can you believe it? Old Woman Josie said that Rita was looking a little bit older, moderately obese, and considerably more Hispanic, but the Angel assured her it was indeed Rita. And he is an Angel after all…he would know, right? Wow! Wow! Rita Hayworth! Here in Night Vale! Just imagine!

And now, an update on the Shape Formerly in Grove Park that No One Acknowledges or Speaks About: it seems the City Council, in their superhuman mercy and all-seeing glory, have chosen to move the Shape directly in front of our own radio station, where it is continuing to be what can only be described as indescribable.

The Shape was not available for comment as I could find no one willing to speak to it…or even meet my eye when I mentioned it. It has occurred to me that I may be the only one able to see it.

Now that I think about it, I have also never bothered to actually check whether this mic is attached to any sort of recording or broadcasting device.

And it is possible that I am alone, in an empty universe, speaking to no one, unaware that the world is held aloft merely by my delusions and my smooth, sonorous voice.

“More on this story as it develops,” I say, possibly only to myself.

The Night Vale Community Theater is holding auditions for its fall show, “Once On This Island.” Interested thespians should bring a head shot and resume to the Recreation Center auditorium on Thursday night.

All auditionees must perform a one-minute monologue and sing one song. Bring sheet music along if you would like piano accompaniment. Auditionees will also be required to do a cold reading, and give blood and stool samples along with mandatory radiation testing following the auditions.

Do not sing anything from South Pacific.

People of color are urged to audition, as Night Vale Community Theater is an equal-opportunity employer.

Oh, also, actors with long-range sniper training, FORTRAN computer programming, and top-notch wilderness survival skills are a plus.

Final casting will be announced in secret via dirigible.

No one can ever know.

Update on the Green Market situation from earlier in our broadcast. Everything is exactly the same as when we last reported on it, and there is no new information.

Listeners, do you ever think about the moon? I was sitting outside last night looking at the moon and I thought, does anyone actually know what that thing is? Have there been any studies on it? I went to ask Carlos, but he hasn’t been seen much since that treacherous Telly’s vile haircut.

The moon’s weird though, right? It’s there, and there, and then suddenly it’s not. And it seems to be pretty far up. Is it – is it watching us? If not, what is it watching instead? Is there something more interesting than us? Hey, watch us moon! We may not always be the best show in the universe, but we try.

This has been today’s Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

And now, a word from our sponsor. Leland? Uh, who else do we have supporting our show?

> Well, Cecil, I’d like to take a second now to tell you about hulu dot com.

> Huuuuuuuuuuuuullluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

> Let’s talk about watching things. Let’s talk about watching, rather than actually watching. Let’s think about talking about watching a second-hand experience. Let’s continually abstract ourselves from what we believe is the world.

> Huuuuuulluuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

> The pulsing life of your body is an undeniable fact, but deny it anyway. Looking for the answers to all of life’s problems? We recommend obstinate denial. Accept no substitute. Accept nothing.

> Huuuuuulluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

> Water circles the drain of our planet, always coming back for one more go to see if the cycle will be different. It will not be different. The sky will break open, and water will fall, one more time.

> One more time.

> Huluuu.

> The terror you feel in quiet moments is not misplaced, just mis-timed.

> Hulu. Hulu. Hulu. Hulu. Hulu. Hulu. Hulu! Hulu!!

> Hulu dot com! Sign up now, and get the latest episode of

> [static sounds with a hint of distant horns, perhaps?]

> OK, that’s it for me, see you later!

Thank you, Leland!

The Night Vale School District has announced some changes to the elementary school curriculum. They are as follows:

In response to parent feedback, history classes will focus more heavily on textbook readings and traditional exams, rather than live ammo drills.

Oh, geology is adding a new type of rock on the grounds that it’s been a while since anybody has done that. The new type of rock is “vimbee,” and it is categorized by its pale blue color, and the fact that it is completely edible. Points will be awarded to the first student to discover a real-world example of it.

Math and English are switching names. Their curriculum will stay exactly the same.

Astronomy will now be conducting stargazing sessions only with blindfolds on every participant, in order to protect them from the existential terror of the void.

Oh, also, Pluto has been declared imaginary.

All classrooms will be equipped with at least one teacher physically present for the entire instruction period. Astral projection will no longer be used in any classroom.

And finally, in addition to the current foreign language offerings of Spanish, French, and Modified Sumerian, schools will now be offering Double Spanish, Weird Spanish, Coptic Spanish, Russian, and Unmodified Sumerian.

And now a continuation of our previous investigation into whether I am literally the only person in the world, speaking to myself in a fit of madness caused by my inability to admit the tragedy of my own existence.

Intern Leland recently brought me a cup of coffee. He is no longer in my field of vision, but I do still have the cup of coffee. Which is well made, and is giving me that needed pick-me-up to continue considering this terrifying possibility.

Is it possible that I only imagined Leland, and forgot making myself this cup of coffee? But then, who would have grown this coffee? Where was this cup produced? Hmm.

Oh, Leland is, uh, back in the room, and he’s waving at me — um, hello, Leland — uh, he’s saying…wait, what was that, Leland?

> Cecil, the Shape has turned a molten red, and is causing small whirlwinds in front of our radio station doors. There is the sound of a great many voices chanting, as though it were an army giving out a battle cry before raining down destruction on our arid little hamlet, I…

> Hang on…

Listeners, Leland has stopped speaking, and is now writing furiously on a piece of paper. I have to say, Leland’s existence, as well as his finally speaking about the Shape Which No One Else Would Speak About, has reassured me greatly about my lonely and solipsistic vigil here at this microphone.

He is handing me the note — thank you, Leland — lemme see here…ahh.

It says that the City Council believes the reason for the violent reaction of the Shape Formerly in Grove Park that No One Acknowledges or Speaks About is because I have been acknowledging and speaking about it, which has made it angry. They urge me to stop speaking of it, and never do it again. And in exchange they’ll move it somewhere else so we can get our front loading zone back.

After brief consideration, I have decided to accept the Council’s offer, because they are trustworthy leaders looking out for our better future. And also because Leland just now got vaporized by a strange red light emanating from the station entrance.

To the family of Leland, we thank you for his service to the cause of community radio, and we join you in mourning his loss.

And, without further ado, nor ever again mentioning anything we shouldn’t, let’s go to the weather.

[“You and Me” by Sara Watkins]

Hello listeners.

In breaking news, the sky. The earth. Life.

Existence as an unchanging plane, with horizons of birth and death in the faint distance.

We have nothing to speak about. There never was. Words are an unnecessary trouble. Expression is time wasting away. Any communication is just a yelp in the darkness.

Ladies, gentlemen, listeners, you.

I am speaking now but I am saying nothing. I am just making noises and, as it happens, they are organized in words but you should not draw any meaning from this.

The service for Leland was lovely. We threw flowers and wept. He was buried in the break room, as is our custom. His family came, and mooned around the office, as though we had answers.

But we do not have answers. I am not certain that we even have questions. I have chosen to not be certain of anything at all.

This is Cecil, generally, speaking to you, metaphorically, for Night Vale Community Radio.

And I would like to say in the most nebulous terms possible, and with no real-world implications or insinuations of objective meaning:

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

————————

Sara & Sean Watkins returns for music set. Song list:

- “Lock & Key” by Sara Watkins
- “21st of May” by Sean Watkins
- “Jefferson” by Sara Watkins

————————

The Man in the Tan Jacket

Ladies and gentlemen, surely you have noticed…there’s a Man in a Tan Jacket. Countless residents have seen him, but no one can seem to remember exactly what he looks like; just that he has a tan jacket and a deerskin suitcase. And he has been spotted all over town. But no one can quite recall specifically where they saw him, or what time of day it was – just that they saw him.

Frances Donaldson — the tall woman with the green eyes who manages the antiques mall — thinks maybe the Man in the Tan Jacket is simply a shared dream. But I know that I saw him, Night Vale. I know what I saw. This man can’t possibly be a dream. He was so vivid. His eyes were…well, his nose and his chin…oh— oh, I can just see it! I just can’t remember! The man was as clear as day! He had a tan jacket, and a deerskin suitcase.

He can’t be a dream, can he? Please, call in, listeners, and let us know if you can remember anything else.

This Monday through Friday is the annual Night Vale Career Fair at the Downtown Convention Center. There will be dozens of booths, representing phony local businesses that will take your resumes and photos (via hidden surveillance cameras) and conduct sample interviews designed to badger you into implicating yourself in nefarious activities.

First-generation Night Vale residents — particularly those whose parents were originally born in Maine, Massachusetts, Canada, Micronesia, and Suriname — are strongly encouraged to attend.

This year’s keynote speaker is an audio tape of droning moans leaden with subliminal tips about achieving personal prosperity and how to come clean about the terrible things you have done, you cretin.

Last year’s fair featured several very high-profile arrests – and some nice door prizes. Tickets are $25, or $15 if you still have working retinas to scan.

Over the weekend, Teddy Williams — owner of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex — sent us some security camera footage of what he believes to be the first-ever glimpse of citizens of the Underground City deep below Lane Five.

Early Saturday morning, Fun Complex cameras picked up blurry motion near the soda machine. The footage is quite fuzzy and difficult to discern. Perhaps it is merely rats or raccoons, digging through an uncovered supply of junk food. But it is, of course, much more likely that a lost nation of people, living in the bowels of a small-town bowling alley, are finally revealing themselves – taking our food supplies, and preparing for war.

Teddy told us that he believes this city to be thousands strong and ready to move into Night Vale. Ready to take arms against the “Upper World” (as they probably call us). Ready to conquer this heaven and become the righteous owners of our sun-soaked precious land…we assume.

It takes very little extrapolation to believe that they worship a god named Huntokhar, who demands sacrifice to keep their Underground City thriving in the absence of nourishing sunlight.

And a fair assumption is they are ruled by a Child King, recently coronated, who is too weak to rein back the generals intent on marching upon us in war.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you care for your community, your town, your Night Vale like I do, please know that you will arm yourselves. You will rally your neighbors to militia. You will point fingers at those who do not wish to fight and have them rounded up into pens. This is no time for the weak. We are at a presumptive war with a projected enemy whom we cannot yet see, or even be certain of, but who are probably bloodthirsty giants.

If you would like to learn more about starting a militia, simply learn to be a true American. And that is how you will know. And remember, Night Vale is at war. Your careless talk costs lives. They know we are here, and it seems somebody has talked.

Who was it, Night Vale?

Was it Steve Carlsberg? Did Steve Carlsberg talk?

Maybe a group of good citizens should go have a “chat” with Steve and find out what he’s been saying, and to whom.

Stay by your radios, listeners. We will report further as events warrant.

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Intern Rob? Uh, who do we have sponsoring this segment of our show?

> That would be Squarespace!

Um, I’m very sorry about your cousin Leland, Rob.

> Thank you.

He was a very good intern. Tell us about Squarespace.

> Sure.

> It’s not easy starting a small business. There are a lot of things to worry about, like building a customer base, developing a strong product, wrestling with self-doubt, crying a lot, bleeding a little, looking up in the small hours at the sagging ceiling of your too-small bed thinking “why, why?”, being overrun by rats and worms, and discovering that you’re just matter – just rotting, organic matter, fated to feed the earth and trees.

> Yes, there are so many concerns facing small businesses. Web design shouldn’t be one of them.

> Want a simple, low-cost, and beautifully-designed web solution for your small business?

> Well, do you?

> Doesn’t sound like you do, actually.

> I’m looking at your web page right now, and it’s lovely. It’s really smooth, real easy to navigate…looks like you put a lot of work into this.

> You don’t need our help. We won’t even tell you who we are because we don’t want to pressure you into changing what you’ve already done with your website.

> It’s perfect!

> Wow!

> Good job!

> We just– wow! Just– I’m sorry to have interrupted.

> [starting to cry] I just want to say, you’re really good at web design. [sniffles] You’re much better than us. [gasping breath] Carry on. I– I guess.

Thank you, Rob.

More now on the Man in the Tan Jacket.

Old Woman Josie called to tell us that her Angel friends are saying that the deerskin suitcase is full of flies. The Angels would not tell her more, explaining that knowing more would jeopardize her Eternal Soul, as well as their own statuses as Angels. They did not want to mess with that!

Old Woman Josie added that she thinks the Man in the Tan Jacket is just a salesman of some sort. A fly salesman, she bets, wandering from town to town with polished shoes and a suitcase full of flies.

“Oh, I just can’t stand those fly salesmen,” she said. “Ringing my doorbell at 3:00 AM, wanting to show me samples, asking for glasses of orange milk!”

The Night Vale Daily Journal has announced that, despite its recent cost-cutting measures and mandatory subscription laws, it is facing a huge budget shortfall this year.

"We cannot pay back our printers, or our delivery crews,” said editor Leann Hart, in a prepared statement whispered through my mail slot late last night. “And we have already had to banish much of our staff into the Sand Wastes of the desert.”

She went on to explain that this “budget shortfall” has nothing to do with the reported lavish birthday party she threw for herself in the Night Vale Stadium – featuring a lazy river made entirely of champagne and a birthday cake topped with very thin slices of moon rock.

In an addendum she tapped in Morse code on my bathroom window, she said that the Journal is considering all new sources of income — including creating additional advertising space and mugging Night Vale citizens. And that I shouldn’t mention the whole birthday party thing after all, because she was never even born, so how could she have had a birthday party?

She spent the rest of the night tapping out the phrase “birthdays are a fake idea,” which actually was a pretty relaxing sound to fall asleep to.

Hey, kids and parents! Time once again for our Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner! Today, we are exploring common birds and their meanings.

An eagle indicates that an important phone call is impending. A sparrow says that you should beware the sea, and sell any stocks invested in food-based companies. A pigeon means that your mother has died — or that all is well. It’s a bit uncertain.

A hummingbird tells us that the physical constants of the universe are slowly degrading, and may someday shift, invalidating the laws of physics and instantly wiping out the universe as we know it while simultaneously creating an entirely new universe in a single transcendent moment of genocide and genesis.

As for hawks, well…no one knows what hawks mean, really. Or if they are real. Have you ever seen a hawk? No, of course not. Nobody has!

This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

And now another word from our sponsors.

Today’s program has been sponsored by the physical act of gulping. For thousands of years, gulping has been there for human beings when they needed an expressive gesture of the throat. Whether you want to indicate nervousness about an upcoming test or appointment, fear of the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home, or you just want to ingest milk faster than with regular swallowing, gulping is the way to go! Forget sweating, never mind shivering! Sneezing? Ugh! When you think physical actions, think gulping! Gulp now and receive a complimentary prize package, which will be conveniently buried in an unmarked spot somewhere in the Scrublands. Find it, and it’s yours!

Gulp!

This just in:

The Sheriff’s Secret Police has just issued an important request related to our earlier story. They ask that all Night Vale citizens be on the lookout for a Man in a Tan Jacket, carrying a deerskin suitcase. He is about five or six foot…something, probably with hair, and normal human features.

He was last seen early this morning on the unlit, gravel-paved stretch of Oak Trail, near Larry Leroy’s house out on the edge of town. The Man in the Tan Jacket was reportedly seen in the moonless black, standing next to a refrigerator engulfed in flames.

And he was smoking a cigarette.

Witnesses claimed he stared at them as they slowly drove by on the darkened country road, but despite the prolonged eye contact, the witnesses still could not describe his face to police.

Two days prior, the Man in the Tan Jacket was seen standing in a park. No one can remember which park, but they’re fairly certain it was a park. Or maybe it was in the Old Navy Outlet Store. Or near the invisible clock tower…it wasn’t quite clear.

Either way, the man was definitely standing with his deerskin suitcase, and staring up at the sun for hours. He followed the bizarre glowing orb, which is somehow the source of all light and life, and —

“Oh god, the sun, are you kidding us with this? We don’t even have time for that mystery!” the Secret Police then interjected.

Secret Police officials added that if you see a Man in a Tan Jacket carrying a deerskin suitcase, write down what you see immediately.

The City Council has temporarily lifted their ban on pens and pencils, so that citizens can help law enforcement on this matter. Once you write down your encounter, call 911 immediately. Or simply say, “Hey, police!” out loud. We’re all being monitored almost 24/7, so they’ll probably hear you just fine.

Let’s go now to the traffic.

There is a car.

It’s not in Night Vale, or even in the desert that cradles our little town. It’s out, somewhere beyond that. There are many cars there, but I’m speaking only about one. Blue, square-ish, with tires, and windows, and an engine that works…most of the time.

A woman is driving it, and she is also glancing whenever she can at the child in the passenger seat. He is a child, but he is 15.

You understand.

She is glancing at him, but she is not saying anything. And he is not saying anything either.

She wants to cry…

…or, she wants to push him out of the car…

…or, she wants to go back in time and insist on using a condom…

…only she would never do that.

She wouldn’t change any of this reality. Not for all the money — piles of money, some of it defunct money from defunct and absent governments — she wouldn’t give any of that back.

And so she drives her car. Blue. Square-ish. With tires. And windows. And an engine that works…most of the time. And she glances at the 15 year-old child. And neither of them speaks.

This has been traffic.

Um, hey Rob? Can you come here for a second?

> Yeah.

Rob? You’re bleeding.

> I know.

From the eyes.

> Right.

Should you go see a doctor?

> No, I’m fine. I actually can’t see much right now, because of the blood.

Right, right.

[awkward silence]

…Rob?

> Yeah.

There are spiders crawling from out of your shirt.

> No, yeah. Those are– they’re coming from my chest, actually. My heart. I have a heart murmur.

You have a heart murmur?

> Well, had. I picked at it and now the spiders got out.

You should never pick at a heart murmur!

> I know. Habits!

And now the spiders have gotten out. Whoa– whoa! Rob! You are losing a lot of blood! Why don’t you go get an ice pack and lay down?

> OK, I’ll just lay down on the floor here. Uh! I laid down quite quickly, I think I hit my head. The ice pack fell on me, though, so I’m set. [*cough*]

Rob?

> [*cough*] Yes?

Have you ever seen this Man in the Tan Jacket? He has a deerskin suitcase. Many people have reported–

Rob.

Rob?

Oh dear.

To the family of friends of Rob the Intern, let me be the first to say that he was an excellent intern, and a beautiful person. Sure, his last moments were filled with spiders pouring from his heart, and blood streaming from his eyes, but beauty should have nothing to do with our physical differences. Beauty is what you do! What you mean, what you say, and what you are before the world devours you. Beauty is not in the arthropods spilling from one’s breast, but in the heart that once contained them. If Rob has taught us anything, let it be that.

And also, never pick at a heart murmur!

And now, without further ado, let us go to the weather.

[“You’re the One I Love” by Sara Watkins]

Ladies and gentlemen, during the break, I received a call from someone claiming to be an Angel.

Now, I don’t know if this was a prank or not, as no one has actually proven that they’ve talked to an Angel. Even Old Woman Josie’s word is just that, her word.

But listeners, I think this had to be an Angel, because my face became hot, and the voice filled every part of my body, and tears were flowing down my face the instant I touched the phone receiver, and the whole room was lit up in — well, how can I describe this? — a bright black beam illuminating every atomic detail!

And the Angel — if that is indeed who called — the Angel said that the Man in the Tan Jacket with the deerskin suitcase was from a place underneath the earth.

Underneath our knowledge.

A vast world, right below our feet.

I asked for more, but the Angel — if that is indeed who called — whispered only, "A flower in the desert.”

And it filled me with ecstasy and dread.

Then, as the call ended, and the black ray of truth was gone, and I was breathlessly…and alone. And listeners, dear listeners, the silence…well, it was unlike any silence you have ever not heard.

So our mystery man remains un-found, and I’m still not sure why an Angel would have to use a telephone, but for now, we can only know what we know. And that is that we don’t know.

Thank you again for listening, listeners. I look forward to another fine year. A new year, well-spent with all of you, out there.

Please stay tuned next for the popular radio game show, “Wait, Wait, Don’t! No, Don’t! Please, Don’t!”

Night Vale, be alert, and write down everything you cannot comprehend.

Until next time, goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

15/10/2013 12:34:00 ¶ ●

## Episode 33 - Cassette

Perhaps you noticed something strange yesterday. And perhaps you have forgotten it.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Hello, listeners. I’ll get to the news in a moment, but first:

I was digging through some of the stored-up belongings clogging my closet – you know, childhood toys, blood-soaked rags, a gem the size of a fist that shows you visions of yourself as an old man staring wistfully back at the past that is your now, that kind of thing – and I came across these cassette tapes marked:

CECIL RADIO TEST – AGE: 15

You know, listeners, I have no memory whatsoever of making these tapes. Isn’t that so weird? At one point, they must have meant so much to me, and now they are just objects, with no remembered life attached to them at all. I thought we could listen to them together, just me and you – all of the yous out there.

Here we go.

> Hi, Cecil here. Mom gave me this recorder for my birthday so I could make my own radio shows, just like Leonard Burton’s show at the real Night Vale Community Radio. I’m going to replace Leonard one day. I really want to, plus the tablets down at City Hall say so, so I better start practicing now.

> Leonard always starts out his show with his big catchphrase, and so I’ll do it too, just the way he does it. Here goes:

> The sun is actually cold. It’s cold and empty and all is lost.

> Greetings from Night Vale.

> How was that?Hold on, hold on, I want to hear that back! Wait, where’s the Stop button?

> …

> Cecil again! Wow, is that what I really sound like? This is so weird! OK, OK. *Ahem*

> So, in local news: A new pizza place opened, and I went to it. It’s called Big Rico’s, and it’s pretty good! I mean, I prefer Sammy’s Ultimate Sliceria by the Ralph’s, but it burned down last week, and that’s too bad. Oh, well. I’m sure it’ll be rebuilt soon.

> Wait, what is…that?

> …

> Huh. It went away when I hit Stop. Oh, but now it’s back again. It’s kind of…it’s this kind of flickering in the corner of my eye, like someone’s waving their arms right next to me, but when I turn, there’s nothing there. Oh, well.

> Oh, hey! Do you want to hear me sing? Here’s the Night Vale High fight song!

> [static sounds accompanied by faint humming]

> Wow, that flickering got really strong when I sang.

> [Gasps] Oh, oh oh oh! Leonard’s going to be on soon! All right, goodbye for now – or, as Leonard always says:

> See ya Night Vale. See ya!

> …

Well. Listeners. Leonard Burton! Now that takes me back. Leonard was the host of this very show when I was a child. I remember… actually, I remember almost nothing about him. I still don’t remember making these tapes.

Finally, on this show, something strange to talk about!

But first, the news:

The Museum of Forbidden Technologies is proud to announce their new special exhibit: “A Startling and Highly Forbidden Piece of Technology Brought to Us by Time Travelers… or Ancient Long-Dead Aliens… or Russians… or Whatever.”

The technology will be kept in a locked vault, which itself will be wrapped in thick black bandages, with a hand-written sign taped to one side saying only:

Nope!

Your ticket includes a free audio guide, which will play a single piercing tone, designed to considerately remove you from the world of thought, and sound, and sentience.

The Museum of Forbidden Technologies. Bring your kids! Otherwise, something even worse might happen to them.

And now, for traffic.

Everything’s looking clear out there today. All the commuters feel like, perhaps for the first time in their entire lives, they are seeing themselves, and the world around, without illusions or denial. All of them have pulled their cars to the side of the road in the sudden shock of such absolute truth.

Some are sobbing into their steering wheel, touching their skin, and remembering what they hadn’t known they had forgotten. Others have stepped out of their cars, and are picking up handfuls of dirt and laughing at the realization this is bringing them about atoms, and the universe, and death.

A representative for the Sheriff’s Secret Police announced that there wasn’t such a thing as a secret, not really, or that maybe the entire world was a secret, and we are all in on it. She then saw a cloud she liked, and smiled at it.

So be sure to allow a lot of extra time for any journeys today, and be on the lookout for abandoned cars and dazed people wandering into the roadway. Because, listeners, everything’s looking clear out there today.

This has been traffic.

All right, I admit, listeners, I’m very curious. Let’s get back to these tapes of this younger person with whom I share a life.

> Cecil again! My brother says that I’ll never make it in radio, because my voice isn’t right for it. I need to get more like Leonard, with that perfect radio voice – all high-pitched and grating like sandpaper, just the way radio voices should be.

> Um, I’ve been seeing that movement more, even when I’m not recording. It’s like someone is walking towards me, but when I turn, there’s nothing there. And it’s not the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Our Home because I asked her, and the next day our kitchen table had been flipped over, and super-glued to the floor, which I’m pretty sure is her way of saying no.

> I wish whatever it is would just say hi! [Gasp] Whoa! I felt something touch me! I think maybe making these tapes is encouraging it. I’m… um…I’m going to hit Stop now!

> …

> Hey! Cecil here, great news! Leonard agreed to let me intern down at the station, doing all the things he doesn’t have time to – like organizing the tape archive, making the coffee, and keening to station management for the prescribed three hours daily. Oh! I cannot wait to start!

> Mother says to beware, be warned, be wary. She says this to everything, no matter what you say to her, so I think that means she’s very proud of me. Heck, I’m very proud of me! I wish my brother could be proud of me, but no family member is perfect, they become perfect when you learn to accept them for what they are.

> …

I… I don’t remember having a brother. These tapes don’t make sense to me. When did I intern here?

Intern Jesus? Are there any records of me ever interning here? Jesus?

Oh, I forgot. Jesus never returned from investigating the bottomless pit in the intern break room.

To the family members and loved ones of Intern Jesus: Oh, well. You know, the usual. Sorry, I’m just distracted.

More from these tapes of my misremembered past soon, but first, a word from our sponsors.

When you die, the surface of the moon will not change.

The difference between the landscape and lighting of that barren little world from a moment where you exist, to a moment where you do not, will be minimal, and unrelated to your passing. From a car window driving on a highway, looking up at a moon framed by incidental clouds, the surface will be the same muddle of mystery and distance it always is.

And even a methodical study of your absence as it pertains to moon geology and cartography will find nothing. Searching through a powerful telescope, and analyzing with computer algorithms built around your nonexistence – even that study will find that all craters and rocks appear to be where we left them a few years back, that it is the same distance, orbiting at the same rate, and that the researches feel just the way they did about the moon as they did before you died.

Nothing will change about the moon when you die. It will be the same – still the moon, still there.

Still the moon.

This message brought to you by an anonymous sponsor. Looking for whatever product or service we offer? We are, whoever we are, the best choice in whatever industry that is.

Listeners, let’s take a moment to discuss measurement.

The cardinal directions are north, west, south, and east.

The cardinal temperatures are 35º Fahrenheit, 67º Fahrenheit, 3º Celsius, and 10º Kelvin.

The cardinal locations are a cave, a long-abandoned cabin, the bottom of an oceanic trench, and City Hall.

The cardinal emotions are wild abandon, guarded affection, directionless jealousy, and irritation.

The cardinal birds are hawk, sparrow, finch, and owl.

The cardinal names are Jeremy, Kim, Trigger, and Jamie.

And, finally, the cardinal sounds are a door slamming, slight movement in still water, popcorn popping, and a standard guitar G string being snipped with wire cutters.

This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

And now, an important message from StrexCorp Synernists, Inc.

Think deeply about meadows? Meadows are important. Think deeply about meadows. Meadows are important, think deeply about meadows, meadows are important.

StrexCorp. Think deeply about meadows. Meadows are important.

OK, enough with that. Back to the tapes!

> Oh my god! My first day as an intern was just…neat!

> It didn’t start out well, what with my brother staring at me from across the breakfast table with those hollow eyes and howling? Ugh, brothers, right?

> But once I was in the radio station, I knew I had found home! A messy home, full of hallways winding away into a labyrinth of audio equipment and tape stacks – just like home!

> Oh, the station management’s door, with its terrifying shadows whipping around in a hazy silhouette, just like that gauzy curtain in the living room back home we never open?

> And, oh! The windows looking out onto empty recording studios that haven’t been used in decades, but that still broadcast live shows every night! Some just heavily-amplified insect movement, others a whispered voice describing a window opening, a hand reaching in…and then repeating, a window opening, a hand reaching in.

> Oh! Oh! And working with Leonard? When he looks at you through the glass of the booth, and he signals you to crouch under a table and cover your head, you know…this is it! I’m actually doing radio!

> My mom seems really proud of me too! She hid from me for three days! Like, the longest ever! And she’s covered all the mirrors in my house. I’m not sure why, but I think it must be because of pride. Being proud does all sorts of things… to a… um… to a person.

> I'm– I’m sorry, I got distracted. That weird movement is back, and it's– it’s closer now.

> Hello? Hello? I’m Cecil! Cecil Gershwin Palmer! And you cannot scare me! You cannot! You canno –

> …Hello?

> …

Let’s… uuhhmmm…

Listeners, let’s just go to the weather, OK?

[“Big Houses” by Squalloscope]

> Interning is going great! Mom is gone, um… Oh! Leonard is super nice to me! My brother’s gone, too. Family, right?

> I think I’m learning a lot at the station. All the mirrors in my house are uncovered now, and I’m not sure who did that. I’m standing in front of the hall mirror right now. Am I changed? Am I becoming an adult? I look more grown, I think. More professional.

> Leonard said if I work hard, maybe I’ll be a radio presenter myself some day!

> Leonard said he once was smaller too, but that he is larger now – that everything is larger. That everything in the universe is growing to towering sizes, but all at once – all in unison. So no one notices, and it is all the same relative to itself.

> Leonard lolls his tongue out of his thick, purple lips. Leonard hisses.

> Being an intern is great!

> That flickering movement is everywhere now. Especially looking in this mirror. I see the flickering movement, and I know. I know it.

> I think the radio station is fun. I think the radio station is hidden. I think the radio station is like a dark planet lit by no sun. I think, therefore I soon won’t be.

> I’m looking in a mirror. The mirror is not covered. The flickering movement is just…behind me. I–

> [Screams, followed by strangled, gargling sounds]

> …

What is this? What is this? What–

No matter. I’m taking the tape, just now, and I’m [grunt] crushing it [grunt] into little pieces [grunt]. None of us have to think about it again. I’ll just double-check that the mirror in the station bathroom is covered, as usual, and then that will be that.

Done.

Forgotten.

We all do foolish things when we are teenagers. We all have foolish false events that happen to us, foolish gaps in our memories. Not everything that has happened, has ever really happened.

Listeners, especially our younger listeners, consider this:

When we talk about teenagers, we adults often talk with an air of scorn, of expectation for disappointment. And this can make people who are presently teenagers feel very defensive.

But what everyone should understand is that none of us are talking to the teenagers that exist now, but talking back to the teenager we ourselves once were – all stupid mistakes and lack of fear, and bodies that hadn’t yet begun to slump into a lasting nothing.

Any teenager who exists now is incidental to the potent mix of nostalgia and shame with which we speak to our younger selves.

May we all remember what it was like to be so young. May we remember it factually, and not remember anything that is false, or incorrect.

May we all be human – beautiful, stupid, temporal, endless.

And as the sun sets, I place my hand upon my heart, feel that it is still beating, and remind myself: Past performance is not a predictor of future results.

Stay tuned now for whatever happens next in your life.

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: You can lead a horse to water, and you can lead a horse into water, and you can swim around with the horse and have fun.