01/12/2014 15:07:00 ¶ ●

## Episode 57 - The List

Breathe deep.

Deeper than that. Get far below sea level and breathe. Breathe in a cave. Breathe in a deeper cave. Breathe deeper and deeper until you can’t find your way back.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Some of you might remember, but most of you won’t, that you were given a list. Nearly two years ago, you were given a list, and told to memorize it exactly. Keep it safe, so that someday, it would keep you safe.

Well, listeners? The Sheriff’s Secret Police would like me to inform you that the “someday” you’ve been waiting for is this day. This is the day in which you will need that list we gave you. Do you still have it? Do you remember it? Exactly. Are you safe? Are you safe? Well, we will all find out soon enough. Good luck.

Harrison Kip, adjunct professor of archaeology at Night Vale Community College, announced today that he has found something out in the desert.

“Whoa!” he explained to no one, a dot in a vast landscape of sand and wind. “Oh, man!” he continued, looking at the thing he found.

He has declined, so far, to describe what he has found, or offer any details or, for that matter, do anything but stare at whatever this thing he found was, and continued to say things like, “Wow!” and “They’re never going to believe this!”

We reached out to Sarah Sultan, president of the Community College, for additional information, but she would not provide any, saying only that Harrison is on a private dig, funded by a small group of anonymous sponsors. She said, “Although I have never met them in person, I have spoken to the sponsors by telephone, and they have our best interests at heart.”

“I am sure of it,” she added. “Plus, they totally funded this dig thing, so, what am I going to do, just start asking questions?”

A lone helicopter on a precautionary sweep of that expanse of the empty desert reported that Harrison is still kneeling over whatever it is he has found; explaining to himself, in an unrecognizable language, the incredible nature of whatever that thing is.

More on this, eventually. I guess. Whatever.

The Greater Night Vale Medical Community, in conjunction with the mayor’s office, announced the new city-wide campaign for Meatless Mondays. Each week, in recognition of the immense impact of meat on the environment and public health, Meatless Mondays will be the days we all set aside to try not to be made of meat. We will all sit quietly, and attempt to will ourselves into a state of inorganic bliss, seeking to turn our feeble bodies into metal, or silicon, or stone.

When we fail to do this, as is likely (according to the most recently issued laws of physics), we will all engage in a group denouncing circle to try to understand whose betrayal is causing the continued failure of this important day.

And now, a look at traffic.

We are eternal! We will not last!

Obviously, you know that when you die, the matter that is your matter will just become matter, no article attached. That matter will belong to any number of things. That matter is not you. That matter was never you.

We are eternal! We will not last!

But there is more to you than matter. When you die, you will not disappear until everyone who remembers you, and whose actions are affected – however slightly – by your memory, until all of those people die, and you are completely forgotten.

We are eternal! We will not last!

But even then, you are not gone. Not until all the people who remember and are affected by those people who remembered, and were affected by you, are gone.

We will not last!

But even then, you are not gone. Not until all the people who remember and are affected by those people who remembered, and were affected by those people who…and so on, and so on, and on.

We are eternal!

You will persist, ever so faintly, ever so slightly, on into perpetuity. Long after everything about you no longer matters. Your life is so small. But, in the setting sun of this universe, its shadow is cast down through generation after generation, until it gets blurry and hard to see…but still there. A breath of a wisp of a thread stretching out before you.

We are eternal! But we will not last!

There’s a fender bender on Route 800, near Exit 84B. Expect delays.

This has been traffic.

Update: We still aren’t sure exactly when or how you will need that list today. You remember the list, right? You were given a list some time ago. You should have memorized it. If you didn’t…[Cecil moans]…I mean, if you diiiidnnnnn’t……wellllllllllll, I mean…..if you diiiiidnnnn'ttttt [Cecil moans, and possibly a wolf howls in the distance, or maybe it’s a high-pitched echo of Cecil himself]…

No one can make your destiny for you. Only you can make your destiny. Only you and the privileges you were born with, and a whole lot of aimless, meaningless, luck, can make your destiny.

The Sheriff’s Secret Police are going around town, checking in with everyone and seeing if they have the list memorized. If you don’t, they helpfully are shaking their heads and tsk-ing, and then saying, “Wow, you’re in trouble!” before leaving you to fend for yourself against whatever dangers this list would have protected you from.

More on this soon, as you desperately try to remember the list that was told to you. Or even when it was told to you, and in what context. It’s a very important list.

And now, a word from our sponsors.

An empty food bowl.
An untouched water bowl.
A silence in the house.
A cage containing nothing.
A feeling of unease that was once soothed by a joyous instinctual companionship.

We listen out our window, and hear not a passing jangle. Not a “No,” or a “Wait for me!” Nothing meows. Nothing does. Absolutely nothing meows.

The night is so quiet that our thoughts are a clatter, keeping us awake.

In the distance, a dog doesn’t bark.

PetCo. Where did the pets go?

Old Woman Josie told me over a round of bowling down at the Desert Flower that construction on the New Old Opera House is continuing along well. They have already completed the initial arches, the outer flood banks, and the primary stables.

“Yup,” she said, holding her ball in preparation for her turn. “This town will have opera once again.”

“But what is opera,” everyone else in the league asked her. “Is a kind of plant? Does it have rough, leathery skin?”

But she wouldn’t say anything more, and just let go of the ball, which was then carried by a creature named Erika (who definitely wasn’t an angel) down the lane while Erika said “Roll, roll! This is a ball rolling!” And then Erika kicked over all the pins, while saying, “Crash! Bam! The ball just hit all these pins and knocked them all over! Wow! What a shot!”

Of course, none of us could…legally acknowledge the existence of Erika, so…we had to let the strike stand uncontested.

And now, an update on you.

Just now, there was a Man in a Tan Jacket, holding a deerskin suitcase, looking over your shoulder. You’re sure of it. Only you don’t quite remember it happening. It’s blurry, and distant, like a dream you had when you were little, and now as an adult, you can’t remember if it was a dream or something that actually happened to you.

But there was a man.

There was a man, right?

You grasp to recall, but flail only at fragments and gap.

He was looking over your shoulder with interest, a deerskin suitcase in his right hand. The suitcase was making a buzzing sound. Perhaps the man was too? You don’t remember.

“None of this is real,” you think. “None of it happened. This is fiction. You are hearing a fictional story, and this did not happen to you.”

Still, you can’t shake the feeling that it did happen to you; that just moments ago, you turned, and over your shoulder was the Man in a Tan Jacket, holding a deerskin suitcase. He might still be there now. You’re afraid to check. Or, maybe, you already checked, and now can’t remember doing it.

You turn to look.

Nothing there.

You turn back.

“Nothing there,” you think with relief. Only, now, there is a question mark on it. “Nothing there? Was there nothing there?”

The Man in the Tan Jacket spoke to you, quite urgently, about…something, but what? He had a map. He was pointing at a place on the map. Now, you don’t even know what area of the world the map depicted, let alone where he was pointing.

“This is all a made-up story,” you tell yourself. You decide to feel entertained by the made-up story I just told to you.

And yet…

And yet……

You can’t shake the feeling, a feeling located just over your shoulder, that this made-up story might not be made-up at all.

Oh. Ohhh, my. Listeners, the sun is gone! It is not covered by a cloud; it has left, and we know that the sun is generally pretty brave and only leaves when something very frightening indeed is in the area. What could have frightened the sun away?

Now is the time, I'm– I’m sure. Now is the time you need to know the list. Try to remember. Did you write it down, perhaps? Scramble around in the junk drawer in the kitchen, among take-out menus that are years out of date, and fliers for health clubs that you never joined. Try to find where you wrote down that list.

But it is too late! There is a growl that comes from everywhere. Some sort of shape descends from the sunless clouds, and a voice, like through a loudspeaker, tells us that now is the time to recite the list, or else!

This is it. If you don’t know, then you don’t know. I know, at least that. I know. Oh! Did Carlos know? Thank the mysterious lights in the sky he wasn’t here! Who knows if his brain, so packed with science, would have let a few stray bits of language slip from his memory!

Listeners – those left to listen – I take you now, reciting the list, reciting for your very lives, to the weather.

Hazelnut
Mystify
Cuttlefish
Lark
Lurk
Ro–

[“Upside Down World” by Paisley Rae]

Beat

Beat

Beat

Beat

Beat

Oh. I am still here. I am looking at my fingers. I am examining my limbs, I am placing one hand on my chest (like in the chanted blood oaths we were forced to swear to the flag each morning as children), and I feel the circulation of air and fluid throughout my body, the simple machine of liquid dynamics and electrical impulses that sustains through some ridiculous coincidence of physical law, the sentience through which I am speaking to you.

Everything seems to be in order…in that I am nervous, and uncertain, and feel an emptiness sometimes which can never be filled, which maybe shouldn’t be filled, and a sadness sometimes which wells up regardless of context or reason.

So, everything perfectly in order. I’m fine.

We are, as a community, stepping out into the street. We are gathering in open places. I, too, am going. I, too, am stepping out into the street and gathering in open places. Here we all are, in Mission Grove Park, and me, among you, speaking into this microphone which, as always, I am uncertain is even connected to anything, but…I don’t care. Either way. Because I know I am connected to all of you, now.

I have felt disconnected lately. My being has been split between the here and the now, and the there and the now. My relationship with Carlos currently exists within the idea of distance, within the concept of space, rather than in any specific place.

There have been moments where I have doubted my fellow citizens, or have felt perhaps even threatened by them.

But that is not the case now, in this moment, here, in this park.

Diane Creighton is with her son Josh, who this morning is a meadowlark. I feel only love for them.

Jackie Fiero, from the pawn shop, is showing Frances Donaldson of the Antiques Mall a cool knife that someone pawned by running in, shouting “Hide this!” and running out. There is nothing not to trust and adore about this moment between fellow humans.

A cluster of Hooded Figures lurk along the corner of the park, pointing at various people, seeming to leer and laugh at the oblivious citizens. I am terrified of the Hooded Figures. But also, comforted by their menace. I think they are even pointing now at me, whispering, and I’ve never felt more at home.

Janice, my young niece Janice, is here, joined with the rest of us in the park, along with her family whom I don’t like to talk about much, but whom I tolerate in all the requisite familial ways. Janice is with her friends Edmond, and Megan, and Patrice, and she’s waving to me, and I am waving back. I am so glad she remembered the list. I’m glad we all did. There doesn’t seem to be a single person missing. I counted, and every single resident of Night Vale is in the park, and doing fine. We heave our shoulders to express release, we sigh to show others we are relieved. We all breathe once, in unison, accidentally.

“Wilson?” says one of us to another. “How are things going, Wilson?”

“Oh, you know,” says the other, although he does not know. “How are things with you, Amber?”

“Oh, good,” she says. And she is right. Things are good.

And they both take the hand of the person they love, and Amber smiles at Wilson, and Wilson smiles at Amber, and everyone smiles at everyone and at everything, and no one is OK, exactly, but we’re outside and we’re smiling. And that is a kind of perfection of its own.

Oh. Uh, a Sheriff’s Secret Police representative arrives in the usual way, by rappelling from the sky and crashing into the middle of our happy huddle, in a…[clears throat] in a cloud of tear gas and flashing lights. As several people choke and disperse, the representative shouts to us that today was only a drill, that no one was in danger, that this was not actually the day we needed to know the list, although that day may someday come, is already coming, is imminent in the most general meaning of the word imminent, and that we are safe but that we are also in grave danger. We are both at once, and are thus free to fully enjoy our lives. A representative shouts into a bullhorn from somewhere behind a line of armored vans.

[Cecil clears his throat]

So, there you are, listeners. All of you who have escaped the tear gas to listen to these words, we were safe all along, and we will stay safe until that time – sooner or later but definitely always on its way – when we are not safe once again.

[Cecil grunts as the tear gas affects him a little more]

Stay tuned next for a surprised man shuffling papers frantically and saying, “Uh, uh, uh” into a mic he did not expect to be on.

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. Also beware of gifts of Greek bears. Gifted and bare Greeks are totally OK.

15/12/2014 10:55:00 ¶ ●

## Episode 58 - Monolith

If it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck…you should not be so quick to jump to conclusions.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, someone built a monolith in front of City Hall overnight.

Last night, there was no 15-foot tall, two-foot thick rectangle made of blue slate towering over the faded grass and weakened tulip garden in front of City Hall. But now, there is. A monolith, with indifferent geometry and a long, sharp shadow cast by the low morning sun. It is an ominous construction, channeling ancient powers and long-dead gods. Perhaps, it is even connected to our primordial extra-terrestrial ancestry. And now, just a few days before Christmas, this looming, dark stone shows up mysteriously in the night, casting scornful shadows across both our dreams and our primitive understanding of the world.

It’s super-festive and I love it! Whoever put that thing up, good job! It must weigh…20 tons? Don’t know how you did it, but way to get us all into the holiday spirit!

I talked to Carlos the other night, listeners. He’s still trapped in the…[clears throat] not trapped. I told him I’d stop saying he’s trapped in the desert otherworld. He is…doing work there.

He said after a few months of feeling helpless he’s made some friends, like the giant soldiers Doug and Alicia, and even gotten a lot of research done. He doesn’t feel trapped at all. I told him that he was locked in that alternate desert against his will, and has been unable to return so, that seems to me like a pretty strong definition of “trapped.”

He said he used to feel that way. But now he no longer feels threatened by the rumbling beneath the sand, or the strange armies that move about the beige wastescape. None of them fighting, only…wandering.

He feels like this desert – the most scientifically interesting place in the otherworld – is where he needs to be. For now.

He quoted that old adage, “when God closes a door, God opens a window, then God cracks a few knuckles, then God kicks a pine cone up the sidewalk. God also chews a whole bunch of gum. God recently quit smoking, and is really fidgety.”

Carlos used that classic saying to point out that this desert is a great opportunity for his career as a scientist. And I respect that.

I asked if he found an old oak door with only one side that could possibly bring him back to Night Vale.

He said he hadn’t, but then he asked, “Cecil, if I find that doorway, would you…maybe…come here again? Just for a visit. I want you to meet Alicia. Alicia has a Bichon Frisé the size of a Prius, and is really into astronomy. They also showed me some planets and comets they really like. Also, the constellations change every night here! There are new shapes of mythic heroes in the sky every night. I’d love you to come visit,” Carlos told me.

[Sigh]

“We’ll see. It does sound nicer than I remember,” I said.

“Neat,” he said.

I’d love to be near Carlos again. We’ve had a great time talking nearly every night, but it’s…hard to know how much meeting eyes or touching hands means until it’s gone. Plus, I could use a vacation. Other than that brief escape through the same desert otherworld this spring, I don’t think I’ve been out of Night Vale since…wow, um, Luftnarp? Svitz. Ugh. Time flies, comma, is weird.

Oh, big news! This Wednesday afternoon is the opening ceremony of the revitalized Old Town Drawbridge. Because of massive setbacks two years ago, and a complete lack of a body of water that would even necessitate a drawbridge, the opening was delayed by 14 years – including a budget increase of over 20 million dollars. So, technically, we’re still 12 years away from completion, but the City Council though we might as well have the opening ceremony now.

“We’ve already burned through the 20 million dollars,” the City Council announced in unison via conference call from a cruise ship. The Council were all wearing matching sunglasses and floppy hats, and drinking a pastel liquid through long curly straws out of one large pineapple.

The opening ceremony will be held in a collective shared daydream Wednesday afternoon. So, make sure you’re doing something that is unchallenging (both physically and mentally) on Wednesday so you can drift off into this fun community dream event.

We’re starting to get complaints about the new monolith that appeared overnight in front of City Hall. The monolith has begun to hover. I mean, not by much, don’t freak out over a hovering monolith. It’s, like, two or three inches. Not a full foot, or more.

The complaints, though, are not about the hovering. They’re about the placement of the monolith. Our town (and country for that matter) was based on the separation of ancient long-dead religions and state.

Juanita Jefferson, head of the community organization Night Vale or Nothing, announced her group’s protest against a prominent symbol of old gods and possibly our primordial extra-terrestrial origins being displayed on government property.

The City Council retorted by slurping their cocktail loudly from the still-active Skype connection on a nearby Acer laptop that no one knew how to turn off.

Jefferson added, “Treeeeeeeees! They are us!” then bit into a small metal pipe wrapped in a hot dog bun. While she chewed, we could still hear her speaking clearly, “Treeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!” she said, her closed mouth moving in slow, undulating cast iron crunches.

Several others have come to Jefferson’s side in this issue, claiming that while they still fervently worship old gods (many showing off bloodstained shoes and sharp rocks wrapped in strips of flesh), they do not believe it is the government’s place to express these beliefs so publicly.

“[Sound not entirely unlike the slurping of the last bits of a cocktail from the bottom of a large pineapple, followed by a loud ‘Aah’-sounding exhale],” came the City Council’s reply from the computer.

More on this controversy as it grows out of hand. But first, a word from our sponsor.

Today’s show is brought to you by silent self reflection.

Are you aware of what’s inside of you?

No, not soft meats and deadly microorganisms. More than that. What makes you you?

How are you able to acknowledge that you are even a thing, separate from the rest of the universe?

Do you find yourself casting about in the white noise of the living world, your eardrums clogged with the filth of existence?

We here at Night Vale Community Radio recommend silent self reflection. Give it a try.

Here’s some silence. During this silence, reflect on yourself. Reflect on your life, your being. Close your eyes, and just reflect. Let in no sights, no sounds – and reflect.

Ready? Here goes.

[A span of complete silence]

Did you reflect? That was a long silence, right? Do you know how long that silence was? Ha-ha! It was two weeks! You’ve been unconscious for two full weeks! You’ve been pronounced legally dead! Your family misses you, but you’re finally free to be the living ghost you’ve always dreamed of being. Ha-ha-ha! Congratulations! Enjoy a life free of legal consequence.

And now, an update on the monolith.

Some protesters have shown up at City Hall carrying signs against the monolith. The signs read, “NO MONOLITHS ON CITY PROPERTY,” and then a slash through that phrase. Which is confusing, because that seems like a double negative, but when you look closely, there’s also a line through the NO part, so it’s a triple negative, which reduces down to a single negative.

There are other signs that are just painted solid colors, so it looks like the monolith has lost the support of the abstract expressionist community as well.

Fortunately, the Sheriff’s Secret Police have already gently kettled the protesters into a fenced-in section of a distant parking lot, where no one can see or hear their protests – thus keeping public order and still allowing for freedom of speech. A win-win.

Counter-protesters have also arrived in support of the monolith, demonstrating their distaste for people against the monolith. They’re holding signs that have a picture of a monolith or…maybe it’s the letter I, or L, or the number 1. It’s…hard to say, what with sans-serif fonts being all the rage these days.

Police have placed the counter-protesters into a pen, next to the original protesters, and covered both pens with an opaque and sound-proof velvet drape.

Oh! We’re getting word that the monolith is vibrating, and loudly humming. Also, it’s glowing. But I don’t know. I can’t feel or see that so…not really my problem now, is it?

Let’s have a look at sports.

The Night Vale High School Scorpions had a rough 2014 season. It was capped off by a scandal involving junior running back Maliq Herrera. The Scorpions had to forfeit all wins in which Herrera played because he violated district rules by never truly existing.

One of the team’s best defenders, senior safety Jessica Lexington, was sidelined most of the season with spinal parasites she got in late September after refusing to yield on a highway off-ramp.

Additionally, sophomore quarterback Henry Lexington, Jessica’s younger brother, struggled in his first season as a starter. By year end, he showed some improvement as coach Nazr al-Mujaheed worked with Lexington on holding the ball with his own hands, and throwing the ball with his own arms – not other people’s as he had been doing early in the season.

But, on the bright side, it looks like former Scorpions quarterback Michael Sandero has gone on to great success after graduation. Many of you know, Michael was recruited by a university called Mitch-igan. Mi– Mish– M– Mitch-again. Mitch-igan. Mishigan. Michigan. I’m not a big sports fan myself, so I have no idea what state the University of Mitchigan is located in, but apparently they have just completed an undefeated season with Michael as quarterback, and will compete in the college football playoffs against another school called…Ollabomma. Again, sounds like a private school. I’ve never heard that name before.

Michigan is favored to win the title this year, and Michael is a front-runner for the Heisman Trophy, given to college football’s best player. His control over weather elements and powerful pyrokinesis skills proved invaluable to a previously struggling Mitchigan offense.

Good luck, Michael! Your hometown is cheering for you!

An update on the glowing and shaking monolith:

The earth below it has split open, and the Secret Police have issued a statement saying they regret silencing the original protesters. They have since let the protesters out, asking them to protest a little harder.

“Also, protest closer to the monolith, okay?” the Secret Police shouted at the confused protesters, whose eyes were still adjusting to the bright daylight after being in a dark pen all afternoon. “Try getting right up on the thing, and protesting!” the officers called from behind their cruisers.

The Secret Police also asked counter protesters to try talking to the monolith.

“You like it so much, why don’t you marry it?” the Secret police teased, before adding, “No, no, seriously, go talk to that thing, OK? It is freaking us out!”

But all protesters have scattered from the scene.

The monolith is now shaking violently. I can– I can hear it, here in the station. I can feel it throughout my body. My skin is rattling! I can see the great green glow. It is so bright! The cement walls of our station seem almost to be fading!

So, as our physical being becomes either rent into atomic mist, or subsumed by a sphere of cosmic energy, let me – in my final act as a tangible being – bring you today’s weather.

[“Anything I Want You To” by The Rizzos]

Well, the monolith split open. There was a deafening crack of shattered stone, a flash of blinding light, the stench and taste of sulfur, as we felt rocky dust settling upon our cowardly crouching backs.

In the hazy aftermath we looked for the dead, and found none.

We looked for the wounded, and found none.

We looked for damaged streets and buildings, and found…well, we found presents. We found city streets strewn with gold-wrapped toys and parcels of fine chocolates. There were ornate bags filled with silk scarves and swirling gilded ribbons and glittery notes wishing every person in Night Vale season’s greetings, along with gift cards to popular stores like Target, and the Ralph’s, and Hatred.

Aaah, um, hmm. Look. I hate to rant. But given that Night Vale long ago abolished materialism, this seems like a cruel holiday prank. I– I’m glad no one was hurt, but this whole monolith thing was really annoying! It was not a deadly threat to our city or our lives, merely a time-wasting tribute to the worst qualities of the old gods. It took most of the afternoon to clean this up, but thankfully, it’s all been swept away and dumped into the landfill.

The City Council, upon hearing of the storm of holiday presents upon our town, swiftly and nobly returned from their tax-funded island vacation, and offered their condolences for us having to witness this consumerist assault.

They reminded us that Santa is a CIA-created myth, and that the holidays shouldn’t be about buying things, or getting things, or even giving things.

“Christmas,” they chanted in unison, “is about being a little less distrustful of neighbors. Of casting our eyes down more respectfully when we pass Hooded Figures, or people wearing some kind of official-looking firearm. Christmas is about being at home with family. Doors locked, everyone speaking clearly, and within range of the hidden cameras.”

At that moment, a low-flying police helicopter passed over City Hall, its searchlight frantically flashing across the terrified faces of every single citizen. It was truly a magical Christmas moment, and the whole crowd winced with holiday cheer.

One lone person asked, “But isn’t Christmas a religious holiday? Should the city really be promoting a religious holiday?”

The City Council quickly replied, “Not any religion that we’re aware of!” and the Secret Police kindly ushered that grumpy Scrooge off to a less public place.

Night Vale, sometimes we see something strange and different, and our first reaction is to loathe and fear it, to bring rage and scorn against its very being, but that’s not the Christmas spirit. This is the time of year we must learn to not shout down things we don’t know or understand, but simply hide from them, and later pretend they were never there at all.

And today, we mostly did that. We mostly did good, Night Vale!

Huh. Maybe it will be a merry Christmas for everyone. Maybe, this is an auspicious start to the holidays.

Hey! That’s the best part about the future. Anything you want to be possible is possible – as long as you don’t think about it too hard.

Stay tuned next for the sound of something clawing its way out of your chest.

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: It’s not the size of the dog in the fight. It’s the size of the other dog in the fight.