01/05/2016 13:43:42 ¶ ●

## Episode 87 - The Trial of Hiram McDaniels

Numbers don’t lie. But humans using numbers lie all the time.

Welcome to Night Vale.

The trial of Hiram McDaniels – five-headed dragon, former mayoral candidate, and current presumed criminal – is coming to a close. There are only a few minor legal technicalities to get through, such as testimony from the remaining witnesses, arguments from the lawyers, and deliberation from the jury. And then, we’ll have all that bureaucratic mess out of the way and be able to get to the verdict. We’ll be covering the trial as it continues, so stay tuned here for all your trial info.

And now for Community Classifieds.

Item: Big Rico’s Pizza is looking for a new cashier. Must have retail experience and be good at not talking if they know what’s good for them. No funny business! No secret wheat speakeasies. Why would you even bring that up? Who have you been talking to? To apply, look at yourself in the mirror for a long time, until your face no longer seems to be your own.

Item: Have you seen a tall shadow where no shadow should be cast? Have you seen a person exist in two places at the same time? Have you seen a young girl with an upside-down face? No, you haven’t. That would be ridiculous! Grow up! Sincerely, Richard. Also, if anyone’s seen my wife, please let me know.

Item: Lost cat. Blindingly bright, orb-shaped, often visible in the sky during daylight hours. If found, please worship.

And finally,

Item: I haven’t forgotten you all. I let you live the first time. The next time you may not be so lucky. Love, The Woman From Italy.

This has been Community Classifieds.

The Night Vale Parks Department announced that after a multi-year, 5 million dollar repair and renovation project, the Beatrix Lowman Memorial Meditation Zone is once again open for public use. The Meditation Zone, a state-of-the-art meditation facility, was destroyed by a multidimensional sentient pyramid almost four years ago. But the Parks Department used that crisis as an opportunity to update the meditation mats, equipment, and machines. Now you can be hooked up and meditating in no time! And it’s almost twice as efficient as before, when measured in gallons per kilowatt.

The rebuilding was funded with a simple tax levied on every school child per school day they attended, and the construction only went three years and 4.9 million dollars over budget. We look forward to enjoying the new Beatrix Lowman Memorial Meditation Zone for years to come.

Today the mayor herself, my former intern and current friend Dana Cardinal, took the witness stand in Hiram’s trial – the final witness in the trial of the century. She looked at the citizen who had tried to overthrow her beating heart, to sabotage her lungs, to end the administration of life within her body, and calmly she met his eyes. And then calmly, she met his eyes. And then she met his eyes calmly. And then, still calm, she met his eyes. She did not even glance at the violet head, the only head who did not participate in the crimes against her.

Her hands were tight in front of her. Her shoulders were back. She looked tired, and she looked determined, and heavy with stress, and still barreling forward.

Judge Azdaq asked her to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.

“You want the whole truth?” Dana said.

Everyone got very quiet. That is not a question that is asked often in a town like ours, and it carries a dangerous weight.

“I will give you all of it. And nothing but,” she said.

The defense attorney and the prosecutor, two identical men both named Troy Walsh, objected in unison. Although their objections were unclear, and consisted of a high-pitched panicked “No, stop her!” the judge upheld both objections.

But Dana ignored all this.

“Being mayor means carrying many secrets,” she said. “I am so young to carry so much. Now, you will share in my burden.”

And she began to tell the truth. All of it, as she knew it. Obviously we can report nothing of what she said. Most of the crowd fled, horrified of what would be done with them if they heard even a fragment of the mayor’s testimony. The judge felt obligated to stay, but put on the sound-canceling headphones they assign all judges so none of them will hear anything that might make life too complicated. Only Hiram, already charged, already a criminal, listened with interest as Dana unfurled the shadows within her.

And then, she was done. She said, “Thank you,” nodded to the judge, nodded to Hiram, collected her belongings, and walked out of the courtroom.

So the trial is continuing just fine, and we should reach justice – whatever that means – quite soon.

Obviously, the transcript for this day of the trial will be burned, along with the court stenographer.

And now, the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

Up is up, and down is down.
Left is right, and right is left.

To the west there are the highest highs,
and to the east there are the lows.
The up top is where the bluebirds go,
and the witching happens down below.

If you need to cross the street,
mind your shoes and mind your feet.
For there are more to streets than horns that bleat,
or cars that speed, or lights that lead.

There is something stranger yet
that wants to take you, don’t forget.
Yes, there is something stranger still,
and if it can, it could and it would and it will.

Its teeth are sharp, its eyes are sharp,
its voice a dulcet maze.
So walk real quick and step real light,
and always look both ways.

Look to the left to see your own death,
and look to the right to avoid a great fright.

And look for what hides under the cars that pass by,
under the trucks that speed,
under the pavement weeds,
under the asphalt and sand,
look for a quick grasping hand.

Up is up, and down is down.
Left is right, and right is left.

To the west there are the highest highs, and to the east there are the lows.
The up top is where the bluebirds go, and the witching happens down below.

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

The Night Vale Airport announced a trial run of international flights. Previously there were only the regular flights to LAX, JFK, XTA, Burbank, and – of course – King City. But now, airport administration is unveiling plans to reach more than 50 international destinations including Mexico, Double Mexico, and Svitz.

How these plans can be achieved – in a one-terminal airport with no customs facilities and only the capacity to handle two passenger planes at a time – has not been answered.

Martin McCaffrey, local representative of the TSA, waved away objections to the changes. Standing in front of reporters and literally waving his arms in physical dismissal of the questions being raised. He also added an occasional “Pshhht!” and eye roll.

He then gave a statement:

“Now that I have provided an official response to the technical questions on this matter, it’s time to talk about what’s important to this town.”

He opened a box, which contained hundreds – if not thousands – of hand-drawn sketches depicting a strange, elongated dark figure crawling out of a kitchen refrigerator.

Martin said, “I find one of these on my pillow each morning when I wake up. I don’t know who is drawing them, or why. Who is doing this to me?”

He collapsed to his knees, his face a perfect portrait of anguish, while above him the bright pink banner saying, “CELEBRATING A NEW AIRPORT FOR A NEW NIGHT VALE” flapped loudly in the rising wind, each gust bringing a sharp bark of plastic as Martin crouched beneath, retreated into a sad helpless silence.

You know, I haven’t traveled out of the country in a long time. I have half a mind to hop on one of those planes and head to Svitz again…ooh, or even somewhere new! Maybe Carlos and I could check out a nice resort somewhere tropical. Ahh, that’d be so fun!

Mmm…Martin is now weeping, and crawling away from the podium, dragging his crumpled-up sketches with him, spit and snot dripping off his face, forming a trail in the dirt below him.

A tropical vacation could be just what we need!

And finally, a word from our sponsors.

Today’s show is sponsored by Kleenex brand tissue products.

We know that you have a lot of choices when it comes to your nose. For instance, you could choose to simply not have one. Just pop it right off and go on with your day unhindered. Or you could choose to have multiple decorative noses that turn your face into a provocative modern sculpture. But instead, you decided to have just the one nose…that half the time doesn’t work, and is exactly between your eyes, where it sits distractingly in your vision at all times for no reason. Of course, your brain tunes that out…unless someone calls attention to it, so I guess that’s not too bad.

But, in general, you’ve chosen the barely-functioning weird nose you have. And we’re sure glad you did!

Kleenex brand tissue products. You have a lot of choices in life. We’re glad you – for some reason – chose the faulty body you have.

This has been a word from our sponsors.

Update from the trial:

In a last-minute surprise, there has been a complete turnover in the makeup of the jury. Previously, the jury was made up of seven humans and an A.I. simulating a five-headed dragon. This was all pretty standard. But now, without warning, announcement, or any decision from the judge, the seven humans were removed from the jury. In their stead were seven strangers. The strangers were unmoving, unblinking. They breathed audible, even breaths. The hiss of air through their nostrils, eyes fixed on nothing.

Judge Azdaq said that she does not approve of this change…but also that she’s too scared to question it. And anyway, she would find it hard to enforce any actions against it, since the bailiff, too, is now a stranger, unmoving, except that every time the judge looks away and looks back again, she swears the stranger is slightly closer than she was before.

The defense attorney, on behalf of the four heads he represents, offered strong objections from behind his desk, where he was hiding from the strangers. The prosecuting attorney joined his objections, and also joined him behind the desk.

There was very little comment from the observers in the gallery – as most of them, too, had been replaced by unmoving breathing strangers.

“Well, I guess we should get right to deliberations, then,” shouted the judge through the closed and locked door of her chambers.

“But we haven’t even given our closing arguments!” said both attorneys simultaneously, sitting back-to-back so that they could keep their eyes on as many of the strangers as possible.

The judge considered this argument, and responded by screaming that one of the strangers was in her chamber, and how did he get in there? The Troys did not have an answer for that, and so the deliberations begin.

Listeners, while we wait to hear the verdict to this eventful and historic trial, let us take a quick peak at the weather.

[“Cocaine” by Holy Moly]

The trial of Hiram McDaniels is over. A verdict has been reached.

The jury that consisted of an A.I. simulation of a five-headed dragon and seven silent unmoving strangers only deliberated for a few minutes before returning with a verdict of guilty on all charges.

The strangers breathed heavy, visible breaths. The A.I. booped and whistled. It was all very quiet, and polite, and quick.

Hiram’s heads responded in ways as different as their personalities.

Green, of course, roared and spat out a stream of fire unlike any ever seen from him before – white in its pure heat.

Gold nodded gravely, a politician politically accepting bad news.

Blue didn’t react visibly at all.

Gray slumped and curled into his own long neck, a look of supreme dejection on his reptilian features.

And Purple sat tall – in satisfaction, rather than celebration.

Judge Azdaq said, “Well, let’s get to sentencing then.” And Troy Walsh, lawyer for the defendants, prepared to speak, but the judge went on to say, “There are no arguments to be made. If Hiram is guilty of attacking the mayor, of attacking the very civic structure of our town, then Hiram must be put to death. We have no choice,” she concluded.

Even Troy Walsh, the prosecuting attorney, was taken aback by this sudden and severe sentence. He met eyes with his identical legal opposition, and made a small shrug. “What am I supposed to do here?” he signaled through the expressive language of the body. “This isn’t my problem, I guess. It’s a problem, but not my problem.”

The judge continued. “Sentence will be carried out once all appeals have been received and disposed of. The guilty four heads will be killed with a single bullet each, so as not to harm the lungs, heart, or any other part of the body shared with the violet head, who is not charged by this court.”

“But,” Violet shouted. “But I am connected to them completely! If my other heads die, then I will die, too!”

Green continued to roar, and for the first time, there was a hard spine of anguish within the pulse of his anger.

Gray sobbed loudly and unashamed.

Gold, still nodding at the court with a politician’s poker face, surprised himself by throwing up – and, in doing so, gave up the pretense of geniality. He, too, began to sob.

“I’m afraid,” said Judge Azdaq, removing her glasses and cleaning them distractedly with a bit of her robe, “that justice is more important than the life of every innocent who comes through this court. If there is damage to more than the perpetrators, then that is unfortunate, but unavoidable. Take him away.”

Since the bailiff was an unmoving stranger, the helpful (but doomed) court stenographer led Hiram away.

Violet howled that she couldn’t do this, that he was not charged with any crime, but no one intervened.

A janitor trundled her cart forward to mop up the vomit left by Gold.

The few humans left observing the court seemed at a loss for what to do, and started to disperse in uncertain, uneven groups.

The A.I. did not move, because it was a computer.

The strangers in the courtroom did not move, either – although they seemed just a little closer to the onlookers than they were before.

And so…that’s it. That was the trial of Hiram McDaniels. He will be killed. His violet head, innocent, will also die.

So that’s justice…I guess. I guess we’ve done it. Good work, us…I guess.

Stay tuned next for the awful void of your own doubts and feelings.

Goodnight…I guess.

Today’s proverb: “Them’s the brakes, kid,” said the most annoying driving instructor ever.

15/05/2016 15:30:55 ¶ ●

## Episode 88 - Things Fall Apart

[Sound of phone ringing as heard by the person who made the call]

Female phone voice: Citywide utility failures continue to haunt us, but not as much as the strangers who do not appear to move.

Welcome to the Night Vale Public Utilities Phone Line.

If you’re calling with a water, power, gas, phone, or surveillance camera malfunction, please press 1.

If you just called to chat…

[Sound of 1 being pressed]

Night Vale is currently experiencing citywide power outages, as well as polluted water supplies, and several gas leaks. It’s not our fault, but H.R. says we should apologize for the inconvenience. Sorry, I guess.

It’s not like we’re not experiencing the same thing, though, so maybe you could reciprocate the sympathies?

Cecil: I’m sorry?

Female phone voice: Thank you.

To pay your bill, press 1.

To compliment the fine work of the Utilities Department, press 2.

To whine about your personal problems…

Cecil: I’m not complimenting the fine work of the Utilities Department.

Female phone voice: I can repeat that last option, if you need.

To compliment the fine work of the Utilities Department, press 2.

[Extended silence]

Okay, fine.

To whine about your personal problems, press 3.

To schedule a service technician, press

[Sound of 4 being pressed]

You pressed 4. I didn’t give you an option 4, you just assumed the next number and then cut me off mid-sentence.

Cecil: Oh, good God!

Female phone voice: I’m sorry, is this hard for you? Do you need a hug? Do you need me to sing you a lullaby and feed you? Here comes the airplane spoon to feed the hungry hungry boy! Vroom! Mmm, tasty carrots! Feel better now?

Cecil: Wow, the phone tree is getting snippy!

Female phone voice: Don’t be rude. I am a person, not a phone tree. This is my job, to record every possible phrase for every possible person’s possible need. I recorded all of it. I’m a real human, with a body, and needs, and a family. And I have a name. I am Maggie Pennebaker. I’m not a “disembodied lady voice” who will passively ignore your whiny entitlement.

Cecil: I – I’m sorry, Maggie. Are…are we speaking live?

Female phone voice Maggie Pennebaker: You selected “schedule a service technician.” Please hold.

Our next available service date is between the hours of:

Male phone voice: one

Maggie: and

Male phone voice: five p.m.

Maggie: on

Male phone voice: September 4th, 2005

Maggie: in the

Male phone voice: common era.

Cecil: That was 11 years ago!

Maggie: To have time explained to you like you were a five year-old, please hang up now and give up on ever having realistic expectations.

To confirm this appointment, press 1.

To speak to a customer service representative, press 2.

[Sound of 2 being pressed]

All operators are currently

Male phone voice: shouldering the immense burden

Maggie: of

Male phone voice: societal displeasure.

Maggie: Please continue to hold. Current wait time is

Male phone voice: super long.

Cecil: Aaaagh!

[Sound of call disconnecting, then another dialed phone ringing on the line]

Carlos: Hey, Pooh!

Cecil: Hey, Bunny. Listen, Carlos? The power is out here at the station. I can’t even do my show! I’ve been trying to get through to the Utilities, but they’re slammed with calls.

Carlos: Oh, I talked to my friend Maggie, who works there. She said her cousin has an extra generator we can borrow.

Cecil: You know Maggie?

Carlos: Yeah! She used to work with me part-time as a lab assistant. Also, Josie came by with her friends and dropped off some bottled water. Even John Peter has stopped by. You know John Peter, he’s the–

Cecil: Yes, John Peters, the farmer. I know.

Carlos: No. John Peter, remember? The pharmacist. Anyway, he dropped off your prescription this morning.

Cecil: Oh, well that was nice of him!

Carlos: Listen, since you don’t have to work today, you should come back home! It’s bad out there, and if you’re going to get killed or possessed by one of the strangers…I’d rather you do it here with me! I’ll make us some lunch, and we can play Cards In Favor Of Humanity.

Cecil: Aw, that sounds great, but I still need to get to the bottom of what is going on in this city. Intern Kareem pulled some documents for me that he says I need to read through, and I have some calls to make. The invasion by these strangers is a big story, and even if I can’t broadcast it, I still need to find some way to report it. I’ll call you later.

Carlos: You’re so good at your job.

Cecil: You are too, Carlos. Oh, how’s your research going?

Carlos: Well, I’ve been examining some of the places where the strangers have been spotted. I have a meter that makes squawking sounds sometimes, you know? And I’m uncertain if those last two sentences are related. Cecil, Be careful. And…if you see one of the strangers, just get out of there quickly, and call me, okay?

Cecil: We’ve survived one at the station before. I think I’ll be fine.

Carlos: Well, past performance is not an indicator of future results, but…I love you.

Cecil: Okay. Bye.

[Sound of call disconnecting, then another dialed phone ringing on the line]

Sheriff Sam [“Kill V. Maim” by Grimes plays faintly in the background while the Sheriff is on the phone]: Howdy! Sheriff Sam.

Cecil: Sheriff? Hi, this is Cecil Palmer, over at Night Vale Community Radio?

Sheriff: What I just said was off the record. Don’t play it on air.

Cecil: You only said “howdy.”

Sheriff: No, I didn’t.

Cecil: Okay. Sheriff, I’m not even on the air right now. No one is listening to this call, except the Secret Police, the City Council, the mayor, and…well, some neighborhood espionage clubs, but they have our community’s best interests at heart.

Look, I’m calling because I wanted to find out what the Secret Police know about the strangers who are showing up all over town. Are the structural failures related to their presence here?

Sheriff: Now, by “strangers,” do you mean the foreigners from Desert Bluffs, who are taking over our beautiful city after they managed to run their own city into the dirt? Or are you referring to the people who don’t seem to move, except for their breathing, who stand and stare at seemingly nothing, and who – without any noticeable motion – suddenly appear much closer, and who cause our citizens to stand trance-like until they’re taken or killed or subsumed or converted into non-moving strangers themselves?

Cecil: The latter.

Sheriff: Cecil [the Sheriff pronounces it “sess-ill” throughout the conversation]. There are two sinkholes opened up on Route 800. The dam along Night Vale Lake broke. Fortunately our lake is just an empty dust hole, but it still broke wide open. Also, I have a caffeine headache, even though I don’t drink caffeine!

Cecil: That just sounds like a headache, then.

Sheriff: Look, I don’t want the media dictating to me what is or is not a caffeine headache! The point is, things are falling apart, but not in the fun way – in the awful way!

Cecil: There’s a fun way?

Sheriff: Well yes, like…during a scheduled earthquake, or ho-ho! Or when the lizard people dig new tunnels below old buildings.

Cecil: [Laughs] Oh, oh, of course! Of course. Oh! What about the former Desert Bluffs residents who moved to Night Vale? Are…are the strangers doing the same to them?

Sheriff: Who cares?

Cecil: Well, I care! The people who know them care! They’re humans, Sheriff! And as a reporter, I will report that you said that.

Sheriff: Well, I’m the sheriff of a secret police force, so, no you won’t. You won’t do that at all.

[Awkward pause]

Ha-ha! I’m just playing with you! I have a dry sense of humor, you might have missed that. I was delivering a real threat to your life, but in a teasing way. Ha-ha. You definitely won’t report anything I tell you.

Some of those Desert Bluffs people we can’t even track. Not all of them stayed here, some of them moved away. In our regular interrogations and detentions of these non-citizens, we’ve learned that a lot of them moved to some other place, which they say feels a bit more like home. I don’t know anything about that, except that I’m happy to get them out of here. They can set up all the Joyous Congregations of the Smiling God that they want some other place!

Just tell your listeners that everything is fixed, and everyone is safe. The Sheriff saved the day.

Cecil: But you didn’t do anything!

Sheriff: Got to go, Cecil! Just got some new calligraphy pens I need to break in before the press conference to announce that all is lost.

Cecil: Uh, it’s Cecil [pronounced “see-sill”], thanks.

[Sound of call disconnecting, then another dialed phone ringing on the line]

Michelle Nguyen: Dark Owl Records, please shut up about music before you embarrass yourself.

Cecil: Michelle? Hey, it’s Cecil. I hate to bother you but I’m trying to track down Maureen. I heard that you two are friends.

Michelle: I only talked about Maureen privately into my audio journal. Did you listen to the monologue I recorded?

Cecil: Yes, I played it on the air six weeks ago.

Michelle: I didn’t want anyone to hear that! That was personal!

Cecil: Michelle, you mailed me a cassette with a note that said “Here’s my monologue to play on your show, Cecil!”

Michelle: But that was me from more than a month ago. I hate that me. Haven’t you ever made mistakes in your youth?

Cecil: Yes. Many. Michelle, you’ve talked to Maureen recently, how is she?

Michelle:She’s fine. I mean, she’s not that into leading an army, or whatever, but it’s just a thing she does for a living. I sell records, you talk on the radio, Maureen leads the army of unmoving strangers.

Cecil: She’s the leader of the strangers?

Michelle: Or whatever. Maureen was sweet, and let me see one of the strangers up close. They smell like compost, and are all gray, and they make you feel cold. They’re really beautiful, but they’ll devour your soul and turn you into one of them. Maureen says it’s super painful when they do that, and the transformation is for forever. That’s why they can only stand and breathe, and not really move, because they’re in so much pain for so long, trapped in immortal bodies.

It was cool. Kind of cool. I mean, I don’t know. Will you hate me if I like something?

Cecil: Michelle, how did you get up close to one without being devoured?

Michelle: Maureen said she’d keep me safe from them, because we’re each others’ only friends. Maureen’s a…kind person. She does like country music, but I think friendship is sometimes about compromise. If it means getting to be around her, I’m perfectly happy covering my ears and humming the Bob’s Burgers theme.

Cecil: What about the boy in the hoodie, who hangs out with Maureen?

Michelle: Chad? Chad’s okay, I guess. He’s just Maureen’s boss, though. She has to hang around him a bunch and watch his evil dog. It’s just work, you know?

Cecil: Michelle, I…

Michelle: Cecil? Music sometimes calms me. You want to hear a song I really like?

Cecil: Sure.

Michelle: Okay, here you go.

[“Palestine” by Sam Baker, featuring Carrie Elkin]

Cecil: That was a wonderful song, Michelle!

Michelle: Are you still talking about that song I started playing five minutes ago? I’ve moved on from that. Glad you like oldies so much.

Anyway, Maureen’s new phone number is Old Town-57614.

Cecil: Thanks, Michelle.

[Sound of call disconnecting, then another dialed phone ringing on the line]

Maureen: Hi, this is Maureen. I am probably at work, or asleep, or somewhere else. Somewhere listening to the sound of the moon slowly trying to peel off our oceans with its gravity, pulling its weak little chalky speck of a body, grabbing this blue giant and tearing away at its watery skin. A futile fight. A spinning battle of large and small. And in the sky you can hear the whirling of the battling siblings.

Or maybe I just don’t want to take your call. Or maybe I’m dead. Or maybe you’re dead, and this is the voicemail you get when you die.

“Hi, Maureen here, sorry you’re dead! For some reason, I’m the one person you wanted to call the moment you left behind your short life, and I’m not even here to take it. So sorry, newly-dead person! Make sure you leave a phone number where I can reach you, because I certainly don’t know how to call dead people on the phone.”

Or maybe I lost my phone, and it’s in my car, or under a pillow, or I left it in a movie theater, or a raccoon ate it.

Maybe there’s a raccoon somewhere in the brush, or in a trash can behind a house, walking with a limp because it just ate a phone. A rectangle of glass, and metal, and electronics, that’s a quarter of the length of the raccoon’s body, and now that phone is inside the raccoon’s guts, stretching its tiny tummy impossibly long, pressing against the masked Procyon’s little heart and lungs as it walks tenderly to one side to alleviate the discomfort of such an intrusive foreign object.

The raccoon – and…this is kind of cute, kind of sad to think about – walks diagonally, all the while emitting a little “♫ doo-de-lee-doo-ooo, doo-de-lee-dooooo, doo-de-lee-doo ♫” ringtone, all muffled from within its quivering torso, and questioning its “eat everything it can find” dogma, and thinking perhaps to just limit that life philosophy to trash cans.

Of course, I bet people throw away phones all the time, so that’s probably not a big help…although in my case, I’m positive I didn’t do that because my job is too important to just throw my phone away. Too, too important. Too many evil beings to manage. Too fragile a portal into another dimension, a dimension which is probably Hell? IDK. I…I’m not a religious studies major, although if I were, I bet I would have graduated by now.

I mean, so much can go wrong if I lost my phone. Like, no one could get a hold of me to help me fix it. Which is not to say I know how to fix an inter-dimensional portal between Hell and this world, but just that I could be a person to be like “Oh no! I’m sorry to hear the portal is malfunctioning! Let me panic a little bit and make some phone calls to feel like we’re all doing something about it!”

And that would be helpful, because sympathy is critical to good teamwork, and if you don’t care about your job, you’re not gonna make anything of yourself.

I am! I am making something of myself! Just sculpting away! Here’s a clump of Maureen, let’s work it with it with these hands. Yeah, this is looking great! This is a really nice Maureen here, all ready to be put in a fire, cooled, painted, and set upon an alabaster pedestal in the foyer.

So leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.

[Answering machine beeps]

Cecil: Maureen! I finally figured it out. Chad Bowinger! That boy I’ve seen you with! He used to intern here, just like you! He went to report a story on that used sporting goods store that we thought was a front for the World Government, and never came back out. I guess it was something much worse he found in that shady old building.

Now the two of you have a really successful startup. I’m proud of our internship program here at the station. I – I’m also proud of you for becoming a professional. You’re leading an army, Maureen, that’s very impressive! Much more so than filing papers, fetching me lunch, and updating my erotic fan fiction blog. It sounds like a great job with good benefits. It’s, uh, it’s a tough job market for you young people these days. Lots of changing technologies making old jobs like print journalism, cardiology, and computer programming obsolete. Plus, all these new people moving here from Desert Bluffs? Kudos to you, Maureen!

Here’s my question, though, and it’s an important one. So, Carlos, my boyfriend. Earlier, when I talked to him, I forgot to say “I love you” at the end of the call. I was…I was preoccupied. No – no big deal. My love was implicit in the way was talked to each other. Love needn’t be verbalized when it exists in intuition and physical contact. He knows I love him.

But part of me wonders…what if one of those rare times I forgot to hug him goodbye, or failed to say “I love you,” turns out to be the last time I have that chance? Lots can go wrong in an indifferent universe.

I’ll see him in a couple of hours, right? I’ll see Carlos later. Right, Maureen?

Please call me back. I want to talk more about what you and Chad are doing to my town. I…oh. I’m getting another call from an unknown number. I’m hoping this is the Sheriff. Call me back.

Hello?

[Unidentifiable sound]

Hello?

[Unidentifiable sound]

Who is this?

[Muffled sounds that may be muffled screams, or possibly sounds that an evil dog might make – it’s unclear which]

Today’s proverb: Want to feel old? People born in 2014 have already graduated college, don’t know what a trombone is, and are all named after gourds.

21/05/2016 10:05:31 ¶ ●

## Bonus Episode 6 - The Investigators (Preview)

[A note from cecilspeaks: This is the bonus episode that is a preview of The Investigators. The full show is posted at http://cecilspeaks.tumblr.com/post/144699979076/the-investigators].

Joseph Fink: Hi, I’m Joseph Fink. What you’re about to hear are two clips from our last touring live show, The Investigators, which is now available, right now, for sale at nightvale.bandcamp.com, and will be available on iTunes soon (or it might be already, depending on when you’re listening to this). This is over two hours of brand new Night Vale with live music and a ton of guest stars, plus ten bonus tracks of guest stars that we couldn’t fit into the main recording. So, even if you saw this show live, there is a ton of stuff in here you have never heard. Also available on Bandcamp and iTunes, our previous four live recordings and the Welcome to Night Vale audio book. Check those out. And we will see you with our brand new live script Ghost Stories in the U.S. in July, and in Europe in October. I can’t wait. Enjoy.

Cecil: And now an update on last week’s power outages. The Night Vale Electric Utility announced today that there may be more power outages in coming weeks. This time, due to sadness.

“We’ve just been sad this week,” the Electric Utility said. “Not for any reason, just…sometimes we get sad. What do we need a reason for? Last week we were feeling vengeful, so…power outages. This week we’re feeling sad, and we’re going to continue expressing ourselves through the medium of power outages.”

Now, power outages were, of course, certified by the Supreme Court as a protected form of free speech in the 1973 case of the Hayworth Electric Company vs the Hayworth Hospital. And the court stated that reasonable causes for a power outage include celebration of a special someone’s birthday, expression of undirected anger at an intransigent political system, and periods of just feeling sad for no reason.

But the Night Vale Electric Utility would like me to remind you that power outages are no excuse not to pay your electric bill. I mean, electricity is, after all, a privilege, not a right. Failure to pay your electric bill may result in localized lightning storms, shrouded figures standing silently in the back of familiar TV shows, and gout. So…

So. A spokesperson from the Sheriff’s Secret Police has just handed me a note explaining that I am not required to attend the murder mystery dinner theater, as I was here in my booth broadcasting during the time of the murder.

Oh. Um, they just handed me another note, but it reads, “We don’t know where that scientist is. Please let the scientist know he is required to attend.”

Now, look. Carlos has been busy all day in his science lab…science-ing. If, if he were even able to leave the lab, he would certainly not just murder a stranger…without stopping by the radio station to say hello to me first!

I’m gonna call Carlos right now.

Carlos: Hey, you! I was just thinking of you.

Cecil: Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’ve received some bad news from the Secret Police.

Carlos: Ugh. I knew this would eventually happen. They discovered that my team of scientists is studying geology, right? I know, I know, it’s illegal. And, as Francis Scott Key wrote in his famous poem, “Rocks are just rocks! Mind your own business, pal!” But I find geology so scientifically interesting, I cannot believe that they just–

Cecil: No no no, it’s not that. It’s…there’s been a murder, and the Sheriff’s Secret Police need you to attend the mandatory murder mystery dinner theater.

Carlos: Oh. But that is great news! Um, I love dinner theaters. I, um, I took some theater in college, you know, so I can play, like, a bunch of different roles.

Cecil: Oh, really?

Carlos: Yeah, okay. So the part that everyone wants to play in a murder mystery dinner theater, you know who it is? It’s the butler.

Cecil: Oh.

Carlos: Because the butler gets to wear pastel tuxedos and carry this pet rat. Ooh! And I can do, like, a really really good snooty British accent. Ahem.

[In an accent that…well I’m not good with accents, but it’s definitely not British.] “'Ey! I would never murder anyone! Might I perhaps take your coat, sir?”

Cecil: I don’t know if that’s really a British accent.

Carlos: Babe, it is.

Cecil: Oh, is it?

Carlos: Yeah. Mm-hmm.

Cecil: Okay. All right.

Carlos: So, like, another great role in the murder mystery dinner theater is the rich heiress. Ah! The rich heiress! Um, okay. She gets to wear this like tight black dress, and pearls, and a feathered boa (which you know look amazing in).

Cecil: I do.

Carlos: I do. So, the rich heiress, of course, she seems like the murderer, because she always carries around this old bloodstained axe, but that’s the thing! She only carries the ax because her mother was the owner of the world’s biggest axe manufacturing conglomerate, and their family made a great fortune by chopping up people and taking all their money. Anyway, the rich heiress has this glorious and smooth Romanian accent.

[In another accent that I won’t guess, but it is not glorious, nor is it smooth] Please know that I would never murder anyone. Now go get me another drink doll. Chop chop! I’m kidding. [Takes one last puff of imaginary cigarette and exhales loudly]

Cecil: Ohhhh! Now, I’ve never been to Romania…

Carlos: Babe, it’s a dead-on accent.

Cecil: Oh, okay. All right. Now, listen, Carlos, I’m actually really surprised to hear this side of you. I mean, I had no idea that you were such a theater nerd!

Carlos: Yeah! Like, I’m a scientist, sure, but that’s not all I am, you know?

Cecil: Yeah?

Carlos: Like, getting to act in a murder mystery dinner theater would give me the chance to be…not a scientist anymore, you know? Like, um, like, like I could be anyone! Like…like a train conductor, and I’d shout “All aboard!” Um, or a pizza maker, and I would shout, “All aboard, and it’s a pizza!” Um, or, I don’t know, like, oh! Like a writer! And I’d shout “I am alone, so terribly alone!”

Cecil: Carlos, I– I think the idea is that everybody is just themselves, so that way the police can easily scan the crowd and find out who looks the most guilty. I mean, I don’t think that murder mystery dinner theater is ever supposed to be fun! They are grueling exercises in abrupt and arbitrary justice.

Carlos: You know who I want to play? I want to play a librarian.

Cecil: Oh, I don’t think that’s a very–

Carlos: “You seem to be very interested in young adult sci-fi adventure novels. Might I recommend Get What’s Yours: The Secret to Maxing Out Your Social Security by John Grisham?”

Whoo! That felt really good.

Cecil: It sounded good.

Carlos: Thank you. But I would really, really need to work with the director, you know, on how to get the pincers and all the long hairy legs just right. Ooh! Ooh! And we would really need to rig up a pulley system so that I could fly around the room and then descend from the ceiling like a normal librarian.

Cecil: Oh! Um, Carlos, I was just handed another not from the Secret Police that reads: “No more, please! Tell him he doesn’t have to come to the dinner theater at all!”

Carlos: …But I wanted to come.

Cecil: Aww.

Carlos: Um, eh, it’s no bother.

Cecil: Well, we will just have to put on our own murder mystery dinner theater this weekend.

Carlos: Okay. Um, I love you.

Cecil: All right. I love you too.

Carlos: Ooh! Ooh! You want to hear my Steve Carlsberg impression?

Cecil: Goodbye, Carlos.

Carlos: Okie-doke.

Joseph Fink: Nightvale.bandcamp.com, two hours of brand new Night Vale. And go to welcometonightvale.com and click on Live Shows to see our upcoming tour dates.

21/05/2016 16:32:42 ¶ ●

## The Investigators

Meg Bashwiner: And now, listeners of every kind, the voice of Night Vale, Cecil Baldwin!

Cecil: The writing is on the wall. It is not written in English. It is not really even written. Clawed, more like. The claw marks are on the wall.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, be warned: There is a murderer in our midst!

Ooh! I’m sorry, that was mega-dramatic of me. Let me start off with some pleasantries.

Hello. My name is Cecil. Welcome to my show, here on Night Vale Community Radio. We’ve got some news and stuff coming up for you soon. Um, how are things going with you?

I can’t hear you…

I can’t hear you…

No, really, I can’t hear you because I’m all by myself here in my radio studio, but I hope that you were yelling your heads off out there in your homes and offices and cars and witching caves.

Now that the small talk is out of the way, quick bit of news.

Be warned, citizens! There is a murderer in our midst!

Last night, at the corner of Sausalito and Somerset, a body was found. Police suspect foul play. Well, specifically they suspect murder, but they didn’t want to get you all upset, and ‘foul play’ sounds so much less alarming and more fun!

A Sheriff’s Secret Police spokesperson said “Murder is just so final, you know? So scary. We like 'foul play.’ It’s like people were having fun, like a game…but a little bit rougher. But yeah, anyway, somebody died pretty violently from…foul play. And it’s really gross! But don’t worry, the first rule of any murder investigation is to immediately clean up that murder scene and make sure it’s tidy,” the spokesperson said.

As is the usual murder investigation procedure, the Sheriff’s Secret Police is ordering every single citizen of Night Vale to gather in the Rec Center for a mandatory night of murder mystery dinner theater…so they can determine the killer’s identity.

There will be catering by Big Rico’s Pizza, and the Moonlite All-Nite Diner will be providing invisible pie for those citizens that do not eat visible food.

More on this soon. But first, a word from our sponsors.

Today’s sponsor is Evian. Here on their behalf is, of course, a sentient patch of haze, and her name is Deb.

Deb?

Deb: Don'tcha know it, Cecil.

Okay, listeners. I’m here to tell you all about Evian brand water beverage, and I certainly do hope that you consider Evian brand water beverage over all other water beverage opportunities that are available to you.

I know that you humans, insignificant meat-filled wisps that you are, are probably thinking, “What difference could the water beverage opportunity I select possibly make?”

And I’m sure you’re right. You’re very smart. I’m sure.

I’m sure that all other water beverage opportunities haven’t been poisoned by unknown malicious parties, leaving Evian brand water beverage the only safe selection. Why would that even happen? That would be illegal. Immoral. And great for our sales.

Marketing a particular brand of water beverage is certainly very difficult. You know what else is difficult? Death by poison. Hard, slow, and painful.

Yes, if all other water beverage opportunities were poisoned, why then your choice to select Evian brand water beverage would be very important indeed.

Cecil: Now, Deb, please tell me the truth. Did you poison our water?

Deb: Oh, Cecil. Not to my definitive out-loud knowledge. But who even knows?

Cecil: Uh, I feel like you know.

Deb: Then maybe just follow that feeling. See where it takes you. Maybe it’ll take you to Evian brand water beverage. Maybe it’ll take you into a slow oblivion. The important thing is, nothing you do could possibly affect me. As the good book says, human life: it’s just a means to an end.

Cecil: Uh, the good book?

Deb: The Sentient Haze’s Guide to World Domination. It’s a great book.

Evian brand water beverage. Can’t live without un-poisoned water.

Cecil: Now, listeners, I know that you’re all at a dinner theater, but perhaps avoid drinking anything with your food until we have this whole situation sorted out.

Deb: It’ll be fine.

Cecil: Yyyeah, but still, though, just to be on the safe side, you might want to–

Deb [whispering]: It’ll be fine.

Oh, okay, all right. Well, thank you very much, Deb!

And now, a public service announcement.

The Night Vale Psychological Association reminds you to take a few moments each day for relaxing your brain. Never tried meditative exercises? They suggest the following:

First, close your eyes. Breathe. Think about your breaths. In and out.

Next, picture a beach. Picture gentle waves, and then wet sand, and then dry sand, and then dune grass, flittering in a soft wind. And then, a house. Picture a house. A really big house.

No, bigger than that. I’m thinking at least 3,000 square feet. Ooh, picture, let’s say, a 3,500 square foot house, bedroom-wise. Three bathrooms…like two and a half. Okay?

And we’re relaxing, and we’re breathing. And we’re picturing a 3,500 square foot craftsman style house with a wraparound porch and a porch swing. And we are picturing our best selves, living our beset lives. We are picturing a calm ocean.

We are picturing a media room with a back-projection screen and reclining movie seats.

Let’s really relax now. Let’s feel very calm.

And let’s put a massage function on those movie seats!

We should now be feeling warmth prickling throughout our bodies, and we allow ourselves to follow that warmth. We’re picturing peace, we’re picturing love, love of every kind.

We are also picturing a wine cellar.

No no no no no, we are picturing a better wine cellar that that! We are picturing a modern humidity-stabilized temperature controlled wine cellar, come on! Work with me on this!

And peace. We’re also picturing peace.

Yeah! This is really coming together! We’re all doing a great job picturing this house with the strong foundation, like our spiritual foundations, grounded and stable. With a good roof, like our minds, sheltering and waterproof and recently redone by a certified contractor. With a walk-in closet off the master bedroom, like our hearts, finished with recessed lighting and a rotating shoe rack.

Picture this house. Build this house in your mind. Have you pictured the house? Great.

You can open your eyes now. Thanks. You’ve just built the Night Vale Psychological Association a luxury beach house in your subconscious. And we’ve already put it up on Airbnb! But we hope to have a few weekends a year to use it for ourselves. Every time you fall asleep, you might see strangers gathering in this house, living in your dreams.

Keep doing those relaxation exercises. We don’t want our dream world beach house spoiled by your weird mother issues.

Thanks.

This message was brought to you by the Night Vale Psychological Association.

So, a spokesperson from the Sheriff’s Secret Police has just handed me a note explaining that I am not required to attend the murder mystery dinner theater, as I was here in my booth broadcasting during the time of the murder.

Oh. Um, they just handed me another note, but it reads, “We don’t know where that scientist is. Please let the scientist know he is required to attend.”

Now, look. Carlos has been busy all day in his science lab…science-ing. If, if he were even able to leave the lab, he would certainly not just murder a stranger…without stopping by the radio station to say hello to me first!

I’m gonna call Carlos right now.

Carlos: Hey, you! I was just thinking of you.

Cecil: Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’ve received some bad news from the Secret Police.

Carlos: Ugh. I knew this would eventually happen. They discovered that my team of scientists is studying geology, right? I know, I know, it’s illegal. And, as Francis Scott Key wrote in his famous poem, “Rocks are just rocks! Mind your own business, pal!” But I find geology so scientifically interesting, I cannot believe that they just–

Cecil: No no no, it’s not that. It’s…there’s been a murder, and the Sheriff’s Secret Police need you to attend the mandatory murder mystery dinner theater.

Carlos: Oh. But that is great news! Um, I love dinner theaters. I, um, I took some theater in college, you know, so I can play, like, a bunch of different roles.

Cecil: Oh, really?

Carlos: Yeah, okay. So the part that everyone wants to play in a murder mystery dinner theater, you know who it is? It’s the butler.

Cecil: Oh.

Carlos: Because the butler gets to wear pastel tuxedos and carry this pet rat. Ooh! And I can do, like, a really really good snooty British accent. Ahem.

[In an accent that…well I’m not good with accents, but it’s definitely not British.] “'Ey! I would never murder anyone! Might I perhaps take your coat, sir?”

Cecil: I don’t know if that’s really a British accent.

Carlos: Babe, it is.

Cecil: Oh, is it?

Carlos: Yeah. Mm-hmm.

Cecil: Okay. All right.

Carlos: So, like, another great role in the murder mystery dinner theater is the rich heiress. Ah! The rich heiress! Um, okay. She gets to wear this like tight black dress, and pearls, and a feathered boa (which you know look amazing in).

Cecil: I do.

Carlos: I do. So, the rich heiress, of course, she seems like the murderer, because she always carries around this old bloodstained axe, but that’s the thing! She only carries the ax because her mother was the owner of the world’s biggest axe manufacturing conglomerate, and their family made a great fortune by chopping up people and taking all their money. Anyway, the rich heiress has this glorious and smooth Romanian accent.

[Takes a few puffs of an imaginary cigarette]

[In another accent that I won’t guess, but it is not glorious, nor is it smooth] Please know that I would never murder anyone. Now go get me another drink doll. Chop chop! I’m kidding. [Takes one last puff of imaginary cigarette and exhales loudly]

Cecil: Ohhhh! Now, I’ve never been to Romania…

Carlos: Babe, it’s a dead-on accent.

Cecil: Oh, okay. All right. Now, listen, Carlos, I’m actually really surprised to hear this side of you. I mean, I had no idea that you were such a theater nerd!

Carlos: Yeah! Like, I’m a scientist, sure, but that’s not all I am, you know?

Cecil: Yeah?

Carlos: Like, getting to act in a murder mystery dinner theater would give me the chance to be…not a scientist anymore, you know? Like, um, like, like I could be anyone! Like…like a train conductor, and I’d shout “All aboard!” Um, or a pizza maker, and I would shout, “All aboard, and it’s a pizza!” Um, or, I don’t know, like, oh! Like a writer! And I’d shout “I am alone, so terribly alone!”

Cecil: Carlos, I– I think the idea is that everybody is just themselves, so that way the police can easily scan the crowd and find out who looks the most guilty. I mean, I don’t think that murder mystery dinner theater is ever supposed to be fun! They are grueling exercises in abrupt and arbitrary justice.

Carlos: You know who I want to play? I want to play a librarian.

Cecil: Oh, I don’t think that’s a very–

Carlos: “You seem to be very interested in young adult sci-fi adventure novels. Might I recommend Get What’s Yours: The Secret to Maxing Out Your Social Security by John Grisham?”

Whoo! That felt really good.

Cecil: It sounded good.

Carlos: Thank you. But I would really, really need to work with the director, you know, on how to get the pincers and all the long hairy legs just right. Ooh! Ooh! And we would really need to rig up a pulley system so that I could fly around the room and then descend from the ceiling like a normal librarian.

Cecil: Oh! Um, Carlos, I was just handed another not from the Secret Police that reads: “No more, please! Tell him he doesn’t have to come to the dinner theater at all!”

Carlos: …But I wanted to come.

Cecil: Aww.

Carlos: Um, eh, it’s no bother.

Cecil: Well, we will just have to put on our own murder mystery dinner theater this weekend.

Carlos: Okay. Um, I love you.

Cecil: All right. I love you too.

Carlos: Ooh! Ooh! You want to hear my Steve Carlsberg impression?

Cecil: Goodbye, Carlos.

Carlos: Okie-doke.

Cecil: So, the Sheriff’s Secret Police has decreed that they will not have Carlos perform after all. Despite the fact that Carlos is a great actor, a wonderful actor, quote, “one of the most charismatic and gripping stage performers of his generation,” end quote…is what I imagine they were thinking, when they sent me this note that says “Hey, please tell Carlos he’s not allowed inside the theater.” And then they signed it with a less-than symbol and the number 3. <3

The Secret Police will instead be presenting a very traditional murder mystery dinner theater, in which the audience just stares at each other in suspicious silence for a long time, and then goes home.

And, indeed, everyone in the crowd was already looking around them for someone that they suspected of murder. Each one of them was looking around for someone that they thought might be a murderer. Now, they looked past those people that they came with, or people who they might already know, because well, they foolishly trusted those people.

No no no no. They sought out the eyes of a complete stranger. And then, when they made eye contact with that stranger, they locked in, staring at that person and only at that person, each one of them thinking, “Yeah, that person could be a murderer!”

And then each one of them pointed at that person, and each one of them said, out loud, “You could be a murderer!”

And each one of them was right. That person could be a murderer! And then, keeping their fingers pointed, each one of them narrowed their eyes, and then they widened their eyes, and then they crossed their eyes, and then they uncrossed their eyes because it made it very difficult to keep an eye on the person they suspected of murder, and then slowly they lowered their pointing fingers, and each one of them said, out loud to the other, “I have my eye on you, suspect!”

And then they looked away, their hearts aglow at a job well done. But they would remember the face of that stranger, because they knew it would be important throughout the evening.

Listeners, I know that many of you remember Intern Roheet, and the important lessons that he learned (well, that we all learned) about which spiders are safe to put inside your mouth. Roheet was a good intern, and he will be missed.

But, good news! We have a brand new intern! Welcome to the radio station.

Intern Joseph: Hi, I’m intern Joseph Fink. Wait…wait, no, this can’t be happening!

Cecil: Nah, nothing ever can.

Joseph: No, I remember this place without ever having been here. These gray walls, that old table yellowed in a semicircular patch where you’ve rested your arms for so many years, the water stains on the drop ceiling, that small nest of owls over there in the corner…I recognize all of this. No!

Cecil: Is someone having a case of déjà vu?

Joseph: Here’s what it is. There was this river that ran through my college dorm room (naturally), and one day, in the river, I found a stone – smooth on one side, rough on the other. I picked up the stone and in that craggy side, I saw a face, and it told me that it granted wishes.

So I made a wish, and the face in the stone said, “What? Why did you do that?” And I said, “Well, you said you granted wishes,” and the face said, “No, I don’t grant wishes, I’m sorry, did I say wishes? I meant curses. I cast curses. I curse you to see your own death and to know it forever.”

And in the smooth side of the stone, my death was shown to me. Every last bloody and terrifying detail.

Cecil: Coooool!

[Awkward pause]

Oh, wait, I’m sorry, I was just caught up in your story. It was very good.

Joseph: So now, here I am in the studio. I mean, did I even apply for an internship here? Why would I do that? Why would anyone do that?!?

In that stone, I saw you introduce me to your listeners. I saw myself telling this story to you, exactly as I am now, verbatim, as if reading from a script. I saw all of this as a vibrant memory, cause and effect reversed by that awful rock. And now comes the terrible pain of an imminent and all-too-familiar death.

Cecil: No, don’t be so dramatic. You are not about to die! You are going to be–

Joseph: Ow!

Cecil: Oh! What? What is it?

Joseph: I bumped my leg on the side of your desk.

Cecil: Augh! You scared me, I thought that something serious had– oh my God, you are bleeding everywhere!

Joseph: Okay, yes. I remember seeing the part where I bleed a lot. Why do you have a desk made entirely out of knives?!?

Cecil: I don’t know! That’s…that’s just how IKEA makes them.

Joseph: The end is nigh.

Cecil: No! Nooooo! The end is not nigh, Intern Joseph, you’re gonna make it!

Joseph: Tell my family I loved them.

Cecil: I will tell them, but first, can I just…can I ask you one thing? Um, what did you wish for from the stone, and– and I will do my best to honor your wish, no matter what happens.

Joseph: Wait. This is not how I die. I don’t bleed to death. There was something else.

Cecil: There wa– ju– just tell me your wish before you go. It– It– would it– it would kill me not to know. I– [Gasps]…I would hate never to know.

Joseph: It’s totally not the bleeding that kills me.

Cecil: Just tell me the wish!

Joseph: What kills me is…the…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!

Cecil: Listeners…I do not know how a shark got into my radio station. Nor do I know how it got back out again. But to the family of Intern Joseph, ahh…he was a good intern, and he died doing what he loved: living in perpetual fear of death.

I only wish I knew his wish! [Gasps] You know what? I bet it was an Xbox! And so I shall purchase myself an Xbox in his honor.

But first, the Community Calendar.

Wednesday evening Night Vale’s most popular restaurant, Tourniquet, will be hosing a special chef’s table dinner. This exclusive event costs $500, and is limited to only 13 attendees. Diners will enjoy a special tasting menu personally curated and prepared by chef LaShawn Mason. The five course menu will center around quail. Chef Mason rediscovered the joy of quail meat, and would like to share this joy with Night Vale. Sous chef Earl Harlan will recite instructions for gutting and cleaning, and each diner will be given a live quail and a brick. The chef’s table dinner begins at 7:30, at which time all diners from last year’s event will finally be released from the kitchen back to their old lives.

This Thursday night, the Night Vale Tourism Board is holding an opening night party to celebrate the new artwork on display at the Night Vale Visitor’s Center – you know, out by Radon Canyon. The theme of this gallery collection is “Pain. Internal, External, and Beyond!” and it features work by several local artists, expressing a wide array of popular art techniques from postmodern monochromatics to outdoor rock sculptures, and even a few interactive exhibits like “Put Your Foot In There” and “Hurts, Don’t It?” and “Stop Hitting Yourself! Stop Hitting Yourself! Stop Hitting Yourself! Why Do You Keep Hitting Yourself?”

Say, did you know that it is completely possible for the human body to survive unprotected in space for several seconds? No, it’s true! And this information will be super useful to you this Thursday night at 8:00pm, so…lock it in, all right? Cool.

Aw, Friday at noon, the eastbound lanes of Route 800 will be closed between exits 17 and 19. All traffic will be rerouted onto side streets. Highway crews will be posting signs with “All Roads Nowhere and Every Path DEATH” and also just a couple of frowny faces to help you with your morning commute.

Oh! Saturday afternoon, the Night Vale PTA is hosting its third annual youth arts fair. For more on this we go now to…

Oh, no.

Steve Carlsberg: Hey, Cecil! Thanks for having me on!

Cecil: Steve Carlsberg, secretary of the PTA.

Steve: Also chair of the youth arts fair committee.

Cecil: No one asked.

Steve: Okay. Well, thanks for featuring our event on your show, Cecil. It’s going to be a great time! Diane Crayton, Susan Willman, and I have put together a lot of new activities this year. We’ll have a station for finger painting, and another for face painting, and another for casting bronze idols, and because it was such a huge hit last year, a death pit!

Cecil: Wait, what? There’s a death pit at a kid’s fair?

Steve: Well, yeah, we fill it with plastic balls.

Cecil: Oh, well, that’s okay, I guess, then.

Steve: The youth arts fair focuses on creativity, fun, and personal expression for kids. But listen, because of what happened last year, we need to provide a clear warning that there will be clowns at the youth arts fair.

Cecil: What happened last year?

Steve: I can’t talk about it.

Cecil: Oh, come on, I’m your brother-in-law, you can tell me!

Steve: No no, I literally cannot talk about it. We all had to go to City Hall for reeducation. It was apparently that bad.

Cecil: Oh.

Steve: Anyway, because of…whatever happened, many children are still a little bit mildly terrified of clowns. But you know how powerful the Night Vale Clown Union Local 189 is, so…

Cecil:I do.

Steve: …like any public event, we were required to hire a minimum of two dozen clowns.

Cecil: Oh.

Steve: However, for the sake of the easily frightened kids, the clowns will not be allowed into the actual fair. They’ll have to stand inside the elementary school, watching from the darkened rooms. Peering through the narrow gaps in the blinds. The clowns will be just barely discernible in the shadows, and thus not a distraction for the children, who’ll only be able to see the faint shadows of curly wigs and round noses and sharp yellow teeth, from behind the breath-frosted glass of the rooms the children must sit in day after day.

Cecil: Yes, I remember, when I was a kid, our guidance counselor wore clown makeup, and would hide inside closets with the door cracked, and just so we didn’t get scared, he would make little growling gurgling sounds. Just so that we knew he was there, and everything was okay.

Steve: Yes. That was wise behavior. It’s important, you see, that kids are given the chance to trust clowns.

Cecil:Mm-hmm.

Steve: Hey, you know what I love, is that funny clown thing where they’re really funny, but, uh, they’re crying too?

[Cecil and Steve laugh]

Cecil: Oh my gosh, yes, I love that. It's– it's– it’s hysterical!

Steve: Oh, it gets me every time! Ha-ha! Seein’ somebody cry? Seeing their shoulders shake and their face fall!

Cecil: Oh, right, right, right. Right, right. Like we’re laughing and they’re crying, and they’re like, holding up photos of people that they’ve loved and they’ve lost, and they’re crying over it!

Steve: And we’re laughing! It’s irony!

Cecil: And irony is the best kind of humor because it’s so insincere!

[Cecil and Steve laugh, then simultaneously “ahh”]

Steve: So yeah, anyway, it’s gonna be a lot of fun. Hey, Slenderman is even going to be there!

Cecil: Oooooooh! Principal Angela Slenderman is going to be there? That’s great!

Steve: Yeah-huh, yeah. Hey, also, I wanted to mention, very qui–

Cecil: Nope. Out of time. Goodbye, Steve Carlseberg.

God, that guy can talk forever, right? Ugh. So sorry about that, listeners.

Steve: Uh, I’m actually still on the line, Cecil.

Cecil: …Yeah, I know.

Steve: Oh, heh. Okie dokie! Just checking. You know.

Cecil [whispering]: Steve is the worst!

Steve: No, I’m still…I can hear it. Every single word.

Cecil: Okay, you can hang up now, Steve.

Steve: O-o-o-okie dokie. I–

Cecil [whispering]: Shhhh. Hang up the phone.

Steve [whispering]: Okie dokie.

Cecil: Ugh. So.

Sunday afternoon, the Night Vale Community Players will be hosting auditions for their next show, which is called “Oklahoma.” It’s an old musical about people from a fictional U.S. state that must fight off an attack from ballet dancing farmers – farmers that ride a herd of elephants with corn husks for eyes. This controversial musical has been lauded and derided by theater critics for its graphic and gory death scenes. Auditions are from 2:00pm to 2:05pm, and a postcard announcing the exact location of the auditions will be sent the day before, so make sure that you wait silently in the shrubbery for your mail carrier.

Tuesday is a lie! Calendars are propaganda! Days and times are just artificial walls built to divide us! [Cecil makes an explosion sound] It’s true.

And now, an update from the Rec Center. Everyone in town is still participating in the murder mystery dinner theater, and the evening is certainly providing a lot of theater, dinner, mystery, and unfortunately, murder.

It seems that whoever is the culprit in this case is working to expand the number of cases that they are a culprit in. They have taken advantage of the fact that all citizens are required to be at this dinner theater production, and are slinking about in the shadows, picking people off one by one.

Janice Rio (from down the street) said that Bernie Simpson had been right next to her, and then the next thing she knew, bam! Bernie Simpson was right next to her.

And then she paused for a really long time, as though expecting a reaction, and then she said, “Oh, I’m so sorry! I forgot to say that Bernie was a ghost the second time! Yeah, he was a ghost and he winked at me, and he smile, and he said, 'Hey, Janice, looks like I’ve been murdered!’ and he laughed and laughed, and then he said 'Well, they got me. I’m dead now!’ And it was so off-putting I had to change seats!” Janice said.

Who is this fiend? Where will they strike next? It could be anyone. It could be anywhere. It is like that wonderful children’s book classic, in which the reader is playfully reminded again and again that there’s a monster at the end of the book, but then of course when the reader gets to the end of the book it turns out that there is indeed a monster and our children are eaten after reading it! Wait, that’s a wonderful book!

Anyway, citizens, I urge you to please be safe. I would be so very upset if you were not safe, so just…you know, please.

In light of the current emergency, the Sheriff’s Secret Police has sent a spokesperson to the radio station to provide information and answer any questions that might be raised about the current “dangerous murderer on the loose in the room that you are all” in situation. And the spokesperson has just pushed their soft wet snout out from the soil, and has, uh, used their long digging claws to tunnel their way into my booth.

So, please say hello to the Secret Spokseperson.

Spokesperson: Yes…what?

Cecil: Uh…well, you’re hear to speak to us about the dangerous situation?

Spokesperson: Oh, sure, sure. Citizens, we’re completely in charge, there’s nothing to fear.

Cecil: Okay, well that–

Spokesperson: Ahh!

Cecil: Oh, what?

Spokesperson: Sorry. I just thought of something really frightening.

Cecil: Oh. Well, that’s okay–

Spokesperson: Oh my God!

Cecil: Okay, now what is it?

Spokesperson: Oh, y'know, I was just remembering how I was thinking of something frightening, and now I’m thinking about remembering it. Because, truly, fear devours.

Anyway, the investigation is moving forward, and we have got our best officers on it. And all of the other officers who aren’t on it are busy worrying that apparently they aren’t the best officers. Are they the worst? This will keep them up at night. They will toss, and they will turn…thus you can see everything is under control. I wouldn’t worry. I’m great at not worrying. You might worry, though. It all depends on how well you deal with the stress of being in great danger.

Cecil: Uh, well, how close are the Secret Police to identifying a major suspect?

Spokesperson: Oh, man. Whoo! That is some entitlement if I have ever heard it!

Cecil: Entitlement?

Spokesperson: We’re doing everything we can to stop this murderer! Like having a murder mystery dinner theater, even announcing that there was some foul play, well just this afternoon we ran through a neighborhood crying out, “You’re done for! You’re all done for!” And now you’re saying 'name a suspect?’ 'Make an arrest?’ 'Keep us safe?’ You are fine. You are all fine.

Probably.

Listen, you’re either already dead, or you’re fine for this exact moment.

Cecil: Umm, it doesn’t sound like we’re safe.

Spokesperson [interrupting]: Uh – Uh – Uh – Uh – I understand your concern, Cecil.

Cecil: B… And?

Spokesperson: I don’t know. I understand it, it seems valid. Good concern.

Cecil: Oh.

Spokesperson: I’m gonna head back to the Secret Police hover-office in the clouds until it gets a little less dangerous around here.

Cecil: No, wait. You’re just gonna go hide?

Spokesperson: No.

Cecil: Oh! But you – augh! You just nodded!

Spokesperson: That doesn’t sound like something I would do. All right, citizens, we are out of here. I hope that it all works out okay for you. Just write down any concerns you have for us on a…like a paper airplane, and then, like, toss it up to that one low-hanging cloud with a ladder going up to it, and someone from the Secret Police will come to your aid…just as soon as there are no murderers around and it is safe to do so.

Cecil: Okay, now wait just one minute…

Spokesperson: No no no no no. There is no need to thank me, Cecil. But…um…but obviously I would appreciate it. It– it’s…always nice to be thanked.

Cecil: Okay, look, I am not going to thank you!

Spokesperson: Uh…umm…I’ll give you, like, a moment more in case you change your mind, like, uh…like a thank you would be nice.

OK, no, I get it. There’s no need to thank me…if you’re a jerk.

Cecil: Oh!

Spokesperson: Goodbye.

Cecil: Sensing that they would not be safe relying on the protection of others, the citizens in the Rec Center were getting nervous. They were shifting, some if them were shifty, and one of them was a murderer. But they didn’t know which one, and so the citizens began to act in their own protection.

And so they each looked back to that same stranger that they had suspected before, each one of them looking back at that same person – except for those people who, you know, just refused to like, look around them, and so now found themselves without a partner. But those people took this opportunity to jump on board, and so they found somebody else that was similarly reluctant to participate.

And so they’re looking at their partners and you’re looking at your partners, look at your partners…excellent. All right, great. And the two strangers were pointing at each other once again, and in their deepest, coolest voice they said, “I don’t trust you.”

And then they tried, successfully (or not) to raise one eyebrow, and then they said, “But we’re in danger, kid!” If they were gonna solve this, they would need to work together. They would need to solve this as partners, but they didn’t have to trust each other or like each other, no way!

And, in fact, one of them was already holding up a fist, and the other one was pointing at the ceiling. But they didn’t quite know which one of them should do which, because…the instructions were not very clear on that point. So one of them began nodding, and the other one began shaking their head, but again they didn’t know which one should do which because, you know, the instructions were not altogether there on that one either. But they just kind of worked it out between the two of them, like, “Okay, I’m…I’m gonna point, and no, and…okay, and you fist and yes? So I’m point…pointy and fisty. Pointy fisty. Pointy fisty. Okay, cool. Awesome, awesome.”

See how uneasy their working relationship? What a comically odd pairing. What an unexpected duo! They were a classic trope, these two.

But there was a murder to solve, so they would reluctantly partner up all the same. And so they looked away from each other once again. Watch out, murderer! These two are on the case.

Also on the case are some brave middle schoolers. As is…as is standard these days when Night Vale is in danger. Yes, a brave group of child vigilantes and avid readers. And I have, here in the studio, their leader, a courageous 14 year-old, one…one of the few children to face down a librarian during the Summer Reading Program and survive, Tamika Flynn.

Tamika: Hello again, Cecil. Hello again, Night Vale. My militia of child readers and I are working on – to discover who the murderer is. We are making inquiries and looking at clues and reading the acknowledgments in the backs of books. No one knows why those acknowledgments are there, or what they’re trying to say, so we’re left to assume that they are a complex code for malicious purposes.

Cecil: Ooh, naturally.

Tamika: My army and I are also wearing capes and donning bulletproof vests made from copies of Thomas Pynchon’s Against the Day, so…we should be safe from any murderer, and any murderer should be very unsafe from us. We will have this case wrapped up soon which is good, because if we had to depend on that murder mystery dinner theater to solve the case, well, that murderer would go on murdering until there wasn’t anyone left to murder and then they wouldn’t be a murderer anymore.

Actually that would solve the problem too, huh? Hmm.

Cecil: So, you’re not impressed with the Secret Police’s dinner theater?

Tamika: Oh, I hate all of that traditional “audience members looking at each other suspiciously and then deciding to solve the case on their own” stuff that we all know from every murder mystery dinner theater that we’ve ever been to. I’d rather the Sheriff’s Secret Police were staging one of those great mystery tales from the masters of the craft, full of intrigue and plot twists and long lost twin brothers and fake mustaches…like The Fault in Our Stars. Ooh! Or The Time Traveler’s Wife.

Cecil: Ah, yeah.

Tamika: Oh! Or James Joyce’s classic spy caper Araby.

Cecil: You know I just love the helicopter chase at the end of The Time Traveler’s Wife? [Cecil makes helicopter noises as Tamika makes an explosion sound and laughs] And that– and that catchphrase that she says right before she arrests the main bad guy?

Tamika: Oh! Oh, I know, I know. “This one’s for my husband. He’s a time traveler.”

Cecil: Yeah!

Tamika: It’s classic.

Cecil: Oh, I love it!

Tamika: And, of course, there’s always The Phantom Tollbooth.

Cecil: Ahhh. But that’s not a mystery at all, that is a celebrity memoir.

Tamika: Yes, but all copies come with a bejeweled dagger between chapters seven and eight, so that should come in handy when fighting off a murderer.

In any case, don’t worry about your dinner theater because if we took down a librarian (and we did), and if we took down a despotic regime (and boy, did we), then what chance does one murderer stand against the power of books?

Heavy books. Heavy, heavy books dropped on their heads.

Cecil:Wow.

Tamika: I’m gonna drop so many books on that criminal’s head as soon as I catch them.

Cecil:Yeah.

Tamika: Dump them right on there. Bam! Bunch of books.

Cecil: Oh, yeah!

Tamika: Just a bunch of teenagers running around crushing evil under the complete hardback edition of all seven volumes of Marcel Proust’s monumental novel, Ramona Quimby, Age 8.

Cecil: Truly the American justice system is the greatest in the world!

Tamika: All right, I must be off. Remember: read, even a little, every day. That way you’ll build up an immunity.

Cecil: Great, thanks so much, Tamik–

Tamika: Books. To be clear, I was talking about books.

Cecil: Oh.

Tamika: Read books.

Cecil: Yes. Um, ooh! Thank you very much, Tamika!

Oh. Oh dear. Um, listeners, we are getting word that there has been a nearly fatal incident back at the Rec Center, and many suspect that this was no mere accident. The 15-gallon tub full of old socket wrenches that was balanced precariously atop a few 2x6 planks of wood next to the Rec Center basketball courts fell over, nearly crushing the pair of strangers who recently came begrudgingly together to help solve a terrible murder.

The two strangers had been getting in each others’ way, challenging each others’ authority, thinking things like, “You’re getting’ in my way, buddy” and “Nuh-uh, you are,” and expressing their hurt feelings using only the shapes of their mouths, worried that at any moment, in fact in just a few moments, they might have to look each other in the eye and say words out loud again.

And all along, right above them, the tub full of wrenches teetered.

Okay, look. Eye contact can be uncomfortable, sure, but it is way less uncomfortable than the weight of heavy metal objects falling upon thin human skulls. And the tub full of wrenches teetered, and the narrow planks beneath it groaned, groaned, and then gave, and then snap! And the two strangers looked back to each other once again, and they both simultaneously shouted the word, “Duck!”

And they were right! A duck flew in through an open window and knocked that tub full of socket wrenches harmlessly out of the way. And the two strangers looked at each other, and…and smiled, and they both said, “You have duck telepathy too?”

And then they laughed, together. Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! And it was a long healthy true laugh. Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! It was a completely natural unforced laugh. Ah-ha-ha-ha-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh…

And then they turned away from each other, back to the job of solving crimes. But each one of them thought, “I’m beginning to have a begrudging respect for your skills, kid.”

Sadly, that tub full of socket wrenches had been teetering 12 feet off the ground on those thin pine boards since the Rec Center was built five years ago, so…woo! It is a real shame to lose such an important architectural feature of such a historic building.

Now, in response to this dire circumstance, Mayor Dana Cardinal has sent her official Night Vale Director of Emergency Press Conferences to issue an emergency press conference. So please welcome former mayor Pamela Winchell.

Pamela: Hello, people of Night Vale! Hello, non-people of Night Vale! The nonexistent ones among us – you know you you aren’t – hello to the non-physical entities who drift among our bodies and our thoughts.

Well, how 'bout that? I try to be nice to the unseen nonexistent beings, and this is the response I get!

Cecil: What response did you get?

Pamela: I don’t know!

Cecil: Ohh.

Pamela: That– that’s the problem with the unseen ones, they’re also unheard and unfelt. You know, I am thinking of having them arrested. Which, considering that they don’t exist, is the same thing as actually arresting them.

Uh, but, but…there is a much greater danger to our town.

Cecil: Right, the murderer.

Pamela: The mayor asked me to issue the following statement:

Inside every newborn child lives a tiny insect, which controls the child’s movements. The insect only understands physical needs and basic desires. That insect sits in its little chair pulling levers and making the child grab and sleep and cry and eat. But one night, the insect leaves its chair from inside the child, and it crawls out of the child’s ear, and slithers away into the forest where it curls up into a cocoon. Before it does this it whispers to the child, “You are alone now.”

Years later the cocoon hatches, and the insect emerges unchanged, and does not miss the child at all. And that child, like all children, grows up to be the president of the United States.

Cecil: That’s the mayor’s statement on the murderer?

Pamela: The mayor didn’t say anything about murderers. She didn’t actually write that statement. She doesn’t even know I’m here! [Laughs] She’s off at that dinner theater thing.

Cecil: Now…the murder mystery dinner theater, which is to, you know, stop the murderer?

Pamela: Great! So what do you need the mayor for? Who cares if my story is unrelated to murderers? I– I don’t know why I was reminded of it suddenly. What am I, some sort of expert on memory?

I am. World-renowned.

The point is, some people are worried about murderers. Others are worried about other things. We all have our personal challenges. For instance, I just found out that I can’t see cars.

Cecil: You can’t see cars?

Pamela: No! No! Apparently I have never been able to. My ornithologist keeps trying different prescription lenses, but…every time I go near a highway, I just see people with their legs and arms outstretched in front of them zooming inches off the asphalt. I have always wondered why other people didn’t find highways as hilarious and upsetting as I do.

Cecil: Did you mean optometrist? Because you said ornithologist.

Pamela: I am 1/16th peregrine falcon on my father’s side! Cecil, what I came to speak to you about today is the real danger to Night Vale: indifference.

Cecil: That doesn’t sound at all like what you came here to speak about.

Pamela: I call upon the citizens of Night Vale to take pride in their civic duties. Don’t let feelings of insignificance or ennui or excitement when a dog jumps up on your legs distract you from your responsibility to vote, to keep streets clean, to deny the existence of angels, and to make holiday cookies for– for agents from a Vague, Yet Menacing Government Agency who sit outside your home, night after night, in stuffy black sedans, monitoring your dull conversations and lives.

Cecil: Okay, but what about the murders going on right now? It is not civic indifference to be terrified of dying!

Pamela: Agree to disagree. But listen, I’m speaking to anyone currently killing someone: You alone are permitted to be totally indifferent. Care less…especially about killing people. Uh, maybe care more about after school programs. So, in conclusion, care about everything in your town, except killing people.

Cecil: Thank you very much, Pamela.

Pamela: It’s Pamela! Just one M! I’m going to use this water slide to go back to City Hall now. Whee!

Cecil: And now an update on last week’s power outages. The Night Vale Electric Utility announced today that there may be more power outages in coming weeks. This time, due to sadness.

“We’ve just been sad this week,” the Electric Utility said. “Not for any reason, just…sometimes we get sad. What do we need a reason for? Last week we were feeling vengeful, so…power outages. This week we’re feeling sad, and we’re going to continue expressing ourselves through the medium of power outages.”

Now, power outages were, of course, certified by the Supreme Court as a protected form of free speech in the 1973 case of the Hayworth Electric Company vs the Hayworth Hospital. And the court stated that reasonable causes for a power outage include celebration of a special someone’s birthday, expression of undirected anger at an intransigent political system, and periods of just feeling sad for no reason.

But the Night Vale Electric Utility would like me to remind you that power outages are no excuse not to pay your electric bill. I mean, electricity is, after all, a privilege, not a right. Failure to pay your electric bill may result in localized lightning storms, shrouded figures standing silently in the back of familiar TV shows, and gout. So…

The murder mystery dinner theater is still in full swing but frankly, give or take a falling tub of socket wrenches, there seems not to be much of a murder mystery left to solve. I mean, the murderer hasn’t murdered anybody in quite a while.

Okay, okay, sure, a bunch of murders did happen today. But that was, like, several minutes ago! Maybe even a whole hour, and it just feels like, I don’t know, why go digging through old dirt?

Plus, I’m not even sure that we could charge anybody with those crimes. I mean, the statue of limitations? You know, that statue of our own limitations that we all carved last year? Just feels like, I don’t know, we might be done here. Sorry to disappoint anybody that was looking for the whole “mystery” side of things to be res–

[Cecil breathing heavily]

Sorry, listeners. I just…I thought I heard something. I mean, something outside of the sound of my own voice and– and– and that small nest of owls that’s kept in the corner of every radio studio. But there shouldn’t be anybody here! Everyone has to be at the Rec Center. It’s the law, and nobody breaks the law! Nobody except…[gasps] law breakers!

Listeners, I think the murderer may have taken advantage of the fact that all citizens are at the Rec Center and they’ve crept over here to the radio studio where I’m all by myself.

[Gasps]

I see movement in the dim of the control booth.

Hello? Are you here to feed the owls?

No answer.

Carlos? Carlos, is that you?

Nothing. Just the sound of my own breath, in and out. Even as you are all hearing my voice right now, I am alone. Or worse yet, I am not alone.

[Gasps]

A footstep behind me. And another. And another. The sound of someone walking toward me. The murderer is here at the radio studio. A shadow reaches across my desk. The murderer is here for me, and I am narrating my own demise!

Listeners, there is only one thing left to do, but I must act quickly! I must take all of you…to the weather.

[“Maker of My Sorrow” by Eliza Rickman]

Hello, Night Vale! Ahh! It is a relief to say those words aloud, alive, and to you once again.

Just after introducing the weather, I felt movement and I heard footsteps, and I saw my life flash before my eyes and its imminent ending made them water.

And then, the murderer attacked, and I– and I could– I tried to scream, but I could manage only faint gargles to no one. Well, except, you know, one person, but it was like the person least likely to provide me aid.

Fortunately, I had a copy of Lois Lowry’s novel The Giver, which Tamika had loaned to me recently, and it was the limited edition that comes without cover or pages or words, and is made entirely out of wood and metal and is in the shape of a hammer.

It’s actually just a hammer. Tamika loaned me a hammer.

Anyway, unfortunately, uh, the hammer was just out of my reach so I stretched out my hand, reaching, struggling, grasping for that classic of contemporary children’s literature so I could crack the head of my attacker.

And that is when I heard a noise. And, listeners, I thought it was my death rattle. Or my death chime. Or even rarer still, my death trombone. But it was a shout. It was two shouts. Two people.

And then I felt warmth, and I felt air gasp into my chest, and– and I– I felt the hands upon me loosen, and I saw the two people who saved me, and then they brought me here, now, to the Rec Center, here, with all of you!

Well, not just all of you, but specifically…you. The murderer.

Stand up, please.

And all the citizens of Night Vale pointed at the murderer and gasped!

[Gasp]

And they all shook their heads, not in anger, just in disbelief!

And I asked the murderer, “Why?”

And the murderer answered. But I just talked right over them because anything they had to say was moot in light of their heinous crimes!

Now, we all know that the murderer must be punished in the way that every murderer is punished here in Night Vale.

And the punishment is coming! Here it comes! Ah, the punishment is so severe I can’t even look!

The crowd all said to the murderer, “Please do not ever murder again!”

And the murderer shrugged their shoulders and said, “Sure!”

Yeah, and they applauded this former criminal for reforming their evil ways. And all the citizens of Night Vale just let that tension relax from their shoulders, happy to know that this person will definitely…probably never murder again.

Now, of course, I have not forgotten about the two strangers, the two heroes, that odd couple, that unlikely duo, those two that saved my life back at the radio station. While all of Night Vale sat huddled here in the Rec Center dreading murderers and actors and [gasp] live theater!?, these two put their seemingly incompatible minds to work, and one of them noticed that the murders had stopped, and realized that the murderer must have left to find other people to murder, but…who was left in town to murder?

And the other one realized, it must be Cecil. For Cecil was by himself at the radio station. He alone was alone. And so, without having to exchange a word, with only a knowing glance, these two rushed to the radio station and saved my life.

And the danger was over, and– and the case was solved, and no one else would die this day. Or, if they did, it would be because their body just simply stopped, just like had an error and then they toppled right over. But not because of anything as mundane as murder.

And so the two strangers looked back to each other one last time, unwavering in their eye contact. They had been through so much, and they had seen each other through all of it. What luck they had in picking a counterpart so competent and so trustworthy, and so completely not a murderer!

So they wink at each other. *Wink!*

Yeah, but, like, big winks. *WIIIINK!*

Or maybe they didn’t, I don’t know. You know, maybe for just one moment, they just simply looked at each other with whatever faces, with whatever feelings and emotions, with whatever moment that is this moment, just their honest selves, for better or worse.

And then they give each other a smile, and a thumbs up! Yeah! Like, a big smile! With a lot of teeth! Like, an unnatural amount of teeth!

And then they looked back at the stage, still smiling because these two, you two had done it! These ex-strangers, these friends, these great, these true, these investigators. You.

As Shakespeare’s famous detective character, Veronica Mars, once said, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women are frightened people blackmailed into acting upon it.”

And the evening turns to night. And soon, all of the citizens of Night Vale will disperse back to their homes, and their hovels, and their hideaways, and their witching caves.

But for this one evening, we all came together. And what are human beings but a coming together? What are we for, except to lean into those around us, to balance against those around us. A– a– a delicate, but provocative sculpture.

The Night Vale murder mystery diner theater is over, sure, but what happened within it will have always happened. We lived together this night! And we always will have.

Look…harm can come from anywhere, or anyone. Whether it is a stranger, or a friend, or one of those traffic intersections that has poisonous snakes instead of traffic lights…but still, we reach out the hand. Still, we allow our eyes to meet. Still, we hope for the best, and we try to be the best in return because if not, then what else? If not…then nothing.

A human life…it’s just this. It’s a moment of eye contact in a crowd.

Stay tuned next for tomorrow. By any means necessary.

Goodnight to all of you listeners here.

And goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

[I would like to send a special thank you to cecilbaldwin-fan for transcribing these bonus tracks. I went through them before posting, though, so any errors are 100% my fault, not theirs. All credit for wonderfulness goes to them, any blame for mistakes goes to me. The buck stops here, as they say.]

BONUS TRACK – Michelle Nguyen

Cecil: Michelle Nguyen has dropped by the radio station, and she says that she has a really big announcement. And like, could I just stop talking for a moment, because she’s really trying to share an authentic part of herself, like really, you know, connect, or whatever? And if you don’t understand, it’s not important! Anyway, for more on that, please welcome Michelle Nguyen!

Michelle Nguyen: Hi, Cecil! Wait, am I on the radio?

Cecil: Yes! Thus the big Night Vale Community Radio sign outside, and the radio equipment in here, and the fact that I constantly whisper “radio radio radio radio” whenever I’m not on the microphone.

Michelle: Ugh. I don’t listen to the radio anymore. Now, I’m all about podcasts. They’re like radio, but you know, the future?

Cecil: I don’t believe in the future.

Michelle: Neither do I. Doesn’t matter, that’s totally not the point. The point is that I’m here to announce Dark Owl Fest, Night Vale’s first ever independent electro-witch-hop music festival.

Cecil: Ooh!

Michelle: Now none of us have to travel to those big corporate witch-hop festivals like Coachella or Croneroo. We’ll have the absolute best in this obscure form of music that only I truly appreciate, right here in town!

Cecil: That sounds like fun, when is it?

Michelle: Today, right now. I rented out all of Mission Grove Park. It cost me six months of Dark Owl Records’ income to organize this, which is why I’m here. I had been planning on being the only person at the festival because…you know how I feel about things that are popular.

Cecil: You…hate them?

Michelle: No! Ugh, everyone’s hating popular things these days! Anyway, it turns out that I am in huge financial trouble if I don’t sell a bunch of tickets to this thing. So now I need everyone to head on down to Mission Grove Park to buy tickets. I don’t know how much tickets are, I wasn’t expecting to have to sell any. But if everyone could just bring wads of cash to Mission Grove Park, and give them to me please. It’ll be a fun day. Bring your kids! Tell your kids to bring cash too!

Cecil: Michelle, this sounds like kind of a dangerous day to be doing this.

Michelle: Oh, I don’t know.

Cecil: You disagree?

Michelle: No, I just don’t know. Sounds like you do though.

Cecil: Michelle, don’t you know about the murderer?

Michelle: Please, Cecil. I knew about The Murderer before anyone else. I have all of their albums, even the five unreleased ones and the hundreds of unrecorded ones.

Cecil: No, I mean the dangerous criminal in our midst!

Michelle: Oh! If you meant the Dangerous Criminal, then why didn’t you just say so? Their take on pop punk rhymecore is so fresh! Wait, unless you like them. Other people aren’t starting to like them, are they? Oh no, why did I use the word “fresh”?

Cecil: Michelle, there is a killer-

Michelle: The Killers! Those sellouts? Like I get it, anyone can write an 18-minute long experimental jazz song with a throat singing solo and get a radio hit. It’s a simple formula. Wake me up when you’re ready to make some art.

Cecil: I give up.

Michelle: I gave up a long time ago. Wait, what are you talking about?

Cecil: Michelle, there’s a dangerous murderer in town, people are being killed! I mean, the Secret Police has ordered everyone to the Rec Center! It would be dangerous to go to a music festival today. And also illegal. Well, I mean it’s illegal to go a music festival any day, but today it’s like, extra illegal.

Michelle: Cecil, I think I might be broke. Even with the kind of serious money you make from a record store these days…why did I think I could afford to put on a huge music festival only for me? What if I lose the store? Dark Owl Records is everything to me. I can’t lose it. I can’t. I won’t. [Sighs, long beat]

Cecil: Michelle? Are you OK?

Michelle: Oh, I’m doing just great. I just put on a music festival that is so far out of the mainstream, no one will have seen it. Plus having money is so 2014. I’m not a sellout, you know? I’m going to start an underground trade and barter society based around leather work and old Morrissey records. I’ve never been happier.

Cecil: OK! Well, you should probably stroll on down to the Rec Center before you get arrested for not being there.

Michelle: OK. Bye Cecil. I hope you don’t get like, murdered, or whatever.

Cecil: All right. Thank you so much, Michelle!

BONUS TRACK – Earl Harlan

Cecil: Let’s have a look now at the Community Calendar.

Wednesday evening, Night Vale’s most popular restaurant, Tourniquet, will be hosting a special chef’s table dinner. To learn more about this, we have Tourniquet’s sous-chef, Earl Harlan, right now on the phone with us. Thanks for joining us, Earl!

Earl Harlan: Thank you, Cecil! Well, the annual chef’s table dinner is a special night, when our executive chef, LaShawn Mason, personally curates and prepares a five-course tasting menu. It’s 500 dollars prix fixe, and it’s limited to only 13 attendees, so it will be an intimate and a unique experience.

Chef Mason wants to share some brand new dishes he’s been working on in his test kitchen. He hand-delivers each dish to the diners. [creepily] And then… he lingers…slowly over each diner, as they eat. Explaining every single bite, as he touches their chins…gently with his rough thumbs…and his soft…moist palms…lifting their mandibles up and down…to help them through the first stage…of the human digestive process. He also matches his heartbeat with theirs. Everyone…at the chef’s table…will share a heartbeat.

Cecil: That sounds very posh!

Earl Harlan: Have you ever listened to a heartbeat, Cecil?

Cecil: Oh sure. Yeah, I can actually hear my own right now, very loudly in my headphones, let’s see. Po-pom, po-pom, po-pom-pom-pom-pom-po…Pom pom pom pom pom pom pom pom pom popopopopopom, pommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Earl Harlan: That sounds terrifying.

Cecil: It is!

Earl Harlan: Anyway, this year’s dinner will center around quail.

Cecil: Ooh!

Earl Harlan: Chef Mason recently rediscovered the joy of quail meat, while on a spiritual retreat underneath his own bed. He was there for weeks, curled into a fetal position, alternating between screaming and crying, and clenching his eyes and teeth tightly, because he is really into meditation these days.

During the retreat, he found several quail living in his box spring mattress. And they were his only friends. He named them Ann, George, Latimer, Kaska, and Junior, and Friday. They all kept each other company in the cold dark night. And later when Chef Mason got hungry, he ate them all. It was hard to lose such good friends. But they were so delicious, he wanted to share that flavor with Night Vale.

Cecil: So, will you be at the dinner, Earl?

Earl Harlan: Oh yes! Yes, I will wake up that morning, and I will stare at myself in the mirror repeating, “You can do this, Earl. You can do this, Earl. You can do this, Earl.” Until my reflection says, “You’re right.” And then we’ll brush each others’ teeth, and trim each others’ mustaches, and comb each others’ hair…

Cecil: Awwww!

Earl Harlan: …and then step through the mirror and once again switch places in each others’ mirrored world for the day.

Cecil: Ah!

Earl Harlan: I’ll drive my car slowly into the parking lot of Tourniquet, and then I’ll call my son to tell him I love him. And that I remembered his name, which I can do most days.

Cecil: Oh!

Earl Harlan: And then I’ll sigh heavily, and I’ll put on my tuque and my jacket, and do my job.

Cecil: Well, it is such a blessing to have a career that you love! So, what can the diners expect at this rare culinary event?

Earl Harlan: Well, we will start with quail salad with a fig and orange milk dressing.

Cecil: Mm!

Earl Harlan: Followed by a large amount of quail eggs dropped from the ceiling. Then pasta made entirely from beaks.

Cecil: Huh.

Earl Harlan: Then the main course, in which I’ll use a bullhorn to recite instructions for gutting and cleaning, while each diner is given a live quail and a brick.

Cecil: Ohhh! Mmmm! Oh, It says – your press release says that dinner begins at 7:30.

Earl Harlan: 7:30 PM on the dot! Now this is one of the coolest parts of the whole night. It’s right at 7:30, when all of the diners from last year’s event will finally be released from the kitchen…and sent back to their old lives.

Cecil: Awww. Well that sounds fun.

Earl Harlan: Oh the sounds. There…are so…many…sounds, Cecil. There are so many things to hear…and to deal with.

Cecil: [very long beat] …Yes there are a lot of sounds, Earl. Um, thankfully my job is to talk and not to listen. Um, it is great to have you on the show, Earl. Let’s do this again soon, OK?

Earl Harlan: Bye bye Cecil, talk to you soon.

Cecil: Alright, bye Earl.

BONUS TRACK: John Peters

Cecil: We are getting word that there may have been an eye witness to the murder. Which is one of the top three witnesses, behind foot witness and kidney witness. And we have the witness on the phone with us right now. It is John Peters (you know, the farmer)!

John Peters: Yeah, that’s me.

Cecil: Now John-

JP: Oh, that’s me!

Cecil: Now you’re saying that you saw the murder take place.

JP: Absolutely!

Cecil: Well tell us about it, what did you see?

JP: Well I was out my field this mornin’. I’m- I’m a farmer, you know.

Cecil: Oh, I did not know that!

JP: Really I feel like most people-

Cecil: Yes, John, I know that you’re a farmer.

JP: Oh, ahaha! Ha, well I was out my field this mornin’, right, growin’ my imaginary corn, and I saw some movement on the edge of my vision. Right in that point where seein’ becomes not seein’. And I turned, and I saw…a great silver craft, disk-shaped with portholes at regular intervals!

Cecil: Now wait a second–

JP: Oh, there were bein’s inside, of astonishing structure, and they were lookin’ out of the windows at me. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck…with my hand, cause I’d put my hand on the back of my neck in surprise. Those hairs are so soft back there, you ever…you ever just think about the hairs on the back of your neck, Cecil?

Cecil: [creepy voice] Yes, constantly. [normal voice] But what does this have to do with the murderer and…?

JP: Oh right right right right, well the craft landed and the bein’s came out. They were of astonishing structure, and one of them, their leader, said “Behold. My name is Klangor. We have arrived on your Earth from some place distant.”

Cecil: John…

JP: Mm?

Cecil: Did you or did you not see a murder?

JP: These beings, they were of…astonishing structure. They took me into their craft, and they showed me times and places far and along from this here and ago. Did you know, Cecil, that the universe is not in fact a single ever-expanding four-dimensional sphere of life and matter? No, no Cecil! The universe, I have learned, is merely a particle composed entirely of itself, and comprisin’ a greater version of itself. A recursive function of its own body, repeated like identical cells formed in the shape of that which each cell physically expresses. You know I think of Benoit Mandelbrot’s famous set of equations. Each iteration a repeated pattern, psychedelic and vast. Our universe is not made of matter, nor time nor space, Cecil. Our universe…is made of possibilities.

Cecil: So you saw…nothing useful or interesting at all?

JP: Oh, oh! Oh, oh, yes. Then these beings placed me, childlike, back down upon my Earth, and their craft sprang up into the air, leaving a strange imaginary shape in my imaginary corn field. I held my hand up in farewell…through the windows, I could see them hold up…whatever it was they had at the end of their limbs. They were of astonishing structure! And then…they were gone. I do not believe I will ever be the same again. I do not believe I’m the same now.

Cecil: Oh, John. I should have known that you were a farmer, not a witness! This is why witnessing should be left to the professionals. Paid witnesses, who will witness whatever crime you want for a nominal fee. This is how witnessing should be done, not by – I’m sorry – amateur citizens who might see incorrect things or repeat forbidden truths.

JP: Oh. I- I just really wanted to tell that story. I- I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any help with the murder. Ever since this mornin’ I- I’ve just been too busy weepin’ in awe and transcendent grief to witness anything at all!

Cecil: It’s OK, John. But please, next time only call if you have something interesting you want to tell us. Goodbye, John.

JP: Goodbye, thank you Cecil!

Cecil: Mm hmm, absolutely.

BONUS TRACK: Melony Pennington

Cecil: Computers. They seem difficult to use, right? Well, they are very difficult. And heavily regulated. And also, deadly. I mean, I personally don’t like that computers are just, people are just allowed to have computers, you know without a prerequisite waiting period. But for those times in which you inevitably give in to the weakness of the human condition, we here at Night Vale Community Radio are pleased to present…Computer Tips! With local computer expert and programmer, Melony Pennington!

Welcome to my show, Melony!

Melony: Welcome to your show! Oh, I mean hi, hello. It turns out you welcomed me, it doesn’t make sense to welcome you. Sorry, my mind was, you know, the expanse. The vast. The out there. I mean my mind was elsewhere. My mind was everywhere.

Cecil: Wonderful! And how are you–

Melony: Do you ever look at the stars? The stars. You know, the stars. Not each star, but some of the stars. I mean every single one of the stars at once. I mean the whole night sky added up. Do you ever look at the sum of the stars? The night sky, as an equation? Beauty as a math problem? Which it is – everything beautiful is math. Everything beautiful is a problem.

What was your question?

Cecil: Umm, how are you doing?

Melony: Oh. I’m fine.

Cecil: Now…Melony, you sound familiar.

Melony: Do I sound familiar? You just said that, so I guess I do. You must have met one of my programs…or not met, none of them are sentient. You can’t meet things that have no sentience. Well, I guess you could be like, “Hi there, pile of rocks, I’m Melony,” just to see what happens. I guess there is no set dogma for social engagement.

God, I wish I had a dog.

Have you ever met a rock?

Also, what was your name again?

Cecil: Well I'm–

Melony: What I’m saying is that I probably sound familiar because all of my programs have the same voice as me. That’s how computer programming works.

Cecil: Have you ever programmed a computer that broadcasts on a radio station, specifically one that recites random numbers?

Melony: Oh! Oh, yes! WZZZ! Yes, that was one of my early programs. And those numbers and chimes aren’t random; they’re encoded messages to foreign spies. Also a few pudding recipes and a funny cryptology poem or two.

Cecil: So you made Fey, the voice of WZZZ!

Melony: Oh, the WZZZ program had no name, and absolutely no sentience. Not every program is sentient. That WZZZ program only recites numbers and tones. That’s all it does, and all it ever will do.

Cecil: But-

Melony: It doesn’t know it exists.

Cecil: But I-

Melony: Oh, just listen to me babbling on! [chuckles] You had me on to talk computer tips, so let’s give your listeners some computer tips. Ahem.

Tip 1: Computers can make you angry. Anything can make you angry. Computers are anything.
Tip 2: Is your computer plugged in? That’s illegal. It’s illegal to plug in your computer.
Tip 3, people: Computer programs are a lot like humans. They’re full of bugs. They’re mostly theoretical, and invented by overly caffeinated lonely people in dark rooms. [chuckles]
Tip 4: Did I say that thing about the stars already?

Cecil: Yes.

Melony: Oh, good.

Tip 5: The most secure password possible is (you’ll never guess this!): where the O is replaced with a zero, and the Ls are replaced with zeros, and all of the other letters are replaced with zeros. A string of 19 zeros is the most secure password.

Cecil: You know, sometimes I like to add an exclamation point at the end.

Melony: Oh, exclamation points are impossible to hack! You are very secure.

Tip 6: There are two main types of computers. The first are PCs, or personal computers. Personal computers know your name, and things about your life, and are casual and friendly. Sometimes they’re overly personal and you end up having to say, “It’s, it’s just too much! Back off, computer.” The second type of computer is the house cat. These are ambulant robotic quadrupeds used by the Secret Police to monitor our domestic behavior and try to understand why people like to stroke robots and talk in high voices to them.

Cecil: This has been so very helpful!

Melony: Ah! Thank you for saying that! I love to be helpful! Sometimes I don’t feel so helpful. Sometimes I feel kind of useless and it gets me down.

Cecil: Aww. Well, I know that feeling. And hey, sometimes when I’m sad, I like to sing old hymns to myself.

Melony: Me too! Which one’s your favorite?

Cecil: ♫ I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter ♫

Cecil and Melony singing together: ♪ Dancin’ through the fire, 'cause I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar! ♪

Melony: That is my favorite passage from the Old Testament! Oh, I feel better already.

Cecil: Awww, thanks, Melony!

Melony: Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Bye!

Cecil: Oh, OK!

BONUS TRACK: Louie Blasko

Cecil: Ooh! Listeners! I have a really big surprise for you. We have the return of our popular segment, Louie Blasko’s Music Moment. Now we so rarely get this treat, as Louie long ago skipped town after he burned down his insurance – he burned down his music shop for the insurance money. And ever since then he has been singing catchy songs and dwelling in the dreamscape of our children’s nightmares. And I’ve got Louie joining us via the phone. Welcome to our show, Louie! Um, where are you calling from? What exciting location are you hiding out in these days?

Louie: [chuckles] Thank you for having me.

Cecil: Now what sort of musical lesson do you have for us today?

Louie: Oh, well, today, I wanted to talk about the importance of warming up your vocal chords. Um, I’m gonna show you all some– some simple vocal warm-ups that you can use whenever you…First. Make a really sad face at the sky. [long beat] Then sing a little scale, like this: [screams] NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Cecil: You know, I do that exact same warm-up before every show. I just pretend that everything in my life has been taken from me, it really helps get me in the mood.

Louie: That’s a good approach, because everything we have either has already been taken from us, or eventually will be.

Cecil: And thinking about that really loosens up my vocal chords, and also I start crying.

Louie: That’s good! Crying is your body’s way of telling you it’s ready to make art.

Cecil: Mmm.

Louie: Now, another really good vocal warm-up is the tongue twister.

Cecil: Oh, I know so many of those! Um, like “red leather human leather red leather human leather red leather human leather,” or the old standard “she knells death bells deep beneath the sea floor.”

Louie: Those are certainly classics. But you know, here’s a little tongue twister I often use. Ahem. [choking noises] Cut! Cut! Cut them! Cut them! Cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut them! Cut cut carve carve carve faces over their faces, cut! I didn’t see it, I didn’t do it! Officer– Haha! No no, cut cu- I didn’t!

Cecil: That is a really good tongue twister! Catchy and fun and also kinda tricky.

Now Louie, what about when we’re not singing? I mean, do we still need to do a vocal warm-up? I’m only asking because I was thinking about taking up a musical instrument. Now, um, Carlos has been telling me that I should get the ukulele, because it’s, you know, easy to learn, and he says that I’d look really cute while playing it. But I’ve been thinking about installing a pipe organ in our apartment, and playing that instead.

Louie: Sure, you know there are warm-ups that you can, that will work on any instrument. Here, I’m gonna show you some basic arpeggio scales, for your ukulele or pipe organ or… [long beat]

[chaotic off-key scales]

Cecil: Mm, hmm mm. Sounds like that warm up is really gonna get the blood flowing!

Louie: So much blood. There is so much blood, Cecil.

Cecil: Well, thank you for teaching us those warm-ups, Louie. I hope that you’ll return.

Louie: Oh, I will return. I will return when you least expect it.

Cecil: How about we do the second Tuesday in November at 1 PM?

Louie: Perfect.

Cecil: Excellent! Thank you so much, Louie!

BONUS TRACK: Hiram McDaniels

Cecil: So, with a murderer on the loose in our community, fingers are starting to be pointed. And most notably they are being pointed at Hiram McDaniels, a former mayoral candidate and literal five-headed dragon…who attempted to murder our mayor not too long ago.

So, in response, Hiram asked that he be allowed to speak on the air. And so, please welcome the five striking charismatic (and criminal) heads of Hiram McDaniels.

Hiram’s gold head: Thank you, Cecil. [clears throat] Now, we’ve had some experience lately with the, uh, law, as it were.

Hiram’s blue head: We face quite serious charges with a maximum sentence of five life sentences, to be served concurrently, by five different heads.

Hiram’s gray head: That’s true, blue head. And everyone is mad and yelling a lot, and it makes me feel sad.

Hiram’s green head: I’M MAD AND YELLING ALL OF THE TIME, AND THAT DOESN’T MAKE YOU SAD!

Hiram’s gray head: Oh, sure, Green, you’re right.

Hiram’s gold head: Okay, okay. Blue, Green, Gray, all of you relax. Now, remember what we said.

Hiram’s violet head: The dragon heads that stand together are strong together!

Cecil: Oh, well that’s very inspiring, violet head!

Hiram’s violet head: Also, the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with a mulch made from the bones and organs of innocents!

Cecil: Okay, now wait…what was that?

Hiram’s gold head: What?

Cecil: I– I mean, I just heard your violet head say that there is…

Hiram’s gold head: No! Nope. Sure didn’t.

Cecil: Okay.

Hiram’s gold head: Wouldn’t matter if you did. What matters is that since our troubles with the law, we’ve been practicin’ the art of disguise more. Previously we pretended to be a human called Frank Chen. But now that everyone knows about the Frank Chen disguise, we’ve come up with a new plan.

Hiram’s blue head: We will disguise each of our heads as a different head. No one will know with which of our quintumbred they are speaking.

Hiram’s gold head: For instance, which head is this speaking?

Mystery (gray) head: All of you are tiny and sad, I’m also tiny and sad! Let’s all be tiny and sad together, roar!

Cecil: Well, that was the gray head.

Hiram’s gold head: No, nah, nah, nah. Listen to that rage, Cecil. Don't– don’t you think it was the…green head, maybe? Eh? Green?

Cecil: No, no, it was definitely the gray head, because I– I– I know, because I– I saw the gray head talking.

Hiram’s gold head: All right, all right. But…all right. Which head is this?

Mystery (gold) head: Oh! Everything is a conspiracy, and I am untrusting of everyone! Look at how purple I am!

Hiram’s violet head: I’m violet, not purple!

Hiram’s gold head: Right, right. [Clears throat]

Mystery (gold) head: Eh…Uhhh…Look at how violet I am, which is a word that means purple. Those are the same words, uhh, but I’m particular about which one, look at me!

Hiram’s gold head: See, now, uh…which head said that?

Cecil: Well, I– I mean, you did, gold head! I mean – Hi– Hiram, I can see each of you talking!

Hiram’s blue head: He’s using his eyes against us. We need to do a blind test.

Hiram’s gold head: Yeah, that makes sense.

Hiram’s blue head: Indeed. Most efficient would be a heated blade…

Cecil: [Gasps]

Hiram’s blue head: …but the eyes could also be manually removed.

Cecil: Uh, y– y– you know what? I’m just gonna turn my back, okay?

Hiram’s blue head: Yes. I suppose that also works. Now another head who is not me, the blue head, will commence speaking.

Mystery (blue) head: Life is sad, and I am sad, and I won’t listen to what any other heads tell me about regular exercise, or a few minutes spent outside occasionally. It is I, the sad gray head.

Hiram’s blue head: So? Which head was speaking there?

Cecil: You– I mean– you– you didn’t even change your voice, like, at all, blue head.

Hiram’s blue head: He’s peeking! He’s peeking!

Cecil: No, I mean, please don’t take this the wrong way –

Hiram’s blue head: Remove his eyes!

Cecil: No! No no no no no no no! I mean, please don’t take this the wrong way, but, I mean, not because you are a towering five-headed dragon, but maybe, you know, you’re not terribly good at this.

Hiram’s gold head: All right, then Cecil. Uh…you might maybe be right about that.

Hiram’s blue head: Maybe we don’t have the proper technique and training for these kinds of charades.

Hiram’s violet head: Maybe our conspiracy is a failed one!

Hiram’s gray head: Maybe we don’t feel great about that.

Hiram’s gold head: But then Cecil, partner, you explain one thing to us.

Hiram’s green head: HOW EVERY VOICE YOU’VE HEARD SINCE YOU LAST SPOKE WAS ACTUALLY ALL ME! THE GREEN HEAD!

Cecil: Oh…oh my g– oh, well, Green, you are excellent at those voices, then!

Hiram’s green head: OF COURSE I AM! I LORD MY GREATNESS OVER YOU, HUMAN FILTH, LIKE A GOD IN ANCIENT TIMES!

Hiram’s gold head, or so we assume for the moment: Yeah, r– Green is real good at all that stuff, it turns out. It’s probably because Green is just naturally better than us at everything–

Hiram’s gold head: Oh! Hey? Did you hear that? That was Green head again. I didn’t say that last one.

Cecil: It…it sounds…okay, it sounds like you two have a lot to work out. So…good luck with that.

Hiram’s green head: I HAVE NO NEED FOR LUCK! I HAVE FIRE BREATH! FAREWELL, HUMAN!

Cecil: Oh, all right.

BONUS TRACK: Faceless Old Woman

Cecil: Listeners, I can see a slight movement in my periphery, and I can feel just a gentle chilly touch along my neck. Oh, and also my coffee mug has moved from where it was, I mean just a moment ago, it was…it was here on my left. And now it’s upside down and on my right and crawling away on spider legs. Which is kind of unusual…

Faceless Old Woman: Hello Cecil. It’s me, the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home.

Cecil: Hmm, I thought that was you! You know, it makes it kinda hard to talk to you when I can never really see you.

FOW: Cecil, there’s a murderer on the loose, and everyone is going to die.

Cecil: I doubt that the murderer is gonna kill everyone.

FOW: Oh no, sorry for the confusion, those were two separate thoughts. There’s a murderer on the loose, period. End of thought. Next: Everyone’s going to die.

Cecil: Well–

FOW: End of second thought.

Cecil: That’s a relief. Um…Hey, so you secretly live in every person’s home, right? So you must know who the murderer is.

FOW: Oh, I absolutely know who the murderer is.

Cecil: Great! So you can help us track down and find this criminal?

FOW: Sure, I’ll tell you what I know. The murderer has eaten hundreds of flies in their sleep. The murderer has shirts with buttons, but I’ve removed some of those buttons with an old knife I found in Pamela Winchell’s mailbox. The murderer sometimes stares at birds. Sometimes the birds stare back. Bird watching goes both ways.

Did you know birds talk? Not through something so manipulative and corroded by history as words and sentences, but through the clear clean language of hunger and horror, and boredom, and rotary productive desires. A chattering of starlings told me once, and I quote, “Tree.” Then they said, “We’re in a tree.” They repeated it over and over, and it was the most interesting story I’ve ever heard.

Cecil: OK, so do the birds know who the murderer is?

FOW: I was in Tristan Cortez’s house the other night and he couldn’t find his remote. He just kept shouting, “Stop it! You’re the worst!” at his television. And…

Cecil: Okay…

FOW: …I started to feel sad for him, because it was that Property Brothers episode where they keep taking out walls while lecturing the home buyers on the importance of an open floor concept. They remove every single interior wall, and then the outer walls of the home, and then the surrounding trees and vehicles and other homes and adjacent buildings, until everything is gone and all is void. And the closing credits of the episode are just jumbles of letters drifting aimlessly on screen. To the whispers of, “Open floor concept. Open floor concept.”

Cecil: But what-

FOW: They really jumped the shark with that episode. So out of pity, I revealed to Tristan where I hid his remote.

Cecil: But the murderer–

FOW: It was just behind his right eye. It took him a while to get it out, but he finally did it because I gave him Pamela’s old knife. Only now his remote is all sticky and he has to get a new rug and couch.

Cecil: OK, so is Tristan the murderer? I’m confused here.

FOW: We’re all murderers, Cecil! Where do you think meat comes from?

Cecil: Oh uh, well meat…

FOW: It sure doesn’t come from animals.

Cecil: [long beat] That’s…Wait, where does meat come from?!

FOW: I didn’t finish my story. In conclusion, I know who the murderer is. Everything will be fine. I’ll keep a close watch on the situation. I won’t stop anything from happening, but I will watch it closely.

Cecil: Well, Faceless Old Woman…

Well listeners, it appears she’s gone.

BONUS TRACK: Dana Cardinal

Cecil: Our municipal government is obviously concerned with today’s emergency situation, and has asked me to give some time to my former intern and our current mayor, Mayor Dana Cardinal. So let’s welcome her now!

Dana: Thank you, Cecil.

Hello, members of the public. Hello, day-pass members of the public. Hello, invited guests of the public, junior initiates of the public, and of course members of the secret orders, who are definitely not here and not all waving enthusiastically and holding up invisible secret order pennants in the front row.

Cecil: Hmm.

Dana: I speak to you today not as a mayor, but as a friend. So if you’re not friends with me, sorry, this one isn’t for you.

Cecil: Go on.

Dana: I know that having a murderer on the loose is scary. It is frightening to be reminded that you could die at any moment. It is frightening to know that a member of your community holds evil in their hearts. It is frightening when a mask-wearing employee of a haunted house jumps out at you shouting “Boo!” Turbulence when I’m flying also freaks me out. This is just a list of some things that are frightening. Not all of them immediately apply.

Cecil was kind enough to give me some time on this microphone, because I used my municipal powers to take this airtime, whether he wanted me to or not. I rely on the kindness of others, but also if others aren’t kind, I can take care of things myself.

Murder is a rare threat in Night Vale.

By the way, have you ever noticed how “threat” and “treat” are almost the same word? I have. I notice it a lot and that’s why I wrote “threat” here in this speech, just to challenge myself to say the correct word. Now I’m doubting that I said the right word. I hope I said the right word.

And no one in town quite knows how to handle a murderer, so here is some advice from murder experts that could help keep you safe.

The first step is to make yourself bigger than the murderer. Stand as tall as you can, put on lots of layers of clothes and drink embiggening potions to make yourself as large as you can possibly be. The murderer will be less likely to attack if you have drunk many potions, growing unnaturally until you resemble a skyscraper, or a cliff base, or a very large person.

Also do not make eye contact with the murderer. That could be taken as a sign of aggression. It is safest if you remove your eyes completely. That may sound difficult, but actually the physical actions required to do that are nightmarishly simple and horribly possible to do with just your hands.

Avoid any sudden movements and certainly do not run. Running might cause you to lose weight, and remember we’re trying to look bigger than the murderer.

The murderer may just be attacking you defensively to protect their cubs. If so, you may be able to prove you are not by threat by playing dead, or by being murdered right away. Simply play dead or just go ahead and get murdered. By appearing or being dead, the murderer will not presume you to be dangerous, and thus will leave you alone.

[sighs]

The Night Vale City Government hopes that this information has been helpful to you. I hope that this information has been helpful to you. I care about you, all of you. I care about you, Cecil.

Cecil: Thanks Dana, I…thank you for the advice. Um, it was, it was good to speak to you again.

Dana: Oh you too, Cecil. I always like being on your show.

Cecil: Yeah!

Dana: OK, I should go. I need to put on my mayoral cloak and then drink some embiggening potions.

Cecil: All right. Thank you, Mayor Cardinal.

BONUS TRACK: Kevin

Cecil: Listeners, do you hear that? There’s this strange noise. It’s like…it’s like the lowest note on a piano. [low note] No, that’s not it. It’s like a short scale but using only the black keys. [short scale with only the black keys] No, that’s not it either. I’m sorry. Oh! The noise is exactly similar to…winter. [the first chords of Tori Amos’ “Winter”]

Do you hear that noise? It seems to be coming from my broadcasting equipment. It– it seems like someone is trying to talk to me. It’s like…It’s like someone is approaching the microphone, and is about to speak.

Kevin: Hi, friends! This is Kevin! Radio host of Desert Bluffs. Is this Cecil of Night Vale?

Cecil: Mm-hmm.

Kevin: I’ve missed you, old friend! We hardly ever talk anymore!

Cecil: Last time we talked, you were representing a giant corporation that tried to enslave our town, so yes, good point. We hardly ever talk anymore.

Kevin: We shouldn’t let small town feuds get in the way of our friendship.

Cecil: No, we definitely should! Additionally, I do not like Desert Bluffs sports teams.

Kevin: Yes, sports rivalries are fun! They’re like friendships, but with less sublimated anger and more ritualized shouting.

Cecil: Now wait, Kevin, why are you interrupting my radio transmission?

Kevin: Well, I heard something. A noise. It sounded just like Zayn leaving One Direction. [creepy music] Oh yes, there it is again. I heard the noise, and I ran to my radio studio and, well here we are. What a strange thing, the happenstance of the universe causing us to meet by chance again and again. Also, I have a frequency jammer. I jammed your transmission, and that noise is the sound it makes. So, that’s another element to the story. If you believe in things like stories, or truth. I just wanted to see how you were doing! Hi! How are you doing?

Cecil: Well, there’s a murderer on the loose in my city. And now there’s you on the loose in my headphones.

Kevin: Ha ha ha ha! You are one of the funniest people I know! I never quite understand your jokes. That is why we’re such close friends!

Cecil: Kevin, we are not friends! You tried to enslave our city, with…with helicopters and armed guards and a smiling God!

Kevin: Oh sure, I remember all of that. But try to see it from my point of view! I mean not literally. Not like, pull your eyes out and jam them still bloody into my skull. [chuckles] We couldn’t do that, because we’re only talking via radio right now. Let’s use a sports metaphor. Do you remember that famous game between Desert Bluffs and Night Vale, where the officials made a controversial interpretation of league rules?

Cecil: Are we talking about football or…?

Kevin: Oh, I don’t remember all the minor details.

Cecil: I mean, was the field shaped like a diamond or was it like rectangular?

Kevin: I remember everyone was wearing numbers. And right above the numbers were big bar codes, to allow referees to track the players. So I guess that could be any sport.

Cecil: Ice? Was it on ice?

Kevin: I don’t even know what ice is.

Cecil: Alright, I guess that rules out basketball then.

Kevin: The point is, Cecil, that people process the world the way their peers process the world. Like that noise we heard before. I mean, I heard it one way, you heard it another. For me, it was very similar to the end of a multi-city national tour. [notes that suddenly distort]

Cecil: But that’s just ridiculous! Clearly it sounds like the beginning of another international tour. [same exact notes]

Kevin: Exactly. But someone somewhere else might hear it differently. Those people might hear it as subtle cinematic scoring underneath a dramatic speech. [grandiose music] See? We don’t care about the cosmic justice of the sports officials’ judgment. We look to see if it favors our town or society, and then we selfishly react.

Right now, there’s a murderer on the loose in Night Vale, and you’re worried because you care about your community. You fear for your safety and the safety of those you love. But you only feel that way because you are a potential victim of death or – much much worse – a potential victim of loss. How do you think the murderer must feel? Knowing that everyone is scared of and angry at them. I bet that makes the murderer feel pretty bad about themself.

Cecil: What??

Kevin: I try to see things from both points of view. Every story has two equal sides. Yes, there is a murderer on the loose, and murder is illegal. But also, there’s a poor citizen, a human being (maybe) who is being ostracized from society because of who they are and what they like to do. That is equally sad. A sports team might win on a bad call, but they might also lose on a good call. That is equally unjust. A radio host might join a tyrannical corporation that tries to subjugate all of Night Vale, but Night Vale might also fight back illegally, unfairly forcing that radio host to lose his job. That is equally tragic. [deep sigh] I just wanted to tell you that…I feel no ill will between us over the whole “armed takeover of your town” thing. [sighs] I can’t really feel anything anymore. But I can smile. Smile very wide. Want to hear?

Cecil: Definitely not!

Kevin: Oh, listen to my smile!

Cecil: Oh hey, the music totally stopped all of a sudden! [music stops] I bet that means you have to go now.

Kevin: No, really it’s no bother, I’m having a delightful time!

Cecil: [fake-cheerily] Me too, me too! Hey, let’s try pushing this button that says “frequency unjammer”!

Kevin: Oh don’t push that, that doesn’t sound fun at all!

Cecil: And there we go.

Kevin: It looks like I’m losing your signal! [voice fading out] Until next time, Cecil, until next time!

BONUS TRACK: Lacey Hernez

Cecil: An update on last week’s power outages. The Night Vale electric utility announced today that there may be more power outages in upcoming weeks. This time, due to…sadness. For more on this, we turn to municipal call rep, Lacey Hernez. Hey, Lacey!

Lacey Hernez: Oh hello, Cecil!

Cecil: So, uh, power outages, huh?

Lacey: Absolutely. And it makes sense. The electric utility has been sad this week. Not for any reason, sometimes they get sad. And it’s not fair to expect them to have a reason. For instance, last week they were feeling vengeful, and so they got their revenge using the weapon of power outages. This week, they’re feeling sad, so they’re working through that using the medium of power outages.

Cecil: But what about those of us who need electricity to see in the dark, or maintain life support or most importantly, listen to the radio?

Lacey: Ah, well. You see, power outages were certified by the Supreme Court as a protected form of free speech in the 1973 case of Hayworth Electrical Company versus the Hayworth Hospital. You see, the court stated very clearly that reasonable causes for a power outage include celebration of a special someone’s birthday, expression of undirected anger at an intransigent political system, and periods of just feeling sad for no reason. And…and please remember: disagreeing with someone’s speech, or even just frowning within a 48-hour period of them making it, is basically the same as repressing it. It says so right in the Constitution.

Cecil: Ooh well, fair enough.

Lacey: Mm hmm, yeah.

Cecil: Now Lacey, do you have any idea how long the power outages might last?

Lacey: Oh, I don’t know. Couple days, couple weeks, I can’t say. The electric company has a lot to work through. They don’t like to say this themselves, but recently, the gas works stopped speaking to them. No one knows exactly what the fallout was about, but electric has been real down ever since.

Cecil: Aww, that’s too bad. But you know what? I never thought the gas works was very good for them anyway.

Lacey: Oh, oh, I know, I agree! The gas works might seem nice if you just eat lunch together sometimes, or hang out with them at a party once in a while, or use their services to heat your home, but I don’t think they’ve ever committed to caring about anyone. I once cooked an entire meal on my gas range, only for gas works to not call or text me for days after!

Cecil: Ugh!

Lacey: Did that dinner not mean anything?

Cecil: Ugh!

Lacey: They didn’t deserve the electric company.

Cecil: Yeah!

Lacey: Mm. Anyway, more importantly, the electric company is sad, because sometimes utility companies just get sad. You can’t just say, “Cheer up!” or “It’ll get better,” or “Please turn my electricity back on!” and expect everything to be fine. They’ll need some good, long power outages to work through this.

Cecil: Well, I am really sorry to hear that. Can…can you let me know…or let them know that I’m thinking about them?

Lacey: I sure will! That’s very kind. Now that I have you feeling emotionally prostrate and vulnerable, please remember that power outages are no excuse to not pay your electric bill.

Cecil: Really? Because it seems like–

Lacey: Electricity is a privilege, not a right. Failure to pay electric bills may result in localized lightning storms, shrouded figures standing silently in the background of familiar TV shows, and gout.

Cecil: Well, you could have just said “gout.” I mean, you didn’t have to list all of its primary symptoms.

Lacey: Well. Uh, it’s been nice chatting with you as always but I should go. It looks like the water company– [track ends abruptly]