June 2016

Episode 89: Who’s a Good Boy? Part 1

Who’s a good boy? Who’s the good boy? Who is it? Who is it?!?

Welcome to Night Vale.

All over town, the question painted on walls, written in the sky by our flying aces, tapped out in Morse code from within the walls of our homes: “Who’s a good boy?”

The radio station is, um, unavailable, as so much of the town is currently unavailable. Down for maintenance, wiped off the map, however you want to say it.

The strangers who do not move, but who seem closer every time you look, they have torn our town apart. They do not seem to have an agenda, no plan, just…destruction. They only seek to rend, to shatter.

Carlos has locked himself in the lab with his team of scientists, working without sleep to find a solution to this crisis, as they have found solutions to so many crises before. He wanted me to stay there with him, since within the proximity of science is, of course, is the safest place to be in any natural or unnatural disaster, but…I am a reporter. I can’t not report! My town needs me to witness! And so I will walk through my city, and I will witness.

I sent my sister Abby and her family to the lab so they could keep my niece safe.

“Keep them safe!” I said to my brother-in-law Steve.

“Aw, geez,” he said. “With Abby around, I can’t imagine a bad thing that could happen!”

He really loves my sister. If I’m to spend this time witnessing, maybe I should start there. Maybe I should, finally, allow myself to see the depth of his love for my sister and their daughter.

Ugh! And then he tried to hug me, and he smelled like onions, and I shouted, “Oh, no no, no no. We – we’d better get you barricaded in there, Steve. I think I see some strangers not moving,” while I slammed the lab door on him.

The wreckage of Night Vale is complete. It is even worse than Valentine’s Day 2013, when much of the town was reduced to rubble and candy hearts.

I passed by the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, site of so many great – and terrible – memories. Old Woman Josie, throwing the ceremonial first pitch of the bowling tournament, City Council and Station Management finding…horrifying love on the skating rink, and other memories, too, that I…don’t like to talk or think about.

Now the complex was boarded up, under siege from the strangers. There were three of them in its parking lot. None of them were moving. The only car in the lot was upside down and on fire.

Dark Owl Records was, somehow, untouched. It was the only building in blocks without smashed windows, and it somehow still had electricity. Michelle Nguyen and former intern Maureen were leaning casually outside, smoking candy cigarettes. And this took a lot of re-lighting, as candy cigarettes do not burn well at all.

“Maureen! Michelle!” I said. “You’re okay!”

They both rolled their eyes.

“Michelle, how did you keep Dark Owl from being destroyed along with everything else?”

She glanced at Maureen.

“Ummm,” she said.

“Well,” Maureen said. “Say…someone was leading an army. Or whatever. Then, they could command that army to not attack a specific person or place. Or whatever. So maybe, that’s what happened. Anyway, if that’s what happened, then that person wouldn’t be leading that army any more.”

“You quit your internship?”

“I didn’t like my boss. Especially since I found out what…ahem…who he is. I didn’t have all the details before. Feels like I was misled. That’s a familiar feeling, Cecil,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “At least you were just clueless.”

“What?” I said.

“Never mind.”

“Maureen and I have, like, a plan,” said Michelle. “It’s very secret, but we’re teaming up to save Night Vale.”

“Ah! I’m so glad you two have become such good friends,” I said.

They looked at each other, for a long moment.

“We don’t want to, like, put a label on this,” said Michelle. “Not everything has to be named.”

“Yeah,” said Maureen. “So, anyway, we have a secret plan. Plus, Chad is now panicking about what the thing he summoned has ended up doing, so he’s been trying to figure out how to reverse the ritual.”

“L.O.L.!” said Michelle.

“L.O.L.!” agreed Maureen, putting the lighter to the end of her cigarette and letting off a cloud of smoke that smelled like overcooked caramel.

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

All events this week are canceled. This week is also canceled. You might be canceled, too.

This has been the Community Calendar.

I found Lucia, the ghost that haunts the Haunted Baseball Diamond, looking sadly at the nearby Shambling Orphan Housing Development. The development somehow has been hit even harder than the rest of Night Vale. There was almost nothing left to show that life had once existed there.

“Ah, Cecil!” she said. “It is all happening as I was afraid it would.”

“Do you know how we can stop them?” I asked.

“No. I have no ideas. Only the fear, a writhing biting thing within me.” She slapped her spectral chest with her spectral hand, making a deep resonant pop. “In here, Cecil.” She narrowed her eyes, and pointed.

“There! The beast!”

I saw, a few blocks away, a beagle puppy cross the street.

“The beast?”

“He is so adorable, yes? Just the cutest. So cute that you would do anything for his little face, for his dumb floppy ears, yes? That is how he controls you. That is how he controls everyone. He is so cute! You would do just anything for him! And you will. You will do everything for him. Things you never dreamed you would be capable of doing. Ghastly things.”

“Who’s a good boy?” I said.

“Who, indeed?” she said.

I called Carlos to see how far along he was in saving the day. He said that he wasn’t very far along at all, and it was frustrating to him. He said he’s been letting brightly colored liquid bubble in beakers, and he has been writing numbers all over chalkboards, and it hasn’t helped anything at all. He even drew a structural formula for cyclohexane, but it also didn’t help.

“It’s like,” he said, “this is somehow a problem that can’t be solved with science, but there are no problems that can’t be solved with science! Science fixes everything, and is always on the side of good! I just…I can’t figure out what these strangers want! They don’t seem to want anything!”

“You sound very upset,” I told Carlos. “You know that it’s not good for you to get worked up like this. Take a break. Play some Bloodborne, that’ll relax you.”

“Okay, yeah, I guess,” he said, but I knew he didn’t mean it. He was going to keep trying to save Night Vale, and I loved him for it, even as I wished he wouldn’t be so hard on himself.

And now, a word from our sponsors:

It is possible the world is ending. If you cannot hide, then you must run. If you cannot run, then you must die.

This message brought to you by Clorox Bleach.

Two blocks past Mission Grove Park I saw the house of Francis Donaldson, the manager of the Antiques Mall. The door was off its hinges, the mailbox had been killed and skinned, and for reasons I couldn’t explain to myself I crossed that ruined front yard and entered the house.

I needed to see. I needed to report on this disaster.

Three feet into the door I looked up to see a stranger before me. Her shoulders went up and down, a deep, constant breathing. Otherwise…she did not move. At this distance I could see the pupils of her eyes, unfocused, frozen, on a point in the room several feet above my head. Her hair was greasy, and it stuck to her face. Her skin had faded into gray like a person dying, or a person carved from stone.

She stood in the ruined living room, surrounded by a pattern of destruction that splashed out from her. The echo of a flurry of movement, even as she was perfectly still.

I was distracted by the mess. And when I looked back, she was much closer to me. I could…I could feel her breath. It was room temperature, unchanged by her body. Air in, air out, but no transformation.

“Hello…Cecil,” she said. Her mouth did not move. Her voice came not from her, but from a glass of water on a side table that had somehow been spared the destruction. The water vibrated slightly with the voice.

“Hello?” I said to the glass. “What do you want?”

The lamp hanging above me laughed. There was no joy to it, just a replication of the sound of laughter. It went on, and on, slowly petering out to a quiet choking, and then nothing.

“What…do I want?” asked the glass of water. “I want…nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing.”

The lamp snickered. My left shoe joined in, and I jumped back, but the stranger was even closer than before.

“We want…nothing at all. Everywhere there is…something. All of these things, like…this glass.”

The glass of water shattered.

“One…less…thing,” said my left shoe. “Soon there will be…no…things. We will take away your government. Your laws. Your infrastructure. All of your…possessions. All…of…you. What…we…want…is…..no…thing.”

“But why?”

“A ‘why’ is a thing!” the lamp said sternly. “We destroy…whys. We…destroy explanations.”

I recognized the stranger. Behind the slack stillness there was a human face. It was Francis herself, in the wreckage of her own home.

“Francis? What happened to you?”

At the sound of her name, her eyes focuses in for a moment, and flicked down toward me, before drifting back up to the ceiling.

“I was made…strange,” the lamp said. “So…strange that I became a…stranger. There is a cavern.”

I merely looked at the lamp, confused.

“There…is…a…cavern……Cecil. I was…taken…there. The ground…is covered…in mud. You walk…through…the mud…in…the darkness…because you think…there must be…something else…but there is…never…anything…else…for years. You walk…through…the mud.”

My shoe chimed in.

“Sometimes you feel…as though there might be…other…lost people…also…searching…through the mud. Maybe…you can even hear…the soft…swish…of them…in the black…but your hands…never meet…and you cannot…speak…out. You…are…alone. Sometimes…the mud…goes…over your head…and sometimes…it is just…a slight…damp…beneath your feet.”

The lamp spoke again.

“Years…go by. You feel yourself…hollowed…out…by time. Everything…that was you…slips…away. There…is…a…great…power…that replaces…you…with…his…desires. He…is…your…leader…and…you…want…what…he…wants…and…he…wants…nothing!”

“When did you leave the mud and come back to Night Vale?”

“Leave?”

This time Francis herself spoke. Her vocal cords cracked with lack of use. Her eyes focused on me again. Her parched lips clung to each other as she spoke.

“Cecil! I’m……still……in……the……mud! I’m……still…in…the mud! Cecil! I’m…still…in…the…mud! I’m…still…in…the mud!!”

She said this over and over, quickly losing control of volume and articulation. Tears rolled down her face from her unblinking eyes.

I turned and ran. Behind me her cracked voice, more and more distant: “I’m still in the mud! I’m still…in…the mud!”

I had a vision of the beagle loping adorably through a burning building, his…big stupid ears….flapping as humans screamed, and…and pleaded around him, and he watched them burn, and replied only…“Woof.”

“Woof!” he said, as Night Vale fell.

[Cecil’s speech becomes more strained]

I am, um…uh…passing…Louie Blasko on the street…..right now. He is frantically working the…uh…pumps…of his pipe organ, tipping his hat at me while keeping time with a simple Gamelan setup. He is…mmm…holding!…holding…out his hat…for spare change.

“Louie, I’m sorry,” I am saying to him. “But…” and here I am…gesturing around at the…mmm…decimated street.

“Just….say…..weather!” he is telling me.

I am….not responding.

“Say…the word…weather!” he is hissing.

Wea…www….

Weather?

[“Plunder” by The Felice Brothers]

[Cecil sounds more like himself now, with fewer pauses in his speech]

“What was that about?” I asked Louie, but he was gone. And in his place, there was a stranger, unmoving, breathing.

I…I hurried on and I did not look back.

A black sedan drove slowly through the streets, the first functioning vehicle I had seen among the carnage. I waved it down, and two men got out. One was not tall, and the other was not short.

“We had nothing to do with this,” said the man who was not tall.

The man who was not short nodded vigorously.

“Do…you know…what happened?” I asked.

The man who was not tall stood between me and the man who was not short, and said, “Don’t talk to him, he’s new,” though I had directed the question at both of them.

The man who was not short said, “The question isn’t what happened.”

“What…is…the question?” I said.

“Don’t talk to him, he’s new,” the man who was not tall said. “Anyway, you know what the question is.”

He leaned in close to me. I could smell anise on his breath.

“Who is a good boy?” he whispered.

“Do you have a pen I could borrow?” said the man who was not short.

“Um…uh, sure,” I said, handing him the one from my reporter’s notebook.

“Thanks,” he said. He opened the trunk of the sedan, tossed the pen into it, slammed it shut, and got back into the passenger seat.

“Don’t talk to him. He’s new,” said the other man, and then he too got into the sedan, and the strange pair drove away.

Finally, I reached City Hall. Uh…it had been ravaged. Uh, there was no sign of City Council. Likely they have fled as they often do during danger to our town. Ahem. Or, I’m supposed to say, “take a sudden and fortuitous vacation,” but I am not on the radio. I– I– I– I do not have to say what I am supposed to say!

I wonder if Station Management is even in town? Uh, I suspect that they may have taken the same “sudden and fortuitous vacation” as City Council, their many strange and endless appendages entwined on some…beach somewhere.

Uh, Deputy Mayor Trish Hidge came running out of the building, holding a…desk lamp in one hand, and she ran by me wild with panic, huffing, as she was barefoot.

[Cecil makes huffing sounds]

Or, no. That was not her at all. Wet, rapid breathing. W…w…waiting…waiting for me at the door to City Hall…what she had been fleeing from: the beagle puppy.

[Huffing sounds]

He padded forwards. He was…adorable! Or…was he? I– I had thought he was a cute…beagle puppy, but…there was…something…off about him. A sneer in his lips, a– a– a strange bend to his legs, his– his body was misshapen. It– it– no, he was not cute at all!

Breath came in and out of his mouth, which was…gray, and squishy within.

[Huffing sounds]

The beagle rose onto his hind legs, higher…and higher, until he was…standing fully upright, his…his spine elongated and straightened.

I felt something rising in my throat. I did– I did– I did not want to open my mouth for fear of an organ or bile or hot black tar pouring out, but that was not what was pushing its way out of my mouth. It was…it was…uh….words…the– the– the words sputtered…out of my lips…against my will.

“Wh– who’s……a……good……boy?” I said.

“I am the good boy, Cecil!” the beagle said. “You…wanted…to…witness. So…witness! I…am the good…boy, and I rule…over the dark…wet caverns…of…Hellllllllllllllll!”

[Huffing sounds]

He cocked his…little beagle head. He stood…so much taller than I thought…a dog..could…stand. His..breath..was..thick..and..wet..and..labored.

[Huffing/growling sounds continue throughout]

“I…want…nothing…Cecil! Nothing….at..all! And…I….will….have it!”

Today’s proverb: Remember to compliment-sandwich when critiquing. Example: “That’s an OK shirt you have on. Everything you wrote was bad. You’re wearing a shirt.”

[One last creepy sound of undetermined origin as the track ends]

Bonus Episode 7 - The Investigators on iTunes

[Note from cecilspeaks: Thanks and credit again go to @cecilbaldwin-fan for transcribing the Wil Wheaton segment which follows Joseph Fink’s introduction, as well as the other bonus tracks from The Investigators.]

Joseph Fink: Hey! So, our newest live recording, The Investigators, was released on Bandcamp recently, and we said it would be released on iTunes “soon.” Well, as of today – as of this very moment, in fact – that “soon” has become “now.” It is available on iTunes now. Over two hours of new Night Vale live material, featuring something like 15 guest stars and live music Disparition and Eliza Rickman, available right now on iTunes and still available at nightvale.bandcamp.com.

To celebrate, here is a clip from The Investigators. It is one of the bonus tracks of the recording, featuring Wil Wheaton as Earl Harlan. Enjoy.

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.

Joseph Fink: The Investigators. Two hours of brand new Night Vale, available now at iTunes and at nightvale.bandcamp.com.

Episode 90 - Who’s a Good Boy? Part 2

You wanna go outside? Outside? You wanna go outside? You do? You do?

I bet you want to go outside. I bet you do!

Welcome to Night Vale.

[Heavy growling breaths]

The beagle puppy stood fully upright on his hind legs, breathing heavily. I inched back from the dog.

Here’s where I want to tell you I drew a glowing sword, and he drew a sword made of fire. I want to tell you our mighty blades clashed above our heads, as our elbows and faces met. I think it’d be a really cool thing to say that I then pushed him back with a kick to the chest and swung my blade down upon him as he tried to deflect it with his own, my sword shattering his, causing him to burst open with white light and doves, and order returned for good to Night Vale.

But what I’m going to tell you is…I don’t own a sword, doves aren’t real, and the dog had destroyed everything we are without a single conventional weapon. Plus, I tripped while trying to run away.

The beagle was standing over me.

[Heavy growling breaths]

There was a boom that dimmed my hearing, and the dog was jolted backward violently. Sam, our sheriff, stood behind me, a shotgun in their hand.

“Come on!” Sam said as they grabbed my shoulder and pulled me up.

I turned back to see the carnage, but the beagle was standing again, exactly where he was the moment before…perhaps a little closer, actually. His adorable puppy mouth distended horribly with each labored breath.

[Heavy growling breaths]

“Don’t look at it!” Sam said as they pushed me into City Hall and through a door marked FORBIDDEN. Sam slammed the door shut and bolted the lock.

We were in the City Council’s chambers. The Council was there. They had not fled the city after all. They all spoke in unison, their black robes undulating like a storm-tossed ocean. The only details of the Council’s hood-shrouded faces I could discern were their reddish-brown teeth.

“We have re-opened the Dog Park!” the City Council shouted. It sounded like an accusation. “Sam plans to lure the strangers into the Dog Park and lock them away there.”

“How– how do you…how do you get them to go 7into the Dog Park?” I asked.

The Council was silent for a long time, finally muttering, “Well, there leader is a beagle, so…” and then trailing off.

Sam interjected. “We get every person left in Night Vale in front of that Dog Park. If they want nothing, they’ll have to go there and create it.”

I was thinking about what “nothing” meant. About beings that don’t exist. And who better to fight off a lord of Hell than…

“Sounds good,” I said. “Is there a way out of here that doesn’t go through that beagle? I need to visit a friend of mine.”

Let’s have a look now at traffic.

There’s a metal grate, about 11 feet off the ground. It’s large enough for most human bodies to fit through. There are eight 10-millimeter hexagonal bolts holding it in place.

Sitting atop a person’s shoulders who’s sitting atop another person’s shoulders and then using a simple torque wrench, it is not difficult to remove these bolts and pull oneself through, into the duct work. The duct eventually ends at a similar large grate.

Then there is a 12-foot drop to the ground behind City Hall next to a dumpster. A car, driven by Mayor Dana Cardinal, is there. Then, that car drives to Old Woman Josie’s house, out by the Used Car Lot.

This has been Traffic.

“Can I speak to Erika?” I said to Old Woman Josie.

“Which Erika?” she asked.

“All of them! I need to speak with the angels.”

Old Woman Josie winced. A couple miles off I heard the Angel Acknowledge Siren go off down by the fire house, but I was certain law enforcement was dealing with bigger problems than a radio host who happened to acknowledge an angel or two.

There are way more than two, though.

A bright black light filled Old Woman Josie’s living room, illuminating at least a dozen tall winged beings. Dana and I shaded our eyes. My body tingled. I swore I could hear a cello, and smell confectioner’s sugar.

Dana and I explained the sheriff’s plan to lure the strangers to the Dog Park.

“How do you lure something that wants nothing?” one of the Erikas asked.

“Technically wanting nothing is actually wanting something,” one of the Erikas explained.

“We’re not having this argument with you again, Erika!” another Erika shouted.

“We just need to do something,” I said. “If what they want is nothing, then we must make sure that we are always doing something! Can you help us?”

The black light grew painfully bright. I took that as a “yes.”

Let’s have a look now at today’s horoscopes.

The stars are silent. They have been absent from the sky for weeks now. They refuse to tell us anything. Perhaps the silence is for our own protection.

This has been horoscopes.

On the drive back to town with Dana:

“I know he tried to kill you,” I said carefully. “I know he is on death row now for his crimes, but…what if? What if we made a deal?”

Dana interrupted. “I’m not offering Hiram a deal.”

We drove past the dark and empty radio station. I thought about Khoshekh, our station cat, who hovers four feet off the ground in what used to be the men’s restroom. Oh, all of our restrooms are unisex now, which is great, because everyone can visit Khoshekh! He’s been much happier with the extra attention, buzzing and licking visitors with his chest tongues…but when I had last checked in on him, before we lost all power to the radio station, he was…gone. His kittens were also gone. No sign of a fight, just gone.

I missed him. I miss the radio station. All over town no electricity, no gas, barely any drinkable water. I– I…I could smell distant smoke. The sky was completely gray, even though there was not a single cloud.

Dana said, “I’ll talk to Hiram, Cecil. I’ll find out if he knows anything about the strangers, and if he could be of some help. But I’m not cutting a deal with him.”

We pulled up to a mob of about 50 people. In the front was the sheriff, hand in hand with a woman in long yellow robes and a wide rectangular hat. I recognized the medallion on the front of her chest. She was one of the leaders from the Joyous Congregation of the Smiling God – the church that most of Desert Bluffs and a few Night Vale residents belong to.

In the crowd I saw John Peters – you know, the farmer? – and also John Peter – remember, the pharmacist? I saw Tamika Flynn and her teenage militia. In Tamika’s left hand was Sarah Sultan, who is a fist-sized river rock and current president of the Night Vale Community College. Around them were many faces I didn’t know. Former Desert Bluffs residents, I could see it in their eyes.

Dana and I got out of the car and joined them. A prayer march against a common enemy.

How strange humankind is that two cities, Night Vale and Desert Bluffs, could hate each other so much…and then hold hands so tightly in mutual hatred of something else.

We marched toward the center of town, chanting prayers. I have never been a believer in the Smiling God, so some of the chants were new to me, but a lot of them were similar to recitations, verses, and prayers common across most religions. Basic stuff like “Please, God, destroy our enemies, amen,” some really long gurgling sounds, and one chant that sounded identical to an old prayer I was taught in Torah school, where everyone just shouts, “De-fense! De-fense!” while clapping in rhythm.

Our crowd grew. We saw strangers on the street, not moving, just breathing and watching. We were nearing a thousand, our mob, feeling invincible! United to save our town, a town we all loved and believed in, no matter how long each of us had lived there.

Carlos joined, along with my sister Abby, her husband Steve, and my young niece Janice. I was worried for their safety out here, surrounded by the strangers, but I was also worried for their safety at home, hiding from the strangers. I was worried for their safety always and everywhere.

Our huge crowd stopped near the Dog Park. There were Hooded Figures in the Dog Park. The gates were open. They are…rarely open.

We looked at the strangers. Their numbers had grown as well, an equal motionless mob to our heaving praying one. Being at the front of the crowd, I could feel the steady breath of the stranger directly in front of me. They weren’t dead. They weren’t undead. They were…nothing.

I was afraid of dying, of becoming one of them, of existing only in the dark wet cavern. Francis’ voice in my head: “I’m still in the mud! I’m still in the mud!”

And also her voice from right in front of me suddenly, at the front of the crowd of strangers, eyes wild as though struggling against the complete stillness of the rest of her body, screaming, “I’m…still…in the mud! I’m still…in…the mud!”

The crowd of strangers parted, although none of us saw them move, revealing the beagle puppy on his hind legs, his front paws dangling crookedly against his chest.

[Heavy growling breaths]

The breathing wasn’t coming from the dog, but from behind me! I turned to see Sheriff Sam, their jaw hanging limp and open, the dog’s breath came from their mouth!

[Heavy growling breaths]

“Who’s a good boy?” said the voice coming from Sam “Who’s a good boy?”

[Heavy growling breaths, ending in a growling chuckle]

“Am I the good boy?” said a different voice from right next to me, my brother-in-law Steve. His eyes locked to mine, confused. “Am…am I the good boy?” he said.

I cried out, “No!” and held him tight. Janice, Abby, and Carlos all put their arms around him too, trying to hold him in place, keep him from being taken to the cavern, helping him to resist the pull of a dark and muddy Hell dragging at him from within.

We heard a sound above us, like wings. Many wings. We looked up and saw all of the Erikas circling above.

“There are angels!” said Janice in awe. No one corrected her.

There was also the sound of a different kind of wing. Not angelic. Reptilian. We saw the five heads of Hiram McDaniels, four of them with prison tracking collars. Fire spewed from Hiram’s mouth, and for a moment the gray cloudless sky shone blue.

And I finally noticed, in the heart of all this fear and tempest, how calm the weather was. No, not calm. The weather was…it was……

[“The Queer Gospel” by Erin McKeown]

Night Vale, we have power once again! We have electricity, and water, I’m back on the air(!), and many of you are back in your homes. The strangers and the dogs are gone! Defeated…question mark.

Francis, Sam, Steve, those who were taken, or who were about to be taken, all humans once again.

But here’s where we run into the problem of my narrative, because…I don’t know what caused it to happen! Our crowd had chanted and prayed, I– I’m not a religious person, mostly, but I do think we had an impact, driving away that thing summoned from the dark wet caverns of Hell.

And even if it wasn’t the blood stones, or the Joyous Congregation’s Smiling God, or any other kind of God, the mere spiritual coming together of so many people may have been enough to rid the town of this hound and his army.

But then, Intern Kareem reported that Khoshekh is back in the station restroom. Khoshekh was badly scratched up, as though he had been in a great battle, and Kareem noticed that inside Khoshekh’s second row of teeth was a small piece of fur-covered flesh. Kareem thought it was a piece of a dog’s ear. Is Khoshekh our hero?

Janice says Tamika Flynn drove away the strangers with her militia of book-loving children. Abby and Steve told Janice she’s still too young to join a militia, and Tamika’s running drills out in the desert and will not comment on what happened.

Old Woman Josie claimed the angels used their powers of Heavenly good to push back the brazen evil of the beagle. Who else can destroy a creature of Hell, other than angels? Maybe that’s true…if you believe in angels. Which you are not allowed to do.

Melony Pennington, celebrated computer programmer, managed to get the power utilities back on, and claims that with the help of young prodigy Meghan Wallaby, she wrote a deadly computer virus to bring down the strangers. I’m not really an expert on programming, but I feel like you need a computer to catch a computer virus.

What? Oh.

Um, Kareem is telling me you don’t anymore. Computer viruses are totally airborne. Huh! Wow! Technology!

Sheriff Sam and the City Council claimed their plan to lure the strangers to the Dog Park worked perfectly, and the strangers were rounded up and locked away. Sam also added, “Now that the situation is under control, the Dog Park is no longer open.” And then they folded an origami sea urchin, elaborate thin spines and everything. “Yeah, no, it’s off limits once again,” Sam said.

Michelle and Maureen, over at Dark Owl Records, claimed they were playing a copy of Beyoncé’s newest album, the followup to Lemonade – an album no one else has heard. According to Michelle, the strangers wanted to hear that album quite badly, and this human desire filled in the hollow that these years in the mud had carved in them, turning them back into non-strangers, into friends. Michelle and Maureen claim to be the real heroes, or…whatever.

I asked Michelle if I could hear the album, and she said no, because Beyoncé asked her to stop playing it.

“Beyoncé called you?” I asked, astonished that Michelle knew such a famous musician.

“Well…her lawyers called,” Michelle said. “They were really angry, and also confused and scared, because Beyoncé hasn’t actually written or recorded the album yet.”

Chad, my former intern who summoned the beagle in order to destroy the World Government, says that he thinks the reversal of his summoning worked. He is no hero, he says, but perhaps he is not a villain either.

“He’s pretty okay, I guess,” Maureen said. “At least I got my internship credit.”

And then there was Hiram McDaniels’ brave fighting against the strangers. If anything was more powerful than our coming together as a town, it was the brute force of a 18-foot-tall dragon with five heads. He fought valiantly for a town he had once threatened, a town who had recently condemned him to death. And we all saw his bravery, and we all knew that he must be pardoned.

“Pardon him!” we cried.

He was not pardoned. They locked him back up. He is still scheduled for execution.

So, perhaps Hiram was the hero?

But there is…one more theory. One more possible story.

Just before coming on the air, I felt a presence behind me. It was the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home.

“We didn’t drive them away, Cecil,” she said. “We didn’t win. They chose to leave.”

I argued that, surely, it was because we or someone forced them.

“They don’t need a reason,” she said. “They never did. They left, and they may return. It won’t be for any reason, but it could be at any time. They want and need nothing, Cecil. The computer programming, and the Dog Park, and Beyoncé album, it’s all noise.”

She added, “They left because they decided to leave. And if they return, it will be because they decided to return. And it will be unrelated to anything we do.”

Night Vale, we live with the illusion of safety, that we can use caution and care in order to preserve our lives. The strangers came and we don’t know why. And then they went, and we don’t know why. We are always in danger. It was just that while they were here, we were made aware of the danger. They simply revealed to us that personal control is an illusion.

We live and die, and we never get to learn any reasons for that.

In any case, the strangers are gone. And we can go back to living the lie of reason and control once again! And it is a very, very comfortable lie.

Stay tuned next for a deep sigh. Deep. Deep! No no no, deeper than that.

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: You can tell a lot about someone by coming into our office and confessing everything you know about them.

Kevin: Hi, friend! It’s Kevin! So many of my old pals from Desert Bluffs came to live here in the desert otherworld with me! We’ve built quite a little city with roads and a school and a radio station!! I’m back on the air, Cecil! We even built our new little town to look just like our old little town! In fact, we just decided to call this new place Desert Bluffs Too! Too as in also, not the number two. Although we debated that. But we thought it was too charming. We need to build to that level of charming. Someday we will! Someday we’ll be so charming, it will hurt.