Episode 91 - The 12:37
Do not bite the hand that feeds you.
Grab it first. Take the keys. Set yourself free. Then
bite the hand…and run.
Welcome
to Night Vale.
Exciting
news for rail enthusiasts (and fans of punctuality): the 12:37 train
to Red Mesa has arrived on time at Night Vale Station.
Uhhhhh,
sort of
on time. Night vale has not had
a train station or train service in a little over a century. So the
train is about a hundred years late. This is, naturally, a cause of
some confusion at the moment.
The
station, which used to be where the Little League baseball fields are
right now, was decommissioned and torn down after it was discovered
the tracks just sort of ended in the middle of the desert, connecting
to nothing.
The
Sheriff’s Secret Police have encircled the train, which is stopped
right in the second base line, and has not opened its doors. It is
not yet clear where the train came from, if there are any passengers,
and if there are, what condition they are in.
Sheriff
Sam announced that they are an avid rail enthusiast – or, as they
called themself, a train spotter. They whittled a small caboose out
of a block of balsa to demonstrate their enthusiasm. They also
repeatedly pronounced my name as “Sessil” too, so do with that
information what you will.
We’ll
keep bringing you the latest on this story.
In
other news, there’s a crowd of several hundred people gathering over
on Somerset. They have organized themselves into a tidy single-file
line. None of them can say what
they are lined up for, nor where the front of the line is.
Neighborhood
resident Wayne Ferry said he got in line around 7:00 this morning,
and it was already pretty large by that point. He’s not sure how far
back he is in the line.
“I
saw my friend Charelle and said, ‘Morning, Charelle!’ I and then kept
walking toward the back of the line,” Wayne said, “but I kept
passing Charelle. 'Morning, Charelle!’ I said each time. Eventually,
she let me cut in line.”
Wayne
said the line collapses back on itself. There is no beginning or end,
even though it appears to be perfectly straight. More and more people
are joining the line just to find out what everyone is in line for.
Wayne
added, “Whatever we’re waiting for must be pretty cool!”
You
have to admire such childlike optimism, even though optimism is
doomed to almost certain disappointment and/or injury.
We
have more on the 12:37 train to Red Mesa. Dozens of volunteers have
arrived to take selfies in front of the old-timey steam engine. And
also to weep in terror at the sudden anachronism.
Sheriff
Sam applauded these civic-minded helpers by kettling them into a
small chicken wire pen and shouting at them with an electric
bullhorn.
Sheriff
Sam, as part of the police investigation into this mysterious train,
constructed a wrought iron abstract statue seemingly depicting a bird
devouring a snake. We think
it’s supposed to symbolize man’s inhumanity to man, and the frightful
conditions in which immigrants were exploited in the building of our
nation’s railways. Also, the iron construction surely
represents the indomitability of American capitalism, but anyone who
looks directly at any form of art gets a headache, and trying to
understand art is usually fatal, so no one is certain.
[Ahem]
Uh, how did the train get here with no tracks? Where did it come
from? And now that there’s a giant metal sculpture in its way, how
will it leave? How much would a ticket even be
in today’s dollars? Who are the people gathering about the baseball
fields wearing deer masks?
Oh.
Breaking news. Some people wearing deer masks are gathering by the
train, distributing roaches to bystanders. The roaches all have
phrases printed on them, things like “Business in the front, knife
in the back” and “#NotAllTrains.”
Weird.
Listeners,
your guess is as good as mine. Well, almost. I’m pretty good at
guessing things.
And
now, traffic.
You
are driving on a foggy night. There are faint taillights from a car
in front of you. There are also faint headlights from a car behind
you, all moving at a steady 30 miles per hour.
But
then the lights of the other cars just switch off, at the same time.
Are the other cars still there? It’s too foggy to see. Should you
slow down? Speed up? If you slow down, the car behind might hit you.
If you speed up, you might hit the car in front. Best to stay at 30.
But
your speedometer is creeping up to 35. The pressure has put you on
edge. Your boss, Catherine, has been really on your case lately, and
you’re pressing your foot down without realizing.
Now
you’re at 40. Should you go back to 30? What if the cars are still
there, matching your speed? Is going back to 30 safe? Should you stay
at 40?
Wait…it’s
50 now. You’ve been so worried about driving at 40 and lingering on
what Catherine said to you about terrible quarter two sales, your
speed has crept up again.
You
imagine three cars speeding through the night, all of you mere inches
away from a bone-crunching, life-changing, possibly life-ending
collision, before you know it you’re doing 60, then 70, then 80. 80!
You
can scarcely believe it. I mean, wasn’t that Tina’s
account and not yours that failed? How is quarter two your fault?
You
can’t possibly slow down now.
The car behind won’t have time to reduce their speed. And where is
the car in front of you?
At
least the road is straight…or is
it?
And, are you even still on the road? Is there any way to know? All
around you is fog. If you crash, even if you survive, will anyone
find the wreckage to save you?
Without
noticing, you have lifted your foot and the car has slowed down to
60. You keep your foot off the gas, and your car keeps slowing.
50…40…30…20…10…and then zero. You have stopped. No crashes,
no screeching tires.
You
put on the parking brake and get out of your car, and walk off into
the mist, your face tight and tear-stained. You think about how Tina
takes such long smoke breaks, and Catherine doesn’t say a thing about
that.
The
mist coats your cold skin, and you hear birds just above you.
This
has been traffic.
We
have an exciting update from the baseball fields! The train has
opened its doors. Nobody has disembarked yet. It looks
completely empty. The Secret Police are keeping a safe distance while
politely shouting at the kettled witnesses to board the train and see
what’s up. A few are reluctantly going in.
The
figures in deer masks, looking like the same transit lovers who built
the Night Vale subway system three years ago, are in an inverted V
formation out in left center field, their shoulders and heads bobbing
as if in silent laughter.
So
far, none of the…umm…“volunteers”….have come back out,
despite the Sheriff’s Secret Police’s repeated friendly warnings and
helpful bullhorn threats.
The
City Council could not be reached for comment on the train, as this
whole situation has unfortunately clashed with their annual (and
inaugural) charity golf tournament, somewhere far away from any
possible danger. Also, I didn’t even bother to call them for a
comment.
Teddy
Williams, owner of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun
Complex, announced that after 20 years, the Laser Tag Adventure Pit
is reopening this weekend. In a contrite statement released this
week, Teddy says he finally figured out how to lower the power
settings on the lasers.
According
to Williams’ written statement, “Super sorry, like wow, it never
occurred to me that…anyway, things are fine now. Also, I know a
doctor who specializes in limb reattachment,” the statement reads.
The
statement continued, “Like, spiders with eight legs can afford to
lose a few, right? But us humans, with just the two? Crap! Really,
what was I thinking? Sorry. I mean, nobody died
or anything,” Teddy said, “and I apologized, didn’t I? But Cecil
just gets on the radio, reading out stories in that condescending way
he does, putting on silly voices, making a mockery of my punctuation
and vernacular prose, turning everything into an incredibly long
sentence with a lot of sub-clauses and tangents that wander out, like
branching paths in a forest, so that when you take one forking path
and then it turns into another path you don’t know if it’s a new path
or just the same path you were already on, or maybe you’ve just gone
in a circle, and anyway the whole quote takes so long to say that you
forget it’s somebody else’s words until he says 'Teddy said’,”
Teddy said.
Well.
Listeners, I…don’t think I need to read the rest of his statement.
But I will mention that for reopening weekend at the Laser Tag
Adventure Pit, there’s a 20% discount on admission, and everyone gets
a release form absolutely free!
An
update from the baseball fields: the Sheriff’s Secret Police boarded
the train, and did not come back out. Shortly before they boarded,
they warned the remaining witnesses not to board the train. Then,
shortly after the Secret Police boarded, the witnesses themselves
boarded the train…and also didn’t come back out.
Many
people have been seen leaving their homes, schools, and places of
business to walk toward the station, all excited to take selfies and
sob in existential horror at this rift in not only time and space,
but also our trust in basic physics.
The
figures in the deer masks are all crouched, pounding the ground with
their open palms.
There
are now more people on the train than its capacity for passengers,
but people are still boarding, effortlessly disappearing inside.
Night Vale is emptying.
Everyone wants to board the train.
I…I
feel the same urge that all of you do to board the train, listeners,
and if it were not for my strict professionalism and commitment to
this show, I would be on that train myself. But I must resist. I will
stay here in my studio…and…
You
know what? Never mind. Yeah. Uh-huh. I gotta go see this. Okay. Uh,
let’s just go to the weather.
[Studio
door opens and closes]
[“Windows”
by Angel Olsen]
Listeners,
I am back. I am back in the radio booth.
The
12:37 train to…wherever
(certainly not to Red Mesa) is gone.
As
the doors closed on us inside the passenger cars, we heard the
thrumming of the massive engine, the churning of gears and wheels, a
great steam whistle. Looking out the windows I saw the baseball
diamond, I saw houses and trees, I felt us moving, gaining speed,
accelerating. I felt it in my ears. But the cars, trees, houses, the
baseball fields, did not seem to move at all…at first.
Then
the trees withdrew into the ground. The houses disassembled
themselves. Distant power poles and tall buildings vanished. There
were more plants, more water, the grass grew up higher and higher
until the baseball fields were merely imprints on my eyelids. The
clouds moved more and more rapidly. I saw the sun curl across the sky
like a pop fly ti right, I saw it over and over. The firmament pulsed
blue. And orange. And black. And yellow. Blue, and orange, and black,
and yellow, blue and orange and black and yellow, faster and faster,
flickering dark and light, flicker dark and light, a disorienting
strobing inside our passenger car.
In
the millisecond darknesses I saw empty seats all around. In the
millisecond lightnesses, seated about me were all of my fellow Night
Vale citizens. These two realities simultaneous and overlaid.
At
the front of the car, visible only in the rapid flashes of dark,
stood a woman wearing a deer mask.
She
stared straight into me, walking slowly, stumbling every couple of
steps – not clumsily, but deliberately, a painful and grotesque
dance. She seemed to lose control of her whole body, only to recover
gracefully…and repeat.
She
stopped, inches from me. I could see her body was covered with
roaches.
She
said, “They take our miniature buildings. They put them in crates,
and deliver them to warehouses across the desert. Their interests are
furthered. It could not be more terrible.”
“Miniature?
Like, like the tiny nation of people under Lane 5 of the Bowling
Alley and Arcade Fun Complex? Oh, did you know that they’re reopening
the laser tag–”
She
took off her deer mask. Her actual face was the face of a deer. Her
face and the mask were exactly the same.
“Who
are you?” I asked.
She
leaned in, insects scuttling across her long brown snout. “I am the
destroyer. They take our buildings. They put them in crates. Their
interests are furthered. I am the destroyer.”
Strobing
light from the spinning sun stopped, and it was only dark now. No
Night Vale. Even the deer-headed woman was gone. Around me, barely
visible in the dark train car was a sparse scattering of men dressed
from a bygone era, holding wooden crates. They were sitting upright,
twisted around, and silently watching me.
My
face and chest itched. My scalp itched. I could feel a tickle along
my thighs. I reached to scratch…and I felt them. Felt them all. I
screamed and swatted them away, hundreds of roaches in my jeans, my
shirt, my hair, I wa– I wanted to wretch but instead just writhed.
And
I felt the grass under me. I saw sunlight above me. I…I saw trees,
I– I heard a woman’s voice. I– I tasted nothing.
“Cecil?
Why are you in our field? You should be at work!” Lucia
Tereschenko, one of the Little League coaches (and also a ghost), was
standing over me, a group of kids in ball caps and jerseys behind
her.
“I’m…I’m
sorry…Lucia, I…” I said, getting up, patting my chest, feeling
for insects. “Did you see a train here just now, or…some men with
crates?”
There
was a long pause. Lucia looked like she wanted to either answer me or
hit me.
“Cecil,
you’ve got something on you,” she said.
I
reached my hand to my neck, and pulled back a roach.
Lucia
looked closely at it.
“Oh!
What is this it says on the cockroach?”
We
both looked at the lettering across the roach’s back.
“Huntokhar,”
we read together.
“Cute
name for a bug!” she said. “No go back to work, Cecil. We do
infield drills now.”
I
called Carlos, but…he had no knowledge of the train or what
happened today. I called Sheriff Sam, who laughed at the notion, and
then complained about the media for fifteen minutes. I tried
contacting representatives from the Night Vale Transit Authority, but
their line is busy (as it has been since they opened their offices
three years ago). I called Teddy Williams with some questions about
the tiny nation of people under Lane 5, but…he screamed and hung up
on me.
I
reached out to Wayne Ferry and confirmed the line of people on
Somerset is totally
real,
and they’re all still waiting on whatever the line is for. Didn’t
hear anything about a train.
I…I
must have dreamt it. The train, the woman in the deer mask, the men
with crates or…or…hallucinated?
Maybe
the military was test marketing some new chemtrails. Or the Transit
Authority was test marketing a new imaginary train system. Who knows?
Oh.
Uh, Kareem just brought me some lemon and honey tea. It smells
real, and it feels warm in my hand. Ugh. Oh! And hot on my lips! Uh,
thank you for the tea, Kareem, and– and thank you for the realest
thing I’ve felt all day! [Chuckles]
[Ahem]
The 12:37 train to parts unknown from
parts unknown is gone, and like most everything else in our memories,
it likely was never there to begin with, but…
Huntokhar.
Huntokhar is real. Right?
Kareem!
Huntokhar is real! I– I– I– I– I saw it on a…a roach.
Lucia, the ghost who– who– who coaches Little League, she showed
me!
Kareem
is shaking his head and backing out the studio. [Laughs
nervously]
Don’t forget to blink, Kareem!
And
he’s gone.
Stay
tuned next for the sound of a beating heart, a muffled sob, a nearby
whisper while you are supposedly
alone in the dark, and all of your other favorite jams of the 1980s
and '90s.
And,
as always, goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.
Today’s
proverb: Here is the church, here is the steeple. Open it up, and see
all the people screaming about the giant that just tore the roof
open.
Episode 92 - If He Had Lived
Which came first – the chicken, the
egg, or airplanes?
Welcome to Night Vale.
Hello, listeners. This week is
National Alternate History Week, in which we celebrate our rich
history that could have
happened, if what actually
happened didn’t
happen. The Night Vale Historical Society sorts through the local
submissions, and the best story gets placed into the elementary
school curriculum. It’s a fun activity that helps boost creativity
and obfuscate the past.
Today,
for my version of history, I will be looking at the Kennedy
assassination and trying to answer the question, “What If He Had
Lived?”
Well,
here’s a start.
He
would have eaten lunch. Did you know he was on his way to a lunch
when he was killed? He was! He was probably hungry. If he had lived,
he would have eaten – big bites full of gusto.
Later
that day he would have gone to Austin. He would have breathed deep,
healthy breaths.
He
probably would have been reelected if he lived. Sure! Handsome
charismatic guy like that? Four more years! No Lyndon Johnson (or
Lyndon Johnson would, as far as I know, continue to exist – but no
President Johnson).
Without the pressure of having to win another term, perhaps he would
have pulled us out of Vietnam in ‘66 or '67, saving countless lives
and forever altering the cultural and artistic landscapes of the late
'60s and early '70s. Our art would be different, there would be more
of us, and he would go on living.
Jackie
Kennedy would feel no grief. She would never have to feel grief
again. She would stand, ageless and smiling, on bandstands, on
stages, waving, her smile distant (not even a smile, but a
performance of a
smile), waving, on bandstands, on stages, griefless, waving, ageless,
smiling.
More
on our story of “If He Had Lived” soon. But first, the news.
I
know that some of our listeners were worried about the Beatrix Lowman
Memorial Meditation zone, that state-of-the-art (and enormously
expensive) institution that reopened this Spring. There was concern
that the Meditation Zone may have been damaged or even destroyed at
the attack by the evil beagle and his army of unmoving strangers that
nearly erased our town from the map just a couple months ago. But the
good news is that the Meditation Zone is entirely undamaged, and it
is ready for you to meditate in.
What
a tragedy it would have been to lose such an important aspect of our
community! And also, how frustrating it would have been, given that
large parts of our city government were facing huge budget shortfalls
while more and more city money was heaped on the rebuilding of the
Zone. All of that money for nothing!
But
no, the Zone still stands! Celebrate by coming on down to the Beatrix
Lowman Memorial Meditation Zone, and hooking yourself up into one of
the state-of-the-art meditation machines that will have you calm and
harvested in no time at all. What a stress reliever!
The
National Weather Service has released a statement saying that the
thunderstorms that have been going continuously for the last several
months to the west of Night Vale might not be thunderstorms, but
instead the movements of the terrible court of the Distant Prince.
They explained that when warm, moist air enters a low pressure
system, sometimes it does so around the barely-understood (and
all-powerful) Distant Prince, flanked by his harbingers and served by
the court shriekers, the mangled servants, and the hollow-eyed
weepers – all of which would result in some lightning, thunder, and
of course, localized atrocities.
It’s
also possible that they’re just some particularly persistent
thunderstorms. Either way, the Weather Service said, “Best to just
avoid the area entirely. Because being struck by lightning, or being
skinned alive by the mangled servants, are both real and deadly
threats that should be avoided.”
The
year is 1973. Kennedy had not died, and is finishing his third term.
An embargo in somewhere called the “Middle East” results in
soaring gas prices. But the confidence America has for their
president is high. He saw us through many other crises – including
the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, the Svitz-Franchia Standoff of
1967, and the rise of the Blood Space War in 1971. We wait in long
lines at gas stations, but he comes by to each
gas station – thousands
of gas stations at once, multiplying himself as he has learned to do,
and smiling at us, and we feel at ease. Broke, but at ease.
He
continues as president through the turbulence of the '70s and into
the '80s. A biopic is made of his life, starring the mid-level movie
star Ronald Reagan (who will soon be washed up and entering his
late-life career of narrating commercials for frozen food and
insurance). The movie doesn’t even mention Dallas. Nothing happened
in Dallas, except a short drive to lunch. This is mostly what happens
in Dallas.
Paul
Simon releases his classic album Graceland.
It is about the time that President Kennedy visited Graceland in
1982. The album is a huge flop due to its limited subject matter and
aural motif of pained moans and lawnmower engines.
Jackie
Kennedy has not aged. In fact, she appears younger
than before. At night, she walks among the monuments in D.C., serene
and alone, not even a Secret Service escort with her. Anyone who
tries to approach finds themselves pushed back by a faint mist that
smells of apple and spice, and feels like thousands of needles.
Witnesses claim her feet are not even touching the ground. Her arms
seem longer than they used to, as though they were the only part of
her body continuing to change.
If
JFK had lived, listeners, “If He Had Lived.” More soon. First,
this.
Remember
the phases of the moon: new, crescent, quarter, gibbous, gelatinous,
full, very full, swirling, angry, unsure of itself, mad with power,
disappointed in the newest Marvel movie, very very
full, feeling like an impostor, jealous toward the sun, being extra
nice to the sun to make up for the jealousy the sun is unaware of,
trying to sabotage the sun’s happiness but only succeeding in
sabotaging its own happiness, and finally new again.
This
has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.
And
now, a word from our sponsors.
Sometimes
you are on the precipice, the moment where everything could topple.
Maybe it is danger, or a hard choice, or just change (which is, in
our perception, the biggest danger of all). And sometimes we are on
the smooth flats, where everything is stable, and the precipice is
just a tickle in the back of the back of our minds.
But
deep down, we know the truth. We see it sometimes, driving at night
through a rainstorm, or when the phone rings at the wrong hour, or
when the plane starts to shake, there are no smooth flats. It’s all
precipice. Always.
And
sometimes we are facing the precipice, and sometimes we are turned
away. But it is always there, and we are always teetering.
And
maybe the fall isn’t even the worst part. Maybe, when we fall, there
is at least the relief that we know we’re falling. No more
uncertainty. Maybe the worst part is the teetering, the teetering for
years and years.
Delta
Airlines: It’s not like you’re safe anywhere else.
This
has been a word from our sponsors.
The
year is this year. The day is today. The time is now. President
Kennedy calls a press conference. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly
combed, his hands are steady. He has been president for decades. He
opens the conference by issuing a warm birthday message to cinematic
treasure Lee Marvin. Mr. Marvin turns 30 today, and is perhaps the
nation’s most beloved performer.
This
pleasantry aside, the president announced that we have a grave
national problem that must be addressed. He then said your
name several times, and shuddered for five silent minutes. An aide
showed some pictures of you, while the president pointed at them
saying, “Here we see the problem.”
Finally
he said your name again, visibly blanched, and said, “Right?
Right?”
Congress
widely agreed with the president’s message, and several bills were
introduced with the goal of solving the problem that is you.
Jackie
Kennedy had no comment. Not only had she never felt grief, it seemed
to her that she had not felt anything at all since that day she had
lunch in Dallas. It was as though some real human part of herself had
experienced something so intense, and sincere, that all feelings had
diverged from this false version of herself, leaving her hollow.
It
had been an okay lunch.
The
president complained of headaches. He was experiencing more and more
as the years went on.
A
continuation on our story soon.
If,
hypothetically, angels existed – which, legally,
of course, I cannot say that they do – but it they did, then the
angels would have let me know that Old Woman Josie fell in her garden
and broke her hip this week. The hypothetical angels (who are all
named…oh, let’s say Erika) said that she is fine and in good
spirits, but will have to spend a few days in the hospital. They are
a little worried about that, since the hospital is a
barely-understood and terrible place, where doctors lurk and nurses
flit from patient to patient.
Rumor
has it that on the darkest night of the darkest month, if you stand
in just the right
place, you can see ghost ambulances carrying ghost patients into the
ghost E.R. – which is the best and most up-to-date ghost E.R. in
the region, much better even than the ghost E.R. available over in
Pine Cliff (the town nearby that is entirely populated by ghosts).
Pine
Cliff residents often come to our hospital for treatment, rather than
going to their understaffed and underfunded ghost hospital.
It’s…it’s just not right, them straining our resources and taking
away medical attention from our own local
ghosts instead of fixing the ghost problems in their own ghost city.
Anyway,
here’s wishing a quick recovery to my good friend Old Woman Josie. It
sounds like a painful slip, but hopefully the sheer desire to escape
a place as baffling and terrifying as a hospital will help her push
through her recovery as soon as possible.
Back
to “If He Had Lived.”
The
year is 2080. Coastal cities all over the world are succumbing to the
water that had long sustained them – the basic elements of each
city, like streets and burger shacks, slowly disappearing below the
sea foam.
The
Eighth Siege of the Great Night Vale Temple rages on. The scion of
the Dark Order makes his prophesied appearance at the exact correct
prophesied time (after several false starts where he had arrived too
early and had to leave again).
President
Kennedy offers a steady hand to the nation, even as his beloved
Massachusetts is swallowed by the rising seas. He brokers a deal with
the Sino-Soviet superstate that provides safe passage for the masses
of climate refugees, and also those fleeing the shrouded armies of
the Dark Order. He addresses the country with inspiring words that
people will remember for decades afterwards.
“The
sea levels will not rise another inch. Instead, the American people
will rise to meet the sea levels.”
Everyone
applauds The sea levels continue to rise. Millions are displaced.
Jackie
Kennedy lies in the White House Rose Garden. She lies there for
years. Moss grows on her face. She is trying to remember what really
happened. She is trying to
understand what the even means.
“Isn’t
this all really happening now? But it doesn’t feel
like it!” It feels like what was real was left behind long ago, and
now even the raindrops on her upturned face are a series of tiny
lies.
Speaking
of rain, the finale of our alternate history in a moment.
But
first, the weather.
[“Opposite
House” by Cass
McCombs]
We
bring you now to the final installment of our “If He Had Lived”
alternate history story.
It
is the heat death of the universe. Everything that ever was has
broken down to the most basic particles, and those particles have
reached a perfect stasis of temperature. There will never again be
change. Without change, there will never again be anything at all.
The universe has ended – not by ceasing to exist, but just by
finding perfect balance. An Armageddon of Zen, not fire.
President
Kennedy, never assassinated, floats in the nothing. His hair is
neatly combed, and he projects an optimistic but vague expression
that gives nothing away.
Jackie
Kennedy floats near him. She has never felt grief. Her smile is a
forged copy of a painting of a smile, many layers removed from the
emotion it is meant to convey.
“What
shall we do today?” he asks her.
“Oh,
whatever you want to. I have nothing particular in mind,” she says.
Everything
around them is beige. This is the average color of the universe, and
the universe has been reduced to its average.
He
winces.
She
smiles, feeling concerned but not knowing at all how to show it with
her face.
“The
headaches again?”
“Yes,”
he says. “Just here.”
“I’m
sure they will pass.”
“Yes,”
he says. “Yes.”
He
has a vision that feels like a memory, of a moment that never
happened on a sunny afternoon in Dallas, billions of years ago. A
flash of red, and then a nothing, deeper even than the nothing
they float in now.
“I
don’t know if this is right,” he says. “I don’t know if this is
what was supposed to happen.”
“Everything
happens as it was meant to,” she says, even though she is unsure of
that. She is, in fact, sure of the opposite.
They
float silently.
Later,
nothing happens.
If
he hadn’t died, if he had lived, lived on and led on, if he had
continued and continued and continued and nothing changed, if no one
else ever got a chance, if the country never moved on, if he had
lived, maybe, this is
what would have happened.
Or,
that’s how I imagine
it, anyway.
Thank
you for joining us on this celebration of Alternate History Week.
We’ve heard some exciting ones, like “What if Germany had Won World
War II,” “What if the South Had Won the Civil War,” “What if
Bath Mats Were Never Invented,” and “What if (Somehow) Germany
had Won the Civil War?”
The
Night Vale Historical Society has chosen as their winner an alternate
history where the Beatrix Lowman Memorial Meditation Zone was never
built. It will be added to the curriculum of all history classes from
here on out, and the Meditation Zone will be destroyed so that
reality can match the story we have decided to tell about it.
Well,
that’s a shame. But that’s just how history works sometimes, you
know?
Stay
tuned next for a hypothetical history that we are all making up
together, continuously, just by living it.
Goodnight,
Night Vale. Goodnight.
Today’s proverb: Writing rules.
One: write a lot. Two: read a lot. Three: if someone tells you not to
use adverbs or some other Elmore Leonard thing, swiftly kick them.
Clip from Alice Isn’t Dead:
America has weird things in it. It has so many miles, so much space
to put the weirdness in.
Joseph Fink: Here’s what you
missed this year on Alice Isn’t Dead.
Clips from Alice Isn’t Dead: I
started to look through your things. I had left them alone, didn’t
want to get tangled in memories just yet. But now they weren’t
memories. They were evidence.
…
He was bent horribly backwards, like
his spine was broken, and he was loosely swinging his arms back and
forth in a circle, so that they slapped his chest and his back. SLAP
SLAP! SLAP! He gurgled.
…
You know what I love more than
anything else? Cruise control. I love cruise control more than I love
most of my family members. And – sorry to all aunts and uncles and
cousins, you are great people – that cramp in your ankle from
holding the gas pedal at the angle just so is the devil. And cruise
control is the host of Heaven banishing it away.
Joseph Fink: Alice Isn’t Dead.
The complete Season One. Available right now wherever you listen to
podcasts [transcriber’s note: transcripts of Alice Isn’t Dead are
available at alicescripts.tumblr.com].
Clip from Alice Isn’t Dead:
Alice, I…I wish I could have seen you again. I guess that’s what
this always was, I just…I wish that I could have seen you again.
Just that. Okay. Okay. [Heavy sigh] Whatever happens next, is
what happens.