123 - A Story of Love and Horror, part 3: “Frances”
Who was that whistling, whistling in the dark?
Was that you, my love, whistling, whistling in the dark?
Welcome to Night Vale.
Frances Donaldson and Nazr al-Mujaheed were faced with a terrible choice. There are times, as humans, it feels like we are given more responsibility than we can handle. It feels as though the world is resting on our backs. And any decision we make could have implications for everyone else in the entire world. But of course, that’s not really the case. The truth is, while we might be able to ruin our own lives, or even a whole bunch of people’s lives, there are few who are ever put in the position where they can make even a ripple in the life of everyone on Earth.
But this was exactly the situation Frances and Nazr found themselves in. She had accidentally entered this Night Vale from a Night Vale in a different universe. If Nazr and Frances stayed together, the two of them could both phase out of reality and cease to exist. A powerful entity, the Brown Stone Spire, could make it so they could stay together safely, but only by destroying the universe she came from, and every person in it. There was no path forward for their love that did not end in horror. There was no path forward without horror that did not end their love.
“It’s clear what we have to do,” said Nazr sadly. “No two people are worth so many lives. We must go our separate ways.” Already he could see the long evenings alone in his office, watching tapes of football plays and trying to recapture the innocent happiness he used to feel doing his job.
“It’s clear to you because you have other options,” said Frances. “You’re from this world, and you could find another to love.
“I wouldn’t,” tried Nazr, but predictions like this can never carry the weight of truth, because who can predict the heart?”
“You will find someone else,” she said. “And me, I will have to live alone forever or risk my own existence and the existence of everyone I entangled myself with. Can I even have close friendships or would those too result in an unraveling? Certainly I would be afraid to risk it, and in that fear I would settle into a bleak loneliness.”
He shook his head. “So what are you saying? That we should murder a universe of living beings?”
“I’m saying,” she said, “that I love you, and I’d like to proceed from there.”
After this argument, they didn’t talk or see each other for a few days. Both of them felt completely overwhelmed by the weight of the decision. Both of them pretended it was a settled question for themselves.
And now corrections. Despite previous reports, the ineffable isn’t real. It’s a joke, a trace. A sandwich left on a park bench. A misunderstood smile from an unfriendly crowd. The accidental arrangement of the sky. The distance from the Earth to the moon. The way grass feels when it gets a little dry. A hand reaching blindly into a drawer. A word spoken once and never again said aloud. A dream which seemed prophetic, but evaporated upon waking. A stain in a shirt that’s source is a mystery. A bird with three missing feathers. A math problem with no possible solution. A signpost to a place which never existed. It’s a trace, a joke. The ineffable isn’t real. We apologize for our previous mistaken report.
During the days apart, Frances and Nazr were not alone. They were not alone first in ways that were mundane and expected. For instance, Nazr had his team, and while he was distracted and morose, he was also determined not to let this affect the chances of his good kids. And so he forced himself to double his efforts when it came to practices. And if any of the team members of faculty thought anything about his behavior during this time, it was that he seemed especially dedicated and focused. And so therefor his relationship must be benefiting him.
Frances had her customers. And while an antique store doesn’t usually bustle, it does have a steady stream. And the goal is to sell a few high-end items a day, along with a good amount of cheap trinkets, so that it all evens out, and she would have enough money to eat for another month. She had friends, too, except now she felt they weren’t her friends. Her friends were back in another universe and the people here looked like her friends, but did not share exactly the same experiences this Frances remembered. She didn’t know if this should matter but felt that it did, and so avoided her friends. Her friends when they talked, thought she must be so focused on her happy relationship that she no longer had time for them, and they felt resentment. They did not resent her personally, but rather resented the situation.
But Frances and Nazr were not alone in a more malevolent way as well. Every evening, Barks Ennui visited each of them. Frances no matter where she went would find him sitting next to her. He would sigh. “Frances!” he would say softly. “Frances!” The voice was almost kind, but his eyes were pivoted toward her unnaturally, giant 2-D sources on a 3-dimensional yellow snout. “Frances, oh Frances,” he would murmur until she slept or thought she slept. He was less gentle with Nazr. With Nazr, he screamed. No words, merely a high keening in the living room as Nazr tried to watch game tapes, or in the bathroom as he washed his teeth. First a mundane quiet and then suddenly a huge dog screaming, cartoon eyes and cartoon mouth both gaping in terror. Why was Barks afraid? He was the specter who was haunting Nazr, but Barks was afraid. This made Nazr even more afraid. “Stop screaming!” he would scream back, but Barks didn’t seem to hear.
And now sports news. Now I’m a big fan of Night Vale football, because I love our town, and our kids who are out there playing, and our fabulous coaching staff. But to be honest, I’m often a little shaky on how the sport works, so I thought I’d try a little experiment. I will now attempt, without looking up anything or consulting anyone lese, to explain the rules of football form memory.
Let’s see, the kids enter the field. Uh, there’s a lot of them, they’re all padded up and ready. Uh, “hoorah” they say, and others shout: “let’s get the football!” They are there to get the football. They line up facing each other, uh someone shouts some numbers that they like, in order to get them in a happy headspace before starting the game, and then the football is thrown weird. It could be thrown much easier, but they throw it in a weird way. The quarterback catches the ball, mostly, uh sometimes they miss and that’s a foul. But if they catch it, then they try to sneak it down the field. The ball needs to get going, but no one can know the team is doing it, and so they try to act nonchalant. Oh, and also the slam dance with the other team in order to show that they’re only there to party. And no football is going down the field, mm mm, no way. [whispers] But it is!
The other team figures this out and jumps at the football. Eventually, the football is carried to what is called the “end zone”, because it’s a zone at the end of the field. There it transforms from a leather bag into a victory. There is more dancing, uh you know football is mostly about dancing. There’s some other stuff like sometimes it turns into soccer for a little bit and they bring on a soccer player to do that, but mostly it’s about dancing and sneaking, which are two of my favorite activities.
Wow! No wonder I love football. This has been sports news.
Nazr and Frances made the night as romantic as they could. They lit candles, because the risk of house fires is of course very romantic. They had flowers on the table, because the reminder of how plants grow is considered a great aphrodisiac among people who get really revved up about plants. Neither Nazr or Frances were one of those people, but still, it couldn’t hurt.
“It’s not too late,” she said. “We could still be together.”
This didn’t help the romantic mood.
“We couldn’t,” he said. “What would we become if we caused so much loss, just for our own petty happiness?”
“Is that what this is?” she said. “Petty?”
“No,” he said, “it’s just… what isn’t petty against the span of all of it?”
“To me,” she said, “You aren’t. You aren’t.”
But he could not be persuaded. She gave up and instead, she kissed him. He had never felt such a kiss, because he had never before kissed anyone out of a quiet and desperate grief. I don’t recommend that context to any of my listeners, but it does make for one hell of a kiss.
Then she left his house. Nazr sat all night with the decision they had made. It was the correct decision. But if that was true, then why did he feel so completely like a person buried under rocks or locked into a cell with no light for months? He felt as though he would never take another free breath of air. There was no longer an other version of himself in his home, but it also felt to him that perhaps there was no one in his home. That the version of himself that was a human being existed only in the past tense, and from here on out, there was only this quotation of Nazr. And out of context excerpt stripped of meaning.
He stood for a while before walking down to his car and pulling it out of the garage. It was almost morning. The Radio Shack wasn’t open and packed with technology-craving customers yet, so he parked there and walked the rest of the way up to the humming Spire. He fell to his knees. This wasn’t his decision to make, but he had already made the decision.
“Brown Stone Spire,” he said. “I’ve made my choice. Destroy the other universe. I have to be with her, no matter what.”
The Spire did not reply.
“Please,” he shouted. He slapped his palms against the hard packed earth again and again until they stung. “Please, I’ve decided! Destroy the other universe!”
The Spire hummed to life.
“It is done,” said a voice from deep in its core.
Nazr, murderer of billions, walked away slowly toward his car.
The ending of our story coming up.
But hey, let’s check in on today’s weather.
[“Pieces and Pieces” by The Rough and Tumble]
At first, Nazr walked with shame. But what use, after all, was shame? He had done what he had done so he and the woman he loved could live together in happiness. It would be a waste of everything, the worst of all possible outcomes, if he had agreed to such a monstrous price, only to have any possible renumerative happiness ruined by the guilt of what he had done. He made the decision then and there to leave it behind him. By the time he had reached his car, still waiting in the Radio Shack parking lot as if nothing of import had happened in the intervening minutes. He had set aside the choice as a matter of the past, and started to feel the first spark of joy in his heart.
For the last few weeks, he had felt a strangeness, which he now knew was the feeling of falling out of step with reality. And now, the feeling was gone. He felt human again. He started the car, drove directly to Frances’ house. He couldn’t wait to see her. He had never felt such a complete hunger for another person, but it’s possible no one in all of history had ever paid such a price to be with another person.
And there was that person before him, tending to her garden in the cool morning sun. he did not think about a universe and everyone in it, including another version of Frances who no longer existed. He thought about this Frances. He watched her for a long moment from his car, feeling a blissful lack of urgency. They had a life together. What would a few more minutes be? So he let those minutes pass, watching her work, and then he stepped out of the car and approached her.
She looked up with a smile. “Hiya,” she said.
“I did it,” he said. “I went to the Spire and I did it.” He realized he was crying, but he was also smiling.
She frowned, stood, took a step back. “Did what?” she said.
“What do you mean I-,” he said. “I made the choice, you were right.”
She held the clippers in front of her, not quite towards him, but not quite not.
“Sorry,” she said. “Maybe this is something that the other Frances would understand? I suppose a certain confusion was going to be unavoidable, but I do wish you’d calm down.”
“The other Frances? In the other universe?”
He did not know what was going on.
“Sure,” she said. “Sweet lady, or is that immodest? Anyway, she told me that she asked the Brown Stone Spire to take her back to her own universe where I had been stuck. She said we had gotten mixed up, and things weren’t working out for her here. So she showed me how to come back to my world and she went back to hers. She said at least we’d have a chance at happiness this way. She also said he hoped you were as nice in her world as you are in ours.”
She eyed Nazr’s sweaty face, the desperate lean of his posture.
“Are you nice, Nazr?”
“She went back,” he said. Not a question but a surrender. “To her world. To her… universe.”
“Yes,” said a Frances who barely knew him at all. “Now I’m sorry, but I do want to get back to my gardening.”
Nazr returned to his car, but had nowhere he wanted to go. He watched the Frances who was not his Frances, but she glared at him, so he drove aimlessly and stopped again.
His Frances was gone, along wither entire universe. Before hew as aware of it, he was already shouting .
“Please, let me reverse it!” he shouted. “Please take it back!”
Barks Ennui, in his awkward 3-dimensional body, was sitting on the passenger seat.
“There is no taking it back,” said Barks. “But I will make you a one-time offer. If you like, I will let you join her in oblivion. It is not mere death, it is an absolute ceasing of existence, forever. Blip, and you’ll be gone. Do you want this?”
Nazr looked into the dog’s distended eyes. He looked and looked.
Two weeks later, he returned to school. He went back to football, re-doubled his dedication to his team. A complete focus on football may not be much of a life to many folks, but it is a life. There are many different kinds of life, and most of them are nothing special at all.
Frances, a different woman quite literally from the one we started this story with, continued to run the Antiques Mall. What delighted her most was how objects existed here, in the moment, that everything existed all at once, right now. She loved the present. She thought little about tie. Outside her window, a plane passed overhead. No one watched ist passing.
Good night,
Night Vale,
Good night.
Today’s proverb: We regret to inform you that this entire podcast series has been viral marketing for Dippin’ Dots. We don’t think we made that obvious enough and we’re panicking a little. Please tell someone to try Dippin’ Dots today. We are going to be in so much trouble.
124 - A Door Ajar, part 1
Anxiety is just your body’s way of telling you something really, really terrible is about to happen.
Welcome to Night Vale.
Three bodies were found behind The Pancake House this morning. Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so chipper, it must be the coffee, I just started caffeine again. Do-over! [still cheerfully] Three bodies were found behind The Pancake House this morning. The cause of death has been identified as drowning. As you know, this is particularly unsettling because The Pancake House does not border any body of water, nor does any body of water exist in Night Vale. Salt water and blobs of semi-animate clear jelly were found in the lungs of the victims, according to reports from coroner Lorelei Alvarez. Alvarez added that their clothing was salty to the taste.
The victims were discovered by a truck driver identified only as Enormous Jim, who pulled into the Pancake House parking lot around 6:30 this morning. “I knew something wasn’t right,” Jim said in his statement to the Secret Police. “I felt warm all over and kind of tingly, and I thought the fly larva had finally hatched in my hair. I got out of my truck and tried to swat the larva, but there was no larva there. And I was sad because I missed its company. That’s when I noticed what a beautiful sunrise we were having, so I stood and watched it for a while. You know that beautiful moment when you can’t tell the difference between orange and violet and the clouds look like sleeping gods? That’s when I noticed those dead bodies lying by the wall.” Oh Enormous Jim added, “It was a beautiful noiseless sunrise. I wish the larva could have seen it.”
Jim’s forehead was lined with sweat trails and his hands fluttered along his shirt buttons like clarinet keys. He explained in a shaky voice that he was hauling turnips from a farm in the south to a pulp factory in the north, where they would be turned into mulch and used to grow more turnips. He said he had a tight schedule to keep, and that he had nothing to do with any of this. And since lying is illegal, the Sheriff’s Secret Police released him from further questioning.
The victims have not yet been identified, but each held matching promotional coupons, good for one free hotcake at The Pancake House. The coupons stated they could only be used once per table, per visit. It is unclear whether the victims intended to sit at several tables and pretend no to know each other, in order to use all three coupons in the same visit. This is a developing story.
In related news, The Pancake House is having a grand reopening. It’s been closed down since the sandstorm of ’97 buried it under 200 tons of sand. It resurfaced in ’08 full of scorpions, who reopened the diner under the name Arachnid Hut. It disappeared again in ’09, after the scorpions filed chapter 7.
No one could see The Pancake House anymore, but if they walked atop the seemingly plain dune, they would run into a hard surface that felt exactly like a wall. Teenagers who had scratch heart-swaddled initials into the invisible concrete blocks could still feel the impression of their etchings suspended in the nothingness. And the area continued to smell of hash browns for a radius of nearly a mile.
Anyway, it’s back and under new, probably human ownership, and will hopefully be here to stay. Ah, so many memories from that place! Back in the 90’s, my friends and I would hang out there for all night sometimes. There was a young woman who sat in the corner booth and analyzed people’s dreams for a dollar. I once told her about this recurring nightmare I have where I am a pineapple farmer, but I have to grow each pineapple under a glass bottle. And when the pineapples grow big, the bottles break and I’m left standing in a field of broken glass. And sometimes when I woke up, I had little cuts all over the bottoms of my feet. I don’t remember what the woman said it means, but I found out later that she was Nina Gordon, frontperson for alternative rock band Veruca Salt.
There was a lot of great memorabilia in The Pancake House, like old postcards and ceramic chickens with human fingers for eyes, and this cool antique jukebox that would automatically play Buddy Holly’s “Every Day” when someone in town was about to day. I loved that place!
Oh, we’ve just received word from the coroner’s office that more saltwater has been discovered, this time in the potholes near the controversial new roundabout in Old Town. Alvarez also found blobs of clear jelly floating there, similar to those found in the lungs of the drowning victims. Samples of these blobs were collected by a girl scout splinter faction known as The Onyx Fist, and brought to the Marine Biology Association for further examination. A girl scout member and apparent leader of The Onyx Fist named Brandy Lance said, “We knocked on the marine biologist’s door and heard muffled shouts and loud crashes coming from inside. Then the blinds closed and the lights went out! When we forced our way in using telekinesis - I earned my Mountain Mover badge last year – we heard the backdoor slam shut. The only thing we found inside was a scribbled note that said: “Closed for the day”. But it was just lying on the floor, not posted anywhere. Brandy said her troupe will not rest until they track and locate the missing biologists. Good luck, kids! We’ll be waiting for your updates.
And now traffic. As I mentioned earlier there is a controversial new traffic roundabout in Old Town. The problem is, no one knows how a roundabout works. If you go to the right if you should go to the left, your headlights explode. If you go left when you should go right, you get a phone call that one of your family members is in the hospital. If you hesitate, a stranger dies. And if you just keep going, you’ll never stop. You’re never, ever, ever stop. You’ll drive endlessly, aging at a steady rate, watching the terrain change, the seasons pass and you’ll wonder, “Have I ever stopped? Have I ever stood still or slept, or sat in a chair that wasn’t hurdling ceaselessly into the future?” The emergency almonds you keep in the glove compartment can only sustain you for so long. What happens then? There’s only like, 15 of them in an airline bag, and you’ve never been on a plane. Where did you get them? Are they safe to eat? They’ve been in there a really long time. Probably since you got the car. Maybe they came with the car. You’ve started to forget things like your name and where you bought this car. Was it at a dealership or from someone on Craigslist? Did you build the car yourself or manifest it with your mind? You find the owner’s manual, but you can’t read it for some reason. It’s either in another language or you’ve lost the ability to read. The letters rearrange themselves and fall off the page. Your leg is burning where the letter L has landed on your knee. L, L! You remember the letter L, at least there’s that.
This has been traffic.
Uodate on the drowning storty. The victims have been identified as the Traylor family who reportedly have not come out of their house in nine years. Annette, the adult daughter of the family, stil has braces from when she was 13. She just never returned to the orthodontist to get them removed. It’s possible that hotcakes from The Pancake House were the only thig she could eat anymore. You know come to think of it, 11 years ago was the lats time when The Pancake House was open. There are noooo coincidences.
Or, everything is a coincidence. Or, only some things are.
Yeah, those are the three possibilities.
An independent consultant has determined that the saltwater samples are oceanic in nature. This has Secret Police investigators scrambling to find where the ocean is located. One of them suggested north, and the consultant began walking in that direction. The investigators wanted to determine if the ocean is a continuing threat, and whether or not they’re allowed under state and physical law to apprehend it on charges of manslaughter. Law enforcement and volunteer search parties are forming to seek justice for the Traylors, although no one remembers every interacting with them before. But everyone cares, -really- cares a lot suddenly. The silver lining in events lie these is the togetherness it brings to a community, right befroe the paranoia and blameshifting sets in and divides it further into an ever-widening chasm, but let’s just try to enjoy the unity while we have it.
Ooh, speaking of togetherness: it looks like Carlos has brought a picnic lunch for us to eat here at the station. Aww, what a nice surprise, hon! Now while I look into this basket of goodies, let’s check in with the weather.
[“Lake Full of Regrets” by Devine Carama featuring River Greene and Devin Robert https://devinecarama.bandcamp.com.]
That was weird. Carlos came in, as I mentioned, with a lovely picnic lunch from the Ralph’s deli counter. His hair was wet from the rain and there were water droplets on the tips of his eyelashes that made him look like a cute little cartoon forest animal. The phone rang here at the station, and it was one of Carlos’ scientists, Mark, asking if Carlos was here. Carlos made a wild hand gesture and shook his head rigorously, so I told Mark that he was not. When I asked Carlos what that was all about, he told me the scientists were putting together a group t locate clues about the phantom ocean, and they wanted him to lead it. And I was confused. Didn’t he want to lead it? I Mean why didn’t he want to talk to them? He’s never refused a scientific call from a fellow scientist to do science before. He was just behaving unscientifically. In fact, come to think of it, I was a bit surprised to see Carlos here at all. I-I mean I figured with today’s investigation, he would already be out in the field, and I wouldn’t see him for days.
He said, since everyone else was out on search parties, it was the perfect time to go to the Ralph’s, because there wouldn’t be a line. I mean, that does sound scientific, it sounds like scientific reasoning but a- but (that), just something struck me about it as, I dunno, just off. I mean I don’t wanna say he was lying. Carlos doesn’t lie. Besides, lying is illegal. But it seemed like there was something he wasn’t telling me, like something that was bothering him. I asked him if there was anything he wanted to talk about, and he just said he had to go get the car washed and he left without even finishing his three-bean salad, and he loves that salad, made with his three favorite beans: garbanzo, kidney, and jelly.
I mean I know, I know, it might not sound like a big deal and maybe he was just having a moment. We all have moods, sometimes out of nowhere. You know, maybe I’m the one in a weird mood. I’m probably just being overly sensitive. I’m sure nothing is really wrong, not actually. Anyway you know, let’s just move on, I’m sure it’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s fine. Maybe I should go off caffeine again?
No, you know what, I really can’t shake this feeling. Nina Gordon, the former frontperson of Veruca Salt once told me that the subconscious is a powerful force. Maybe it’s all in my subconscious. Maybe if things are too good for too long, and you think about it too hard, it can start to make you nervous. And then, maybe you can’t take the pressure of waiting for things to wrong, and you start inventing problems just so you can have control over them. But you have to think about whatever can go wrong. Otherwise, you’re lazily enjoying a sunrise and dreaming of free hotcakes, and suddenly you’re drowning in a waterless parking lot before you even know what hit you.
No, this is silly! I’m just gonna call him. OK. [clears throat] Ringing… Ringing… no answer. Not unusual, really. He’s probably at the car wash like he said. Which can be very hypnotic. You know, sometimes you find yourself caught up in the rhythmic dance of the foaming brush, and you wake up in the parking lot hours later missing your wallet and part of your shirt, dry-mouthed and trying to remember how many teeth you have.
Oh good! I’ve just been handed some breaking news to distract me. Oh, oh. Well this is actually just a press release for the grand reopening of The Pancake House. Well, a press release is definitely a form of breaking news. They are announcing their new weekly menu specials. Quote: “We here at The Pancake House acknowledge that time is circular. Like a roundabout, not an unfathomable endless line with no beginning or end. We like repetition. It’s comforting. We know what’s behind us, and what’s ahead, and what will come again.
It means there are certain truths, no matter what else may happen. In honor of our innate preference for cyclical thinking, we can guarantee that every Monday, fluffy omelets will be on special. Every Tuesday, we will have corn beef hash. No matter what happens, there will be liver and onions on Wednesday. You can lose your job and have your car repossessed on Thursday and still know that there will be chicken fingers on special that night like clockwork. We often think of Friday was being better than other days. For this reason, if something bad happens on a Friday, it can be particularly disappointing. You won’t be disappointed by our ham patties. They are consistent and dependable. Saturday we are here for you with liver and onions again. On Sunday, you can rely on our fried eggs and toast points. They will provide you with unwavering support, even if something really bad happens. Even if you don’t know what you’re doing at all anymore. Even if all the buildings suddenly seem slanted to the right by a few degrees, and everything that used to look yellow now smells yellow. You can always come to The Pancake House, no matter what happens.”
Ah, well that’s a nice sentiment! Oo it also has a coupon attached here. “Good for one free hotcake, one per table per visit.” That’s very nice. OK, I’m just gonna try and call Carlos again. Straight to voicemail this time. Well, that happens. Everything’s fine. He always forgets to charge his phone, I-I-I tease him about it. you know, I like to buy him different novelty phone chargers and hide them in his jacket and car, and in his shoes and lunch bag, but still he forgets. He has a very busy mind. Maybe he doesn’t like me to tease him so much. Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe it’s just too much coffee.
Or maybe I’ll head down to The Pancake House for dinner. Let’s it’s Thursday so let’s see. Chicken fingers! Or there’s always the hotcake coupon. Maybe I’ll see some of you down there. That would be nice. Or maybe you already have plans, which is totally fine too. I’ll just see you some other time. It’s no big deal. Everything’s fine. I need more coffee.
Stay tuned next for the sound of someone distracting you while you’re driving, and then yelling that you missed the turn.
Good night,
Night Vale,
Good night.
Today’s proverb: Bite your tongue. Fun, right?