by Joseph Fink
First off, she says she’s okay. She says she has met some nice people and she’s never bored. She met the Man in the Tan Jacket who has been haunting this city for the past few months. In fact, Dana says the Man in the Tan Jacket is quite nice, and they’ve really struck up quite a friendship.
She’s still trying to figure out what the man’s involvement is with the hooded figures and the recently deceased Apache Tracker and the tiny, underground civilization of warmongers who live below lane five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. He has seemed to pop up in relation to a lot of strange events.
She’s also trying to figure out what he looks like. Every time she steps away from that guy she can’t remember a thing about him, just that he’s wearing a tan jacket and carrying a deerskin briefcase.
Oh, and that briefcase, Dana says, is kind of weird because it’s full of flies, and that’s kind of creepy at first until you realize that he’s a fly salesman and that they’re all trained. They can retrieve mail and speak German and play dead and all kinds of cute things. She says he’s a pretty cool guy if you get to know him.
Oh, and I almost forgot, Dana wonders if any listeners with a good arm can get kind of close to the Dog Park and throw some beans or chips or beef jerky or something over the tall fence. She’s very hungry. In fact, it took me a while to get through her typos, listeners, she must be shaking really badly.
And now a public service announcement from the Greater Night Vale Medical Community. Are you feeling run-down, even after eight hours of sleep? Are you having trouble breathing between the hours of two and four? Are you gaining several extra pounds of weight only to lose those pounds suddenly and then gain them back, all in five- to six-hour stretches of time? Are you craving soil, like all the time? Rich, dark soil that you just want cooling your tongue, filling your throat, your sinuses, your lungs, your belly? Are you digging up the earth in the early morning, screaming at the half-formed sun, as if it would cordially leave, returning you to the darkness you so richly deserve and physiologically demand?
If you answered yes to all of those questions, then you’re fine. The program is working. All tests have been successful and phase four is imminent. This has been Community Health Tips.
More on the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home. She has issued a statement to the media just now. Here is that statement.
FACELESS OLD WOMAN: I’m confused. There’s no sense to how you organize the objects in your fridge. I cannot determine any sense of order. What systems do you use to contain your vegetables, your cans, your jars, your food stains? There are stains. Organic brown and pink smears that tell the esoteric history of your food. I like the yellowish one near the crisper because I think it is the oldest. It has a topography.
Oh, I do not like all of these bugs you have in your home. I like some of them. I also changed your sheets. You do not change your sheets enough. I do not think you are unsanitary, but I think you would feel better if you changed your sheets from time to time. And time is weird because it doesn’t exist for me in the same way, so your sheets are already covered with your bones and hair and blood, but not yet. Not really yet.
I wish you could see me. Just cleaning and reorganizing. Making sense of the nonsense plants and muscles in your fridge. But you never look. If you would just glance left or right every so often, you’d see me. I’m right next to you, right now. I’m even in the mirrors. But you just stare at yourself. Staring only at your overripe potato of a face. I’m there in every mirror, if you could just look for me in the background behind you.
Also what’s your Wi-Fi password?
CECIL: So that’s the old woman’s special announcement. I have no idea how we received that recording, who recorded it, or how an old woman with no face (and by extension, no mouth) could speak so clearly. But it was very informative.
Maybe you should try paying more attention when you’re at home. Or better yet, destroy all of your mirrors. As my mother used to tell me: “Someone’s going to kill you one day, Cecil, and it will involve a mirror. Mark my words, child”—and then she would stare absently through my eyes until I giggled. I miss her so much.
Listeners, a lot of you have written in asking for photos of Khoshekh, the station cat, and to learn what became of his litter of kittens. Station Management did not let us keep the kittens, but they have been given away to good homes. Unfortunately, like Khoshekh, the kittens are also stuck floating in fixed points in space, so their owners will have to visit them right where they were born, right here in the station bathroom. Khoshekh hovers about four feet in the air but some of those little ones are as high as nine! It’s sad that we cannot keep the kittens for ourselves, but it’ll be nice to see them every time we take a restroom break at work.
I wish we had some photos to share with you. But, alas, radio is not a visual medium. Also the last three staff members that took photos not only found that Khoshekh does not show up in pictures, but those staff members also died pretty agonizing deaths the week following. So we’re refraining from even describing what he looks like.
But I did make a quick recording of the meow Khoshekh makes when it’s time to eat.
[Terrible guttural animal growl or shriek, maybe a loud machine noise mixed in?]
Like I said, I’m not a cat person, but Khoshekh has found a truly special place in my heart.
I’m getting word that authorities are surrounding your home. These authorities are secret agents from a vague yet menacing government agency. You are probably looking out your window now to see these agents, but they are highly covert. You cannot see them, even if you look hard. These specially trained men and women can expertly disguise themselves as trees and doors and birds and feral cats and wind gusts. A group of them have even disguised themselves as one item of furniture in your home. I am not at liberty to even speculate which one, but you’re probably looking at it right now.
The vague yet menacing government agency seems upset that the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home has been alerting you and the media to her presence.
I mean, we all knew she was there. Who doesn’t know about the Faceless Old Woman that hides in all of our homes? It’s not dissimilar to knowing that Santa Claus isn’t actually real. Everyone (except young children, of course) knows Santa is this huge population of heavily sedated and costumed bears that the CIA sets loose across the country every Christmas Eve. And like the Santa Claus myth, it’s important to keep up the image that we all don’t know the truth. Like, let’s all pretend Santa is a gift-giving old man and not a drugged-up government bear. And in the same vein, there’s no Faceless Old Woman hiding in your home.
Anyway, the agents are encroaching on your home now and preparing to use deadly force. I’d like to tell you that you need to run. To get out of there now. To save yourself. But it is too late. Every entrance and exit is barricaded. I am afraid you are doomed.
Unfortunately, the Faceless Old Woman must know something. She must know secrets, some very important bits that the vague yet menacing government agency holds dear. And those secrets are probably about you.
Perhaps she is planning to reveal your purpose here. Perhaps you, too, are connected (albeit unwittingly) to the vague yet menacing government agency, and this information cannot, must not, be shared. You are a walking top-secret document. And now, on the verge of this revelation, you must be destroyed.
On the plus side, you had a purpose, and that is more than most of us can say. You will be missed. So for your last moments, though surely not ours, I give you the weather . . .
WEATHER: “Long Gone” by Mary Epworth
The Faceless Old Woman Secretly Living in Your Home wants to apologize to you. She has issued another statement.
FACELESS OLD WOMAN: I’m sorry. Mostly I just wanted to figure out how to get online. I reset the wireless router and that helped, but you use Chrome and you never clean your cache or history and it was so slow. I downloaded Firefox for you and tha
t seems to be working much better. I heard the mayor is retiring and I wanted to know if mayoral candidates were required to have faces. I have some good ideas I think would help this town. Like one thing I think is we can increase school funding while still lowering taxes. It’s an innovative plan, and I’m going to build a website that explains it and other great ideas I have that could help this town. I’m very excited to announce my candidacy for Night Vale mayor.
Also, I lit your fridge on fire. It was upsetting me. Now I’m smoking a cigarette and notating your copy of Infinite Jest.
CECIL: She didn’t leave a name or a website URL. And I’m not sure how she can read websites or books at all without a face (and by extension, eyes).
We’ve also received word that the covert agents from the vague yet menacing government agency have retreated and have obviously not used deadly force, as you are still alive (regardless of how dead you feel inside). They did, however, release several thousand spiders into your home.
Fortunately for you, like the Faceless Old Woman, you will be unable to see these spiders unless you look closely. They are highly trained spiders, moving just outside of your periphery. But (and this is also just like the Faceless Old Woman) from time to time you will feel them brushing against your soft cheeks and lips as you sleep.
So keep your eyes open, listeners. Let us all keep our eyes open. It’s not always easy knowing who and what wants to be seen, but when you look around you, pay attention to those fuzzy and dark corners. Peer deeper into those predictable patterns like walls and moons. Furrow that brow and seek visual truth, Night Vale. If you could only see what you’re not seeing. If you could only take in all the complex layers of horrors that lie just beyond your range of sight. If you could only see the world as it really is! It is awful and on fire and beautiful.
Listeners, stay tuned next for our newest hit program: Openmouthed Chewing. Tonight’s topic: glass shards—how to make the most out of a bad situation.
Until next time, good night, Night Vale. Good night.
PROVERB: The human soul weighs 21 grams, smells like grilled vegetables, looks like a wrinkled tartan quilt, and sounds like bridge traffic.
EPISODE 27:
“FIRST DATE”
JULY 15, 2013
OUR FIRST YEAR OF THE SHOW ENDED WITH CECIL, OUR HOST, AND CARLOS, the handsome scientist who had just moved to town, finally getting together. And so, for the start of our second year, it seemed right to have them go on their first date.
From the start we endeavored to make their relationship something that was not silly, or showy, or in any other way different from what it was: a relationship between two adults. While the context of that relationship might involve all sorts of strange and supernatural occurrences, the rhythms and the emotions of it had to feel real.
Now, I’ve never been on a first date. Not really. I’ve had two long-term relationships, one that ended, and one that turned into a marriage. And both began with us as friends. There was no point in my life where I went out on dates. So perhaps I am very unqualified to be the one to write this episode. But it’s our show and we get to do what we want with it so here we are.
This is a sweet episode. It’s nice and I’m fond of it. How about that.
On a minor note, this episode brings back the character of musician Louie Blasko (last and first seen in episode 2), who would later be used in live shows as a way for our guest musicians who were touring with us to play a music-based character as well. Specifically Jason Webley, who originated the part and who can make accordion playing a terrifying thing. And Carrie Elkin, whose voice can bring a room to a standstill before they even notice how gory the lyrics I wrote for her are.
—Joseph Fink, creator and cowriter of Welcome to Night Vale
Mountains. Endless mountains. Peak after barren peak. And what lies restless in the shadowed valleys? I cannot say. I cannot say.
WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE.
Hello. Let’s start there. Let’s start with a greeting, a simple hello, and then let’s move right into the most exciting news, the most wonderful news. As you may remember, a few weeks ago, along with the beginning of a vicious war against us by tiny people from a tiny underground city, Carlos, the beautiful scientist, finally returned my expressions of affection. And not in that dry science way he always used to use, saying things like “I’m not calling for personal reasons. I need to tell your radio audience about the strange hole that might appear in their wall.” Oh, yeah, I forgot. There’s a strange hole that might appear in your wall. He said it was important to tell you, especially after what happened at the Smithwick house. I forgot. That was a while back, so I guess it doesn’t matter much now.
But yesterday when he called me, he started his call by saying “I am calling for personal reasons. Also my calculations show a strange source of energy approaching the town, but not emanating the kind of light that such a source should.” Isn’t that so sweet! And, well, one thing led to another, and last night we went on our first date. I just have to tell you about it. I have certain obligations though, so first let’s get to the news.
The Secret Police, in association with a vague yet menacing government agency, announced that those trucks full of crates far out in the desert are nothing, and that we shouldn’t worry about them. The trucks, which no one in town knew about until this announcement, are filled with crates that are warm to the touch. Some of them tick. Others do not. Don’t even worry a little about them, say the Secret Police. Forget we said anything. No, really, remembering we said anything is now against the law.
We reached out to Lieutenant Regis of Unit Seven of the local National Guard Station and KFC combo store for a comment, and he said he’s been ruminating on a lot of things. “Just a lot of stuff’s been running through my mind. That’s an interesting phrase. Running through the mind. Where are the thoughts going? Are they trying to leave? And, if so, for where?” When pressed to comment specifically about the trucks full of crates out in the desert, he just repeated everything he had said, with the exact same inflections and gestures.
Well, I’m sure these crates won’t come up again, and pose no future danger to any of us. No more on this story ever, I’m sure.
The Night Vale Public Library will be expanding into a second branch, the Night Vale Private Library. This library will be right next door to the current location, and will be available only to one person, local billionaire Marcus Vanston. It will contain thousands of books on any given subject, an interactive children’s area shaped like a full-size pirate’s ship, and a biography section featuring not just biographies of Helen Hunt, but also biographies of Sean Penn. Plans include floor-to-ceiling windows facing the public library, which Marcus, the only person who will ever be allowed inside, says he will use to stroll nude through his library, staring ordinary citizens in the eyes as he does not read or make any use of the towers of books around him. Marcus continued: “Maybe I will pick up a book and open it as though I were going to read it, but then reveal to those watching that I am holding it upside down before laughing and throwing the book away. I’m not sure. I haven’t planned out every moment. I will definitely be nude though.”
The public library’s board of directors issued a statement via loudspeaker from their helicopter that hovers continuously over our city, indicating that they feel this expansion will serve the community by showing how rich Marcus is, and what a great guy that obviously makes him, and have you seen how many cars that guy owns. Wow!
Reports also indicate that the Night Vale Private Library will be entirely free of librarians, a fact that will be of little comfort to the many public library–goers who are injured or killed in librarian maulings every year. Remember, if confronted by a librarian while looking for a book to check out, do not attempt to escape by climbing a tree. There are no trees in the library and the precious moments it will take you to look around and realize this will allow the librarian to strike. Don’t become a statistic.
All right, news done.
So, now let’s talk about the date. Carlos and I met up in Old Town. I was wearing my best tunic and furry pants, and he had on a laid-back “weekend” lab coat. We were both beautiful in the late-afternoon sunlight, each other’s dreams met in a real-world moment. Our destination was none other than Gino’s Italian Dining Experience and Grill and Bar, the fanciest restaurant in town. It was a perfect day, other than the strange blot of darkness buzzing on the edge of town, but that was probably yet another Applebee’s under construction.
We went arm in arm into Gino’s, and were immediately seated, with no memory of who greeted us at the door or how we got to our table, situated in a classy, understated, and absolutely doorless room. The full Gino’s experience. Their menu is somewhat limited after the ban on wheat & wheat by-products, so we each ordered a single portobello mushroom, served rare and bloody, as is the Gino’s way. From the window we had a great view of the sunset, and of the buzzing shadow thing, which seemed to have moved closer.
“I’ve been thinking,” Carlos said.
“Uh huh?” I said.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing lately,” he said. “Thinking. It’s part of being a scientist. What have you been up to?”
And so we talked. Just us, and our bleeding mushrooms, and the buzzing shadow presence, and a blooming haze of romance in the air. Hold on, Station Management is apparently getting agitated, flailing around their office and howling, so I need to do more news real quick.
Violent incidents increased across the entire Night Vale area over the last several weeks, as the people of the miniature city under lane five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex continue to wage their war against us, with tiny bodies and tinier weapons. Citizens are urged to protect themselves against this army in our midst by stomping everywhere they go and keeping a vigilant watch toward the ground rather than keeping our eyes closed as we usually do. In related news, the City Council has erected a monument to the fallen Apache Tracker, that hero who died for the welfare of us all. The monument will be dedicated in a secret, silent ceremony, attended by no one, and the monument itself will be buried somewhere in the desert where no one will find it, because he was also a racist embarrassment and we don’t want our town associated with that kind of thing.