The Great Glowing Coils of the Universe

by Joseph Fink

  And now, the community calendar.

  Monday will be the annual Bluegrass Festival held in the burned-out shell that used to be Louie Blasko’s Music Shoppe before he lit it on fire and skipped town with the insurance money. Participants can huddle among the ashen remains, casting haunting looks at each other and sharing some of their favorite bluegrass dirges. Legend has it that if you look into a mirror and say absolutely nothing three times, Louie himself will appear and teach the crowd some simple, easy bluegrass licks before taking your soul back with him into the dark of the mirror.

  Tuesday is a holiday. Make sure you have adequate emergency supplies and plenty of clear plastic sheeting. We’re not sure which holiday it is, so have all possible antidotes on hand.

  Wednesday, the staff of Dark Owl Records are getting a band together. “We know a lot about music,” they’ll say, grabbing knives and hammers. “We should start a band.” “Definitely,” they’ll continue, over the screams. “Let’s get a band together. We should do that.”

  Thursday through Sunday will be a blur of routine and practicalities, a series of moments and actions that we will fail to notice as we experience them, and will forget the moment they are gone.

  This has been the community calendar.

  All right, boring stuff done. Back to the date! We wrapped up dinner at Gino’s with a slice of their special invisible, noncorporeal, and tasteless carrot cake, which was as light as air and resembled air in all other qualities as well. Our waiter, formerly a heavyset man with a large mustache, was now a buzzing shadow man defined only by the absence of light in the vague shape of a torso and limbs. Presumably our former waiter was on break. We asked for the check and then made our escape from the doorless room by breaking the window using the brick our waiter had provided for that purpose.

  Carlos and I, oh the magic of that phrase, oh the ecstasy of all that a simple conjunction can imply, took a stroll through Mission Grove Park. It was just us, and the trees, and the crowd of our fellow citizens who were all doing the usual recreational activity of pointing at the sky and shouting in terror. I asked Carlos if he wanted to join in for a round, but he said he had already been scared of all that the empty sky implies yesterday, and so was pretty tired.

  “If you want,” he said, “we could do some tests on the trees. I’ve been meaning to do some scientific tests on the trees. They seem normal, but given all that I’ve observed in this town, it is a significant chance that they are not.”

  Well, of course I could not pass up the opportunity to perform real science side by side with my Carlos, and so we approached the nearest tree, an old sagging thing, and begin to perform tests, the nature and purpose of which I am not remotely qualified to describe.

  Meanwhile our fellow park-goers had ceased screaming and had taken up being strange buzzing shadow beings. All of them were standing exactly where they had been, but were now defined only by the absence of light in the vague shape of a torso and limbs. I stroked Carlos’s cheek. I don’t know if he noticed. He said the tests were inconclusive, and also was perfect in face and form.

  And now a word from our sponsors.

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  When life seems dangerous and unmanageable, just remember that it is, and that you can’t survive forever. Denny’s restaurants. Why not?

  And now, a station editorial. Listeners, a lot has been made about the topic of beauty, and I don’t think we in the media always do our best to promote healthy self-images.

  Movies and magazines and TV shows and advertisers love to use photo and video editing to make people seem skinnier, fairer, more appealing to a false ideal of human beauty. And I think this takes a strong hold of us, especially children.

  But remember you are beautiful only when you do beautiful things. Full lips aren’t as beautiful as a full laugh. Skinny hips aren’t as attractive as a quick wit. Think about treating others right and those others will flock to you in screaming droves.

  Just peel back those artificial layers, Night Vale. Unzip that name-brand coat, those skinny jeans, wipe off that makeup, and gently (but very quickly) peel off that skin that’s covering up the true you. Look at those exposed eyes, dangling unprotected from their gaping sockets. Look at the blood and sinew slowly uncoiling from quivering bones. Admire that slippery viscera trying to squeeze under those dynamic ribs of yours. You are organic, to be sure, listener. Be proud of who you are.

  Speaking of pride, speaking of beauty: more from my date soon. But first, the weather.

  WEATHER: “Team the Best Team” by Doomtree

  Let’s get right back into it, shall we?

  After the park, I drove him back to his lab, next to Big Rico’s Pizza. The drive was difficult, because at this point it seemed that everyone in town but the two of us had hopped onto the buzzing shadow entity train, and were loping around town as malevolent holes in our reality, emanating an energy that made the hairs on your arm stand and your bowels vibrate. Or maybe that was just the chemistry with Carlos I was feeling. A woman ran at our car screaming, a few of the shadow people chasing her, but before I could even touch the brake she must have changed her mind, because she had already turned into a shadow person herself. It’s like, ugh, run from the shadow people or become one. Make up your mind, lady!

  We arrived outside of Big Rico’s and there was that awkward moment at the end of every date where you pause outside of the person’s door and it’s like, Should I call the City Council and submit the standard end-of-date report or are you going to? Also I was wondering if he was going to invite me into his lab, to look at all those breakers and humming electrical equipment.

  “Well,” he said, pointing to the lab. “This is me.”

  “Uh huh,” I said.

  “I should probably do something about this buzzing shadow thing,” he said. “A few experiments to see if I can save the town.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Do you need any help with that?”

  “No,” he said. “A scientist is self-reliant. It’s the first thing a scientist is.”

  “Oh,” I said again, but softer, sadder.

  Which is when he leaned forward and kissed me, just once, just gently, just before slipping out of the car and into the lab. I’ll tell you, listeners, I was almost swallowed by a cloud of malevolent shadow energy on the drive home and I hardly even noticed. I was so happy.

  I guess Carlos managed to find a way to defeat the shadow energy, as everything seems normal today. A couple neighborhoods are emptied out, sure, with books and food and televisions left where they had been at the time of the sudden vanishing, a tableau of a life that never again will be. But it wouldn’t really be a weekend without that happening somewhere, right?

  Night Vale, my sweet and only Night Vale, may you find love. May you find it wherever it’s been hidden. May you find who has been hiding it and exact revenge upon them.

  As the old song goes, “Love is all you need to destroy your enemies.” Finer words were never chanted.

  Stay tuned next for Efficiency Hour with our own productivity expert, a reversed voice underscored by hypnotic pulses.

  And with all the love in my loving heart, and with a loving voice in a loving and terrifying world, good night, Night Vale. Good night.

  PROVERB: Production oversight by Tory Malatea, who is holding a small locket. He is not speaking. He’d just like for you to touch the locket. His hand is twisted. His skin is forming into scales. Just touch it once. Just once, okay?

  EPISODE 28:

  “SUMMER READING PROGRAM”

  AUGUST 1, 2013

  COWRITTEN WITH ASHLEY LIERMAN

  BEING A LIBRARIAN MYSELF, I WAS ALWAYS DELIGHTED BY NIGHT VALE’S terrifying librarians. When you’re in a profession that gets stereotyped somewhere between “matronly prude shushing children” and “obsolete relic of when print wasn’t dead,” seeing
somebody go for “extremely dangerous Eldritch Abomination” is pretty exciting stuff. So when Jeffrey and Joseph invited me to write an episode, I knew I wanted to do something with the Night Vale Public Library.

  I’m a university librarian, not public, and I’ve never run a summer reading program, but I was a big participant as a kid. The innocent pleasures of stacks of children’s books and sticker charts seemed ripe for a weird, creepy turn. With, of course, another reversal at the end—which seemed in line with the rhythm of unexpected twists and hilarious anticlimaxes that are so much of what makes Night Vale special. (Not to mention, on a practical level, if you’re invited to write an episode of somebody’s show in the world they’ve created, maybe don’t do something that’s like “AND THEN HUNDREDS OF CHILDREN DIED.”) Kids in Night Vale must face so much fear and danger daily that maybe they’re more dangerous themselves than even a librarian would give them credit for, especially the ones who love reading. They’re already clearly brave if they’re willing to crack open Night Vale’s dangerous books, after all, and adding curiosity and imagination to the mix could only make them tougher opponents.

  Anyway, I loved the twist of all those vulnerable kids everyone was worried about coming out gorily triumphant, and I decided I wanted to name a leader to sort of personify all their toughness, brains, resourcefulness, and book-loving in one person. There are always too few black girls who get to be associated with those traits in fiction, but so many real black girls I’ve known who are all of those things and more, so it seemed like the obvious thing for that leader to be a black girl. I could not be more thrilled that Tamika Flynn resonated so much with so many people, and ended up being woven into Night Vale’s story as much as she was. Of course, so much of who she ended up being was Jeffrey and Joseph’s doing, but every time she showed up afterward, it was such a pleasure to be able to say:

  “Hey, there she is! That’s my girl!”

  —Ashley Lierman

  Does it even matter how many living things you touched today, or where they all are now?

  WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE.

  The Summer Reading Program for children and teens has begun at the Night Vale Public Library. This comes as an alarming surprise, given that the program was abolished by the City Council thirty years ago. Though parents and teachers have asked on several occasions to reinstate the program, the City Council has maintained its position, citing lack of taxpayer funds, the extreme danger posed by books, the peril of exposing children to librarians, and, of course, the incident that precipitated the ban, which the town’s older residents will refer to only as “the Time of Knives.”

  Nevertheless, in a show of civic dedication, or mindless bloodlust—and they are so similar—Night Vale’s librarians have banded together in defiance of authority to reinitiate Summer Reading. Colorful posters with appealing statements like “Get into a good book this summer” and “We are going to force you into a good book this summer” and “You are going to get inside this book and we are going to close it on you and there is nothing you can do about it” have appeared overnight around the library entrance and in local shops and businesses, all sporting the clever tagline “Catch the flesh-eating reading bacterium.” The Sheriff’s Secret Police have responded by interrogating the proprietors of businesses where the posters have appeared, and by removing and confiscating the posters themselves—although to be honest, listeners, the graphic design work is really cute. I mean, have you seen them? The little flesh-eating germ with his sunhat and library book, using a screaming, semi-skeletal human victim as a beach chair? Adorable!

  After fierce debate today, the City Council has officially declared murder illegal, a crime that has until this point been handled using informal vigilante squads. The head of one such squad, Vincent LaFarge of Grab ’Em and Sack ’Em, argued that Night Vale has gotten along just fine for years without the government meddling in murder investigation or punishment.

  “Do we sometimes catch the wrong guy?” said Vincent. “Sure. Most of the time. We’re not sure we’ve ever caught a guilty one. Usually we just grab the first person we see. One time we tried to arrest the dead body, but it got away.”

  Proponents of the bill argued that most things in Night Vale are already illegal anyway, so citizens would hardly even notice the change.

  The law goes into effect in two weeks, and citizens are advised to get any necessary murders done before then, although there will be a three-day grace period after the deadline for those who are forgetful or whose victims are hard to catch.

  Some summer tips to beat the heat. First off, have you tried to reason with the heat? Humans, temperatures, angels, and chairs are all equally real and sentient, which is to say that we’re all not real, nor are any of us actually sentient. But give reason a shot. It has never, not once in history, worked, but it might just work this time.

  If the heat won’t listen to reason, try denying that it’s hot. “Doesn’t seem hot today,” you might say to your profusely sweating neighbor. “A little chilly even,” you could continue, slipping on a sweater and making an exaggerated brr noise as the glaring sun plants the idea of cancer in your skin.

  And if denial does not work, then your best bet, as with all problems in life, is exhausted resignation. This has been summer tips to beat the heat.

  And now a public service announcement. Here is a brief list of everything that is helpful:

  • The Sheriff’s Secret Police

  • Clouds

  • Anger

  • The City Council

  • Affection falling just short of love

  • Ceiling fans

  • Lungs

  • Other sundry organs

  • Laws

  • Government

  • Helicopters

  • The 2005 Honda Accord

  • Secrets

  • Whispers

  • Ultimately, nothing

  Anything not specifically named in this list should be considered not helpful and potentially dangerous. It’s not just good sense; it’s the law.

  An update on the Summer Reading situation: Fourteen young people between the ages of five and seventeen have already been reported missing, and are feared to be in the public library, and possibly learning. Attempts by the Sheriff’s Secret Police to enter the library, rescue the missing children, and put an end to all Summer Reading activities have failed, as all doors and windows have mysteriously disappeared from the library exterior—just like it was before the renovations. Our tax dollars paid for those doors and windows and we shouldn’t be expected to stand for library administrators just deciding to disappear them on a whim—even for a valid reason, like jealously guarding their possession of our stolen children—without at least putting the issue to a popular vote!

  Anyway, in light of this development, the City Council has declared a Level Orange Fear Alert. They advise that all Night Vale citizens avoid the public library, and provide the council with any information they may have on the whereabouts of the missing children, on librarians’ secret weaknesses, or on good books they’ve read lately. Any citizens who admit to having read good books, the council added in an impromptu press conference televised from a book-proof bunker, will be immediately scheduled for reeducation and subsequent deeducation.

  The Sheriff’s Secret Police, meanwhile, have instituted a curfew for the entire town, effective immediately. After 7:00 P.M., all minors should be at home and under adult supervision, and absolutely no reading, researching, online information-seeking, educational games, documentary television, or having a lifelong love of learning will be permitted. As their catchy new slogan puts it: “Once it gets dark, forget everything you ever knew, and be silent; words belong to our enemies, and our enemies are words, so be as mute and pure as a bone bleached clean by our desert sun. By our desert sun.” The police have also stated that any Night Vale citizen encountering a librarian, an entity suspected of being a librarian, or any excessively organized and helpful individual with a
working comprehension of information systems is encouraged to shoot on sight. They also added that this goes for teachers as well, since “what the hell, as long as we’re at it.”

  We’ll have further updates on this story as it develops.

  And now a word from our sponsors.

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  This message brought to you whether you like it or not.

  The Freemasons have announced some changes to their hierarchy. These changes are the following: Whereas before the Freemasons were under the authority of the Stone Masons Worldwide, they will now be an independent subsidiary of the Hallowed Mason Council, which itself will be split into four branches, corresponding with the four directions we glance when nervous. The Hallowed Mason Council will also provide guidance and financial support to the Retailmasons, the Wholesalemasons, and the Discountmasons, except in cases involving inter-Masonry disputes, which will, as before, be subject to the Small Brotherhood of the Large Chamber, the Large Brotherhood of the Small Chamber, or the Properly Fitted Brotherhood, depending on the patterns discerned in bones cast by a fully licensed member of the Masonic Drone Legion or one of their proxies.