The Great Glowing Coils of the Universe

by Joseph Fink

  CECIL: I’ll do my best. Or, not my best, but some level of effort. Well, thanks for the updates, you two!

  [Exit HIRAM and FACELESS OLD WOMAN]

  Listeners, you heard the candidates. The doors are open. There’s a powerful rumbling below the earth and a bright light turning everything translucent. Probably that’s bad news, but weather is weird here, so who knows?

  Oh, how fantastic. A couple of old friends just came by the studio, listeners.

  JOHN: Howdy, Cecil.

  CECIL: Listeners, it’s John Peters, you know, the farmer? And Intern Maureen, is that you?

  MAUREEN: Yyyyep. Sure is.

  JOHN: Cecil, Dana and your science fellow helped us get out of that other desert place. I mean, I’m the one who found all those old oak doors, and Maureen here figured out that physically going back and forth between worlds was possible, but those two helped a bunch.

  CECIL: Great work, all of you. I’m so glad to get to see all of my lost friends again.

  JOHN: I stopped by to tell you that we have seen the rumbling in the desert. We have heard the bright light entering Night Vale. Cecil, that light. It is the great glowing coils of the universe unwinding. It is the unraveling of all things. It is a smiling god of terrible power.

  CECIL: How do you know all this, John?

  JOHN: Well, I was in 4-H club in high school. I’m a farmer you know. You learn all about this kind of stuff in 4-H. Seemed obvious.

  CECIL: No, of course. I’m sorry. Maureen, it really is so nice to see you again. It has been so lo—

  MAUREEN: Listen to me, you monster. I got you coffee and made mimeographs and sang sea shanties to the ants every single day. I even copyedited your Jaws slashfic even though that wasn’t in the job description. Then one day, oh, get me some orange juice, Maureen. I mean I won’t even tell you about how it’s making people blink in and out of existence. And not only did it make me blink out of reality, you didn’t even want it when I brought it.

  Do you even know the mortality rate of your internship program?

  CECIL: I’m not sure what you mean.

  MAUREEN: Chad, Jerry, Leland, Rob, Brad, Stacey, Richard, Paolo, Dylan, Vithya, and Zvi. Do you know what they all have in common?

  CECIL: They got great training for a future career in radio?

  MAUREEN: No! That’s not it at all. They’re—

  CECIL: [Interrupting] Speaking of interns, Intern Jeremy had a recent run-in with the scorpions in the break room and will be missed. Oh, hey, now that you’re back home, are you still looking for college credit?

  MAUREEN: Um, yeah.

  CECIL: Great. Can you start today?

  MAUREEN: Okay. Thanks.

  CECIL: Thanks for stopping by, John.

  JOHN: Sure thing, Cecil. Beware the unraveling of all things, and support your local farmers.

  CECIL: Maureen can you run to the library and do some research on smiling gods?

  MAUREEN: Fine.

  [Exit JOHN and MAUREEN]

  CECIL: If John and Maureen are back, that must mean that the doors are working again. This is fantastic news.

  I am receiving reports that the rumbling is growing louder. People are saying they can feel it in their feet and teeth. They are becoming forgetful. Objects are becoming transparent. The darkness of Night Vale is washing away. What are we, Night Vale, without darkness, without shadow and secrets?

  There’s someone knocking on my station door! Carlos! Carlos, is that you? Come in. Welcome home, swee—

  [STEVE enters]

  OH. NO. No!

  STEVE: Cecil, I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by.

  CECIL: No, Steve. You do not stop by the studio. You are not a radio professional.

  STEVE: I’ve been driving in circles around your station all day listening to the show, and it got me thinking. John Peters, you know, the farmer?, was all like “Hey y’all, there’s a smilin’ god and the world is unraveling because I was in 4-H club.” And he’s mostly right, but I think that it’s not a smiling god but a secret underground missile testing site.

  CECIL: The secret underground missile testing site is below the Rec Center, Steve.

  STEVE: Well, it’s like the Faceless Old Woman said recently while campaigning. She said: “I’m replacing all of your digital photo albums with classified pictures of secret missile testing sites.”

  I think the Faceless Old Woman understands what’s really going on, whereas Hiram is like, “Well, I can’t really be bothered with looking into government overspending because I am literally a five-headed dragon.” And his blue head is like, “When you consider the mathematics, there’s no benefit to us.” And gray says, “Thinking about government interference makes me sad.” And violet says, “We must be free above all. We must be free and also above all other things.” And then his last head just keeps roaring and saying, “YOUR BODY BURNS QUICKLY, SOFT HUMAN PROTESTERS!”

  But really, I was thinking about what your boyfriend, Carlos, said.

  CECIL: Don’t you dare, Steve Carlsberg.

  STEVE: He said, “I’m certain I can stop the light from entering Night Vale. I have a simple device that will protect us.”

  CECIL: That was [honest assessment of the impression].

  STEVE: But he’s, and no offense, Cecil, he’s an outsider. He’s not from here. How do we know he’s not part of the super underground secret military government that is testing missiles?

  CECIL: Steve Carlsberg! Did you just accuse my boyfriend of being a secret operative?

  STEVE: Well, um, yeah.

  CECIL: That’d be pretty cool, actually. But it is not true, Steve! Plus, how many times do I have to tell you there is nothing secret about secret missile testing. It’s as American as using drug-laced apple pie to test the effects of hallucinogens on innocent citizens.

  KEVIN: I think he brings up a good point, Cecil.

  CECIL: You! How did you get in here?

  STEVE: Oh, thanks interloper. Whoa, cool eyes.

  KEVIN: Oh thank you, I wish I could say the same. Cecil, listen, it’s hard to get work done when there is all this fighting. And it’s hard to smile when there’s no working. And if we aren’t smiling, then what value do we have? Watch me smile.

  [Smiles]

  CECIL: You monster.

  STEVE: That was really gross! Do it again.

  KEVIN: Look at how much better we all feel from that. But right now no one is being productive. There are angels . . .

  CECIL AND STEVE: No. Not really. Nope.

  KEVIN: . . . and a desert army out there battling for what? For hooded figures? For forbidden Dog Parks? For a glow cloud?

  CECIL AND STEVE: All hail.

  KEVIN: For the constant terror of a secret police who can invade your home at any time without so much as a letter from Human Resources?

  CECIL: They are our hooded figures. It is our Glow Cloud.

  CECIL AND STEVE: All hail.

  CECIL: This is our town, and it is terrible but it is ours, and we are fighting for it.

  KEVIN: I used to feel that way about Desert Bluffs.

  So many secrets and conspiracies and darkness in our days. It all felt so important, so permanent. But then we met the smiling god. Oh, it was wonderful. The sun stopped setting. Or maybe there wasn’t a sun anymore. Maybe there was just that other, brighter light. Who knows? I do know that we couldn’t stop smiling, and our smiles seemed better, fuller, wider.

  Soon we had no need for government cover-ups or secrets. Everything was transparent. Literally. You could see through everything and everyone. The bones, the blood, the scurrying insects inside every human body. There was so much work to be done. And such a wonderful company to do it for. Even the ones that resisted the most at first soon found that they loved the smiling god more than anyone. Even the most resistant of radio hosts soon found his way to productive work, happy songs, and a wide, gaping smile.

  So let’s do this together, Cecil. Believe with me in a smiling god. The greater N
ight Vale AND Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area. A town with, not one, but two happy, helpful voices.

  CECIL: Listeners, Kevin has just opened up the studio door, only it is not the studio door. It is an oak door, and light, blinding light, is pouring in. Everything is becoming translucent.

  KEVIN: Do you see, friends? The beautiful majesty of living as one under the unrelenting love of a smiling god?

  STEVE: Wow. It’s a very pretty light. You know, that Company Picnic of yours sure wasn’t fun. But I got more done in two weeks than in the rest of my life combined.

  CECIL: Steve. What are you saying? No.

  STEVE: Kevin, before I step into your weird light, let me ask about schools. My stepdaughter, Janice, is ten years old, and the elementary schools are okay, but I don’t know if I can afford to send her to private school when she’s—

  KEVIN: Say no more, Steve Carlsberg, Desert Bluffs schools are top-notch. Young Janice can take college prep courses as early as twelve. Our charter schools even have great medical programs where they can heal her of all her problems.

  STEVE: I’m sorry, I don’t get it.

  CECIL: Yeah, Janice’s uncle here. What do you mean, “heal her”?

  KEVIN: She can’t walk, right?

  STEVE and CECIL: Sure. Right. She can’t. Since birth.

  KEVIN: Well, rather than build all those crazy ramps and elevators, we just fix people, so that they can become better and more productive.

  [Beat]

  STEVE: YOU ARE AWFUL AND GROSS. AND I WAS ONLY BEING POLITE ABOUT YOUR EYES. THEY ARE WEIRD. NOW YOU LISTEN TO ME.

  CECIL: Listeners, Steve Carlsberg just picked up Kevin by his bloodstained lapels.

  STEVE: YOU WILL NOT CHANGE MY HOMETOWN. YOU WILL NOT CHANGE MY STEPBROTHER. AND, KEVIN OF DESERT BLUFFS, YOU WILL NOT CHANGE OR FIX OR DO ANYTHING AT ALL TO MY LITTLE GIRL.

  CECIL: Steve is carrying him to the open oak door and pushing him through into that blinding, awful light.

  KEVIN: [Screams]

  CECIL: Kevin is gone.

  STEVE: I did not like that guy very much.

  CECIL: Me neither. Thanks, Steve.

  STEVE: Anything for my girl. Try to tell me that there’s something about her that needs fixing.

  CECIL: You know, Steve. We have our differences. Many differences. More differences than not.

  STEVE: Sure.

  CECIL: But I’m glad you’re there to take care of Janice. She could do a lot worse.

  STEVE: Aww, Cecil.

  CECIL: Now leave my studio and stop barging in here with your stupid ideas about the world.

  STEVE: Yep. See you round, Cecil! [To DANA who is entering] Oh, hey there! Steve Carlsberg. Aren’t you important-looking?

  CECIL: Dana, are you actually back in the studio? Not just an image? Not an apparition?

  DANA: I am. I’m home. Our time and space finally, finally meet again.

  CECIL: This is a happy day.

  DANA: I am glad to see you too, Cecil. But I also came by to talk to the whole city.

  People of Night Vale, there is a light drowning out our sun and our minds. But there are angels and an army of masked warriors fighting back this terrible menace. Night Vale, stay safe. Stay home and do not get caught in the dangerous crossfire. The desert army and the angels are here to save us.

  TAMIKA: People of Night Vale—

  CECIL: Dana, I’m sorry. I think that’s Tamika Flynn from her secret broadcast site.

  TAMIKA: People of Night Vale, hear me.

  DANA: Tamika? THE Tamika Flynn? Hi, I’m Dana. I’ve heard so much about you. You are an inspiration. You are a hero.

  TAMIKA: Thank you, Dana. But I am not a hero. Or we all are. Or the word has no meaning. We must all save our town and ourselves.

  People of Night Vale, I am calling you to arms. There are beings claiming to be angels and this foreign army of giants fighting. Why can’t we?

  CECIL: Good, well . . .

  DANA: People of Night Vale, angels are definitely real. I brought them here from the other world. They are powerful and recently very wealthy and they are tough to kill, unlike humans who die easily and unexpectedly all the time from all sorts of little causes. Just wait and let them save us.

  CECIL: Ah, so . . .

  TAMIKA: People of Night Vale, do not be defined by how you can die, but by how you can live. It is like the great writer and orator Booker T. Washington once said: “In all things social we can be as separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to destroying a smiling god!”

  DANA: Stay safe, Night Vale. Stay indoors and we will broadcast to let you know when it is over.

  TAMIKA: Get out there, Night Vale, grab anything you can and fight. Grab a slingshot and a book—say an Aimee Bender short story collection or Milorad Pavic’s Dictionary of the Khazar’s, or, if not a book, grab a rock, or the throwing stars that come standard in most issues of McSweeney’s. Grab anything you can and fight. Do not believe in heroes. Believe in citizens. Be a citizen.

  CECIL: Dana, I know you have planned this well. You are incredibly smart. But I think Tamika is right. I think we have to do this together. Let us not repeat our sin of inaction.

  DANA: [Mumbling, overlapping] All right then, fine, don’t listen to me, just brought two different armies here, whatever.

  CECIL: It has grown so bright. I cannot see much, and what I can see is nearly transparent. I am forgetting. Everything is coming apart. I can see the great glowing coils of the universe unwinding.

  [Deep rumbling throughout]

  Night Vale our time is now. Let us raise our fists and shout.

  I can almost hear it. A crowd shouting “Take down Strex.” I can almost hear that crowd but I can’t quite hear them. They need to shout louder. They all shout “Take Down Strex.” They, every single one of them, shout it louder. “Take Down Strex.” Louder than shouting, they scream it. “Take down Strex. Take Down Strex.”

  But then they stop. Not because they do not care, but because those particular people are far away and not part of this story. They are part of a different story, a different fiction.

  Realizing this, they all shrug and sadly murmur to each other: “Take Down Strex.” And then they are quiet and hope for that rarest element of all. They hope for the best.

  But in this story, in this fiction, I hear the sound of Night Vale fighting back. And as the light of the smiling god grows brighter, and the shouts of a defiant Night Vale grow louder, and as I reach for my copy of Kate Chopin’s The Awakening, more specifically for the tear gas canisters that came attached to the hardback edition, I take you all now, all of us fighting, all of us together, all of us, all of us—

  —to the weather.

  [Exit CECIL]

  WEATHER: “Call Off Your Ghost” by Dessa

  [CARLOS enters]

  [Sound cue: Cecil voice mail and beep]

  CECIL: [Recording] Hi, you’ve reached the voice mail of Cecil Palmer. I’m off doing some important journalistic work or maybe just petting Khoshekh, but either way, leave me a message.

  [Beep]

  CARLOS: Cecil, hey. It’s Carlos. I hate that I got your voice mail. But listen, I figured it out.

  We can’t shut the oak doors unless everyone is back where they belong. And every moment those doors are open, more of that light gets through into Night Vale.

  I couldn’t figure out why we couldn’t just keep the doors closed for good.

  It was really frustrating to have a problem I couldn’t solve. And then I got sad because I couldn’t solve it. But then I did solve it and felt happy. Those are some but not all of the emotions I had.

  Here is what I found: Night Vale is a place that is difficult to leave and difficult to enter. And connecting a place as weird as that with a place as weird as this was causing a lot of strain on linear time and space.

  So those native to Night Vale: Dana, John, the angry woman in the intern shirt, all had to return home, and the masked army all had to come back here.
Which they did. Just moments ago the last of them came back through the door.

  It’s so exciting when you make a scientific discovery like that. I was very happy.

  But then, as the last of the masked army members came through the door, it slammed shut and vanished. And I remembered that I am not from Night Vale. I remembered that, as far as the laws of the universe are concerned, it is not where I belong.

  Cecil, I don’t even remember how I got to Night Vale in the first place. I mean, where is Night Vale even? But I promise, I will find my way back. It’ll just take a couple of days. A week, max. I’ll be fine. I’m a scientist, Cecil. A scientist is usually fine.

  Maybe a few weeks. I don’t know.

  The upside is Dana was right. I’ve had 97 percent battery all day and decent reception. So we’ll at least get to talk every night. Best of luck at home. I love you.

  [CECIL enters]

  CECIL: [Normal lighting] Listeners, Night Vale fought together, every citizen.

  [Music cue: triumphant music]

  High school football coach Nazr al-Mujaheed, in response to the Strex workers’ ghastly smiles, showed them that thing he can do with his tongue, which made many of them stop smiling and run screaming away.

  A balaclava-clad man wearing a mitre, cloak, and a giant silver star, and speaking through a vocoder—you know, the man we all believe to be the Sheriff of Night Vale?—was dropping heavy bricks down on the invaders from his hover-office in the clouds.

  Simone Rigadeau, the transient who lives in the earth sciences building at the community college found some experimental fish in the lab closet there and put them into the fuel tanks of the yellow helicopters, which were already incapacitated by several plastic bags that had blown out of the forbidden Dog Park and wrapped themselves up in the rotors.

  Old Woman Josie and her supposed “angel” friends protected the empty lot where she plans to rebuild Night Vale’s Old Opera House. The Strex attackers were picked up by her winged friends and flown far into the sky, higher even than the Sheriff’s hover-office.

  And of course a group of teenagers led by Tamika Flynn chased out everyone at Strexcorp headquarters by slingshotting copies of Steven Covey’s bestselling self-help book 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.