Mostly Void, Partially Stars

by Joseph Fink

  AUGUST 1, 2012

  I AM TERRIFIED OF SPIDERS. I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT A PICTURE OF A SPIDER. I mean, if it’s kind of a wide shot, I might be okay. But I won’t look long. When I see one of those 10 Photos That Prove Spiders Can Be Adorable links on Facebook and there’s a giant photo of a spider’s face, I shudder and sometimes even drop my phone.

  A therapist once gave me a long description and it has to do with my father and the state of Idaho and latent stress, but I won’t describe all that here. (Maybe in Volume 2.) Just know that I would trade having every film, TV show, and book spoiled for me for never having to see a spider ever again.

  So as a true arachnophobe, it is my duty to litter Night Vale with spider/tarantula references. I feel safe in saying that at least ninety percent of the spider references in our episode scripts and novel are mine.

  Here in episode 4, we have the first appearance of the worst physical ailment I could think of: “throat spiders.” It’s terrifying, but the absurdity makes me laugh (at my own joke—yes, I’m a humble man), and this is somewhat therapeutic.

  In the next episode, we’ll get a glimpse of Night Vale’s “spider problem,” and it is even more absurd and way less terrifying. And by the time we started writing Welcome to Night Vale, I already had a tertiary character of a possibly sentient tarantula.

  I still can’t bring myself to look at photos of spiders, but I can at least empathize with their struggles (illiteracy, lack of congressional representation) and contributions to society (both Franz Schubert and Charlotte Brontë were brown recluses).

  —Jeffrey Cranor

  The sun has grown so very, very old. How long cold, fading death? How long?

  WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE.

  Our top story: last night’s Night Vale PTA meeting ended in bloodshed as a rift in space-time split open in the Main Street Recreation Center Auditorium, setting loose several confused and physically aggressive Pteranodons. The glowing portal remained open and shrieked incessantly, an unholy sound that witnesses say resembled noisy urchin children caught in a combine harvester and then slowed down and amped up through some kind of open-source, easy-to-use audio-editing software.

  The Pteranodons mostly attacked women with glasses. Authorities are still unsure why Night Vale’s only flying-dinosaur expert, Joel Eisenberg, still has not recovered from last year’s bout with throat spiders. It took most of an hour to corral the panicked beasts back into the vortex and resume the meeting, which had mostly been about recent lunchroom price hikes and had devolved into name-calling because Susan Willman called Diane Crayton’s son, Josh, a bit “tubby” and that he maybe “needs a financial incentive to eat a bit less.”

  In this reporter’s opinion, Susan Willman is dangerously obsessed with the New York Times bestselling Freakonomics books. Dangerously so.

  Fortunately no one was injured or killed in the incident, although experts from Timothy’s Auditorium Repair Contractors, Inc., estimates close to $750,000 in damage has been done to the Rec Center Auditorium, and that cost includes free storm windows and a complimentary seasonal insulation consultation.

  It’s election season again, and you know what that means. Sheriff’s Secret Police will be coming by to collect certain family members so that everyone votes for the correct council seats and there’s no confusion. These family members will be held in a secure and undisclosed location, which everyone knows is the abandoned mine shaft outside of town.

  But don’t let the name fool you, listeners. It’s been used for years for so many kidnappings and illegal detentions that the abandoned mine shaft outside of town is actually a pretty nice location these days, featuring king-size beds, free Wi-Fi, and HBO. Also, torture cubicles, but I don’t think anyone’s going to make the council use those. Remember, this is America. Vote correctly or never see your loved ones again. This message brought to you by the City Council.

  The Night Vale Daily Journal today announced that due to the recent economic downturn they will start running ads on the front page. Any business interested in running one of these “Platinum Premium” ads should contact editor Leann Hart. Hart mentioned that they have also created a “write your own news story” program for interested citizens. Because every writer has been laid off, the Daily Journal now needs these community contributions to supply Night Vale with important news and features. The first Platinum Premium ad runs next Monday and features the terrified face of an infant primate with a superimposed spoon that has been stone sharpened to a rough point and the tagline “Better use Tide.”

  Hart also said that last year’s explosion that decimated the Daily Journal’s distribution plant is still totally an accident and would like her insurance rep to call her back. Please call her back.

  This just came across the wire. The Secret Police have issued a new statement shedding more light onto last night’s PTA meeting incident. The noisy portal and subsequent dinosaur attack that brutally interrupted discussion of swing set repairs on the elementary school playground stayed open long after recreation center employees thought they had rounded up all of the ancestral avian beasts, and authorities warn there is still at least one more Pteranodon on the loose. Citizens should cover themselves with a low-SPF sunscreen and hide in a tiled bathroom.

  Several curious handball players in the court next to the auditorium actually popped their heads into the portal just to see what was on the other side of the vortex and came back dramatically changed. The players aged several thousand years in what bystanders experienced as only a few seconds. Those handball players now straddle the unenviable border of millennially wizened and cripplingly insane. Since psychological and emotional damages are no longer considered valid claims by the greater medical insurance community, we are still reporting zero injuries. We’ll update you as further details surface in our special ongoing and very special coverage of “Pteranodon Attack-Gate: Are We Safe From Dinosaurs? No Way.”

  City Council has asked me to read the following message: If you notice strange auras around any of the following objects in your house: blender, shower head, dog, husband, wife, table, chair, doorknob, baseboard, vacation souvenirs or photos, collectibles of any kind, especially those depicting or involving horses, DVDs, especially Cliffhanger, There’s Something About Mary, and The Wire fourth season, and any bagged lettuce from California or Mexico, please report to the council for indefinite detention.

  Speaking of the City Council, it voted this week to remove the large lead-plated door from the northeastern-most crook of Radon Canyon—you know, the area pulsing with green light and sotto voce basso humming? Proponents of the measure called the large yellow emblem and red lettering that spelled out DANGER! PLUTONIUM! DO NOT OPEN DOOR! RISK OF DEATH! were (at worst) an offensive eyesore and (at best) a hacky, sci-fi cliché.

  Many Night Vale citizens attended the meeting—including, it was said, several angels—although, no angel has admitted to having been present for the City Council meeting or any other event ever, for that matter. Old Woman Josie agreed with the measure, adding that lead is a health hazard and that the old door was nothing but a ticking time bomb. According to the meeting minutes, Josie said: “That old door, ooh, that door. Someone’s going to get some kind of lead poisoning.”

  Carlos, beautiful Carlos, tragically shorn of his locks, reportedly was the only dissenting voice, but it is not clear he actually opposed the measure as the minutes only report him stating: “There is no time! No more time!” into a black rectangle in his hand and then running, winded, from the community hall. According to Old Woman Josie, he was still absolutely perfect and smelled of lavender chewing gum.

  More breaking news on the Pteranodons. We humbly offer the following retractions from our previous reports. Secret Police are now reporting that the offending beasts were not Pteranodons after all, but pterodactyls. Also, Pteranodons aren’t even dinosaurs as this station previously stated, just winged reptiles that lived about seventy million years after pterodactyls. Finally, earlier we report
ed a death toll of zero when, in fact, the number is closer to thirty-eight. We regret these errors.

  It’s almost football season, and the Night Vale Scorpions are gearing up for a defense of their high school division title. But really, as long as we beat Desert Bluffs, fans and hooded figures alike will feel just fine. Coach Nazr al-Mujaheed told reporters that he’s particularly excited for the progress junior quarterback Michael Sandero made during the off-season after that sentient lightning bolt struck him and gave him the strength of two jeeps and the intelligence of a heavily concussed René Descartes.

  But if Night Vale is going to beat their bitter rivals this year and stave off the government-administered pestilence that follows a losing season record, Sandero will have to improve his accuracy. Last year, Sandero only completed two out of 130 pass attempts, most notably because he was in advanced stages of cerebral palsy and because his throwing hand had been removed due to several overdue library books. Apparently the off-season lightning strike has healed Sandero of his terminal ailments and court-ordered amputations, and he’s ready to take on Desert Bluffs, which is probably the worst team ever. God, they’re dreadful.

  And now an editorial. Let’s talk for a moment about apartment building etiquette. Now, I myself live in an apartment building, and there is a compassion and acceptance you have to have for a certain level of annoyance. It’s people in close proximity to each other, and so there will be some things that you don’t like and still have to let go. But, other things are absolutely unacceptable. For instance, a certain level of strange radiating light or heat on shared walls is expected, but any oozings or visible membranes are rude and thoughtless to all of your neighbors. Gibbering, howling, and chants in long-dead languages are the kind of thing that is fine at one p.m., but absolutely not fine at one a.m. We are all in this together. Put your trash in the cans, not in the hallway leading to the cans. Put on some clothes when standing in front of your windows. And keep any rituals or crazed experiments to hours in which no one is trying to sleep. It doesn’t have to be hard.

  We have a very unexpected treat today, dear listeners. Live, in the studio, we have one of the mysterious hooded figures often seen around town. We did not actually invite him here; he just was waiting for us when we unlocked the studio this morning. He has not moved nor spoken since then, and I’ll be honest, I am only guessing that he is a he, because physical attributes are hard to determine under these robes and the face is entirely hidden in shadow as empty and as black as the void of space. But hey, we’re doing radio, he’s in a radio station. Let’s see if we can get an interview.

  Mr. Hooded Figure, how are you doing today?

  [Faint static]

  Ah, okay. Care to comment on the recent expansion of the forbidden Dog Park?

  [Louder static]

  Any comments at all? Anything you’d like to tell the ordinary folk of Night Vale about your organization?

  [Very loud static]

  Listeners, I’m sure you can hear this. It’s not a problem with your radio or our transmitters; the hooded figure is making those noises in our studio. It’s pretty deafening, actually.

  All right, I don’t think he’s going to stop, and he’s started to levitate, so let’s go to weather.

  WEATHER: “Closer” by The Tiny

  Ladies and gentlemen, we have just received word from Secret Police that the rip in space-time that opened at last night’s PTA meeting has been sealed at last. The final missing pterodactyl has been returned to its own timeline in either prehistoric or alternate universe Night Vale.

  The creature’s lifeless body was found a dozen yards outside of the Dog Park entrance, stripped of all flesh and with most of the organs inverted and strung around its exposed skull, like an old-fashioned soft-meats crown, as worn by the eighteenth-century religious leaders who settled our fair burg.

  The dinosaur’s body was returned to the vortex, the gateway closed, and the PTA meeting rescheduled for next Tuesday at six p.m. That meeting will continue to address the important issue of backpacks and whether or not they are causing autism. There will also be a memorial service for the thirty-eight parents and teachers who lost their lives in the attack, followed by a raffle. Remember: Winners must be present at the time of the drawing to claim their prizes.

  City Council and Secret Police have issued a reminder that Night Vale citizens of all species and all geologic eras are not to enter, look at, or think too long about the Dog Park. This reminder, they say, is completely unrelated to anything that may or may not have happened today.

  Coming up next: stay tuned for our one-hour special, Morse Code for Trumpet Quintets.

  And listeners: Night Vale is an ancient place, full of history and secrets, as we were reminded today. But it is also a place of the present moment, full of life, and of us. If you can hear my voice, speaking live, then you know: We are not history yet. We are happening now. How miraculous is that?

  Goodnight, listeners. Goodnight.

  PROVERB: What has four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening? I don’t know, but I trapped it in my bedroom. Send help.

  EPISODE 5:

  “THE SHAPE IN GROVE PARK”

  AUGUST 15, 2012

  THIS EPISODE WAS AN EARLY FAVORITE OF MINE, ONE THAT FELT POLISHED and professional in a way that we hadn’t quite hit yet. The main plot was a fun bit of throwback sci-fi that led into a fun bit of existential terror. The side bits include one of my favorite pieces of writing by Jeffrey, a paragraph about spiders that manages to take two very sharp turns in the course of one sentence. And the episode has the first hints of Cecil as a character, rather than a detached narrator. In short, it was us starting to figure out what we wanted this show to be.

  Before and after this episode, Night Vale’s park is referred to as “Mission Grove Park.” Why did it lose the first word of its name for this episode? Mainly because I forgot what it was called. But also because “The Shape in Grove Park” had a pleasingly ’50s pulp sci-fi sound to it. It may not surprise you to know that my mother was deeply into ’50s and ’60s sci-fi movies, and as a result I have seen both It Came from Outer Space and It Conquered the World not just once, but many times. (It Came from Outer Space is the vastly superior of the two, in case you were wondering.)

  Speaking of names, this was the first episode in which we referred to the character Cecil by name. There was not a great deal of thought put into the decision. The show grew out of the aesthetic and techniques of the Neo-Futurists, where people perform under their own names, and so it seemed simple to just do the same here. Cecil, the actor, expressed some concern that this might confuse people and I assured him that I didn’t see that ever being a problem.

  Oops.

  —Joseph Fink

  Close your eyes. Let my words wash over you. You are safe now.

  WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE.

  Local historians are protesting the removal of the Shape in Grove Park that No One Acknowledges or Speaks About. While their protest has been hampered by the fact that none of them will acknowledge or speak about it, they did, through a system of gestures and grimaces, convey the message that, whatever the shape is, and whatever its effect on nearby neighborhoods, it is a Night Vale landmark that should be protected. The shape itself offered no comment, only a low moaning and a gelatinous quiver. The City Council would not provide any reason for the removal, but did say that any work in Grove Park was making way for a new swing set, picnic area, and bloodstone circle, which we all can agree are good contributions to our community.

  The Night Vale Green Market Co-op announced today that after fifteen years they will begin selling fruits and vegetables. Green Market board president Tristan Cortez said that recent customer surveys indicated that shoppers have grown tired of empty pickup trucks and vacant tents lining the city hall parking lot every Saturday morning in the summer and fall. Cortez said that research indicates consumers are more likely to buy products if they are available and for sale, an
d that green market and grocery shoppers tend to purchase food items.

  Cortez said the decision to sell food at the green market was a controversial one as many board members and co-op shareholders feel fruit and vegetable sales will interfere with their ongoing secretive domestic espionage operations. When reached for comment, our source within the Secret Police only breathed heavily into the phone while tapping an as yet-uncracked code into the receiver.

  Michael Sandero, starting quarterback for the Night Vale Scorpions, has reportedly grown a second head. It is not currently known whether this is a result of the previously reported lightning strike, or just another odd coincidence in the kid’s odd life. People in the know say that the new head is better looking and smarter than the first one, and even Michael’s mother has issued a statement indicating that she likes it much better than her son, and that she will be changing the rankings on the public WHICH OF MY CHILDREN I LIKE BEST board outside her house. Sandero could not be reached for comment. Probably. We didn’t try.

  Friends, listeners, there’s a real tarantula problem here in Night Vale. Many residents have called in to report that illiteracy, unwanted pregnancy, and violent crime are on the rise in the tarantula communities. Animal control is addressing these concerns through after-school programs called “Teach a Spider to Read: Stop the Madness.” Those interested in volunteering should stand in their bathtubs and weep until it is all gone. Nothing left. You can let go now. Let go. Sssh. Let go.

  And now for a message from our sponsor.

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