by Joseph Fink
Listeners, I feel for Desert Bluffs in their time of need. Mostly I feel scorn and triumph. More on this never, as I don’t ever want to talk about Desert Bluffs again.
And now a much more important story: Khoshekh the cat floating exactly four feet off the ground in the men’s room here at the station. We’ve received all sorts of calls and e-mails and distress signals and emergency flares and Morse code spelling out “HELP US. HELP US. WE HAVE BEEN HERE FOR WEEKS. GOD SAVE OUR SOULS,” which I can only assume are all signs of the public’s insatiable desire to hear more cute kitty news. And what cute kitty news we have.
Khoshekh is reaching that time in a cat’s life when his skull is completely visible, and I have been taking adorable photo after adorable photo and putting them on Snapchat with captions like “Who’s a good kitty?” and “Behold my skull of terror.”
Whenever I get stressed at work, I just put on protective gear and inject myself with a number of preemptive antitoxins and I go pet Khoshekh for a bit and listen to the low gurgling rumble of his purr.
His kittens are doing as well as their daddy, and some of them are getting nearly as big as Khoshekh was when I first found him. My favorite of the kittens is named Mixtape, and his anterior spines are coming in fast. He’s going to be a really big kitten when he’s fully grown. Unmanageably huge. It’ll be adorable.
That’s about it for cat news. If there’s any more cat news, like Khoshekh doing something cute or just looking cute in any way, we will immediately break into whatever ongoing news story it is that we are reporting and let you know.
All right, let’s do another round of my popular advice segment, “Hey There, Cecil.”
“Hey there, Cecil. My husband and I have a bet and we were wondering if you could settle it. I think that the sky is made of gas and distance while he thinks that the sky is hastily painted plywood about thirty feet above the ground built to hide us from the terrible truth of what is actually above us. That’s unrelated to the bet, which is: Which of us wears this summoning cloak better? Pictures attached. SIGNED: INSECURE SUMMONERS IN CACTUS BLOOM.”
Hey there, Insecure. Wow, okay. I’d say it’s a dead tie. It’s almost impossible to look bad in a summoning cloak. But more importantly, instead of arguing about who looks better in a cloak, you should appreciate how you each interact with the cloak in your own unique way. Cherish each other, celebrate your summoning cloak styles, and save your arguments for that difficult and unsettling matter about the sky.
“Hey there, Cecil. My teenage son, like many children his age, can’t decide what kind of person he is. For instance, sometimes he is a kettle and sometimes he is a bear and sometimes he is a puddle of water. Many of these forms are difficult to drive to school, and I especially worry about his safety when he takes a form that can fly. No flying outside, I always tell him, but I worry that he doesn’t listen. What can I do to help my son through this difficult time? SIGNED: WORRIED MOM IN DOWNTOWN.”
Hey there, Worried. You would think that we would all be able to easily understand a teenager’s struggle, most of us having been teenagers at one point, except obviously those of us who age backwards. But outside of the context of a young mind, the teenage experience does not have the same immediate, painful urgency that it does for those who are currently living through it.
It sounds like your son is trying on new physical forms to see which ones work for him. Maybe he’s just searching for a physical form that other kids at school will think is cool. Whatever the issue, support him, have sympathy for him, and most of all, keep him safe, from others, and from himself. It’s his job to make bad decisions. It’s your job to make sure they’re not bad enough to cause real damage. Good luck.
Last letter.
“Hey there, Cecil. I have made a terrible mistake and it consumes me. My life was once a life and now it is an uncorrectable error. The Arrival wakes each day and feeds. It gives and it takes and it takes and it takes. I would cry, but I don’t think there’s enough of me left anymore to make tears. What do I do? What do I do? SIGNED: TERRIFIED IN SHAMBLING ORPHAN.”
Hey there, Terrified. It’s important to be able to forgive yourself for mistakes, even real doozies. Just do your best to make things right and move on, I say. Although your mistake sounds, well, it does sound terrifying. I hope to hear nothing more about it.
That’s all the time we have today for “Hey There, Cecil.” Keep your calls and letters and psychic pleas coming in.
Listeners, it looks like the Marathon Through the Narrow Place is almost ready to go. Everyone in town is gathering at the starting line with the help of the towering Harbingers of the Distant Prince, who are using their toothy beaks and meaningful glances from their stomach-eyes to indicate where people should stand. It’s looking to be a fun race and everyone is weeping. Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town, playfully tried to hide, but the Harbingers beat him at his own game, and the fun continued when they dragged him screaming to the starting line. Even the City Council is in on the festivities, their ghastly powers being no match for the placid unyielding might of the Harbingers.
I’m here too, don’t think old Cecil is exempt, me and Carlos are right here in matching Lycra shorts. He’s wearing his running lab coat, and the Harbingers allowed me to bring the mobile broadcasting equipment, so I could continue to do this radio show, even though everyone can hear me talking live because I’m right here with them. Oh, and there’s Mayor Dana Cardinal, inaugurating the race by nervously chewing on a fistful of dirt. It won’t be long now before we are all surging forward, panicked, the Harbingers looming behind us, until we are all forced Through the Narrow Place. What good exercise that will be. But while we wait, let’s have a message from our sponsors.
Today’s sponsor is that gut feeling that you did something wrong but you can’t think of what it could be.
What was it? You feel so guilty but your guilt has no target. It circles and circles but cannot land. You think back through the day, trying to find the source of the gnawing guilt but there is nothing. And you realize that there never was a specific cause. It’s just a part of you. You are the guilt. You are the shame. And this only makes you feel more guilty, more ashamed, that these emotions are somehow tied into your very being. As Albert Einstein famously said after he died, “The call is coming from inside the house.”
That gut feeling that you did something wrong but you can’t think what it could be: Try it today. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow.
This has been a word from our sponsors.
Finally, I think we just have time for this week’s horoscopes before the race.
VIRGO: You should check under your bed before you go to sleep. That way the Thing hiding in your closet will think you haven’t realized where it is yet.
LIBRA: All eyes are on you. Gross. Give them back.
SCORPIO: Mars is intersecting with Mercury, which means your head is weirdly big for your body and no one wants to tell you because they don’t want you to have the grace of self-awareness. Ugh, Scorpios.
SAGITTARIUS: You worry too much about earthquakes and plane crashes. You’re going to die of heart disease or cancer just like everyone else.
CAPRICORN: Stop throwing your money away on expensive cars and nice clothes. The owners of those cars and outfits do not appreciate the crumpled dollar bills you keep throwing on them, and anyway, if you want to throw something away, that’s what garbage cans are for.
AQUARIUS: You’ve been so stressed lately. Why not just sit outside tonight, relax, look up at the stars, and know basically nothing about the world you live in?
PISCES: Scorpions are not as dangerous as everyone thinks. Try to concentrate on that. It’ll help you feel a little calmer tomorrow.
ARIES: I know this is hard time for you Aries, but remember: ’Tis better to have loved and lost. It’s really great. Just the best.
TAURUS: Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Pick up the phone, break your mother’s tailbone. Take your coffee with
creamer, break your mother’s femur. The wizard’s spell has gone terribly wrong, and you must not move at all until it is reversed.
GEMINI: You will meet a tall, handsome stranger. He will introduce himself. You will come to know him well, and he will know you well. He will grow older. His skin will sag and thin. He will no longer be handsome. He will no longer be a stranger. He will no longer be most of the things he once was. He will be a close friend, an old friend, one you’ve known for years and with whom you are settling down into that final stretch of life. But he will always be tall. So tall. Very, very tall.
CANCER: I’m not saying this is bad news, but the stars just say [BLOODCURDLING SCREAM]. I mean, maybe that’s a good sign? Right? It’s a very inexact science.
LEO: Today is your lucky day. Which is good news, because tonight is your unlucky night. But enjoy this lucky day until the sun goes down. Until the very second the sun goes down. And then . . . And then . . .
That has been this week’s horoscopes.
Oh, and here we go. There are the starting guns, pointing at all of us, ready to fire in case we decide not to run. Looks like the race has begun. Well everyone, if we end up devoured by the Narrow Place then at least we went out with one last fun, family-friendly community event. In any case, while we all get moving, let’s get the latest on the weather.
WEATHER: “Black Eyes” by David Wirsig
[a ringing, like ringing in the ears]
We went along the Crooked Path, down into the Deepening, and then we all, whether we wanted to or not, we went Through the Narrow Place. We went through and on to the other side. There is no other side. We went there.
We sent messages in Morse code to the people we once had been, asking for help, but they could not help us. They were outside of the Narrow Place.
The Distant Prince was pleased. He gathered his Harbingers to him for the celebration. They cooed and merged in and out with each other, taking startling forms. We screamed. They cooed. We wore black coats and had never existed. The Distant Prince wore a golden coat and had always existed.
All darkness is just a thickness of birds. There is rustling in every shadow. Every surface is alive. We wore black coats and we went through it. We went Through the Narrow Place.
[the ringing resolves]
So it was another great marathon. I’m glad that our city government continues to encourage physical activity with fun events like this, and I’m proud of all of us for taking part. We will never be the same again, but here’s a little secret for you: No one is ever the same again after anything.
You are never the same twice, and much of your unhappiness comes from trying to pretend that you are. Accept that you are different each day, and do so joyfully, recognizing it for the gift it is. Work within the desires and goals of the person you are currently, until you aren’t that person anymore, and everything changes once again.
Stay tuned next for a different you, and a different you, and a different you again, each you denying their multiple nature.
And from the Narrow Place, where we wear black coats, and have never existed,
Good night, Night Vale. Good night.
PROVERB: Drake would like to add you to his professional network on LinkedIn.
Episode 76:
“An Epilogue”
OCTOBER 15, 2015
THIS IS THE EPISODE THAT CAME OUT FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE FIRST WELCOME to Night Vale novel was released. We were thrumming with excitement. Our first published book. I remember the morning that it was released walking over to my local bookstore to see what we had made sitting on the shelves and . . . it wasn’t there. Because bookstores aren’t superexact, and, unless it’s a new Harry Potter, sometimes they’ll put out a book two days before its release date and sometimes two days after. But for the author, everything hinges around that date, when what they’ve carefully carried through the writing and editing process will finally be read by the world.
As a celebration of this, I decided to write an epilogue to the novel, in the form of an episode that would be released before the novel came out.
Like a lot of Night Vale episodes, this one is built around a game we’re playing with the audience. It can be useful and clarifying as a writer to find the game of what you’re writing. A lot of that just means understanding the experience you want the audience to have. Where should their emotions go? What should their energy be in this moment? Understanding this clarifies a lot about how a scene or story is written.
With this episode, the game for me was to create an epilogue that (a) required no knowledge of the book to follow, since obviously almost no one had read it when this came out, and (b) would not spoil the plot of the book, for the same reason. This seemed like a fun challenge, and I really enjoyed tearing into it. I definitely saw a number of fans refusing to listen to this episode until they had read the book, and I wanted to tell them, “But if you do that, you’ll miss the best trick of this episode.” But, of course, the other thing about being an artist is you have no real say in how people decide to experience your work.
When people recommend Welcome to Night Vale, they often say something along the lines of “You have to start from the beginning,” the implication being that if you don’t understand every reference or character the moment you hear them, you’ll be hopelessly lost. Jeffrey and I reject that concept, and I think both this episode and “There Is No Part 1: Part 2” (see Volume 3) are illustrations of our rejection. The truth is that the first episode of Night Vale is full of references and moments that are impossible to understand. It throws you into a world and slowly you figure it out. That same process could happen at Episode 30 or at Episode 90. We think you can jump in pretty much anywhere, and sure, you’ll be confused for a bit, but we believe in you. You’ll figure it out.
This episode contains a reference to James Patterson, a truly fascinating man and writer. It would be easy and lazy, I think, to hate on a man who has so completely embraced the concept of author as commercial workshop. But Patterson is so enthusiastic about books and about what he does, and so generous with the writing community as a whole, that it is impossible to hold any of it against him. The Welcome to Night Vale novel beat the new James Patterson book on the New York Times list. And sure, it was our first week and he had been on the list for four weeks, but we’ll take our wins where we can get them. The book we beat was the masterfully named The Murder House and I need you to go look up the book trailer for The Murder House. It is perhaps the only good book trailer ever made.
—Joseph Fink
In just a few days the whole story will be known. This is what happens after.
WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE
The last couple weeks, as we all know, have been eventful ones. I’m not going to go over everything again. We all know what happened. We are well-read, well-informed people who have paid attention to the whole recent “King City” affair. We know about the terrible ordeals that Diane Crayton and Jackie Fierro endured. We know how their troubles all ended up. And we know the truth about the Man in the Tan Jacket. We know all about him now, because of what Diane and Jackie found out.
So I won’t go over all of that.
Instead, I’ll talk about the Barista District, which is experiencing a severe population spike, also as a result of that whole King City thing. There are just so many helpful people, wandering town asking us if we want nonfat or 2 percent, and if they can get us a blueberry scone with that. You can’t open a hall closet, or tunnel under your own lawn without a barista jumping out at you, asking if you want a tray for all of the coffee they’re going to give you. So much coffee, whether you want it or not. Here it comes, a crushing amount of coffee. Don’t run, you’ll never escape. Do you want a tray with that?
More on this ongoing aftermath in a moment, but first, the news.
The government released a statement Friday disavowing knowledge of any events which resulted from a recent gardening supplies sale that they may or may not have been involved with.
> A representative of the U.S. Government, in association with the World Government, the Shadow Government, the Lizard People, and the Watchers from Behind the Stars, wrapped in a burlap cloak and speaking in a low, croaking voice, said, “So, yes, we recently sold surplus and used materials from a variety of secret government projects and experiments, all disguised as gardening supplies, and yes, the resulting effects on human life and on the very nature of time were unfortunate, and yes, people died in ways that we did not previously think were even possible in this particular universe, but basically it comes down to this: ‘America, love or leave it.’”
When asked about any efforts that were being made to provide aid to those who were dislodged from the natural laws of the universe as the result of dangerous experimental materials sold in Night Vale under the guise of simple home goods and gardening wares, the representative only repeated “America, love or leave it,” each iteration a little rounder, a little more abstracted from human communication, until it was only a series of guttural sounds in the vague shape of what used to be words, as the representative retreated further and further into their burlap cloak until it collapsed, empty, upon the podium, smelling of compost and grain alcohol.