The Buying of Lot 37

by Joseph Fink

  And today we mostly did that. We mostly did good, Night Vale. Maybe it will be a merry Christmas for everyone. Maybe this is an auspicious start to the holidays.

  Hey, that’s the best part about the future: anything you want to be possible IS possible . . . as long as you don’t think about it too hard.

  Stay tuned next for the sound of something clawing its way out of your chest.

  Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

  PROVERB:It’s not the size of the dog in the fight. It’s the size of the other dog in the fight.

  Episode 59:

  “Antiques”

  JANUARY 1, 2015

  GUEST VOICE: DYLAN MARRON (CARLOS)

  I LIVE IN A REGION WITH A LOT OF ANTIQUE SHOPS. I DON’T KNOW FOR sure but based on driving around my area I would assume approximately 99 percent of my county’s economy comes from New Yorkers buying antique clocks on weekend trips. Speaking of which, I once found a Chinese communist-themed clock in a local antique store. There are portraits of Mao, a second hand that is a fighter jet, and time is marked by a peasant waving a little red book. It’s great.

  Of course, in Night Vale antiques are some sort of dangerous wild animal. Other than that, I imagine antiquing works pretty much the same.

  This episode features the slow growth of the plot of Chad and what he has done in the Shambling Orphan development. This started with the September Monologues, and the introduction of Chad. Chad, incidentally, came from the actor for the Faceless Old Woman, Mara Wilson, telling us that when performing her parts for the show, she often imagined she was whispering them into the ear of a frat-bro–type dude named Chad. “You’ve really disappointed me, Chad.” So I decided to write her that monologue to Chad, and then that spun out into what would be the main plotline of the show well over a year later. This is the freedom of only two people writing a show: the storytelling can follow whims and interesting detours.

  I didn’t want this plotline to be too noticeable at first, and so I did my best to not have the same identifying details in a row when including it in the episodes but did include enough information that someone paying attention could start to connect the incidents. Can you find the others?

  This episode might have the strangest intern death of any of the ones we did. I don’t actually remember what all of them are, so there’s probably something stranger somewhere in there, but “Bitten by an antique, and so turned into an antique himself” is a pretty interesting way to go. Most of us will just get cancer, you know?

  The deaths of the interns was a running joke, one with many obvious antecedents. From Spinal Tap to South Park to Harry Potter, a job that is an invitation for immediate disaster to the long list of people who keep taking it is a classic. But like many others who use this joke, it started to get less interesting as we went on, and so as I write this, our most current intern has been in the position for almost two years and is still chugging away. Good old Intern Kareem. You finally broke the cycle. For now.

  —Joseph Fink

  It’s not darkest before the dawn. It’s actually darkest after all the stars have gone out. It’s very dark then.

  WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE

  We begin this new year with some troubling news.

  Frances Donaldson, owner of the Antiques Mall, has reported that some of her antiques have escaped.

  She said that when she fed them this morning they were all accounted for, but when she went back for the usual mid-afternoon watering, the fence had been cut, and over half of the antiques were missing.

  “They didn’t escape,” she corrected reporters who were just trying to talk to her a bit about what had happened, were just doing their best to help her out, and so didn’t need to have their heads bitten off for using a different word, but whatever. “They didn’t escape,” she said. “They were set free.”

  All surveillance cameras in the immediate vicinity (and this is not a particularly interesting or dangerous part of Night Vale, so there were only 344) had been disabled or moved to point away from the antiques’ pen or had their tapes replaced with VHS cassettes full of Matlock episodes recorded and rerecorded over each other so that each tape showed ghosts of every Matlock at once, a single unified Matlock through the flicker and warp of video age.

  The Secret Police warn citizens that antiques are wild animals and, while generally friendly, their behavior can be unpredictable. If you see an antique, do not approach it. Simply put your hands over your chest, scream “We’re all about to be eaten,” and run blindly away.

  Although it’s possible this may cause the antique to instinctually go into hunting behavior and chase you. “We didn’t bother to check. Look, we were kind of busy. Was there something stopping you from doing this research?” the Sheriff’s Secret Police concluded, before shaking their heads and melting back into the walls.

  StrexCorp Synernists Inc., the company you might remember as our former unfriendly overlords (or you might not remember them if your memory has been altered or erased). Anyway, StrexCorp is of course now owned by beings that are difficult to describe without using the illegal term angels but who are all named Erika.

  As part of their continual process to turn the power of StrexCorp toward the betterment of our world, the Erikas have started the process of releasing those people whose lives StrexCorp took possession of back during what could be termed its “bad boy days” or “dystopian capitalist hell days,” whichever you prefer.

  Among those released is Janice Rio, from down the street, last seen entering a condo, which you should definitely never do. Never go into a condo.

  Also released, Lucy and Hannah Gutierrez, former owners of the former White Sand Ice Cream Shoppe, that’s bankruptcy led to their lives being confiscated by Strex. They are looking well and fit, no worse for the wear than any ordinary person who is, say, imprisoned by the City Council in the abandoned mine shaft outside of town for voting incorrectly on municipal elections. We all experience extralegal, extended imprisonment at some point in our lives after all.

  They pledged to restart their Ice Cream Shoppe and are currently running a Kickstarter to gather together the funds. In order to get better results, the Kickstarter is labeled as being for a blender you can plug an iPhone into to get real-time blending stats and earn blending points on the blending community. It is not actually for that though. It’s for an Ice Cream Shoppe, and I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to have another bite of that magical Gutierrez ice cream.

  Chad Boenger, who lives in the Shambling Orphan housing development down by the haunted baseball diamond, said, “It is a sadness what we do to each other. It is a weeping and a gnashing of teeth.”

  I don’t think this was in relation to StrexCorp, or Kickstarter, but he walked by and said that to me so I thought I’d throw it in. Thanks, Chad!

  And now another edition of the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

  Stick out your tongue. Farther. Farther. Is that really as far as you can get it? I bet you can get it a little farther than that. Wow, that’s like three feet. Honestly I expected an inch or so. Now it’s at five feet. How long is your tongue? How long is a tongue supposed to be? Can we get someone to check on that?

  This is starting to freak me out a little, your endless tongue. This was supposed to be a fun and challenging exercise, but now I’m questioning everything about myself and my life. I’m shivering. Your tongue is reaching out the door, it’s down the street, it’s rolling out of town. Look how far your tongue stretches. You have not done well, young child, but you’ve certainly done something. You certainly have.

  And somewhere the tip of your tongue is still rolling on, tasting a world that neither it nor you can see.

  Say, are you related to . . . never mind. It doesn’t matter.

  Oh god, that tongue. That hideous, infinite tongue.

  This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

  There are many reports coming in about the missing antiques. People have seen antique t
racks, have heard creatures rooting around in their garbage, grazing on their lawns, loping through their backyards. It has been difficult to tell which direction the antiques are moving, because many of these reports contradict each other, and most are likely people mixing up the antiques with other similar-looking animals like owls or hyenas or bacteria.

  Intern Maureen, who has, all told, been intern longer than anyone I can remember—well done, Maureen!—anyway, Maureen is back at school right now, so her friend Hector is taking over for a bit. Hi Hector, great to have you on.

  Intern Hector is waving. He’s saying hello. He doesn’t have a mic so his hello doesn’t exist for you. Nothing exists for you outside of my voice saying it does.

  Anyway, Hector, can you do me a favor and go check out what’s going on with the escaped antiques? Reports are muddled and we need someone on the ground, so to speak, in the ground, as they say, buried deep in the earth, as the saying goes, to understand what’s really going on here.

  Hector is nodding. Now that nod exists for you. Good-bye, Hector. Until we see you again, very soon and very well, I’m sure.

  Now this: Imagine a man. This is a simple command leading to millions of conceivable scenarios. Imagine this man. Every possible physical form, location, and condition that a man can be in. Perhaps this man has been dead so long he is dust. Perhaps you are imagining dust and perhaps you are not wrong. Imagine a man. Imagine him. There is a buzzing lightbulb above him. He is standing on what could loosely be called the porch of what could loosely be called a tin shack. The lightbulb buzzes and buzzes. He looks up in irritation. You were wrong to imagine him as dust. Do you have him now? Do you know what he looks like? Imagine a man.

  No, I’m sorry no. You were incorrect. And so the weekly Find The Man I’m Thinking Of contest will roll over to the next week. This is the 300th consecutive week without a winner, and the prize for next week will be 301 custom-made pencils that say I WON A THING. I hope someone wins soon. The giant box of pencils here is starting to get in the way of things.

  Oh, guess who’s in the studio with me. Well, not actually with me, but projecting himself into our physical plane. That’s right, my favorite scientist and yours, but mostly mine, Carlos.

  CARLOS:Hi, Cecil.

  CECIL:Carlos, I know we just talked last night, but for the listeners, why don’t you tell us what’s new out in the desert otherworld you’re tra——the desert otherworld you’re spending some time in.

  CARLOS:Well, I’ve been doing so much interesting research. I’ve learned the composition of the rocks, which are not of our world.

  And the composition of the components of the rocks, which are of our world, strangely. And I’m trying to figure out how many stars there are. They are always changing size and position, but I do think there are a lot of stars.

  CECIL:That sounds very scientific.

  CARLOS:It is so scientific. The most scientific. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scientific, and you know how much I love science.

  CECIL:Yes, I am also very into science. But I miss, you know, touching. I miss this. Listeners, you can’t see but I’m trying to hold his hand, and my hand is just going through him because he’s not actually here.

  CARLOS:I know. That’s why I’m working on a way for you to visit. I think you’d like it here. It’s super interesting and there’s so much science. Plus people are way friendlier here. People in Night Vale can be a little . . .

  CECIL:No, I know. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take a little visit, but I need to be back at my radio desk soon. It can be difficult to ask Station Management for time off work.

  CARLOS:Great, I’ll let you know when I figure out exactly how to get you here. I can’t wait to see you in person again.

  CECIL:Me neither.

  CARLOS:Cannot wait. Cannot. It’s going to be good.

  CECIL:[overlapping] Oh, okay. Me neither. Well, thanks so much for this highly relevant report that had important information for everyone in town. Thanks, Carlos.

  CARLOS:Bye, Cecil!

  CECIL:Bad news, listeners. It seems that the antiques have gathered around City Hall and are behaving in threatening ways toward anyone trying to leave or enter. We are getting reports that while City Council has already safely evacuated using a rocket sled that they keep for this very purpose, Mayor Dana Cardinal is still trapped inside. The Sheriff’s Secret Police are responding quickly by issuing press releases to explain why it’s definitely not their job to deal with this situation because, frankly, it seems pretty dangerous and scary. They said that they have activated all available officers to work hard on deflecting responsibility away from them.

  As the Sheriff’s Secret Police slogan goes: “Not our job. Not our problem.”

  Oh no, I’m being told that the antiques have found a way into City Hall. The pack is entering the building. City Hall has been infiltrated by hungry antiques with no one left to protect our mayor. Who will protect Dana? Someone. Someone must. Will no one step forward? Will no one? Is anyone even listening to this? What kind of town are we? What kind of town are we?

  Also, here’s the weather.

  WEATHER: “State of Mine” by Stöj Snak

  [very slightly out of breath]

  Well, listeners. Well, well. Listeners, it seems, it seems that all is well.

  We don’t know how, but our beloved mayor is safe once again. A person of unknown identity appeared on the scene, running into the City Hall and single-handedly defending the mayor’s office against the pack of antiques.

  This was foolish of that person. That person could have been killed or gravely wounded. Maybe they were. We don’t know who the person is or where they went, and so their fate is as nonexistent as anything else I do not or cannot voice.

  Mayor Cardinal gave a message of thanks, saying: “Whoever you are, thank you. I do not speak for the town, or for the city government. I speak for myself. As a person, as a human full of blood and worry, thank you for keeping me safe,” she said.

  Pamela Winchell, Director of Emergency Press Conferences, held an Emergency Press Conference in which she added to the mayor’s statement by saying, “Clouds are the belt of the sky. Cinch them tighter. Make the clouds go tighter. Make the sky come closer.” before hurling herself into the sky until she was just a dot in the upward distance.

  So that seems to be another crisis averted, albeit in a sudden, and if I may be frank as a journalist, narratively unsatisfactory way. Perhaps we will never know who that unknown savior is or who the unknown liberator of the antiques was. Perhaps we will never know anything. We have certainly never known anything yet.

  But wait. Intern Hector is returning. Hector, did you see who the unknown benefactor was? Do you have any information?

  Oh no, Hector, he is . . . Hector he is holding up his arm. There is a tear in the skin, a deep and jagged oval. He has been bitten.

  Oh, Hector. It was you. Wasn’t it? I sent you to report and instead you involved yourself, and I thank you for doing so. Ordinarily that would be a violation of journalistic standards, which clearly say we should never help when we could merely watch, but Dana is a friend of mine. And so I thank you for ignoring our sacred rules just this once.

  I’ll be honest. I wouldn’t have thought Hector was the type to do something like that, or even physically strong enough to fight off an entire pack of antiques. But people can surprise you. That is one of the things that people can do.

  But Hector. That bite. You know what happens to someone who is bit by an antique. Hector is unable to speak, has been unable to speak since he arrived. Listeners, of course anyone bitten by an antique, becomes an antique themselves. Intern Hector, if only there was something I could do for you.

  He is transforming. His body is elongating and lowering. His shoulders turn to haunches, his arms to wings, his feet to bladed multilegs. He is becoming an antique before my eyes, and I can do nothing for him. For this brave young person who saved my dear friend Dana.

  He is out of sight n
ow. I can hear only a click, a shuddering movement. He must have fully transformed into an antique. Hector? Hector? Is there any trace of your old self left? Or are you already hunting me? How good are the bolts on the studio door? He can’t come in here, can he? I hear a rattle in the ceiling. There is a clear, viscous substance dripping onto my desk. I dare not look for its source.

  Coming up next, hopefully, the sound of my successful escape from this room. Who just touched me? Hector? Hector?

  Well, this is it, one way or another. Here I go, listeners. And here you go, off into radio silence, into places and times where my voice can no longer guide you.

  Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

  [A clatter and running feet. A door slamming. Strange animal noises. Then off in the distance:]

  I made it. I’m fine. To the family and friends of Intern Hector—

  PROVERB:If you want a picture of the future, imagine a person writing headlines about millennials forever.

  Episode 60:

  “Water Failure”

  JANUARY 15, 2015

  GUEST VOICES: ERICA LIVINGTON (PHONE TREE), CHRISTOPHER LOAR (PHONE TREE), FLOR DE LIZ PEREZ (LACY)

  I THINK I WAS ASKED TO BE THE PHONE TREE IN A TEXT FROM JEFFREY. It didn’t read exactly like that, “Will you be the phone tree?” But it also wasn’t far from that. I said yes, obvs. Truth be told, it was a huge tether for me as I had a one-and-a-half-year-old son, had stepped away from art and theater in my pregnancy and had not really returned. Juggling a toddler is no joke and I had started a new career as a doula. So the ask of “Will you do this art stuff with us?” was so welcomed from these old friends that I had previously adored collaborating with.

  The day of the recording I went to Meg and Joseph’s place in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, stoked that it was by the Blue Stove and I’d have the excuse to get a slice of pie and a coffee from there. Meg and Joseph’s place was so fun, as one might imagine, decorated with ease and eclectic eccentric joys, it’s a very cozy place to set yourself down in. Once we were set up in the recording room and had had an appropriate amount of catching up talk and story swapping, I remember Joseph just saying, “Are you ready?” and I said “Yes.” He hit record and I started reading the text. Once done he stopped the recording and was like, “Great.” I was so confused. “Aren’t you gonna give me notes or something?” “No, you nailed it.” I couldn’t handle the idea that I had just gotten it in the first take so against Joseph’s desire I did two more takes. I know for sure he used the first one because he made a point to tell me this later. It was nice to hear. Now, here’s the unexpected part of this tale, this lil’ ole intro I’m writing . . . this was an important moment for me. It’s a tiny thing but a story I’ve told before and will continue to tell. It’s a moment of confidence in others. In trusting your friends. In trusting that art can be simple and easy and just fun. This is some of the truth that Jeffrey and Joseph have always taught me in little and huge ways. Night Vale and its creation is all about this. About taking what comes, trusting it and leaning into it. When I was later asked to do the voice of Alice in the podcast Alice Isn’t Dead this story returned as guidance for recording that season. I went in believing that it could always be easy and fun, and that the first take isn’t a throw away but in fact, frequently, the best one.