5.9 – The Shape In Grove Park

The Night Vale Community Theater is holding auditions for its fall show, Once On This Island. Interested thespians should bring a head shot and résumé to the Recreation Center auditorium on Thursday night.

All auditionees must perform a one-minute monologue and sing one song. Bring sheet music if you would like piano accompaniment. Auditionees will also be required to do a cold reading and give blood and stool samples, along with mandatory radiation testing following the auditions. Do not sing anything from South Pacific. People of color are urged to audition, as Night Vale Community Theater is an equal opportunity employer. Also, actors with long-range sniper training, Fortran computer programming, and top-notch wilderness survival skills are a plus. Final casting will be announced in secret, via dirigible. No one can ever know.

Advertisements

7.4 – History Week

It has been several weeks since anyone in Night Vale has seen the Apache Tracker, that white guy who wears the inaccurate and horribly offensive Indian headdress everywhere. He has not been seen since he began investigating the great screaming heard at the Post Office, and the words written in blood inside. Also, the entire structure of his house has vanished, and the lot where it stood is now a bucolic meadow that neighborhood kids will not ever enter, for reasons even they are unable to explain.

I think I speak for everyone in the community when I say, good riddance to that local embarrassment. He made the whole town look ignorant and racist.

8.5 – The Lights In Radon Canyon

And now, traffic.

This morning, I saw a running man. He passed by my home, panting, limping, running desperate. I tried to stop him, but he would not meet my eye.

This noon time, I saw a running man. He was coming down from the mountain holding a bag. His knees were bloody, and face covered in tears.

This evening, I saw a running man. He was leaving town, legs pumping like a terrified heart. I think he was missing a hand.

Is it that he wouldn’t meet my eye, or that he had no eyes? Now I wish I could remember. There are many things I wish I could remember.

This has been traffic.

9.7 – “PYRAMID”

Home handymen, fix-it vixens, ladies and gentlemen who love to get their hands dirty… let’s talk about home repair.

Certain jobs are fine for the amateur, and certain others should be left to the professionals. Leaky sinks, sticky windows, minor exorcisms, and bleeding doors— all these are the kind of “quick fixes” that a toolbox and a quick search on the internet should allow you to take care of.

On the other hand, structural damage, major remodeling, seeping darkness, major exorcisms, roof boils, and lawn care— these are all the kind of work that should not be attempted by anyone without years of expertise and a valid hammer license from the City Council. Finding the right professional for the job is easy: just look at the yellow pages. Or head down to the squatter shacks by the edge of the sand wastes, and ask around among the homeless.

9.10 – “PYRAMID”

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Today’s program is brought to you by Audible.com, your online source for recorded books. There are thousands of great titles at Audible.com that you can download to your computer or portable device, and listen to on the go. I use Audible to catch up on best-selling titles like The Help and Van Gogh Notes For Technical Communication 11\E.

I’m on their website right now, and I’m typing in a search for “dog park,” because I was thinking about this town’s beautiful new fixture, and how I will never, ever take my dog there. Let’s see what Audible comes up with.

Huh. It’s a flashing black-and-red screen that says THOUGHT CRIME in all caps. And below that, a little animation of two digging workers. “Under Construction”— that’s adorable!

So, check out Audible.com. New Audible members can get one free audiobook just by smudging their computer monitors with baby’s blood and humming the Spanish translation of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

Audible.com: You Can’t Burn What You Can’t Even Touch.

19A.10 – The Sandstorm

[A different, cheerful male voice speaks.]

Hello? Hello, Desert Bluffs? What is this studio? Hey there, Desert Bluffs. I don’t know if you can hear me. Kevin here. I don’t know where I am. It’s a radio studio, but the walls are darker. The equipment looks much older. Certainly much drier than it should be. The microphone was made… when? Have I gone back in time? Vanessa! Are you in the booth?

Listeners, if you can hear me, I am in a strange place. I do not know if I am in Desert Bluffs, or if anyone can hear me. The sandstorm rages outside. The vortex is still there, but it’s black, almost a deep blue. There’s a low hum. I do not know if this is the portal, or the storm, or my own body. There is a photo here on the desk. It is a man. He is wearing a tie. He is not tall or short, not thin or fat. He has eyes like mine and a nose like mine, and hair like mine, but I do not think he is me. Maybe it is the smile. Is that a smile? I can’t say. I do hope he is safe, whoever, wherever he is. I hope I am safe, wherever, whoever I am.

It is night. I think it is night. It is night. You may not know me, nor I you, but we have this mic, and this voice, and your warm ears blossoming open to hear comforting secrets in the vibrations of a voice that pulse so deep into your body, your heart relaxes for a time. And we have this, sitting right here on this odd and bloodless desk. So now, dear listeners, whoever you are, I give you… the weather.

[“Eliezer’s Waltz” by Larry Cardozo & Ron Fink, performed by Disparition.]