5.3 – The Shape In Grove Park

The Night Vale Green Market Co-op announced today that after 15 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 Sunday 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, and that Green Market and grocery shoppers tend to purchase food items.

Cortez said that 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 with the Secret Police only breathed heavily into the phone while tapping an as yet uncracked code into the receiver.

6.4 – The Drawbridge

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s that time of year again. Time for our annual pledge drive. Sorry to have to do this, but, you know… Night Vale has a lot of community-supported radio, and the thing about community-supported radio– it’s supported by listeners like you. As well as Guatemala and some Teamsters, who are, sometimes, just too generous. Any amount you can give will help us continue our community programming. A dollar or two, or even plasma.

Take WZZZ, our local numbers station, broadcasting from that strange and tall antenna built out back of the abandoned gas station on Oxford Street. Did you know that it broadcasts a monotone female voice reading out seemingly random numbers interspersed with chimes twenty four hours a day, seven days a week? As you can imagine, that kind of work doesn’t bring in a lot of money. Unless it does. To be honest, here at Night Vale Radio, we don’t know exactly what that station is for, or what master it is serving. But I do know that it is a vital part of this community, and we should pitch in to help it. We welcome your support. Give us a call. We don’t have a number. Just whisper “Forsaken Algonquinia” into your phone receiver, and angels, or Facebook, or something, will deliver us an appropriate contribution from your bank account.

6.8 – The Drawbridge

Notice. There is no digital, staticky hum coming from the dog park, Mayor Pamela Winchell announced today. The mayor stressed repeatedly in her ninety-second impromptu press conference that there is no unbearable, soul-tearing sound that rips at the sinews of your very being coming from the dog park. Mayor Winchell continued with a plea for all Night Vale residents to understand that there could not possibly be a deeply coded message emanating from a small, fenced-in patch of municipal grass and dirt.

Citizens are not even supposed to be consciously aware of the dog park, so they could not possibly be receiving a menacing and unearthly voice instructing listeners to bring precious metals and toddlers to the dog park. “Dog park,” she repeated. “That could never, ever be real,” the mayor shouted, pounding the podium with her bleeding fists. There were no follow-up questions.

9.9 – “PYRAMID”

The Department of Public Safety announced that all street signs in Night Vale will be replaced with traffic cops wielding semaphore flags. Drivers will be required to learn this physically expressive maritime alphabet. This decision is not without its controversy, as the existing street signs are entirely in Braille.

One critic, Paul Birmingham, says removing these signs will deflate the Earth. As a member of the Air-Filled Earth Society, Paul believes that Earth is a precariously inflated orb that could pop or sag at any moment. “We’ve gotta stop teaching all this religious propaganda in our schools and start teaching real science!” Paul shouted from his lean-to behind the library. I have to admit, listeners, he makes a valid point.

9.11 – “PYRAMID”

Update on the pyramid situation. Flaky-Os’ board of directors are vigorously denying— some of them at gunpoint— that they had any part in the pyramid that is stubbornly continuing to exist in our town. They are sneaky ones. I hope the new line of cereal turns out to be worth the hype. Meanwhile, the pyramid itself has altered its broadcast, sending out a second message, which is as follows:

Everything you do matters except your life. Death will be the last action you’ll undertake. I do not live, but I exist. What is my purpose? I will not tell you. One day you will discover your purpose, and then you will tell no one. And then you will die.

Now, I’m not too good at this viral marketing thing, so I can’t see all the codes and hidden web addresses that I’m sure are all through that message. I’ll leave that to all the dedicated amateurs out there in the listening world.

The Sheriff’s Secret Police are now attempting to charge the pyramid with resisting arrest, on the grounds that they couldn’t figure out how to arrest it. More as the story develops.

In the meantime, let’s go to the weather.

[“Last Song” by Jason Webley]

10.10 – Feral Dogs

And now a word from our sponsor.

You come home. The lights are off. You get an uneasy feeling. Suddenly, the phone rings. You remember that you do not have a phone. It rings some more. You do not know what to do. Then you remember that, yes, you do own a phone. Why wouldn’t you own a phone? Everyone owns a phone. The phone is still ringing. Hahahaha! How silly to think you didn’t own a phone! It rings again. You smile, and shrug, and answer the ringing phone. It is still dark. “Hello?” you say.

“They are waiting for you,” a whispery gender-indeterminate voice tells you. “It is your time,” it says.

You turn on the light. You laugh again, wondering why it took you so long to turn on the light. Gosh, it was dark, you think. “Hello?” the voice asks. You hang up, glad you remembered to buy Tropicana orange juice, at least.

Tropicana premium orange juice is made from the freshest oranges, with no added flavors or preservatives. Also, you should get caller ID. It’s the 21st century. How do you not have caller ID? Really.

Tropicana.

14.7 – The Man In The Tan Jacket

The Night Vale Daily Journal has announced that, despite cost-cutting measures and mandatory subscription laws, it is facing a huge budget shortfall this year.

“We cannot pay back our printers, or our delivery crews,” said editor Leann Hart, in a prepared statement whispered through my mail slot late last night. “And we have already had to banish much of our staff into the sand wastes of the desert.”

She went on to explain that this ‘budget shortfall’ has nothing to do with the reported lavish birthday party she threw for herself in Night Vale Stadium, featuring a lazy river made entirely of champagne, and a birthday cake topped with very thin slices of moon rock. In an addendum she tapped in Morse code on my bathroom window, she said that the Journal is considering all new sources of income, including creating additional advertising space and mugging Night Vale citizens, and that I shouldn’t mention the whole birthday party thing after all… because she was never even born, so how could she have had a birthday party? She spent the rest of the night tapping out the phrase ‘Birthdays are a fake idea,’ which actually was a pretty relaxing sound to fall asleep to.