5.11 – The Shape In Grove Park

Listeners, do you ever think about the moon? I was sitting outside last night, looking at the moon, and I thought, does anyone actually know what that thing is? Have there been any studies on this? I went to ask Carlos, but he hasn’t been seen much since that treacherous Telly’s vile haircut.

The moon’s weird, though, right? It’s there, and there, and then suddenly it’s not. And it seems to be pretty far up. Is it watching us? If not, what is it watching instead? Is there something more interesting than us? Hey— watch us, moon! We may not always be the best show in the universe, but we try.

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

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.

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13.4 – A Story About You

You have a new job now. Every day except Sunday, you drive out into the sand wastes and there you find two trucks. You move wooden crates from one truck to another while a man in a suit silently watches. It is a different man each time. Sometimes the crates tick. Mostly, they do not. When you are done, the man in the suit hands you an amount of cash, also different each time, and you go home. It is the best job you’ve ever had.

Except, today, it was different. You moved the crates. The man in the suit, a stranger, watched. But then, as had never happened before, the man in the suit received a phone call. He walked off at some distance to take it. “Yes, sir!” he said, and “No, sir!” Also he made hawk shrieking sounds. It wasn’t terribly interesting. You moved crates. But then, an impulse, an awful impulse, came over you, and for no other reason than that you are trapped by the freedom to do anything in this life, you took one of the crates, and put it in your trunk.

By the time the man came back from his phone call, you were done with your job. He gave you the money – it was nearly five hundred dollars today, the second highest it had ever been – and you drove home with the crate in your trunk.

When you got home, you took the crate into your trailer and left it in the kitchen. The crate did not make a ticking sound. It made no sound at all. Nothing made a sound except you, breathing in and breathing out. You cooked dinner – you always cooked dinner – and the red light on the tower blinked on and off in your peripheral vision, a message that was there and then wasn’t, and that you could never quite read. You wondered how long it would take them to miss the crate. You did not wonder who they were. Some mysteries aren’t questions to be answered, but just the kind of opaque fact, a thing which exists to be not known.

Which brings us to now, to this story, this story about you. You are listening to the radio. The announcer is talking about you. And then you hear something else, a guttural howl out of the desert distance, and you know that the crate’s absence has been discovered. The crate. Well, it sits, that’s all, on the kitchen floor. That’s all. It’s warm, warmer than the air around it. It smells sharp and earthy, like freshly ground cinnamon. And when you put your ear against the rough warm wood, you hear a soft humming, an indistinct melody. It does not appear to be difficult to open. All you would need to do is remove a few nails.

You do not open it.

14.12 – The Man In The Tan Jacket

Ladies and gentlemen, during the break, I received a call from someone claiming to be an angel. Now, I don’t know if this was a prank or not, as no one has ever actually proven that they’ve talked to an angel. Even Old Woman Josie’s word is just that, her word.

But listeners, I think this has to have been an angel, because my face became hot, and the voice filled every part of my body, and tears were flowing down my face the instant I touched the phone receiver, and the whole room was lit up in, well, how can I describe this? A bright black beam illuminating every atomic detail. And the angel, if that is indeed who called, the angel said that the Man in the Tan Jacket with the deerskin suitcase was from a place underneath the earth. Underneath our knowledge, a vast world right below our feet.

I asked for more, but the angel, if that is indeed who called, whispered, “A flower in the desert.” and if filled me with ecstasy and dread. Then the call ended, and the black ray of truth was gone, and I was breathless and alone. And dear listeners, the silence, well. It was unlike any silence you have ever not heard.

So our mystery man remains unfound, and I’m still not sure why an angel would have to use a telephone, but for now, we can only know what we know. And that is that we don’t know.

Thank you again for listening, listeners. I look forward to another fine year, a new year, well-spent with all of you out there. Stay tuned next for two commercial-free hours of E sharp. Good night, Night Vale. Be alert, and write down everything you cannot comprehend Until next time.