Hello? Radio audience…
[Ominous rumbling continues.]
I come to you live from under my desk, where I’ve dragged my microphone and am currently huddling in the fetal position.
Did you write letters? You should not do this anymore. Station Management has opened its door for the first time in my memory and is now roaming the building.
I don’t exactly know what Management looks like, as that is when I took cover under my desk— and I can only hope that they are not listening to what’s going out right now, or else I may have sealed my fate. I can hear only a kind of clicking footstep, and faint hissing sound, like releasing steam.
An intern went to see what Management wanted, and has not returned. If you are related to Jerry Hartman, afternoon board operator at Night Vale Community Radio, I am sorry to inform you that he is probably dead, or at least corporeally absorbed into Management, permanently. Jerry and Chad, the interns, will both be missed, but we will surely see them in the Thanksgiving Day Dead Citizens Impersonation Contest, which this year will be in the employee lounge under the Night Vale Mall from 11 AM to 9:45 PM. There will be a cash bar and two Twister boards.
[Louder ominous rumbling. Cecil gasps.]
I’m going to see if I can make a break for the door. If you don’t hear from me again, it has truly been a pleasure.
Good night, Night Vale. And goodbye…