1.6 – Pilot

A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear in the Night Vale Elementary gymnasium during basketball practice, disrupting practice quite badly.

The jet roared through the small gym for only a fraction of a second, and before it could strike any players or structure, it vanished again. This time, apparently, for good.

There is no word yet on if, or how, this will affect Night Vale Mountain Lions game schedule, and also, if this could perhaps be the work of their bitter rivals, the Desert Bluffs Cacti. Desert Bluffs is always trying to show us up through fancier uniforms, better pre-game snacks, and possibly by transporting a commercial jet into our gymnasium, delaying practice for several minutes, at least.

For shame, Desert Bluffs. For shame.

9.2 – “PYRAMID”

The Sheriff’s Secret Police are asking the public’s help in catching a dangerous fugitive on the loose in the greater Night Vale area. They say he is armed, and should be approached with extreme caution. For everyone’s protection, they’re keeping the name and description of the fugitive secret, but indicate that all strangers should be mistrusted and avoided, as well as friends and loved ones— because how well do you know those people, anyway? Are you aware of their location every second of every day? Who among us does not have secrets?

The fugitive is wanted dead or alive, and vigilante justice is, as always, highly encouraged.

11.2 – Wheat & Wheat By-Products

Representatives from the greater medical insurance community announced this week that major insurance providers would no longer cover government-disseminated illnesses.

These ailments were created to control undesirable populations, and include: AIDS, most cancers, irritable bowel syndrome, telekinesis, tingling, and any kind of food allergy.

Doctors advised that the best way to avoid acquiring any of these conditions is to limit questionable public activities, try not to be in a lower economic class, and give regularly to an approved religious organization.

Take these precautions and you should live a healthy, or at least medically insured, life.

In other health news, the Night Vale Council for Commerce reminds you to regularly consume wheat and wheat by-products.

By doing so, you are directly supporting the local Night Vale farmer, as well as the local Night Vale commodities conglomerates.

Looking for a snack? Try wheat or a wheat by-product.

Dinner? Wheat and/or its by-products.

Trying to patch a leaky roof? We have just the thing for you, and we also have its by-products.

Wheat and wheat by-products: by Americans, for Americans, in Americans, watching Americans.

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.

14.5 – The Man In The Tan Jacket

Over the weekend, Teddy Williams, owner of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, sent us some security camera footage of what he believes to be the first-ever glimpse of citizens of the underground city deep below Lane Five. Early Saturday morning, Fun Complex cameras picked up blurry motion near the soda machine.

The footage is quite fuzzy and difficult to discern. Perhaps it is merely rats or raccoons, digging through an uncovered supply of junk food, but it is, of course, much more likely that a lost nation of people, living in the bowels of a small-town bowling alley, are finally revealing themselves, taking our food supplies, and preparing for war.

Teddy told us that he believes this city to be thousands strong and ready to move into Night Vale, ready to take arms against the ‘upper world’ as they probably call us, ready to conquer this heaven and become the righteous owners of our sun-soaked precious land, we assume. It takes very little extrapolation to believe that they worship a god called Hunto-Karr, who demands sacrifice to keep their underground city thriving in the absence of nourishing sunlight, and a fair assumption is they are ruled by a child-king, recently coronated, who is too weak to rein back the generals intent on marching upon us in war.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you care for your community, your town, your Night Vale like I do, you will arm yourselves. You will rally your neighbors to militia. You will point fingers at those who do not wish to fight and have them rounded up into pens. This is no time for the weak. We are at a presumptive war with a projected enemy whom we cannot see, or even be certain of, but who are probably bloodthirsty giants. If you would like to learn more about starting a militia, simply learn to be a true American. That’s how you’ll know.

And remember, Night Vale is at war. Your careless talk costs lives. They know we are here, and it seems somebody talked. Who was it, Night Vale? Was it Steve Carlsberg? Did Steve Carlsberg talk? Maybe a group of good citizens should go have a chat with Steve and find out what he’s been saying, and to whom. Stay by your radios, listeners. We will report further as events warrant.

19A.9 – The Sandstorm

Listeners, I have some bad news and some, uh, good news. Dana is dead! But the other Dana is alive, and I don’t know which is the original and which is the double. Right now, one of the Danas is standing above her own corpse, panting. I cannot tell if she is grinning or grimacing. When I went in, she had clutched in one hand a broken stapler, and in the other, a printout of this email from… oh, God. This is the bad news I was talking about. An email from Steve Carlsberg. I don’t even want to read an email from that jerk, but if printing it out was one of the Dana’s final actions, I must honor her efforts.

Steve… ugh. Steve writes: ‘The sandstorm is clearly a coverup. I believe this was a government-created project. Our government has long been participating in cloud-seeding experiments, and trying to suppress the people with pharmaceuticals. I believe that this government will stop at nothing in order to…’

Now you listen here, Steve Carlsberg. You’re not saying anything new, Steve. Of course the sandstorm was created by the government. The City Council announced that this morning. The government makes no secret that they can control the weather, and earthquakes, and monitor thoughts and activities. That’s the stuff a big government is supposed to do! Obviously, you have never read the Constitution.

Okay, sure, government can be very inefficient, and sometimes bloated and corrupt, but the answer is not to complain about everything that they do. Without government, we would never have schools or roads or municipal utilities or helpful pandemics or black vans that roam our neighborhoods at night keeping us safe. So please, Steve Carlsberg, I’ve had enough of your government-bashing.

And with that, dear listeners, let’s go to the – oh my. Look at that. Listeners, there is a black, almost indigo, vortex that has formed along my studio wall. Listeners, words fail me. It is so beautiful. I can’t leave you, as our show is not yet over, but there must be something beyond this something, Night Vale. I must see what it is. I must go. I will try not to be long, listeners. I will try not to be long…