2.13 – Glow Cloud

Sorry, listeners! Not sure what happened in that earlier section of the broadcast. As in, I actually don’t remember what happened. Tried to play back the tapes, but they’re all blank, and smell faintly of vanilla.

The Glow Cloud, meanwhile, has moved on. It is now just a glowing spot in the distance, humming east to destinations unknown. We may never fully understand, or understand at all, what it was and why it dumped a lot of dead animals on our community.

But, and I’m going to get a little personal here, that’s the essence of life, isn’t it? Sometimes you go through things that seem huge at the time, like a mysterious glowing cloud devouring your entire community. While they’re happening, they feel like the only thing that matters, and you can hardly imagine that there’s a world out there that might have anything else going on.

And then the Glow Cloud moves on. And you move on. And the event is behind you. And you may find, as time passes, that you remember it less and less. Or absolutely not at all, in my case. And you are left with nothing but a powerful wonder at the fleeting nature of even the most important things in life, and the faint but pretty smell of vanilla.

8.12 – The Lights In Radon Canyon

Teddy Williams, over at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley & Arcade Fun Complex, has an update on the doorway into that vast underground city he found in the pin retrieval area of lane five. He says that every window of the city is now glowing both day and night, and he heard the shouts and footsteps of what sounded like an army marching upwards toward the world above. He also said that given that nothing really matters now, bowling is half off and each game comes with a free basket of wings.

Mm, nothing like those Desert Flower wings.

Let me leave you with this, dear listeners. We lead frantic lives, filled with needs and responsibilities, but completely devoid of any actual purpose. I say, let’s try to enjoy the simple things. Life should be like a basket of chicken wings: salty, full of fat and vinegar, and surrounded by celery you’ll never actually eat, even when you’re greedily sopping up the last viscous streaks of buffalo sauce from the wax paper with your spit-stained index finger. Yes… that is as life should be, Night Vale.

Stay tuned for a special live broadcast of the Night Vale Symphony Orchestra performing Eugene O’Neill’s classic play The Iceman Cometh. It is a good night, listeners. Good night.

12.12 – The Candidate

Ah, but that is later. Now, it is dark. It is quiet. Just you and me, dear listener. Just my voice, traveling from this microphone, traveling silent and immediate across sleepy homes and lost souls to your ears.

You curl under a blanket, protecting your body from the world, excepting a few clever spiders, and you are listening, hearing me. Sleep heavily and know that I am here with you now. The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore. And while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first, and settles in as the gentle present. This now, this us, we can cope with that. We can do this together, you and I, drowsily, but comfortably. Stay tuned now for our two-hour special, Car Alarms And Their Variations, brought to you commercial-free by Canada Dry.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

19A.11 – The Sandstorm

[Cecil’s voice returns.]

Hello? Night Vale? I told you I would be back. It took longer than I thought, but I have returned from whatever horrible place I have gone. Along the way, in the vortex, I saw a grotesque man. A foul devil of a man! And he attacked me! I tried to choke him to death, but I remembered. I remembered what I told you, and I let him live. I let that woeful beast live. I am sure he is not without his wounds and bruises, and I pity that he must return to that awful, awful place from whence he came and to where I most unfortunately visited.

But somehow, I am happy that he is alive. That I am alive. That you are alive. That we are alive. Outside, the winds are subsiding, the sun sweeping away our pains. I am sure there is blood staining the streets, the graffiti of our sins, the writings of an immoral but necessary battle, I presume. The bodies of some replaced by others who were – we were – all the same to begin with. And we are healing. Those of us, whoever we are, who survived. Those others of us, whoever we are, who conquered.

Whoever you are now, you are home. We are home, Night Vale. You and I are together again. My mouth, your ears: we have each other. And for now, and always, good night, Night Vale. Good night.