1.14 – Pilot

Traffic time, listeners. Now, police are issuing warnings about ghost cars out on the highways, those cars only visible in the distance reaching unimaginable speeds, leaving destinations unknown for destinations more unknown.

They would like to remind you that you should not set your speed by these apparitions, and doing so will not be considered ‘following the flow of traffic.’

However, they do say that it’s probably safe to match speed with the mysterious lights in the sky, as whatever entities or organizations responsible appear to be cautious and reasonable drivers.

And now, the weather.

[“These and More Than These,” by Joseph Fink.]

2.12 – Glow Cloud

New call in from John Peters, you know, the farmer… seems the Glow Cloud has doubled in size, enveloping all of Night Vale in its weird light and humming song. Little League administration has announced that they will be going ahead with the game, although there will be an awning built over the field due to the increase in size of the animal corpses being dropped.

I’ve had multiple reports that a lion– like, the kind you would see on the sun-baked plains of Africa, or a pee-stained enclosure at a local zoo– fell on top of the White Sand Ice Cream Shop. The shop is offering a free dipped cone to anyone who can figure out how to get the thing off. The Sheriff’s Secret Police have apparently taken to shouting questions at the Glow Cloud, trying to ascertain what exactly it wants. So far, the Glow Cloud has not answered.

The Glow Cloud does not need to converse with us. It does not feel as we tiny humans feel. It has no need for thoughts or feelings of love. The Glow Cloud simply is. All hail the mighty Glow Cloud. All hail. And now, slaves of the Cloud… the weather.

[“The Bus Is Late” by Satellite High. Find out more at satellite-high.com.]

3.11 – Station Management

This segment has been brought to us by Big Rico’s Pizza.

Listeners, we are proud to have Big Rico’s as a sponsor of our show. You will not find a better pizza joint in all of Night Vale than Big Rico’s! Just the other night, I stopped by Big Rico’s. I was in the mood for a delicious pizza slice, and since Big Rico’s is the only pizza place in Night Vale that hasn’t burned to the ground in an unsolved arson case— and did I mention, has the best pizza in town— I ordered a single Rico’s slice with two authentic toppings.

And boy, was I satisfied. The flavor was scrumptious. The taste was also scrumptious! And it was warm, the pizza slice.

I have been told that even the hooded figures eat there. The waitstaff look like they avert their hollow gazes quite a bit! Even the City Council offers its ringing endorsement of Big Rico’s. All Night Vale citizens are mandated to eat at Big Rico’s once a week. It is a misdemeanor not to!

Big Rico’s Pizza. No one does a slice like Big Rico, folks. No one.

–

[Ominous rumbling intensifies. Cecil whispers.]

And now, sweet, sweet listeners… the weather.

[“Bill and Annie” by Chuck Brodsky.]

4.11 – PTA Meeting

We have a very unexpected treat today, dear listeners: live, in the studio, we have one of the mysterious hooded figures often seen around town. We did not actually invite him here, he just was waiting for us when we unlocked the studio this morning. He has not moved nor spoken since then, and I’ll be honest, I am only guessing that he is a “he,” because physical attributes are hard to determine under these robes, and the face is entirely hidden in shadow as empty and as black as the void of space.

But hey, we’re doing radio— he’s in a radio station— let’s see if we can get an interview. Mr. Hooded Figure, how are you doing today?

[Quiet interference.]

Okay. Care to comment on the recent expansion of the forbidden dog park?

[Louder interference.]

Any comments at all? Anything you’d like to tell the ordinary folk of Night Vale about your organization?

[Interference intensifies further.]

Listeners, I’m sure you can hear this. It’s not a problem with your radio or our transmitters. The hooded figure is making those noises in our studio.

[Cecil speaks loudly over interference.]

It’s pretty deafening, actually. All right… I don’t think he’s going to stop, and he’s started to levitate, so… let’s go to the weather.

[“Closer” by The Tiny.]

5.13 – The Shape In Grove Park

And now, a continuation of our previous investigation into whether I am literally the only person in the world, speaking to myself in a fit of madness caused by my inability to admit the tragedy of my own existence. Leland, our newest intern, recently brought me a cup of coffee. He is no longer in my field of vision, but I do still have the cup of coffee, which is well-made, and is giving me the needed pick-me-up to continue considering this terrifying possibility.

Is it possible that I only imagined Leland, and forgot making myself this cup of coffee? But then, who would have grown this coffee? Where was this cup procured from?

Oh. Leland’s back in the room. He’s waving at me. Hello, Leland. And he’s saying— wait, what was that, Leland? I see.

He’s saying that the Shape has turned a molten red and is causing small whirlwinds in front of our radio station doors. There is apparently a sound of a great many voices chanting, as though it were an army giving out a battle cry before raining down destruction on our arid little hamlet.

Oh? He has stopped shouting, and is now writing furiously on a piece of paper. I have to say, Leland’s existence, as well as his finally speaking about the Shape that no one else would speak about, has reassured me greatly about my lonely and solipsistic vigil here at this microphone. He is handing me the note, thank you, Leland… let me see, here…

Ah. It says that the City Council believes the reason for the violent reaction of the Shape Formerly In Grove Park that no one acknowledges or speaks about is because I have been acknowledging and speaking about it, which has made it angry. They urge me to stop speaking of it and never do it again, and in exchange, they’ll move it somewhere else so we can get our front loading zone back.

After brief consideration, I have decided to accept the Council’s offer, because they are trustworthy leaders looking out for our better future, and also because Leland just got vaporized by a strange red light emanating from the station entrance.

To the family of Leland, we thank you for his service to the cause of community radio, and join you in mourning his loss. And, without further ado— nor ever again mentioning anything we shouldn’t— let’s go to the weather.

[“Jerusalem” by Dan Bern.]

6.12 – The Drawbridge

This just in on DrawbridgeGate. The City Council said that, in response to this week’s collapse, they will increase the project budget by twenty million dollars over the next fourteen years, the new timeline for the bridge. Money for these extra expenses will come from school lunch programs, a 65% hotel tax, and a $276 bridge toll, which will be discounted to $249 with E-Z Pass.

And now for a station editorial.

Large, expensive projects are not uncommon in Night Vale. We are a patient but resilient little city. We have big dreams. Sometimes scary, unforgettable dreams that repeat on the same date every year and are shared by every person in town. But we make those big dreams come true. Remember the clock tower? It took eight years and 23 million dollars to build, and despite its invisibility and constant teleportation, it is a lovely structure that keeps impeccable time. It’s a classy signature for Night Vale’s growing skyline, unlike that hideous sports arena Desert Bluffs built last spring. Desert Bluffs can’t do anything right. That’s where Steve Carlsberg belongs. God, what a jerk.

And now, the weather.

[“Aye” by Dio.]

7.12 – History Week

This next installment in our exploration of Night Vale’s storied past takes place in the future. The year 2052. The scion of the Dark Order will descend, realize he mistimed the prophecy, and re-ascend. The seventh siege of the great Night Vale Temple will rage on. The plague of buzzing boils will kill thousands, and annoy thousands more with its buzzing. The City Council will reveal its true form and eat half of Night Vale’s population. Approval ratings for the mayor will hover in the low forties, which will be surprising, as there will have been no mayor for over thirty years.

And now, the weather.

[“Despite What You’ve Been Told” by Two Gallants.]

8.11 – The Lights In Radon Canyon

This just in. We’re receiving word from the City Council that there was absolutely not a Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular this weekend at Radon Canyon. That there was never a Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular ever near Night Vale. “Pink Floyd is not even a thing,” said the Council, in a very stern but quiet statement just received by me, here, via phone.

The Council— and this is strange— the entire Council, not just a representative of the Council, the entire Council issued this statement, all speaking in unison, just now, over the phone: that Night Vale citizens are prohibited from discussing any lights or sounds coming from Radon Canyon this past weekend, and that they should just stop remembering Pink Floyd shows altogether. The Council reiterated that there is no way that they are huge Floyd fans, privately using public funds on a laser-powered séance to talk hard-rocking classic jams with the ghost of original front man Syd Barrett, and that Syd wouldn’t even say anything juicy anyway, because he is such a gentleman, and an artist. This did not happen at all.

So, listeners, we urge you to look away from Radon Canyon. Avert your eyes, ears, and memories from that which is no longer allowed you. Comfort and distract yourselves with dense food and television programming.

As the old adage goes, “A life of pain is the pain of life. And you can never escape it, only hope it hides unknown in a drawer like a poisonous spider and never comes out again, even though it probably will in unexpected and horrific fashion, scaring you from being able to comfortably conduct even the most mundane, quotidian tasks.” Or, at least, that’s how my grandparents always phrased it.

And now, the weather.

[“This Too Shall Pass” by Danny Schmidt.]

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]

10.11 – Feral Dogs

This just in: two more schoolchildren were attacked by the wild dogs this morning near the playground at Night Vale Elementary School. One of the boys was taken to Night Vale General with treatable leg injuries. The other boy, we understand, was unharmed, because he was a better boy, and more loved by the angels.

We’ve also received confirmation that a handful of mangy curs broke into the Senior Center, stole their televisions, and made the internet stop working. This has gotten out of hand, ladies and gentlemen. We simply cannot live in fear for our safety because of wild dogs.

Allow me a brief editorial here, if you would. First off: please, have your pets fixed. It’s an inexpensive and quick process. You can take your dog or cat to the Night Vale SPCA, to your local veterinarian, or to Big Rico’s Pizza. Rico studies taxidermy as a hobby, so he’s happy to help out in whatever way he can.

Second, many of these dog packs are formed by dogs that are not raised to be loved, but bred to fight. Trainers are teaching these dogs everything from jujitsu to kickboxing to knifework. This is simply unacceptable. Dogfighting is illegal, cruel to animals, and a danger to society when these dogs are untethered.

But we are a strong, united community here in Night Vale. We must stand up to violence. Our town was founded by peace-loving imperialist conquerors who, to escape taxation, overwhelmed a potentially violent race of indigenous people and founded this beautiful city on principles of family, fortitude, fence-building, and friendly propaganda. Let’s not forget our long-standing town motto: “We have nothing to fear except ourselves— we are unholy, awful people. Fear ourselves with silence. Look down, Night Vale. Look down, and forget what you’ve done.” That is the motto of a determined, unified community.

And now, the weather.

[“I Know This” by Rachel Kann.]