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.]

Advertisements

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.]

8.3 – The Lights In Radon Canyon

Carlos, this station’s favorite scientist— no offense to Dr. Dubinsky in the Night Vale Community College chemistry department— dropped by our broadcast location earlier this morning for a little chat. Sadly, dinner or weekend plans were not among the topics.

However, Carlos did request that we ask listeners for anyone who saw a series of bright, colorful flickers coming from Radon Canyon this past weekend. These flickers would’ve also been accompanied by unintelligible noises, possibly some form of coded communication or signal-jamming technique. Carlos suggested that there could be some very sinister forces at work here. He declined to be interviewed live, claiming only that he was scared for us, scared for all of us in our strange town. Then he drove away quickly in his economical but attractively sporty hybrid coupe.

If anyone out there knows anything about these otherworldly lights and sounds, please contact us immediately.

11.6 – Wheat & Wheat By-Products

An update on our previous message about wheat and wheat by-products.

You should not eat wheat or wheat by-products, say several frantic scientists waving clipboards in our studio.

As it turns out, all wheat and wheat by-products for unknown reasons have turned into venomous snakes, which are crawling all over our small city, causing even more chaos than is normal.

These snakes have been described as ‘terrifying, loathsome, and probably from the bowels of hell itself.’ Also, ‘green, and three feet long.’

If you have any wheat or wheat by-products in your home, you are almost certainly already dead.

Sorry about that.

11.8 – Wheat & Wheat By-Products

Further updates on wheat and wheat by-products. The good news is that they are no longer poisonous serpents.

The bad news is that they have transformed into a particularly evil and destructive form of spirit. Please be aware that wheat and wheat by-products are now malevolent and violent supernatural forces capable of physically moving objects up to 200 pounds, and entering human souls of up to soul-strength four.

The frantic scientists, who are now hopping up and down just outside my recording booth, indicating various charts and figures, recommend creating a simple lean-to out of animal bones and mud– such as you might have made and played in as a child– and hiding there until the spiritual forces of wheat and wheat by-products have passed.

19A.10 – The Sandstorm

[A different, cheerful male voice speaks.]

Hello? Hello, Desert Bluffs? What is this studio? Hey there, Desert Bluffs. I don’t know if you can hear me. Kevin here. I don’t know where I am. It’s a radio studio, but the walls are darker. The equipment looks much older. Certainly much drier than it should be. The microphone was made… when? Have I gone back in time? Vanessa! Are you in the booth?

Listeners, if you can hear me, I am in a strange place. I do not know if I am in Desert Bluffs, or if anyone can hear me. The sandstorm rages outside. The vortex is still there, but it’s black, almost a deep blue. There’s a low hum. I do not know if this is the portal, or the storm, or my own body. There is a photo here on the desk. It is a man. He is wearing a tie. He is not tall or short, not thin or fat. He has eyes like mine and a nose like mine, and hair like mine, but I do not think he is me. Maybe it is the smile. Is that a smile? I can’t say. I do hope he is safe, whoever, wherever he is. I hope I am safe, wherever, whoever I am.

It is night. I think it is night. It is night. You may not know me, nor I you, but we have this mic, and this voice, and your warm ears blossoming open to hear comforting secrets in the vibrations of a voice that pulse so deep into your body, your heart relaxes for a time. And we have this, sitting right here on this odd and bloodless desk. So now, dear listeners, whoever you are, I give you… the weather.

[“Eliezer’s Waltz” by Larry Cardozo & Ron Fink, performed by Disparition.]