The Future Tense of Fear
Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Those who do learn from history are doomed to watch as it unfolds around them in relentless cycles of inevitability.
Welcome to Night Vale!
Listeners… something is wrong with our reality.
"But, Cecil," you might say, "we already know that. Night Vale is a weird place—this isn't news." And you'd be right. To a point.
Today, though, things have been a little extra weird. We've been getting reports of what's being described as… windows into another place. Nobody really knows where, though, because they don't stay open for long. And they keep spitting out things like rocks, tree branches, and bricks that have been sharpened into points. Then they disappear in a shower of sparks. These portals appear to be opening up at random times and places, with no warning at all.
And then there are the earthquakes. I checked my calendar this morning, and there are definitely no earthquakes scheduled for today. These tremors—there's another one, sorry, had to catch my mic before it rattled off my desk!—do not appear to be the work of the City Council in their wisdom. Besides, government-induced earthquakes aren't usually accompanied by streaks of purple lightning along the ground.
Listeners, it is very important that you do not try to touch the lightning. I know, I know, we all did the requisite fork-in-the-electrical-socket experiment in grade school science class. We all know how to handle arcs of raw power burning our skin and scrambling our heart rhythms. It's a kid's game, it's fun. But whatever this is, Night Vale, it is not the same. Intern Lucas tried to use it to charge his phone the way you can do in a thunderstorm, by touching the current with one hand while holding his phone in the other, and he… well, he kind of exploded? I mean, he literally exploded. There was blood and bits of flesh and bone everywhere; it was really gross.
Oh. Uh, to the friends and family of Intern Lucas: he was a good intern. A very good intern. He was bright. He had that, you know, that spark.
He will be missed.
Hey, kids! Let's talk about space. I don't mean the sky—we know all about the sky. It's mostly void, partially stars, generally terrifying, and usually uninteresting. I mean the space around us, that we move through.
Everything around us takes up space. Your bed, your desk, your lamp, your toy cars and pop guns and fission reactors, even you, yourself: it all occupies a volume of space. And there are ways we can measure exactly how much space an object is taking up.
For simple things like a pack of cards or an evenly shaped bloodstone, this is a simple matter of measurement. Find the length, the width, the height, account for variations in shape, yadda yadda, lots of math. But who wants to do math when we're here to do science?
You may have noticed the weird blue glow that's been randomly sweeping through town. Everything it touches is momentarily shifted, somehow, so it's still there, but it no longer takes up space. You can put your hand right through it!
Try it. Sit in front of a large object, like a wall or a car. Be patient—it's impossible to tell when the shift will happen. Wait for it.
When the blue glow passes over the object (or you), reach out and try to touch it. Your hand will pass right through as if it's not there! But make sure to pull it out quickly. You don't want to get stuck when it shifts back.
Now, for our experiment. Take the object you wish to measure (I don't recommend using a bloodstone for this—remember, eldritch power should always be respected) and go back to the large object you were watching before. Or a different one; it doesn't really matter. Wait for it to phase out again, then put the small object inside the larger one and wait for the effect to pass. You'll find that suddenly, these two objects that took up different spaces, now occupy the same volume!
Keep doing this. Anything you need to put aside, that's cluttering up your space, just stick it in the wall and let the mysterious holes in the fabric of space store it away. Cleaning your room has never been easier! And just imagine how much space you'll have when you're done!
This has been the Children's Fun Fact Science Corner.
And now, traffic.
There is a car on Route 800. It's a red car, sporty and expensive. It has leather seats and a convertible roof, folded down. The woman driving it just bought it, brand-new, and she's taking it for a spin. The warm desert wind whips her long hair into a comet's tail. She is single, childless, and relatively wealthy, with a good job and few other responsibilities. She laughs, carefree and happy.
She glances at her son in the passenger seat. "How was school today?" she asks.
He picks at the worn upholstery and shrugs, not answering out loud. He stares out the window and watches the city roll by, its sounds muffled by the enclosure of metal and glass around him.
The woman sighs, and her mouth is set in a tight line as she navigates the winding curves of Ouroboros Road. She's tired of all this stress. All she wants to do is go home, let her hair down, and maybe pour herself a glass of wine.
She turns up the heat in the car. It's unseasonably cold tonight.
She makes a mental list of what she has to do. Drop off her son at basketball practice. Go grocery shopping at the Ralph's. File her taxes and hope the return is enough to get caught up on all her bills.
Finally, the car pulls into the driveway of a rundown house at the end of Drainage Ditch Road. The driver gets out, warning his daughter to take off her soccer cleats before she goes inside. He shuts the car door wearily, and some of its dull gray paint drifts in tiny flakes to the pavement.
This has been traffic.
Listeners. We here in Night Vale have always valued freedom of religion. That's why, though most of us worship in Bloodstone Circles the way our ancestor did, several other faiths have also found homes in our little burg—even the frankly horrifying Joyous Congregation of the Smiling God has been tolerated, if not welcomed. But recently, there have been reports of a disturbing new cult springing up in the neighboring town of Pine Cliff.
Now, this is particularly strange, as Pine Cliff is populated entirely by ghosts, and ghosts are not known to have exceptionally strong religious beliefs. But more and more Pine Cliff residents are changing their usually pale, wraithlike forms. The cult members appear armored and warlike—though still noncorporeal—and glow an eerie shade of orange. They gather in the center of town and chant things like "the Soul Stone calls" and "we obey Thanos."
If you'll allow me, a brief editorial.
Look, cults can be fun. Remember the Well of Night a few years back? Haha, that was a good time. A harmless night of chanting and dancing yourself into a frenzy around a bottomless well of mysterious darkness can be good for the soul, you know? I'm definitely not saying cults are inherently bad or anything.
But, to be honest, I admit to being a little bit worried about our spectral neighbors. Whoever this god is that they're worshipping, this Thanos, I'm afraid he's manipulating them into something less wholesome than unfettered dancing. They seem to be lining up in ranks, Night Vale. Preparing to march! I don't know what they're up to, listeners, but I know I don't like it.
We need to be vigilant. Gather your families inside your Bloodstone Circles, and keep your favorite ghost-busting weapon handy. It would be a shame to have to use them against our neighbors, but we will defend ourselves if we must. We stand as one, Night Vale! Together, we crushed the threat from the Tiny City! Together, we threw off StrexCorp! We can handle an army of ghosts!
Oh, that reminds me: the Night Vale High School wheelchair basketball team will be playing the Pine Cliff Lizard Monitors in regional championships tonight. Go Scorpions!
And that brings us to the Community Calendar. Lots of great things happening this week!
On Monday, the Little League Team will hold an ice cream social to raise funds for new uniforms. Come out to the Haunted Baseball Diamond for some delicious treats, and support our young athletes!
Tuesday, Mr. and Mrs. John and Rose Smith, who were married back in February, are throwing a housewarming party, as they've bought their first home together! Aw, that's so sweet! Attendees are asked to please bring a dish for potluck.
On Thursday, the Sheriff's Secret Police will be conducting a—wait a minute. I thought this looked familiar! This is the Calendar for the week of January 13 of last year. Where did this come from? And why is the paper glowing faintly green?
Oh, there it goes. The test just blurred and rearranged itself, and now it's showing the events for this week. So, I guess this segment of today's show is now… Corrections.
On Monday, the Little League team will hold a séance to try to reclaim the soul of beloved coach Lucia Tereschenko. A ghost like our imperiled neighbors in Pine Cliff, she, too, has fallen in with this new cult of Thanos, and has marched off to war, leaving the team leadership shorthanded.
Tuesday, the Last Bank of Night Vale will be foreclosing on the home of Mr. and Mrs. John and Rose Smith. For your safety, if you also live in the Desert Creek housing development, please evacuate the area by ten A.M. sharp. Sirens will sound when it is safe to return to your homes.
On Thursday, the Sheriff's Secret Police will be conducting a—
Hang on.
Uh, breaking news, Night Vale. We're getting reports from all over town of… a-a terrible light, yellow and searingly bright and with no discernible source, flashing across the sky. It was gone in an instant, but immediately afterward, citizens began reporting strange visions.
Great battles of man against beast. Ring-shaped ships descending from the sky. A green woman lying broken in a stone pit. An airplane—no, a rocket—no, a man, a man with an axe, bathed in holy light, flying through the air at impossible speed. A giant moon crumbling and raining fire on the planet below. A woman firing red light at a red man, as they both weep. A giant man—no, a creature—no, a Titan, raising a bejeweled fist in triumph.
What can these visions mean? These shared images seem to describe fragments of a desperate war of gods and heroes, a losing battle against this mad Titan and his gems. If we all combine our visions, we might be able to put the pieces in order and learn the whole story.
It might make a good movie. Or even a comic book.
Oh, uh… listeners, I'm getting some… some truly disturbing reports. I… oh. Oh, God. Um, Night Vale, I—
Uh, so, Carlos just came running into the studio. He seems really—really scared, and I… I need to talk to him, so-so let's, uh, let's go to the weather.
Listeners…
Oh…
If-if you can hear me, then whatever this… this thing is, that has devastated our town, has spared you. You drew the high card. The-the long straw. You might call yourselves lucky.
Then again, you might not.
I don't know what happened. I don't think anyone does. But something… something has swept through our town and taken away the only thing that's ever mattered. One moment, it was crisis as usual, and the next… we could only watch, helpless and horrified, as our loved ones vanished before our eyes.
They were not taken, Night Vale. That's what some reports say. Taken. But I saw it happen. I…
Carlos… beautiful, perfect, sweet Carlos… he saw it first. He saw people start to turn to ash, one by one, and float away on the desert breeze. And his first thought… was…
I'm sorry, I can't…
His first thought was for me. To see if I was okay. He raced to the studio as fast as he could, and he burst into the booth with wild eyes and his hair flying everywhere and flung himself into my arms and…
…and…
…and then his breath hitched, and his hands tightened on my shoulders. He pulled away, just a little, just enough so I could look in his eyes. His eyes… were wide and full of… of-of terror and pain and…
I… he…
There is a pile of ash on the floor of my studio. And Carlos, my Carlos… is d… he's de… he's gone.
I don't even know why I'm still broadcasting. I doubt anyone who's left is still listening. I-I'm signing off now. Stay tuned next for… for… oh, what does it matter?