"Harmonicas are evil. Postal workers are liars. Life is endless.

Welcome to Night Vale."

It was a humid, dark night down at the station. Cecil sat in his revolving chair as the community radio tune played out to all his listeners. He waited for a few moments for the somber music to die down, and then leaned forward to speak into the microphone, glancing down at a packet of information sent in that morning. He spoke.

"Hello, listeners. To start things off... I have a report here that Big Rico's Pizza Company is closing down indefinitely because of... fog."

Cecil leans back in his chair, and recites from memory, "I sent Intern Amanda out to get some answers from Big Rico himself. I told her, 'You want to be a journalist, right?' and sent her on her way, despite the fact that she is majoring in psychology. What she wrote down wasn't much, but as Rico hurriedly locked the doors to the small restaurant, he was reportedly muttering about the 'fog that will envelop all of us'. Amanda attempted to track him down, but was threatened with a fireplace tong and warned to stay away. More on that as it develops."

The radio host clears his throat, and glances down at the second report. "Samuel Cranston, Night Vale Elementary's maintenance man, reported odd bellowing and groaning noises coming from the boiler in the school Caverns in a phone interview this afternoon. I asked him what the school planned to do about it, to which he cried, 'I haven't been to The Caverns since the incident of '04!' He then made a few rustling sounds. I asked him what the matter was, and he claimed he was then hiding in a trash can from the hooded janitors without names. I don't know about you, listeners, but I find that a blatant act of neglect on the Night Vale School System's part."

Cecil glanced around the darkening studio. Outside, the sun was setting, casting a hazy pink across the land. He then flipped a page, and took a look at the next report. "City Council has announced Monday that they have declared Tabasco to be illegal in a unanimous vote. All together, standing in front of City Hall they simultaneously shouted, 'These products are intolerable!' flailing their arms. 'We have found six human eyelashes in one bottle.' They then cited the decision a few years ago, in which the maximum eyelashes that were allowed to be found in Tabasco was lowered to five. I, for one, have to agree with their decision. After all... do you trust Tabasco? Would you trust it with your life? If you were being lowered into a pit of molten lava, would you place your fate in the hands of Tabasco?"

The young radio host sighed, closed his eyes, and gave himself a mental shakedown. "Anyway. Tabasco has now formally been added to the list of items that are outlawed."

The door to the studio was suddenly opened, as Intern James walked in, nervously handing Cecil a note. "Ah, thank you," Cecil said quietly, taking it. "Intern James has just handed me a breaking news report. Ah. An update on Big Rico's Pizza."

"Citizens have reported that Big Rico, the owner of Big Rico's Pizza Company, has been seen running throughout the streets of Night Vale, wearing a crimson snuggie, and screaming indecipherably about... fog. Shocked residents went about their business, as reporting such things is generally frowned upon, but as your Community Radio Host... I have been given all the gossip, it seems!"

Cecil sighed happily, staring up at a salvaged poster of the Night Vale Summer Reading Program on the wall. "Oh, right. The Sheriff's Secret Police was on the scene within literal seconds, and accosted Big Rico. I'm not quite sure what to make of that, actually, as Big Rico has, and always will be a sponsor of ours. Oh, right. No one does a slice like Big Rico. No one."

The host took a swig of water sitting near the mic, and began, "Old Woman Josie has told me just today that the angels, which are not real, have disappeared from her house. She was in tears, as she told me, 'It was so strange. They all stared up at the ceiling and began to sing.' Within moments, the definitely not angels disappeared on their godly mission, and haven't been seen since. Old Woman Josie continues, 'They were right in the middle of fixing my stove, too. Where am I supposed to bake corn bread now?' Although I legally cannot sympathize with Old Woman Josie's new found lack of angelic beings, I am certainly with her on the corn bread. The fluffy, grained muffins will be missed."

Cecil took a moment to yawn behind his hand quietly, and pulled the stack of reports closer to him, flipping through them. He found one that he liked, and declared, "As you know, the Desert Bluffs Cacti played the Night Vale Scorpions last night in a thrilling home game that was cut short by something quite unexpected. At around 7:08 PM, every single team member from the Desert Bluffs Cacti vanished instantly in the middle of a free throw. While the team members have not been seen since, it has been reasonably decided by the referees that the Night Vale Scorpions 'probably would have won anyway', as they have been given the title of Blood Lust Champions over the Desert Bluffs Cacti. Well, good on you, Scorpions! I'm absolutely certain that those Cacti were up to no good anyway. Only an inferior team would just, oh, I don't know, disappear without a trace during the middle of a game. I mean, seriously, Desert Bluffs? Ugh. Get it together."

A small grin took over the visage of the radio announcer. "In other news, I have a report here that in a controversial decision, the Night Vale Zoo has changed its logo from that of a 'giraffe eating a swan' to a 'baby chimpanzee hugging a hatted zookeeper'. The owner, Jessica Anderson, stated, 'We need a kid-friendly logo that will attract kids with higher body fat percentages! How else are we going to cut costs on feeding the animals?' A small protest has formed outside the zoo, with angry citizens holding signs such as 'We want the old logo back!' and ranging to 'What are you, afraid of some meaningless animal being devoured? Get a grip, Night Vale Zoo!' Mayor Pamela Winchell has scheduled a press conference about the subject for this Thursday."

Cecil glances to his right, as the studio door bursts open again, revealing a distraught James holding another scrap of paper. "Here we are!" Cecil proclaims, taking it. "Thank you. I have just received a report that... a large hole has opened up, out in the Sand Wastes."

He reads, "The hole is about ten feet in diameter, and is slowly growing. It is a deep, deep pit, to which nobody can see the bottom of. A small crowd has reportedly grown around it. John Peters... you know, the farmer? He approached it, and threw down a pebble to see if he could hear it land. Long story short, there was no sign of it landing, or that pebble again. The Sheriff's Secret Police have reminded everyone to stay away from everything that looks new in the Sand Wastes, and has elected to send a few extra blue helicopters to watch over the hole, just in case. More on that... as it develops."

A figurative light bulb goes off over Cecil's head. "Ah. Speaking of blue helicopters, helicopter pilot Marco Padilla had called in to report 'strange vibrations... from the moon.' He goes on to claim he can 'feel them, you know? Like, inside my mind! I can hear them! I can hear them calling me!' The line then went dead, and citizens haven't seen him since. I'm not sure what has happened to Marco Padilla, listeners, but... I have a slight suspicion that the Sheriff's Secret Police might need to hire just one more blue helicopter pilot, just in case."

"And now, traffic."

Cecil cracks his knuckles, and reaches around for a small blue folder, hastily labeled "TRAFFIC". He opens it, and reads from the first slip inside, "An unidentified flying object has been spotted over the Ralphs. Witnesses describe it as, 'Smooth, yet fluffy,' and 'Gelatinous... yet malevolent.' The Sheriff's Secret Police has sent an officer down to the Ralphs with a bullhorn, who has called up to it the speed limit of that area, in the hopes that it will follow such traffic laws. So far, no charges have been made. This has been-"

A cell phone from Cecil's pocket suddenly rings, with the ringtone as the popular song, "She Blinded Me With Science!" Cecil hastily reaches into his pocket to withdraw it. "Oh, it's Carlos!" he announces to the audience with the faintest trace of a blush, and taps a button. "Carlos, you're on speaker phone with my listeners!"

"Oh, there you are, Cecil," Carlos responds from the speaker of the small phone. "I'm at the slowly growing hole out in the Sand Wastes. I called to tell you that this is no ordinary hole. I have done tests on it, and I'm absolutely, one hundred percent positive that this hole is actually from another dimension. Also, we're going out on Friday to Sukoshi Kumo, right?"

"Oh, um, right!" Cecil recalls, snapped out of it. "Yeah, no, great! I love Sukoshi Kumo!"

"Anyways. Half the town seems like its here. The Sheriff's Secret Police have surrounded the hole, telling us to stay back. Fortunately, since I have the credentials as a scientist, I have the authority to investigate. We're doing more tests right as we speak. I wanted to ask you if-"

The call abruptly fizzes out, only to be reestablished seconds later. "Carlos?" Cecil asks in alarm. "Carlos? Are you there? What's happened?"

A distorted garble is emitted from the phone. Carlos's voice can then be heard. "Oh, wow," Carlos's voice yells in alarm as an explosion is heard in the background. "What is happening?" Cecil cries. "Tell me what's going on, Carlos. Has the hole attacked you?"

"I... no... hole is rapidly... Cecil..." is all that can be heard from the phone between garbling. The connection is suddenly reestablished. "Cecil!" Carlos yells. "Yes! Yes, I'm here!" Cecil yells back into the phone, the only thing that's keeping the two of them together. "The hole is getting wider!" Carlos calls. "The Sheriff's Secret Police's helicopter has crashed! There are about twelve beings that look like angels, but definitely aren't angels surrounding the hole with their arms forward and singing! People are running... running from the fog! To repeat, there is a huge volume of fog coming out of the hole! I can't... I can't see! Cecil! Are... there? I... stop... coming... you! Don't..."

The phone's connection fizzles out, and the call is ended from Carlos's end. "Carlos!" Cecil yells into the phone, still broadcasting to his listeners. "Listeners, I'm not sure what's going on, but Carlos has reported fog coming out of the hole in the Sand Wastes! I... oh, my god."

Cecil looks over to his left out the station's window. Fog is filling the streets of Night Vale, thickening faster than Easy Mac after three minutes and thirty seconds in the microwave. "Listeners," Cecil says into the microphone, "I can see fog rapidly filling the streets outside. My advice for you is to stay indoors, whatever happens. There are... things out there, in the fog. I can see rapidly expanding figures shrouded in darkness, all mutating into horrific monstrosities. Whatever happens, do not go outside."

He looks out the window once more. A few citizens are running around, clutching at their faces, and then falling to the pavement. "I..." Cecil begins, "I... I think people are literally drowning in the fog outside! It is so thick that you can literally cut through it. Again, citizens, stay indoors! I-"

He glances at the studio door. Fog is in the hallway on the other side, as the silhouette of Intern James is seen struggling with his neck. Fog begins to seep under the door. "There is fog in the station!" Cecil yells, standing up and nearly knocking his microphone over. "It is seeping under the door to my studio! To the family of Intern James Rodriguez, I offer my sincere apologies, as he is most likely one with the fog! As my situation spirals out of control, I take you, and this entire town, to the weather!"

Three Minutes Later

An exhausted Cecil Palmer flops down into his studio's seat. "Listeners..." he sighs, breathing heavily. "I have good news and bad news. The good news is... the angels - er, sorry, non angelic beings - were able to repel the fog back into the hole and close it up for good. After struggling with my life as the fog filled up my studio, I was able to breathe once more as it was all sucked out and put back into the hell from whence it came. The bad news... is that Carlos the scientist is missing."

Cecil leans back in his chair, and rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand. "He isn't responding to any of my texts, not even the ones that include the cute little kitten emoticon. Bodies litter the streets of Night Vale of citizens who were too late. The Sheriff's Secret Police has told everyone to stay indoors while they take care of the situation. I... I worry my Carlos is among the bodies."

The aging community radio host sniffs, and wipes his eyes. "I may never get to see him again. We'll never enjoy sushi at Sukoshi Kumo again. Hasty visits to Mission Grove Park in which we conduct scientific experiments on the grass and on the trees are all I will be able to remember of... of our time togeth-"

The studio door bursts open, revealing a figure that shocks even Cecil. "Carlos!"

Carlos runs in, and hugs Cecil tightly. "Oh my god," Cecil asks, "how did you get out?"

His boyfriend hugs him for a moment longer, and then admits, "The angels. They carried me upwards, higher than the fog could reach. I remember flying over the town with the, um, nonexistent angels as their friends pushed back the fog into the hole, and sealing it forever. I saw the stars, and the clouds, and I could even see the moon, Cecil!"

"You're not hurt, though, are you, Carlos?" Cecil asks, looking earnestly into Carlos's beautiful eyes. Carlos shakes his head. "No. The angels put me down in front of the station here right when it was safe. I was most worried about you, Cecil."

Cecil Palmer blushes. "Um, listeners," he calls to the microphone as he's still embracing Carlos, "Carlos is... okay! He's fine! Everything's back to normal, then!"

Carlos nods, and smiles, teeth as straight as a military cemetery. A buzzer goes off on his phone. "Oh, um," he mutters, checking it. "I gotta run. Apparently, one of my scientists is 'floating about three feet in the air' in our lab. I'll see you later, Cecil."

The scientist leaves in a rush after a quick peck on Cecil's cheek and a wave. Cecil is left staring after him, sighing. "Ah. Well, listeners, it looks like things turned out well after all."

"Our town has faced mind-controlling forests, menacing traffic signs, threat of corporate takeover, and now an epidemic... of fog. Our time here on this planet is limited, listeners, but sometimes... we get to share it with those we care about. As our planet spins on, rocketing throughout the void, passing star after star in the vain hopes that one of them harbors hope, we have the option of being in the arms of those we love, of those who care for us. This tiny life we've sculpted for us on this planet means so much to us, that we're willing to give our life and everything we know for loved ones. Be safe, Night Vale. Stay within the grasp of the one you care for, and who cares for you back as we mend our wounds from yet another near tragedy in our little corner of the desert. Good night, Night Vale. Good night."