A/N: As the description says this is a fan episode I wrote just to see if I could! Thinking of recording it but I dunno, I might. This episode doesn't really have much of a plot but I have ideas for some other episodes with actual plots if you like this, let me know! Thanks for reading! and please enjoy!
Birds are not what they seem, and neither, apparently, is your reflection.
Welcome to Night Vale.
*intro music*
Good evening dear listeners and what a good evening it is indeed! The glowing sun is hanging low in the sky and the un-marked helicopters are a reassuring midnight blue, but it wasn't always like this, oh no, dear listeners. The older audience will remember clearly, for example, the rise of the street cleaners who still return once a year to remind us of our fragile existence or the night the whole town became possessed by some un-known creature that no one can describe or even remember being real.
Ah yes, our little community has come in leaps and bounds in the last few years. Even now, looking out of the studio window, I can see a lovely old couple writhing in pain in the centre of our local blood stone circle. I can't help but feel safe in a community willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. It's so reassuring to be living in a town of people that are so selfless, and that's even without the Sheriff's Secret Police!
Sure we have the occasional un-explained disappearance only for the person to return months later exactly the same except with a sudden un-controllable attraction to the colour green, and yes we have more than our fair share of mysterious cloaked figures, but over-all I wouldn't give it up for anything. Ah, how I would love to talk about our lovely community all day, but the station managers are making a strange in-human screeching noise. So now, I take you quickly, for fear of my own life, to the news.
The faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home has reported you to the Sheriff's Secret Police. We have you surrounded. There is no point trying to run. We are transferring your house to an un-disclosed location as we speak. Which we all really know is the abandoned mine shaft at the edge of town. Everything will look exactly the same. You will have no idea anything is different, but in reality everything is. Everything.
That is all the news for today. I know that it seems quite strange listeners, but that really is all that there is to report. There are sheets and sheets of paper in front me entitled news, but there is not one thing written on them. Or maybe there is. I dare not investigate further because whenever I try, my head fills with a mysterious, un-explained static and I just want it all to end. To just let it all go. All gone. And now the traffic.
Commuters have reported that the highway into Night Vale has been blocked by a huge snow storm. This, in itself, is a strange occurrence. After all, we are in the middle of a hot, hot desert. However, the storm seems to be meowing at random intervals and it has been reported that anyone who entered had a sudden passionate hatred for blue plastic.
This has been traffic.
Listeners, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but the microphone has turned into a small boy. I mean, I think he's a small boy. He has a completely blank expressionless face. Listeners, I'm not sure if he is even human. It's occurring to me now that you might not even be able to hear this, as my microphone is now a small floating boy. He is impossible to describe, and I might just be speaking into the empty void.
I've hidden under my desk. My government issued small floating boy survival kit is locked in the office with the station management. So I now take you, with hopes of my return, to community announcements.
This week marks the anniversary of mountains. The city hall will be holding a crafts fair in honour of mountains and have confirmed that you can be expecting a few quest appearances. These include: The local head of mountains, Jessica Mains, and an anonymous guest from the vague-yet-menacing government agency who you will not see, hear, or even be fully aware of his or her existence.
If you're looking for something to do this weekend, the Night Vale post office is holding a 'send it right, send at night' event and released in a statement that due to un-disclosed circumstances, Night Vale's post men and women will only be collecting post sent at night, or in the event of the sun's disappearance. The price of stamps will also be going up three cents for letters and two rotten fingernails for parcels. Your post will continue to be collected from your nearest sacrifice point every eclipse of the moon. The Night Vale post office would like to thank you for your continued support.
The Night Vale Community College had to close early today after they reported the walls became sentient. This isn't an uncommon occurrence here in Night Vale. However, it became impossible to teach students after the walls grew eyes, and anyone who made eye contact with them heard a high pitched screaming coming from inside their heads. The head of the school committee, the florescent and all powerful Glow, when asked for a statement set the journalist on fire and started raining black rain. It then floated over the journalist and used the rain to stop the fire. When the journalist had stopped screaming, he started pulling out his hair strand by strand until he was completely bald. We didn't stay long enough to find out what happened next. The school should be up and running again just as soon as we can get the walls to stop torturing the students.
And now a message from our sponsors.
What are you doing this weekend? What were you doing last weekend? Endless blackness. Of course not! It doesn't matter. Endless blackness. Do you know where you are? Do you know where you've been? Does it even matter? Does anything even matter? Endless blackness. Do you want answers? What are the answers? What are the questions? You don't know. We don't know. Endless blackness. Don't you think it's strange? Don't you think? How do you know? How do you know? Endless blackness. Endless blackness.
Blackness. Blackness.
This message was brought to you by Coca Cola.
Listeners, dear listeners, the boy has begun speaking. It- it is repeating everything I say. I- I think this is a sign. It's trying to tell me I'm being monitored, I think. Listeners I don't know what's going on, but everything surrounding the studio has gone black. The corridor is just darkness and there is no longer any light coming from behind the blind. If anyone has seen anything like this before, then please, please send help. Carlos, oh the beautiful and perfect Carlos, I hope you're safe, I hope Night Vale is safe.
Wait. Listeners, there is someone at my door. I can hear them. I-I am going to answer the door. Wish me luck listeners. I'll be back soon, I hope.
*scuffling noises and a long pause*
Hello Night Vale, I am very sorry about that. I have no idea what just happened. The last few minutes are completely blank. The last thing I remember is reading the traffic, but I get the feeling more time has passed without my knowledge. I feel like I've just woken up from a half remembered dream, like the last few minutes where all thought up by my imagination. I don't think there is any point trying to listen to the tracks from a moment ago so I guess I'll just leave it. If growing up in Night Vale has taught me anything it's to never look a gift horse in the mouth, right listeners?
I can't help but feel that it's times like this that the words scrawled across the walls of the dog park in what is hopefully red paint that just happens to smell of iron and contain small flecks of skin, suddenly make sense. 'Sometimes you can't know the things that you want to so much, even when you are the one that should know most'. Then it goes on to give detailed instructions on how to go about extracting your own soul, but misses out the last step. It seems like even the mysterious hooded figures understand irony. Not that we are supposed to even know of the dog park's existence which just adds to the irony.
I have an update on the situation in Night Vale Community College, the head of the school committee, all mighty Glow Cloud, has reported to us that pencils have also become sentient. Listeners I don't know about you, but I don't believe one word this glow cloud is saying. As we all know, all writing utensils have been banned from Night Vale since 'the incident'. I think it's safe to assume that the college is okay to enter now as it's clear that the Glow Cloud lies. That vile, vile lying Glow Cloud.
A lot of people have been asking about the mysterious floating cat, Khoshekh that has made its home next to a sink in the male bathroom. Well, Khoshekh is doing well. In fact, for a time he disappeared from the bathroom! We discovered him in Carlos's laboratory out by big Rico's pizza. Which is strange because he was stuck in a stationary position for more than a year, but if we got ourselves caught up on every moving cat, listeners, then Night Vale would not be the thriving desert community it is today.
I do hope that, like the sentient pencils in our little town, the rest of your day is good, and not like tomorrow evening, but best not to speak about that. Stay tuned for twenty minutes of the sound of your own breathing.
Goodnight Night Vale, goodnight.