Stars… They're just like us! Mostly volatile burning lumps, noiseless in the void of space. Cold and alone. Dying…
I am your host, Q.
Welcome to Night Vale.
Welcome, dear listeners.
You will never believe what just happened. And by 'just happened' I mean what happened this weekend. And by this weekend I mean my time stream's weekend, because this whole volatile different time stream issue has been getting worse.
James got shot.
Now, before you start worrying or freaking out or just get plain confused because, of course, guns don't kill people, let me explain.
Last Friday, when James, you know, the spy, came to collect me, he struck up a conversation with Intern Eve and eventually, somehow, they got on the topic of weapons and guns. He was quite shocked, listeners, when I told him that guns don't work here. Being a secret spy and all, he probably has a lot of weapons with him, but since we're not meant to know he's a secret spy, I guess he can't ask us specifically which weapons will work and which weapons won't and which weapons will work but then won't because the Sherriff's Secret Police have outlawed them and the weapons have become sentient enough to realise that they shouldn't work so they don't.
Anyway.
We explained to James how guns don't kill people. Bees kill people, and poison, and knives, and shady government agents from a vague yet menacing government agency, and those helicopters painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey we're not meant to know about. Alligators too. But not guns. Never. Guns.
He didn't believe us, unfortunately, and so Intern Eve proposed that we show him. He agreed, and we decided to meet up Saturday morning at 8am our time stream, in front of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. Intern Eve brought a handgun from one of the many in Station Management's strange collection, after requesting permission from M, of course, which was immediately granted because, as we all know, guns don't kill people.
So we went into the Bowling Alley, deserted at that time of the morning, or night, depending on your time stream. James stood in front of the pin retrieval area of lane five, Eve stood in front of him, and I stood off to the side. And then, before any of us could react, Intern Eve raised the gun and- and fired!
And James got shot.
He was hurt, dear listeners, as the bullet pierced his shoulder. There was blood… oh god, so much blood… and it took us far too long to react. He was shot. But he couldn't have been shot. Guns don't kill people! We managed to get him to Night Vale General Hospital, but given that no one has ever been shot before, they didn't know how to help him. James knew, however. He knew what to do, how to remove the bullet and stitch up the wound. We asked him how he knew, but he wouldn't answer. I know, though. We all do, really. We just can't let him know that we know yet.
He's okay, he tells me, but I know his shoulder hurts, and it hurts me that he's hurt. I don't understand how he got shot, listeners. I mean, guns don't kill people! Is it because he's an outsider and our laws of physics and not-physics don't apply to him? Or is it because of these disruptive time streams? I don't know…
I don't like not knowing.
Either way, I guess that there's nothing I can do. James said it'll only take a few weeks for his shoulder to heal. Intern Eve is upset, not realising what she's done or how she did it. Teddy Williams has shut down lane five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, believing it cursed or haunted or a product of agents from a vague yet threatening government agency.
And now a word from our sponsors:
If it's a big enough stone, you can kill way more than two birds. Think about it. Toys R Us
Listeners, the City Council would like to remind citizens not to go near the Night Vale Post Office opposite the Dog Park that doesn't exist. According to one FedEx spokesperson: "It is cursed". You all remember the great howling that emanated from post office back in 2012, howling which resembled the sound of a human soul being destroyed through black magic. Although the post office employees claimed to have no knowledge of the howling the City Council shut down and sealed the post office and we were left without our Amazon orders for six months. Six... Months... God, I missed ordering Nintendo games…
But then, as we all know, the post office suddenly reopened half a year later, being run by strange, cloth-wrapped figures who hummed, tunelessly, and turned in place instead of doing any official postal business. It addition, the entire customer line and lobby area was full of more of these cloth-wrapped figure, all similarly turning and humming. Citizens who attempted to enter the post office were beset by waves of dizziness and nausea, and were psychically assaulted with visions of the dark planet, a planet of awesome size, lit by no sun, an invisible titan, all thick black forests and jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans inhabited by mysterious, shrouded figures gently swaying into one another before the backdrop of the dark planet's rolling, bottomless ocean… and the price of stamps had risen an entire two cents!
The City Council has since made a statement that the whole time stream issue appears to be emerging from the Night Vale Post Office. Scientists, real scientists that is and not James the scientist, invested the building, and those who survived have reported that there are computers inside! They say that the disruption in the time stream continuum are being caused by these computers, but to what end, they still don't know.
Well, the City Council has decided to shut down the post office once more thanks to these disturbing and horrific revelations. They want me to inform readers that you are not to go near the post office for any reason at all, even if you- even if you hear your family members screaming?
Moving on.
James has texted to let me know that he had just gotten into an altercation with a man in a tan jacket. He said that he'd asked the man a few questions, about who he was and what he was doing, usual spy- uh, I mean scientist things. Only, then the man in the tan jacket refused to answer, and one thing led to another and before he knew it, James was fighting him.
It was a fight, dear listeners, that he unfortunately lost.
Apparently, they don't have deer skin briefcases full of flies where James is from, and so, when the man in the tan jacket opened the briefcase in his face, he was quite startled. The man in the tan jacket used this moment to escape, and when James fought his way through the flies, he was gone. Strangely enough, listeners, James said once the fight was over, he couldn't remember anything about the man in the tan jacket. What he looked like, what else he was wearing, or even what he'd said in response to James's questioning. He said he's going to follow him to find out.
If anyone has any information at all about the man in the tan jacket, please let us know.
And now, the weather.
The heart of love is patience, and this coffee that I'm making
And you cause outside kids are breaking, on rocks of their own making
And we are breathing easy, and seeing clear, I guess if I wanted to move now I could
Yes I know the leaves are changing, but I don't find that image interesting
Right now cause even as time's moving, it's just you in different clothing
And if this blanket moves at all, we'll be back in time's free fall
We'll lose, so hold on tight to last night, denial wrapped in morning light
We soothe, I guess get dressed, rejoin the mess, but I think about that less and less
With you, yes I feel the future looming and the tide of time subsuming
I guess if I wanted to move now I could
Listeners! This just in: James Bond was seen entering the Night Vale Post Office!
I quickly rang him to ask just what the hell he thought he was doing, but he said he saw the man in tan jacket enter the post office not ten minutes ago and decided to follow him. I quickly told him that he needed to leave, immediately, that the City Council has just forbidden all citizens from entering the building, but then he told me that he wasn't a citizen and so that law didn't apply to him.
God I hate it when he's right.
I pleaded with him to leave, but he laughed that beautiful sweet laugh of his, and said he had to go. He hung up, listeners, and went into the post office. Since then I've been anxiously waiting by my phone, waiting for him to call, because any time that I try to call or text him, my phone melts just that little bit and soon there'll be no phone at all for him to contact me with and-
Oh.
John Peters, you know, the farmer? has just rang in, dear listeners. He said he was passing by the post office on a totally unrelated quest and saw James – sweet James, brave James – approaching the entrance to the Night Vale Post Office, saying he was going to get to the bottom of this man in the tan jacket, that someone had to, and that the City Council was deranged.
The City Council just shouted through my studio window in unison, "Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Say that to my face, big shot!"
But James, my poor James, is already gone.
I fear, Night Vale. I fear for what we know. I fear for what we don't know. I fear for what we don't yet know that we don't know.
In the meantime, while I wait anxiously, desperately, for an answer, here's traffic.
All roads lead to somewhere, and all roads come from somewhere. And in between they are a snarl and curve, a twist and a bend. Where are we going? I mean, metaphorically? Where are we coming from? I mean, literally. Is it possible to stop, or turn around, and if not, what does that mean for the latest polls and economic reports? Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, Route 800 is looking clear in both directions. The old dirt road to the small wooden shack is backed up at least thirty minutes. There. Now you know. Has that filled an emptiness for you? Are you any happier now? I hope so.
This has been, and will always be, traffic.
Oh happy day! I have just received word that James the spy returned from the post office, gesturing to everyone around and asking them to follow him. He lead them into the post office, which is not an easy place for a crowd, so there was a lot of crouching and saying "Excuse me. Excuse me!"
But soon enough, they were all arrayed in front of the counter, overlooking the dreaded computer metropolis. John Peters, you know, the farmer? said it was the first time most of them had seen a computer. It seemed strange, he said, and many of the crowd quaked with fear, but not James. My brave James stepped out next to the computer and said that the man in the tan jacket had told him to destroy it before the time stream variations couldn't be stopped and they were all killed by-
He paused, frowned, and finished by saying he couldn't quite remember who the man in the tan jacket had warned him against.
Shaking his head, he stepped closer to destroy the computers with a gun he pulled from his shoulder holster. Guns don't kill people, after all, but they do kill machines. At first, onlookers were horrified at his lunatic actions. Then, they were confused as he began to shoot the computer and their time streams began to restore themselves. And then, there was panic, as their eyes told them a story they could not understand, let alone believe.
Standing behind James the spy, dear listeners, was Raoul Silva.
James, standing triumphantly in front of the first destroyed computer in a room with a dozen more, was unaware of Silva creeping up behind him. He had a gun, listeners. Raoul Silva had a gun, and he took aim, and he fired.
Blood welled through James' shirt, and here I am, stuck in my booth, useless, only able to narrate and not to help. He staggered, fell to his knees – so much blood! He collapsed completely.
Curse this town, that saw James die. Curse me for tell you all how guns can kill people like James. Curse it all!
Let us take a moment to–
Let us…take this moment–
Ladies and gentlemen, let us mourn the pass–
Can't. I can't!
Oh, I always knew he was bad news that Silva, that- that- that Desert Bluffs enthusiast! He's the one who caused all of these time stream disruptions, he's the one who caused the post office to be shut down and installed disgusting computers inside it, and he's the one who hurt James!
He hurt James…
I don't know what's going to happen next, dear listeners. I don't know if James is barely hurt or badly wounded or- or- or even dead. I don't know what Silva has planned for all here in this quiet little town. I don't even know how many of you can still hear me…
Until-
Well.
Until I know more, I guess…
Goodnight, Night Vale, Goodnight.