The radios died, crackling out one by one in quick succession. Neither twin could manage a single word, and Mabel's nervous tremours subsided instantly into petrified immobility. One word bounced back and forth through Dipper's mind in time with his thundering heartbeat: the same simple imperative that adorned the page that had brought him here to begin with. An image formed in his head - of gripping Mabel's hand with panicked ferocity and running, running, running away from this nightmarish town back into the darkened wastes around it. But, upon further consideration, getting here in the day was hard enough; getting back in the dark would be impossible. It seemed their only option, he realised with horror, was to press deeper into the town.

However, that was barely a fraction of the real reason the Pines lingered in Night Vale. The voice on the radio was right: Dipper, in spite of himself, was mesmerised by the mystery the town presented. He simply couldn't leave it unsolved. He walked further down the road – hesitantly, at first, but soon peering through the store windows from behind the glare of his flashlight. Mabel followed, never relinquishing his free hand.

"Where is everyone?" She asked after they cleared the first stretch of road, arriving at a crossroads. To their left and right, more businesses and buildings, unidentifiable in the thick, imminent darkness, stretched beyond sight. Directly ahead of them seemed much the same. Without a particular destination, the Pines glanced indecisively from street to street.

"Well, it's late... maybe they're all asleep?" Dipper responded, though he was sceptical even as he said it.

"Maybe..." Mabel scanned for faces in the windows, but found nothing until a dim light from an alleyway caught her attention. "Hey!" She exclaimed, suddenly fixated on the light. "What's that?" They approached the cranny between two tall, old structures, sweeping the torchlight around inside. It fell quickly upon a small pocket radio. The case was cracked and dirty, but a dim light indicated that it still worked. Dipper picked it up, fiddling with the scan wheel.

"What are you doing?" Mabel asked, peeking at it curiously.

"Looking for that voice from before. He's broadcasting on the radio, right? Maybe he can help us out. I just need to find... the right frequency..." Dipper furrowed his brow in concentration, before a harsh burst of static made his eyes widen in shock.

"Ah! They've found me," exclaimed the voice on the radio. The twins yelped in unison. "Well, they've found my station," it continued. "Needless to say, listeners, I'm not actually in the radio itself." Dipper was determined not to let any answers elude him and, regaining himself, immediately pressed the voice with questions.

"How did you know we were here? How did you know all that stuff before?"

"For those just tuning in," the voice calmly replied, apparently ignoring him, "I will reiterate the following statement from the Sheriff himself: 'Do not leave your homes. Do not approach the windows. Ignore any sounds you think you hear because you are wrong. There are no children roaming the streets of Night Vale. That is all.' After issuing this message, the Sheriff left the station but did mention on his way out that he had something pressing to attend to." The Pines regarded the radio in silence; the voice drowned out the muffled footsteps approaching slowly from behind them. "Gee Night Vale, I don't know about you, but I think this foolishness about children on the streets is just ridiculous. If there were children out there, and they were, oh, I don't know, hunched over a radio in an alleyway, then they'd certainly have to be on their guard! The streets are no place for children at night. Or at all." At that, another burst of static silenced the radio. The red light, already dim, was slowly extinguished and Dipper sighed in frustration. He tucked the radio into his pocket, when he felt Mabel shaking his arm back and forward.

"What is it?" He half turned to his sister, but something made him stop. A sound. A sound much closer than the distant, ambiguous noise of the town sleeping or the desert breeze lapping at the walls. It was breathing. Slow. Heavy. Bestial.

"Dipper..." she whispered, terrified. He heard her gulp. "There's someone there."

Her brother's limbs seized up as he readied himself and, with an involuntary grunt of fear, he spun to face behind them.

Nothing.

"Wh..." he began, scanning left and right. There were the walls, the street and the sky, but nothing else in sight. But there was still breathing.

"Can you hear it?" He whispered urgently, and saw her nod.

"Dipper," Mabel urged, beginning to walk away from the presence. Her brother followed. He remembered the book's advice and, this time, he took it.

The twins bolted through the alley, around a corner which shortly threw them back onto open street. Over the road, a high wall stretched far in both directions into the night. Something about it struck her, but there was no time to investigate it. Far away to their right, Mabel could see the road end abruptly at the foot of a featureless building; to the left, the road disappeared into a sandstorm so thick that its other side couldn't be seen. Both choices seemed doomed, but the breathing hadn't left. They had to pick one.

"This way!" Mabel cried, dragging Dipper towards the dark wall of sand that hurtled, vortex-like, at the end of the road. They ran, stumbling on their own feet and on cracks on the road, gasps for breath coming fast and never escaping the sound of heavy panting and the pounding of that third set of footsteps close behind. The sand approached, closer with every fraction of second, and there was no time to shield their eyes or wonder how they would clear this obstacle because before they could think they were inside. Air gave way to sand, which filled their eyes and mouths and made them cough and stumble, blind, to the floor before...

The storm lifted. They stood up. They were somewhere else entirely.

It was too dark to see anything. Though Night Vale had been dim, the occasional streetlight and the omnipresent watchful glow of the stars and the moon kept them in visibility; here, there were no such graces. Worse still, there was no respite from the awful sound that permeated the air: a hellish howling pierced with shrieks as though banshees and wraiths beat against the insides of their very ears. Mabel collapsed to the floor - her hands clasped uselessly over her ears and her eyes squeezed uselessly shut – and as she hit the ground she felt something sticky beneath her. The ground was soft, like damp earth but smoother, and covered in a warm, viscous liquid that was almost like-

A hand fumbled over her hair, finding her hand and gripping it firmly before she was heaved back into the storm. Dirt buffeted her skin for a moment, overwhelming her disoriented senses, before she fell onto Night Vale's asphalt, coughing and spluttering sand onto the road. When she could see again she noticed Dipper sat next to her, frantically rubbing his eyes. After a moment more, she noticed something else: the now familiar sound of close, invisible breathing.

"It's still here!" She yelled, flailing her arms defensively at the air around and in front of her.

"It's not anywhere, Mabel" Dipper answered, feigning calmness. "Listen." Mabel listened. The wall of sand roared close behind her, and electric current hummed through the underground wires below. A manhole a few yards away covered the constant, muted gush of running water and Dipper's exhausted panting was a little out of time with her own. But where was the breathing? She could hear it, but it didn't seem to have a particular direction.

With a start, she realised.

"It's in my head!" She screeched, gripping her thick hair in her hands and compacting her legs into her body. As if in response, Dipper's pocket burst alive with static which then cut into a long, sustained whine. This subsided shortly, and the voice spoke once again. As ever, it spoke calmly and pleasantly, the tones carefully considered to achieve the most soothing effect on the ears.

"Listeners in the downtown area should be aware of a sudden sandstorm raging by the Dog Park, which may or may not have connections to that loathsome settlement, Desert Bluffs. This is surely an attempt to sabotage our fair town and should be paid no heed by any good citizen. Of course, since everyone should be locked indoors, this message will not apply to most of you." The twins glanced at each other. "Furthermore, a psychic gorilla has been reported missing from the nearby Night Vale Zoo. The beast likely escaped due to an absence of any actual containment measures, as it is currently unknown how to cage animals that exist in the astral plane. Anyone who hears bestial noises in their head should think very hard about a jungle, which the animal will hopefully then get lost in. Any afflicted individual should under no circumstances think about meat or dead animals, as this will enrage the beast, and no-one likes an unhappy psychic gorilla. No-one." As suddenly as it had come to life, the radio crackled away again. The breathing persisted, and having emptied his mouth of sand Dipper finally spoke.

"There's something wrong with this place." He mumbled, dusting sand grains off his bodywarmer as Mabel combed the same out of her hair. "Let's try what he said, the jungle thing." They closed their eyes, focusing on the breathing in their heads and visualising a dense, tropical wood; presently, heavy footfalls mingled with the sound of crushed undergrowth as the beast – whatever it was – bounded into the distance. Before it left completely, Dipper couldn't stop the image of an animal carcass from flickering through his distracted mind, and a sudden simian screech forced his focus once again. He breathed a sigh of relief when the footfalls finally dropped into silence.

"Now we can focus. Maybe if we find the guy on the radio, he can help us out?" Dipper considered. "He seems to know what's going on here."

"But how?" Mabel asked. The twins stood up, and scanned the street. Ahead of them, the dead end denied any chance of following the road, and the alley from which they'd fled didn't promise much either. Suddenly, Mabel interjected. "What about there?" she suggested, indicating the high wall following the road to their left.

"I don't see how we could get over that..." Dipper replied, eyeing the wall from base to peak.

"Not over, silly – through!"

"Mabel, be serious, please."

"Look!" Dipper's sister urged him towards the wall and, reluctantly, he complied. She jerked a finger at an unremarkable section of wall. "See!?" Dipper stared at her, dumbfounded. Then, to his even greater confusion, she gave an exasperated grunt and walked straight through it.

"How did-!?" Dipper stammered, his eyes wide. "Mabel?!"

"Can't you see it?" Her voice was clear, despite the wall that was (or perhaps was not) obstructing her words. "The gate! Right here! The one that says 'Dog P-"

Mid-sentence, she stopped. There was no shriek, or sounds of resistance. Nothing. She was speaking, and then she was not.

"Mabel?!" Dipper cried out in panic. Instinctively, he rushed towards the wall but his hands met solid brick. He beat it with his fists, the rough stone grazing his skin and drawing blood in thin scratches. "Mabel, where are you?!" He screamed her name again and again, beating his hands raw against the wall for what could have been minutes, but there was no reply. Whatever gate she had stepped through was inaccessible to him, and the voice of his sister before she was cut off was already a memory that ebbed away with every second like sand in a rising tide.

Dipper sank to the base of the wall, despondent. His bruised and beaten hands fell to the ground, followed shortly by silent tears rolling off his cheeks. He was alone.