The Notes Of The Mysterious Hooded Figure

Carlos visited us last night. Here, in the Dog Park! I myself was not present at the time, as I was off lurking under the slide in the Elementary School's playground. But, The One Who Occasionally Openly Steals Babies told me what happened. Carlos entered the Dog Park, calling out to us. We attacked, defending our territory against the Outsider.

If only they had thought it through. Cecil came today to visit, and he was livid. He ripped the doors off their hinges. We tried to intimidate him with our shadows, but he brought his own-and they were stronger. He filled the park with his true form, and his voice shook them until they were all cowering from his wrath. We promised not to hurt the pretty one again.

Oh, it must have been glorious. I've never seen one of his breed angry before.

There is a new Night Vale stadium. It is to be closed every day save for the tenth of november, the day of our yearly parade. And -get this- Cecil mentioned me in the broadcast! By name! He even said that I was a favorite! I'm ashamed to say that I may have swooned a little at that.

Oh dear...Cecil is renegotiating his terms with Station Management, and for once it doesn't sound good. He said too much; he descibed a little of what Station Management looks like, described the office. He should know by now that he's not allowed to do that! Cecil hasn't said exactly what Station Management wrote, but I just know that's it.

Oh, now he's got me worried.

Books have stopped working. The Ones Who Meet In The Dog Park told me that the scientists are doing tests on them. Some of the books have grown teeth, others have begun to reek of rotten meat, still others spark when they are opened and catch fire. They have had to use lethal gas to subdue several of the books with teeth as they have begun attacking the scientists and any other people who pick them up. It's a shame; I quite like books, but the others have locked my books in a chest in the Dog Park, just in case.

A creeping fear came into town earlier. We Hooded Figures were not affected, and neither was Old Woman Josie, due to her angelic protection. The reason we were not affected? We feed off of the terror of Nightvale citizens. The creeping fear was my idea.

Carlos got his hair cut today, and Cecil did not approve. He practically called a manhunt on Telly. I wonder how long it's going to be before Telly dissapears or goes mad. I hope it's soon-I don't really want him to suffer.

"Two hawk-eyed informants sent in reports that Carlos, our curious scientific visitor, was seen getting his beautiful, beautiful hair cut. He was having his gorgeous hair shorn! CUT! Cut short! So very short, from his perfectly shaped, brilliant head! Listeners. I am not one to gossip, even if it is a local celebrity, but please, explain to me why Carlos would strip away, DECIMATE, any part of his thick black hair, not to ignore the dignified, if premature, touch of gray at the temples?! What treacherous barber should agree to such depravity? Who takes mere money...or even soulless joy in depriving our small community of such a simple, but important, act as luridly admiring Carlos' stunning coif?! Reports from two intrepid sources are that it was Telly the barber. Telly, who likes sports and has posters of combs. Telly the barber seems to be the one who betrayed our community. TELLY THE BARBER. It is Telly the barber at the corner of Southwest Fifth Street and Old Mosque Road, with the red and white spinning pole and the sign that says, "Telly's". Telly is about 5'9, with a small mustache and a thick potbelly. He talks with an accent, and sneers. Telly the barber cut Carlos' beautiful hair...according to reports. TELLY."

Something's wrong. Cecil is pleading with the Listeners to do a letter writing campaign thing...to Station Management. They were, as I assumed, pissed at Cecil for disclosing what little is known about how they look. At this time, I am writing a letter to Management, telling them about the necessity of having Cecil as the voice of Nightvale. He gives us Hooded figures the fear and respect we deserve. And how is the prophecy to be fulfilled without him?

Carlos has stopped his experiment, hearing the shrieks of management and Cecil's pleading. He looks nervous. No, not nervous-concerned. He's put down his beakers and has taken out his ballpoint not-pen. He is writing a letter as well.

"I don't ask favors much, dear listeners. That you know. But I am asking all of you, now, to conduct a letter-writing campaign to station management, which was not...pleased with my discussion of their physical attributes and behavior, and is now threatening to shut down my show...or possibly my life. For good. Their wording was...uh, kind of ambiguous. Obviously, we will not be able to deliver the letters directly to the management per se, as no one has ever opened their door, but...we can shout the contents of the letters outside their office, and we presume, given an anatomy that includes ears, they will be able to hear what you have to say! So, if you like this show, and you want to hear more of it...then we need to hear from you. Make your voice heard ...to whatever it is that lies in wait behind that darkened office door! OH! Um...l-listeners, we'll be back after this word from our sponsors!"

This is bad. very, very bad. Station Management hasn't left their office for seventy years. The last time they left their office, it was terrible. Half the town was corporeally absorbed. That was before it decided it wanted to run the radion station, but still. Nothing has ever threatened Cecil like it has. Everything else answers to him, in fact. The other Hooded Figures are getting agitated, hissing and making sounds like static.

"...Hello!? Radio audience, I come to you live from under my desk
...where I've dragged my microphone and am currently hiding in the fetal position. Did you write letters? Well, you should not do this anymore. Station management has opened its door for the first time in my memory and is now roaming the building. I don't exactly know what management looks like, as that is when I took cover under my desk, and I can only hope they aren't listening to what's going out right now or else I may have sealed my fate. I can hear only...a kind of clicking footstep...and faint hissing sound...like releasing steam. An intern went to see what management wanted and has not returned. If you are related to Jerry Hartman, afternoon board operator at Night Vale Community Radio, I am sorry to inform you that he is probably dead, or at least corporeally absorbed into management permanently. Jerry and Chad, the interns, will both be missed, but we will surely see them in the annual Thanksgiving Day Dead Citizens Impersonation Contest, which this year will be in the employee lounge under the Night Vale Mall from 11 AM to 9:45 PM. There will be a cash bar and two Twister boards...
...I...I'm going to see if I can make a break for the door. If you don't hear from me again, it has... truly... been a pleasure!

...Goodnight, Night Vale. And...goodbye..."

Carlos is moving, quicker than I have seen him move before. He's shrugging on his coat, grabbing his car keys. He's opening a drawer and pulling out a...wait, is that a gun?

He's not going to...is he?

He's starting his car, hiding the gun in a compartment under the seat. He's speeding towards the radio station, his face set and determined. Standing on my tiptoes to look over the Dog Park's fence, I can just seee him passing by now.

He's pulling into the radio station's parking lot and...and Station Management is there, hissing and spitting and looming over Cecil, who was bleeding. Carlos is aiming his gun. He fires. Management screeches and turns to face Carlos. Carlos is shaking, but he lets off another shot. It hits one of Managemment's many eyes, and Management backs off, squeezing back into the radio station with a wail. Carlos is picking Cecil up and leading him to his car.

I can't beleive it. Carlos faced down Management and won! He's an outsider; that shouldn't have been possible! Even we have tried and failed. The second Management noticed him, he should have been gone. But he wasn't. And he still isn't.

I'm beginning to think that there is more to our curious scientific visitor than I first thought.