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  A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear in the Night Vale Elementary gymnasium during basketball practice, disrupting practice quite badly. The jet roared through the small gym for only a fraction of a second, and before it could strike any players or structure, it vanished again, this time apparently for good. There is no word yet on if or how this will affect the Night Vale Mountain Lions’ game schedule, and also if this could perhaps be the work of their bitter rivals, the Desert Bluffs Cacti. Desert Bluffs is always trying to show us up through fancier uniforms, better pregame snacks, and quite possibly by transporting a commercial jet into our gymnasium, delaying practice for several minutes at least. For shame, Desert Bluffs. For shame.

  That new scientist, we now know he’s named Carlos, called a town meeting. He has a square jaw, and teeth like a military cemetery. His hair is perfect, and we all hate and despair and love that perfect hair in equal measure. Old Woman Josie brought corn muffins, which were decent but lacked salt. She said the angels had taken her salt for a Godly Mission and she hadn’t yet gotten around to buying more. Carlos told us that we are, by far, the most scientifically interesting community in the US, and he had come to study just what is going on around here. He grinned, and everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly. Government agents from a vague yet menacing agency were in the back, watching. I fear for Carlos. I fear for Night Vale. I fear for anyone caught between what they know and what they don’t yet know that they don’t know.

  We received a press release this morning. The Night Vale Business Association is proud to announce the opening of the brand-new Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area. I have been to these facilities myself recently on their invitation, and I can tell you that it is absolutely top of the line and beautiful. Sturdy docking areas made from eco-friendly post-consumer material. A boardwalk for pedestrians, and plenty of stands ready for local food vendors and merchants to turn into a bustling public marketplace. Now, there is some concern about the fact that, given we are in the middle of a desert, there is no actual water at the waterfront. And that is a definite drawback, I agree. For instance, the boardwalk is currently overlooking sagebrush and rocks. The business association did not provide any specific remedies for this problem, but they assured me that the new harbor would be a big boost to Night Vale nonetheless. Maybe wait until a flash flood and head down there for the full waterfront experience.

  The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fund-raising week. They sent the station one to get some publicity, and we’re here to serve the community, so I’m happy to let you all know about it. The stickers are made from good, sturdy vinyl, and they read: “Guns don’t kill people. It’s impossible to be killed by a gun. We are all invincible to bullets and it’s a miracle.” Stand outside of your front door and shout “NRA” to order one.

  Carlos and his team of scientists warn that one of the houses in the new development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school, doesn’t actually exist. “It seems like it exists,” explained Carlos and his perfect hair. “Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not.” But, he says, they have done experiments and the house is definitely not there. At news time, the scientists are standing in a group on the sidewalk in front of the nonexistent house, daring each other to go knock on the door.

  A great howling was heard from the Night Vale Post Office yesterday. Postal workers claim no knowledge, although passersby described the sound as being a little like “a human soul being destroyed through Black Magick.” The Indian Tracker—now, I don’t know if you’ve seen this guy around. He’s the one that appears to be of, maybe, Slavic origin, yet wears an Indian headdress out of some racist cartoon, and claims to be able to read tracks on asphalt. He appeared at the scene, and swore that he would discover the truth. No one responded because it’s really hard to take him seriously in that headdress of his.

  Lights, seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s. Something higher and beyond that. We know the difference. We’ve caught on to their game. We understand the lights above Arby’s game. Invaders from another world. Ladies and gentlemen the future is here. And it’s about a hundred feet above the Arby’s.

  Carlos and his scientists at the monitoring station near Route 800 say their seismic monitors have been indicating wild seismic shifts, meaning to say that the ground should be going up and down all over the place. I don’t know about you, folks, but the ground has been as still as the crust of a tiny globe rocketing through an endless cold void could be. Carlos says that they’ve double-checked the monitors, and they are in perfect working order. To put it plainly, there appears to be catastrophic earthquakes happening right here in Night Vale that absolutely no one can feel. Well, submit an insurance claim anyway. See what you can get, right?

  Traffic time, listeners. Now, police are issuing warnings about ghost cars out on the highways, those cars only visible in the distance, reaching unimaginable speeds, leaving destinations unknown for destinations more unknown. They would like to remind you that you should not set your speed by these apparitions, and doing so will not be considered following the flow of traffic. However, they do say that it’s probably safe to match speed with the mysterious lights in the sky, as whatever entities or organizations responsible appear to be cautious and reasonable drivers.

  And now, the weather.

  WEATHER: “These and More Than These” by Joseph Fink

  Welcome back, listeners.

  The sun didn’t set at the correct time today, Carlos and his team of scientists report. They are quite certain about it, they checked multiple clocks, and the sun definitely set ten minutes later than it was supposed to. I asked them if they had any explanations, but they did not offer anything concrete. Mostly, they sat in a circle around a desk clock, staring at it, murmuring and cooing. Still, we must be grateful to have the sun at all. It’s easy to forget in this hot, hot, hot desert climate, but things would actually be slightly harder for us without the sun. The next time the sun rises, whatever time that turns out to be, take a moment to feel grateful for all the warmth and light and, even, yes, extreme heat that our desert community is gifted with.

  The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is that you should not know anything about this. The structure of heaven and the angelic organizational chart are privileged information, known only to City Council members on a need-to-know basis. Please do not speak to or acknowledge any angels that you may come across while shopping at the Ralphs or at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. They only tell lies, and do not exist. Report all angel sightings to the City Council for treatment.

  And now a brief public service announcement. Alligators. Can they kill your children? Yes.

  Along those lines, to get personal for a moment, I think the best way to die would be swallowed by a giant snake. Going feet first and whole into a slimy maw would give your life perfect symmetry.

  Speaking of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, its owner, Teddy Williams, reports that he has found the entrance to a vast, underground city in the pin retrieval area of lane five. He said he has not yet ventured into it, merely peered down at its strange spires and broad avenues. He also reports voices of a distant crowd in the depths of that subterranean metropolis. Apparently the entrance was discovered when a bowling ball accidentally rolled into it, clattering down to the city below with sounds that echoed for miles across the impossibly huge cavern. So, you know, whatever population that city has, they know about us now and we might be hearing from them very soon.

  Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studios during the break earlier but declined to stay for an interview. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand covered with wires and tubes. Said he was testing the place fo
r materials. I don’t know what materials he meant, but that box sure whistled and beeped a lot. When he put it close to the microphone, it sounded like, well, like a bunch of baby birds had just woken up. Really went crazy. Carlos looked nervous. I’ve never seen that kind of look on someone with that strong of a jaw. He left in a hurry. Told us to evacuate the building, but then, who would be here to talk sweetly to all of you out there. Settling in to be another clear and pretty evening here in Night Vale. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with, or at least good memories of when you did. Goodnight, listeners. Goodnight.

  PROVERB: Look to the north. Keep looking. There’s nothing coming from the south.

  EPISODE 2:

  “GLOW CLOUD”

  JULY 1, 2012

  THE FIRST THING I WROTE FOR WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE IS THE FIRST paragraph of this episode. I wasn’t thinking about it at the time, but with a few years’ perspective, it’s interesting to note that my first take on Night Vale as an unformed concept was “let’s visit this place.”

  Like any first-time listener—keep in mind, Joseph and I had only heard episode 1 at this point and had no roadmap for where it was going—I framed my experience of listening to Cecil as a newcomer to town. I needed a kiosk of bubble-fonted brochures and one of those hand-drawn town maps with ads for local car repair shops around the edges. Lacking this, I created the Night Vale Tourism Board in hopes they could lead my way into this strange town. (They could not.)

  In our early days of writing Welcome to Night Vale, Joseph and I had shared a document called “rough material” where we could just write out full episode story ideas or shorter sidebar stories. The Glow Cloud was one Joseph already had written out, so I used it.

  I’m always curious how Night Vale would have developed if we had waited until, say, episode 10 or 12 to use the Glow Cloud story line. Unlike the Tourism Board, the Glow Cloud really helped me (and I think a lot of listeners) wrap our heads around what Night Vale is.

  “Oh, there’s a giant glowing cloud that controls our minds and drops dead animals, and we don’t know where it came from, and where it’s going, and we’re scared of its capabilities but not horrified by its very existence? Got it. Totally. Let’s do this.”

  I knew the moment we posted the episode what the Glow Cloud truly wanted because I knew then what Night Vale was. The Glow Cloud wanted what any of us wanted: to settle down into a small town that intrigues and comforts us.

  —Jeffrey Cranor, Cowriter of Welcome to Night Vale

  The desert seems vast, even endless, and yet scientists tell us that somewhere, even now, there is snow.

  WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE.

  The Night Vale Tourism Board’s “Visitable Night Vale” campaign has kicked off with posters encouraging folks to take their family on a scenery-filled jaunt through the trails of Radon Canyon. Their slogan: “The view is literally breathtaking.” Posters will be placed at police stations and frozen yogurt shops in nearby towns, along with promotional giveaways of plastic sheeting and rebreathers.

  And now, the news. Have any of our listeners seen the glowing cloud that has been moving in from the west? Well, John Peters, you know, the farmer? He saw it over the Western Ridge this morning, said he would have thought it was the setting sun if it wasn’t for the time of day. Apparently the cloud glows in a variety of colors, perhaps changing from observer to observer, although all report a low whistling when it draws near. One death has already been attributed to the Glow Cloud.

  But listen, it’s probably nothing. If we had to shut down the town for every mysterious event that at least one death could be attributed to, we’d never have time to do anything, right? That’s what the Sheriff’s Secret Police are saying, and I agree, although I would not go so far as to endorse their suggestion to “run directly at the cloud, shrieking and waving your arms, just to see what it does.”

  The Apache Tracker, and I remind you that this is that white guy who wears the huge and cartoonishly inaccurate Indian headdress, has announced that he has found some disturbing evidence concerning the recent incident at the Night Vale Post Office, which has been sealed by the City Council since the great screaming that was heard from it a few weeks ago. He said that using ancient Indian magicks, he slipped through council security into the post office and observed that all the letters and packages had been thrown about as in a whirlwind, that there was the heavy stench of scorched flesh, and that words written in blood on the wall said “More to come . . . and soon.” Can you believe this guy said he used “Indian magicks”? What an asshole.

  Here’s something odd: There is a cat hovering in the men’s bathroom at the radio station here. Seems perfectly happy and healthy, but it’s floating about four feet off the ground next to the sink. Doesn’t seem to be able to move from its current hoverspot. If you pet him, he purrs, and he’ll rub on your body like a normal cat if you get close enough. Fortunately, because he’s right by the sink, it was pretty easy to leave some water and food where he could get it, and it’s nice to have a station pet. Wish it wasn’t trapped in a hovering prison in the men’s bathroom, but listen, no pet is perfect. It becomes perfect when you learn to accept it for what it is.

  And now, a message from our sponsors.

  I took a walk on the cool sand dunes, brittle grass overgrown, and above me, in the night sky, above me, I saw. Bitter taste of unripe peaches and a smell I could not place, nor could I escape. I remembered other times that I could not escape. I remembered other smells. The moon slunk like a wounded animal. The world spun like it had lost control. Concentrate only on breathing and let go of ideas you had about nutrition and alarm clocks. I took a walk on the cool sand dunes, brittle grass overgrown, and above me, in the night sky, above me, I saw.

  This message brought to you by Coca-Cola.

  The City Council, in cooperation with government agents from a vague, yet menacing agency, is asking all citizens to stop by the Night Vale Elementary School gymnasium tonight at seven for a brief questionnaire about mysterious sights that definitely no one saw and strange thoughts that in no way occurred to anyone, because all of us are normal, and to be otherwise would make us outcasts from our own community. Remember: If you see something, say nothing, and drink to forget.

  The Boy Scouts of Night Vale have announced some slight changes to their hierarchy, which will now be the following: Cub Scout, Boy Scout, Eagle Scout, Blood Pact Scout, Weird Scout, Dreadnought Scout, Dark Scout, Fear Scout, and, finally, Eternal Scout. As always, sign-up is automatic and random, so please keep an eye out for the scarlet envelope that will let you know your son has been chosen for the process.

  This is probably nothing, listeners, but John Peters, you know, the farmer? He reports that the Glow Cloud is directly over Old Town Night Vale, and appears to be raining small creatures upon the earth. Armadillos, lizards, a few crows. That kind of thing. Fortunately, the animals appear to be dead already, so the Night Vale Animal Control department has said that it should be a snap to clean those up. They just have to be tossed onto the Eternal Animal Pyre in Mission Grove Park, so if that’s the worst the Glow Cloud has for us, I’d say go ahead and do your daily errands, just bring along a good, strong umbrella, capable of handling falling animals of up to, let’s say, ten pounds. More on the Glow Cloud as it continues to crawl across our sky. And hey, here’s a tip: Take your kid out and use the cloud’s constantly mutating hue to teach him or her the names of colors. It’s fun, and it shows them the real-life applications of learning.

  Alert: The Sheriff’s Secret Police are searching for a fugitive named Hiram McDaniels, who escaped custody last night following a nine p.m. arrest. McDaniels is described as a five-headed dragon, approximately eighteen feet tall, with mostly green eyes, and weighing about thirty-six hundred pounds. He is suspected of insurance fraud.

  McDaniels was pulled over for speeding last night, and the Secret Police became suspicious when he allegedly gave the officers a fake driver’s license for a five-foot-e
ight man named Frank Chen.

  After discerning that Frank Chen was actually a five-headed dragon from somewhere other than our little world, the Secret Police searched McDaniels’s vehicle.

  Representatives from local civil rights organizations have protested that officers had no legal grounds to search the vehicle, but they ceded the point when reminded by Secret Police officials that our backwards court system will uphold any old authoritarian rule made up on the fly by unsupervised gun-carrying thugs of a shadow government.

  The Secret Police say McDaniels escaped custody by breathing fire from his purple head. He was last seen flying and shrieking over Red Mesa.

  Secret Police are asking for tips leading to the arrest of Hiram McDaniels. They remind you that, if seen, he should not be approached, as he is literally a five-headed dragon.

  Contact the Sheriff’s Secret Police if you have any information. Ask for Officer Ben. Helpful tipsters will earn one stamp on their Alert Citizen Card. Collect five stamps and you get Stop Sign Immunity for one year!