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A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.
Welcome to Night Vale.
Hello, listeners.
To start things off, I’ve been asked to address a concern which is serious enough to have caused a large number of you to have written in to the station to complain. I’m speaking, of course, about the concern for whether my habitual description of Night Vale as a “desert community” is strictly accurate. “But Jonny!” I’ve heard some of you say, either directly — in letters you wrote in your personal diaries or calendars, which were then gathered and brought to me in the dead of night by messenger newts, as all communication has had to be since we were forced to abandon the post office to its fate for safety reasons — or in the privacy of your own homes, when you must have despaired of ever having your voice heard “But Jonny, the word desert has such negative connotations. The word desert calls to mind an arid wasteland of buried hopes which has little to do with the thriving and diverse ecological niche in which our town resides. And isn’t there supposed to be a part of the definition of desert about having a certain amount of very limited rainfall?”
I hear you, listeners. Don’t ever let yourselves despair that your concerns go unheard by your local community radio station. I hear everything. And to address your concerns, I want to reassure you that I am a journalist, which means that I have dedicated my life to the telling of the truth, and, more specifically, to the version of the truth which is presented just accurately enough to be moderately useful while also being presented sensationally enough to keep listenership numbers high and sponsors interested. It is a sacred duty.
I care a lot about my self-appointed task as the voice of this community, and I want you to feel as confident in me as I am in you. So if I say that our town is in the desert, I want you to have enough confidence in me to respect that assessment.
Now! Since that’s settled, let’s move on to the news.
A stranger came to town today, listeners. She says she is a scientist. She says she was drawn here. She says that our little town is like a magnet for scientific interest, and that she thinks it might be the most unique place in America. When Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna from my bowling team, who lives out by the Car Lot, asked her whether that wasn’t redundant, since uniqueness is an absolute state, and not something which exists on a scale from most to least, the scientist said, “That’s true most of the time, of course, but do you know how many known natural laws this place violates?”
Unfortunately, Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaeva from my bowling team was then distracted by the arrival of an angel, and did not ask any follow-up questions. That’s alright, Nastya. We can’t all be naturals in the field of investigative reporting.
When reached for comment, Nastya was more interested in talking about the angel than she was in the scientist. She said the angel revealed herself to her, first in a dream and then in the body of a beautiful spaceship. She said the spaceship hovered above her house at night, not to abduct her, but just to feel less alone in the quiet of the long desert night. Well, of course the spaceship didn’t want to abduct her — she’s still here, isn’t she?
A reminder to all scouts that the children’s wilderness scouting trip will take place this coming weekend in the sand wastes out by I-90. As always, attendance of the scouting troop is randomly selected and mandatory, so if you have a child of scouting age, make sure they’re packed and ready to go in case of selection! Scout Master Carmilla is excited to see all the bright new faces of this year’s group.
The scientist, who we now know is called Raphaella, has called for a town meeting. Doctor Marius, the town doctor, came and sat in the front row, and asked many scientifically relevant questions which the rest of us couldn’t fully understand, like, “Are you here to synergize our gravitational philosophy?”
The scientist, Raphaella, looked at him for a long moment, and then said, “That doesn’t mean anything,” and we all got to watch Doctor Marius develop a crush in real time! You just don’t get experiences like that in big cities.
Doctor Marius’s medical practice, you know, out at the abandoned strip-mall, has been running for over a year now, but he tells me that he still has a pretty limited roster of patients. Preventive care is important, listeners, and since the only other medical care in town comes from Scout Master Carmilla’s blood-letting practice, I really think we should take advantage of the opportunity we have here! Change can be scary, but the medical progress which has happened since our ancestors first discovered the healing power of leeches is pretty remarkable. And Doctor Marius may not have a medical degree, but he does have a practice, and practice makes perfect! I don’t mind telling you that I let him have a crack at my third spleen just last week.
Remember, listeners, the mayoral election is fast approaching! This election season has brought us a wonderful slate of candidates, from local heartthrob Ashes O’Reilly to dark-horse recent transplant to our little town and literal five-headed dragon Hiram McDaniels. We’ve had plenty of opportunities over the last few weeks to weigh the pros and cons of each candidate’s platform, and next week you’ll all have the chance to cast your vote. Then the vote-tallying process can begin, and before too long, we’ll all be able to gather to celebrate the inauguration of Mayor O’Reilly. Isn’t the democratic process fun?
Listeners, Raphaella the Scientist isn’t the only new arrival to our little town this week. A man in an unmarked vehicle followed her into town. He bears no insignia and has not identified himself as a member of a governmental or extra-governmental agency, but he moves like one who has been trained to kill. He follows in her wake, but with enough distance that she does not appear to have noticed him. And, listeners, he really is very noticeable.
This isn’t his fault, and I’m sure that whatever agency he traded away a piece of his soul to in exchange for the ability to stalk softly through the night at the heels of his prey has taught him well. He moves through the town speaking softly, and drawing little attention from most of the people he meets. However, there is one thing about him which draws the eye. Even now, as he sits in the shadow of the open window of an unlit room, several stories higher than the scientist’s lab, with his rifle sight trained upon her and his strange, unnervingly intense eyes narrowed in concentration, his perfect hair gleams in the moonlight.
As I know better than anyone, perfection can be a trial, and I’m sure this promising young sniper has done a lot to try to overcome the handicap of having such perfect and perfectly memorable hair.
Hello, listeners, I’m getting a call in to the station from — intern Snow tells me it’s mayoral candidate and literal five-headed dragon Hiram McDaniels calling. Hello, Hiram! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with our listene—oh. He hung up.
Intern Snow informs me that he wasn’t happy that I called the election for Ashes a week before voting day, which, like — fair enough, but come on, man. Ashes has been fixing elections since they first ran for class treasurer in the fourth grade. Everybody knows they’re going to win.
Well, that’s it for our show tonight, listeners. Today has been long and beautiful, and the night will be even longer still. Hold on tight to your conviction that there will eventually be a tomorrow, and maybe you’ll be right.
Good night, Night Vale. Good night.