Work Text:
Your mind is as mysterious as the ocean, and just as likely to contain colossal squid hidden in its abyssal depths. Don’t fool yourself by thinking you understand all that it holds for you, but also do not forget that much of what you find in its caverns may be beautiful.
Welcome to Night Vale.
Our show today is sponsored by Marius’s Medical Emporium — you know, that makeshift stall our local medical professional, Doctor Marius von Raum, sets up at the edge of the farmer’s market every week as an eco-friendly way to distribute repurposed medical waste. Having trouble with your spleen? Check and see if the doctor has a gently used one in stock. “Reuse” comes earlier on the recycling triangle than “recycle,” after all — it’s far more efficient to use a discarded organ for its intended purpose again than to repurpose and recycle the materials, which — Marius, really? I know we said you could write your own copy, but this is meant to be an ad, not a lecture. Do what you want, listeners, but if you are looking for secondhand organs, Marius is by far the most reputable dealer in town.
Hello, listeners. After last episode’s explosive, cliffhanger ending, I know a lot of you had questions about gun silencers — where to buy them, if you could make them at home, and if they had to be attached to the gun in order to be effective, to name just a few. I tried to convince Tim to appear on the show again as a guest to answer them, but he politely declined and melted back into the shadows as if he were never there. Instead, I’ll try to answer as best I can. To address those three specific questions, I’d say: we don’t currently advertise businesses unless they sponsor the show, yes, all you needs is baby’s first smelting kit and a can-do attitude, and nah, don’t worry about it.
Today’s show is also sponsored by Aurora, rumored angel and spouse of my friend and yours, Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna. That’s right — Aurora sponsored our show as a business, despite providing no goods, services, or products which she hopes to promote. She says, instead, that I should use her time slot to tell you all —
[the radio screeches into an ear-shattering, high-pitched crescendo of feedback which continues on for several minutes. Once or twice, it mellows like it’s about to fade out, then shrieks back to full cacophony again.]
Sorry about that, listeners. That wasn’t what Aurora asked me to tell you, by the way, but the City Council has just sent a reminder that angels aren’t real, and that listening to Aurora will get you put on a new watchlist entitled “Has Heard the Speech of Those of Whom We Do Not Speak.”
Before the next message from our sponsors, a piece of urgently breaking news. After a long, arduous struggle, during which many contestants acquitted themselves heroically, some of them revealed themselves to be cowardly, and a very few of them revealed themselves to be universe-devouring elder gods, the favorite for the title, Screaming Golden Eagle-Bear Scout and all-around cool kid Lyfrassir Edda has won the Summer Reading Program. Congratulations, Lyfrassir! No Night Vale child has sequentially won the wilderness scouting trip and the Summer Reading Program since 1953, when both competitions were vanquished by a large snake who wandered into them by accident.
In less urgent, not-breaking news, it is with a heavy heart that I report that intern Rose, or her double, whichever of them was still alive, met her death in a skirmish with Station Management last episode. In her place, I’d like you all to welcome Intern Jack, who took the introduction to the last episode a little too personally and decided to come and prove me wrong. Becoming a public radio intern is a weird way to try to prove that you’re not dull, Jack, but we’re happy to have you.
And now, a word from our sponsors.
“Science.” That’s it, that’s the word. When I asked local scientist and probable hedge witch Raphaella la Cognizi to clarify, she said, “Well, clearly none of you people have any idea what it actually means, maybe if I sponsor it, one or two of you will dig out a dictionary.” Well, listeners, then it was my duty and pleasure to inform her that dictionaries have been outlawed in city limits since The Great CD-ROM controversy of ’83, in which Merriam-Webster added that baffling and meaningless word, “CD-ROM” to the dictionary, and our town elders, with much sobbing, much gnashing of their teeth, and much rending of their garments, decided in their infinite wisdom to declare dictionary-manufacturers and their blasphemous ideas about language evolution anathema, and ran them out of town.
Exciting news, listeners! The Toy Soldier, the mediocre bowler and mysteriously-animated wooden construct we all know and mostly kind of like, is now a fugitive from justice! Or, anyway, it is a fugitive from the Sheriff’s secret police, and whether the Sheriff’s secret police are an instrument of justice is a question which all Night Vale citizens must answer for themselves and in their own time.
[The sound of a heavy, booming knocking sound is heard.]
Don’t worry about that sound, listeners — Station Management have communicated that they are pleased by the plethora of sponsors our upcoming episodes have garnered — so keep that sponsorship coming! — and have retreated into hibernation to heal from the wounds inflicted on them by sniper, grocery-store-bagger, and all-around excellent haver of hair Gunpowder Tim.
That’s what I’m calling him now, by the way: Gunpowder Tim. I don’t know if the faintly metallic, smoky scent that hovers around his person is actually what gunpowder smells like. He told me that modern guns use smokeless powder, rather than the traditional black powder I was thinking of, and then I asked him if I could see, and he said no. I guess getting to hold a guy’s sniper rifle is more of a second date activity, but we all move at our own pace when it comes to relationships. No harm in asking, that’s what I always say.
After that, there was silence in the car for a few moments. He asked if he could drive me to the hospital, but I assured him that Station Management’s bites always heal clean — unless the venom gets in, in which case, there really isn’t much you can do.
Instead, I gave him directions to my place. When we got there, he pulled over. It looked like he was going to say something, but then he didn’t. Well, you know me, listeners, I’m never at a loss for words. I said, “Thanks for the ride, I had a really nice time.”
“What? Oh, I mean, of course,” he said. He sounded a little distracted, like he had been thinking about something else entirely. After a moment, he said, “You’re an investigative reporter, right? I have something I need you to investigate.”
“What is it?” I asked him.
“I’ll tell you,” he said, leaning close, low voice steady and even near the shell of my ear, “But if you broadcast it before we have an answer, I’ll kill you.”
And then he told me.
And now, it’s time for your favorite new segment, the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner! Today, we’ll be talking about — oh, hey, Jack, where’s the copy? Jack?
Sorry about that, listeners. It appears that the text for tonight’s Fun Fact Science Corner has been eaten, along with Intern Jack, by the giant who was at the door earlier.
Today’s show is brought to you by time. How has the nebulous and bodiless concept of linear time acquired enough cold, hard currency to sponsor a radio show? It’s not our station’s policy to ask those kinds of questions, but we suspect it has something to do with a more literal interpretation of the phrase time is money. If so, the station would like to communicate how flattered we are to be valued to the point that this amorphous and powerful concept has consented to barter away bits of its very self in order to support our noble but modest goal of quality local news coverage. I always thought linear time didn’t like me much, but I guess that just shows you never can tell…
As you know, listeners, doctors and necromancers are natural enemies, and the fact that our town has been a haven for both with, until very recently, no negative consequences, is a sign of the robust good health of our multicultural society. We don’t all have to look the same, or speak the same languages, or siphon energy from the same side of the grave to be a community, after all. However, it is with both lack of surprise and a heavy heart that I report that Drumbot Brian — you know, the necromancer — Drumbot Brian’s new series of ideas about the externalization of the self in pieces, which he has discussed in depth after dark at the edge of the old gravel pit out behind the elementary school in the last few weeks has drawn the ire of the town doctor, Doctor Marius von Raum, who would like to remind our listeners that he is the only licensed psychologist in town.
Doctor von Raum has, as a result, challenged Drumbot Brian to a duel, as he put it, “Not to the death, I know better than to fall for that one, it will be a battle of wits and if he wants to know more about it than that he can answer my challenge! Pistols at dawn!” Night Vale Radio wishes the best of luck to both competitors.
And finally, our show tonight is sponsored by sleep.
As their slogan famously goes, sleep: get some. Do it now.
Good night, Night Vale. Good night.