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The following are transcripts captured via routine late-night sweep of suspicious locations by Sheriff’s Secret Police drone serial number [redacted] on the night before the first day of the trial of The Toy “Hiram McDaniels” Soldier v. The Night Vale City Council.
…
[Two voices]
"It’s moving again.”
“Is it? I don’t see—”
“Of course you don’t see it, that’s the point. But, look — my readings say that it’s moving, and—“
“Are you sure it’s not—”
“I’m absolutely sure it’s not equipment failure this time, I’ve checked and rechecked, the gears definitely haven’t been replaced by sand because the last time they were I replaced them again myself, by hand.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“Oh.”
“I was going to say, are you sure it’s not something you’re better off not knowing or understanding?”
“…you know it doesn’t work like that, for me. You know I don’t work like that. I’d think you would understand that, as a medical man.”
[The sound of a low chuckle is heard faintly, rumbling under the subtle whine of the drone.]
“That’s generous of you. But you must have noticed that Night Vale’s not like other places. There are some things that — you last longer if you don’t look at them too hard. It’s like quantum physics, right? The behavior of the particle changes depending on whether or not it’s observed. And some things get really hostile about observation.”
“I can’t believe you know that theory but you don’t know about caterpillars turning into butterflies.”
“I’m just saying, we don’t know what goes on inside those chrysalises!”
“I can assure you that we do.”
“There’s no possible way to verify that, because if you open them up midway through to see, something else happens entirely!”
[A sigh.]
“Do I need to get my college Bio textbooks out again?”
[Grumbling.]
“No. No, hey, come to bed, Raph. The world will still be ending in the morning.”
[Another sigh.]
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
…
[One voice — or is it two voices alternating? Both voices are in the same pitch and timbre, both speaking in the same faux-Russian accent, but there is something indefinably different about them, something about one voice over the other which gives the impression of extreme age, or extreme agelessness.]
“You don’t need to worry about her so much, you know. And if she’s anything like my Aurora, she won’t thank you for it.”
“You sound skeptical.”
“What?”
“If she’s anything like my Aurora, you said, like there’s any question, but isn’t that the assumption that we’re operating under? That she’s not only something like your Aurora, but exactly like?”
[A skeptical huff of breath is just barely picked up by the microphone.]
“We know that’s not true. There is, of course, the superficial resemblance—”
“It’s a lot of superficial resemblance.”
“Of course, it would have to be. But I have seen you bleed, and we are not the same. And I would never call my Aurora an angel.”
“I’m not the one who said it — or not the one who said it first. She told it to me.”
“My Aurora wouldn’t tell me that.”
“You seem very sure about what she would say. Do you really think you know everything about her?”
“Of course. That’s the whole point.”
…
[Two voices, one subtly inhuman, the other exuding the aura of smoke.]
“And Then I Will Remove The Wig And Reveal That I’ve Been The Court Stenographer All Along!”
“That’s a terrible idea, and as your legal council I absolutely advise against it.”
“And As My Friend?”
“As your friend I think it’s fucking hilarious, but you still probably shouldn’t do it.”
“Your Advice Is Noted!”
…
[A chaotic jumble of overlapping voices, numerous but difficult to count, only faintly picked up by the most finely tuned sensor, coming from deep underground.]
“—that’s better.”
“Are you — Alexandria, get your double in line, she’s archiving me.”
“Well, we are in her archival—”
“Hey, keep it down, would you?”
“Wait, am I filed under ‘D’ or ‘B’?”
“—caves, you can’t just hang out in someone’s archives without—”
“Getting alphabetized? I think most people manage it, actually.”
“I mean it, I feel like I can hear—”
“And anyway, why are we stuck down here while the Toy—”
“—a helicopter overhead.”
“Because I’d argue that going for ‘B’ implies an androcentric and species-limited view—”
“—Soldier’s out there gadding around when—”
“That’s alright. Even if they figure out you’re here, they’ll think twice before trying to reach us. Down here, they’d have to go through the librarians to get to you.”
“So? I eat librarians for breakfast.”
“—of naming conventions.”
“You do not, Jonny.”
“Of course I have a species-limited view of naming conventions, I’ve seen a lot fewer species than you have.”
“It’s true, librarians are generally pretty stringy. Don’t know about the weird heirloom varietals you grow out here, though."
“We could fix that, you know.”
“No we couldn’t, one of you is plenty, don’t you go inviting the other one onto my ship.”
“Your ship, huh?”
“As the captain—”
“FIRST MATE!”
“Quiet in the library!”
…
[A single voice, picked out from between the quiet breaths of a large and gathering crowd clustered around the edge of the old gravel pit out behind the elementary school.]
“…a time of testing is coming, Night Vale, and I need you to be ready. We’ve all seen the signs, we’ve all counted down the steps in the prophesy. But what the tales don’t tell is whether the world that is to come is one we’ll all live to see. I’m here to tell you, Night Vale, that the answer is by no means fixed. It’s fluid, it’s undefined, and it’s festering deep beneath the earth…”
…
“—the record.”
“Are you sure? I think my listeners would appreciate a little local color in my reporting tonight, and as the shiniest-haired assassin in town, you definitely qualify.”
[The quiet huff of a laugh.]
“Pretty sure I’m the only assassin in town.”
“What? Of course you’re not. I know Night Vale isn’t the big city, but we’re well equipped with all the modern amenities. We’ve had running water for over three-hundred years, and we have a small but robust and community-minded assassin’s guild headquartered in the basement beneath the old goat-worshiping Star Church.”
“Is that — is that like a satanist thing?”
“What?”
“Like, the devil is a goat and they worship the devil, or—?”
“What? No. They worship goats. Because of the goat that will one day eat the world? Don’t make it weird.”
“Oh, I’m making it weird?”
“Yeah, but that’s okay. I forgive you.”
“You’re just saying that because you’ve got a crush on my double.”
“Hey, that man has a way with explosives that’s uncanny, no jury would convict me.”
“For having a crush? I’d hope not.”
“Don’t be silly, Tim, thought-crimes have only been prosecutable against elected officials in cases of impeachment for at least six months now. The rest of us are technically allowed to have crushes on whoever we want. And impeachment isn’t tried by jury.”
“Oh, right, of course.”
“Hey, can you shut the window? Or they’ll—”
[Recording ends.]