265 - Labyrinth HQ

Hey y'all, it is Jeffrey Kraner and I have a really big announcement for you right here.

I'll just keep it to this one announcement because it's a big one.

So, welcome to Nightvale is back on tour starting this summer with a brand new live show called Murder Night in Blood Forest.

Beloved former teen militia member Tamika Flynn is joining a few hundred of her friends for the annual Murder Night in Blood Forest, a celebration of crows, ravens, and all Corvids.

But a masked killer is hunting these carefree partiers one by one.

Who would ruin Murder Night with murder?

Can Cecil and Tamika solve the mystery before the murderer has gotten them all?

Welcome to Nightvale's brand new touring live show, Murder Night in Blood Forest, features, of course, Cecil Baldwin, Symphony Sanders, me, that's Jeffrey Kraner, and maybe some surprise guests playing fan-favorite characters.

We'll have a special musical guest, as always, as The Weather, and live music by disparition.

Both longtime fans of the show and newcomers alike will be able to enjoy this standalone performance.

So tickets for all of our tour dates go on sale for our Patreon pre-sale members today, Tuesday, April 1st at noon local time.

Tickets on sale to everyone else will happen on Thursday, April 3rd at 10 a.m.

local time.

So Patreon Pre-Sale today at noon local time and Thursday for everyone else, April 3rd, at 10 a.m.

local time.

If you want to see the full schedule and all the ticket links, you just got to go to welcometonightvale.com/slash live.

That's welcometonightvale.com/slash live to see all of our tour dates and locations and get ticket info and all of that.

Okay, we are so excited to get back out on the road this summer and fall and early of next year.

We've got a lot of dates planned.

We hope to see all of you there for Murder Night in Blood Forest and hey.

Thanks.

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Appearances can be deceiving.

So can sounds, smells, sensations.

Basically, anything could be a lie.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Hello from the great outdoors.

Or at least from the street outside the radio station.

Yes, I am back on the mobile broadcasting equipment today.

I was perturbed over the last couple weeks to discover that my old mentor, Leonard Burton, has been back on the air, sometimes even broadcasting on the same frequency as our station.

This is upsetting for two reasons.

One is that it's rude to broadcast on a frequency that is already being used by a fellow broadcaster, any more than you would butt ahead of someone else in line at a store.

The other reason is that I saw Leonard Burton get absolutely creamed by a truck decades ago.

He died.

He is dead.

I know this.

And so, how could he be broadcasting on our airwaves again?

If he is alive, if I am mistaken, then I must find him.

If he is dead, and his voice is being faked somehow, I must discover who is behind this twisted deed.

In either case, there is a wrong here, and I must right it.

To make matters more complicated, We have tracked the source of Leonard's broadcast.

And by we, I mean some friends who would like to remain anonymous, who work for a vague yet menacing government agency.

Thanks, Alex and Jenny.

And the source of the broadcast is Labyrinth, that tech company that Steve has been working for.

What is going on here?

I must go to Labyrinth and discover for myself.

But I must also do a radio show.

Thus, the mobile broadcasting equipment.

You're all coming with me.

But as we walk, let's do the headlines.

In the news today, there is a small, tiny, totally not worrying infrastructure crisis.

It's no big deal.

No one is going to starve for like a few months.

So please be chill about this.

It's just that it turns out Night Vale is really hard to find

and to leave and to enter.

In general, its relationship with the rest of the world is ill-defined and tenuous.

Mostly, people wander here when called by forces none of us understand for purposes revealed in the form of visions and prophecies.

Normal American stuff, right?

Well, it turns out that's not great for the shipping of fresh produce and other perishable foodstuffs.

Food suppliers and distributors say that trucks full of cabbages, frozen chicken, pennies, and other valuable consumables have gone missing, or have arrived in the wrong destinations, sometimes with the driver transformed into a baby or a very old person.

As a result, food shipments have become scarce.

Now, you shouldn't panic.

Of course, we won't run out of food.

The reason I say this is because that would be very scary if it happened.

And isn't the kind of thing that feels like it could could ever happen in a normal town like this.

And that means it can't happen and never will.

Simple.

In other news, the town founder has continued her rampage through Night Vale.

Ever since, and I hate to bore you with a tedious recitation of a story you've heard a thousand times before, but Ever since the Town Founder hatched out of her own statue, she has been eating citizens.

Polling has been bad on this subject, with 80% of Democrats and 5% of Republicans saying town founders should not get to eat people alive in front of their screaming families.

More on this story, as long as I am not the one who is devoured next.

Always possible, I guess.

This has been today's headlines.

I am now outside of Labyrinth Headquarters.

It's a slick-tech campus with everything you'd expect.

A juice bar, a hammock forest, a charging station for cryptids.

But it's in a weird part of town.

The industrial district on Sandpiper Road.

Near the warehouse flats and the parking lot full of 1996 Toyota Corollas.

Other than the Labyrinth Campus, there is not much on this stretch of road.

Just a pre-owned bathroom tile business and an old woman selling frozen enchiladas out of a cooler.

Let me go inside.

Okay,

there is a very hip little foyer, a reception desk with no one at it, a living wall made entirely of cactus, so cute and, oh, so spiny.

There is a neon sign that says, rise and grind, and another one that says, positivity is key.

And another that says, speak not of what you have seen, O pilgrims of this sacred order.

Basic corporate clichés, but you know, the effect is still nice.

Hello?

Hello?

There isn't anyone here.

I don't.

I don't.

I actually don't see any way to continue further into the building.

This warrior has no doors except the one to the outside I just came through.

How is one supposed to visit this place?

Steve?

Are you here, buddy?

There's an excellent barista set up, although no barista is currently operating.

I suppose I could make myself a cup of coffee, but I prefer to use my own hammer for that.

I'm kind of particular about coffee hammers.

Wait.

Hold on.

In the living wall of cactuses, there is a a small round hole.

Hardly seems big enough for a person, but I I think...

I think I see a light on the other side.

Could that be the entrance?

Surely not.

And yet,

let me just.

Ow!

Ouch!

Owie!

Okay, these cactuses are definitely real, and their spines have not been trimmed or blunted in any way.

Ah, ah!

And I'm through.

Okay.

I'm now in a large office room full of cubicles.

So I guess that was the entrance.

Tre avant-garde.

Oh!

I should do some radio stuff.

Right.

A word from our sponsors.

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But all of that changes today

because we are, right now, about to drop several thousand gallons of seawater on a Broadway performance.

Which Broadway performance?

We won't say, because then they might stop us.

Why?

Well, now when you think of Campbell's, you'll think, wait, the company that dropped thousands of gallons of seawater on a Broadway performance and then got sued into oblivion?

This is how you change your reputation.

By boldly acting and thinking later, if at all.

Kemball's soup.

Here it goes.

Three, two,

one.

The Lion King.

More like the Sea Lion King.

This has been a word from our sponsors.

This cubicle farm is...

empty.

It's almost as if it was full moments ago, but emptied out right as I was coming in.

There are coffees still warm on some of the desks.

A chair is spinning lazily from the momentum of unseen escape.

A clunky black office phone sits off the hook, a small tinny voice saying, hello?

Hello?

From its receiver.

Where did the workers go?

Were they fleeing me?

Or is there some danger here that I am unknowingly putting myself in?

I press on.

There is a whiteboard.

It looks like they were in the middle of a meeting and taking notes.

Some of the notes.

What if we all jumped at the same time?

Could that be enough?

Another note.

Larry suggests sewing needles.

Another note.

Juggling supplies?

Question mark?

And then what looks like a paragraph of text scrawled frantically at the bottom of the whiteboard and just, as frantically, wiped off with the sweaty palm of a hand.

In the back, there are a few offices of what are probably the head honchos.

Desks made of actual wood.

Windows with a panoramic view of the parking lot.

Pictures on the wall that are either family members or photogenic strangers.

And here,

the office ends.

Once again, there does not appear to be any way forward.

Except, I'm noticing a light shining from the waste paper basket in this office.

Looking down, yes, yes, I can see a tile floor down there.

Again, it's an opening barely enough for a person, but I will...

Ah!

Good thing the mobile broadcasting equipment is so small.

Whoa!

I've fallen through to the next level.

More on that soon.

But first,

an important message from the dental underground.

Hello, it's us again.

Don't worry, you're safe.

We would never hurt you in ways you would know about.

We are here for your kids.

Oh,

sorry, we misspoke.

We are here about your kids.

We want to talk about them, your kids.

We want you to know that we would never snatch them away.

We would never creep into your house in the narrow hours of the night and replace your children with doubles who are in every way your child, except they are missing a soul.

We would never do that to you.

We've done it to others, obviously, but we are not currently planning to do it to you, is the point.

Instead, we want to talk about your kids' teeth.

We are, after all, merely dentists, merely dentists who live underground.

There is nothing weird going on here.

Did you know that your child's teeth might rot?

Might rot clean away?

Why, with the way things are today, it might happen quicker than you think.

A healthy child, and then, bam!

Rotting teeth.

Imagine it.

Picture it.

Imagine it graphically.

That's why, for your child's safety, it is best to remove their teeth.

Just take their teeth away and keep the teeth somewhere safe, where they can never get food or sugar on them, all that yucky stuff.

and they can never rot, where they can stay pristine forever.

If that sounds difficult to do, don't worry.

We've already done it.

We crept into your house in the narrow hours of the night and we took all of their teeth.

So don't worry, their teeth are safe.

And we only promised we wouldn't take your entire child.

We keep our promises to the letter.

and only to the letter.

This has been important dental information from the Dental Underground.

We love you.

Having fallen through the waste paper basket, I am now in.

I guess, the bathroom?

It's a long tile hallway lined on both sides by an endless row of identical stalls.

All of the stalls are ajar and empty.

They are perfectly clean, so compliments to the janitorial staff, uh,

wherever they are.

There's no one here.

Which is good, I guess.

I.

I would feel weird recording while someone was in here.

Both directions look the same, so I'm going to pick one and start walking.

Hello?

Nothing.

Wait.

Was that a flush?

Hello?

Sorry to bother you?

No.

Maybe a trick of my ears.

Wait, no, there it is again.

It's a voice.

It's the voice of Leonard Burton.

Hold on, Leonard.

I'm coming.

I've reached the end of the bathroom.

It ends at a wall of mirrors, and ugh, it stinks.

Unlike the toilets, the sinks and mirrors are filthy.

The soap dispensers are empty.

There is graffiti scratched into the glass.

Things like, for a good time, try ballroom dancing, and to live is to suffer, baby, and employees must wash hands after using the bathroom.

Once again, a dead end.

But I still hear Leonard's voice echoing somewhere.

Let's see.

Can't go down the drains, and I am not crawling into a toilet, so

let me check the stalls.

All identical.

All id.

Okay, well,

this one is different.

It's empty of any features of a bathroom stall.

There is a square hole in the floor with a ladder leading down.

Well,

don't have to ask me twice.

Here I go into the hole in the bathroom floor.

I'll have to strap the broadcasting equipment to my back, so

what a great time to check in on the weather.

What would you take if your world was on fire?

Riding the wind on a tinder of leaves.

Flames flying in like an enemy fighter.

Sun rising red, tell me what would you grieve

when you're burned down to the bedrock,

when you're scraped down to the coals,

when everything you thought you knew is changing,

then you feel the devil fighting for your soul.

Oh, flask of whiskey, a sash of potty letters from a mother that you should've all forgot.

When your tidal waves of tears turn to laughter, that's when you know it comes down.

Down, down, down, down, down, down, down.

To what really

matters.

What really

matters to you?

Smoke screens and daydreams don't help when you're running.

Blues lift to heaven, the rest of your home.

Falling like snow, you're an angel in ashes.

Chimneys and tree bones and churchyard stones.

When it comes down to the bedrock,

when everything that you've known is

shattered glass in the doorways,

and you're wrestling with an angel for cotton draw

glass of whiskey, a sash of hot letters from a lover that you should've long forgot.

When your

tidal waves of tears turn to laughter, that's when you know it comes down.

Down, down, down, down, down, down, down.

What really matters?

What really matters?

Ooh,

who?

Oh,

there's no whiskey in exception.

Fuck letters from a lover that you should've all forgot.

When you're tired of your song, tears turn to laughter.

That's when you know it comes down.

Flask of whiskey, sash of hot letters from a lover that you should have all forgot when your

tidal waves of tears turn to laughter.

That's when you know it comes down.

Down, down, down, down, down, down, down.

What really matters?

who

matters to who

I really

matters to who

Hey, it's Jeffrey Kraner with a word from our sponsor.

You're on a desert island, but not a deserted island.

Someone else is there.

Something else is there.

In the water, surrounding you lurks a mythical beast with two large eyes and many long arms.

You're just now hearing of this beast, but you're not afraid because you don't plan to swim.

Though that water looks nice, you're good at talking yourself into things, and soon you are in the sea, frolicking and splashing.

You even squeal, thinking you're all alone.

But you forgot what I just said.

You're not alone.

Something wraps itself around you.

It lifts you high in the air, waving you about at dizzying heights.

You look down and see the mythical kraken.

You start to scream, but in its other tentacles are bottles of kraken black spiced rum and kraken gold spiced rum.

I love kraken rum, you say.

It's bold, smooth, and made with a blend of spices.

You high-five the beast as it sets you back down on the island, along with the bottles of kraken rum.

It winks and tells you kraken rum is ideal for Halloween cocktails and disappears back into the dark, briny depths.

Visit the official sponsor of Welcome to Night Vale, Kraken Rum.com to release the Kraken this Halloween.

Copyright 2025, Kraken Rum Company Kraken Rum.com.

Like the deepest sea, the Kraken should be treated with great respect and responsibility.

When you look into the shadows, do you ever feel something looking back?

If you're looking for your next great fiction podcast, something dark, immersive, and just a little unsettling, listen to The Void, the new series from Fable and Folly.

It's made for fans of horror, sci-fi, and seriously spooky stories.

In the town of Milton, the darkness isn't just in your head, it's in the woods.

They call it the void, a cursed expanse that surrounds the town and swallows anyone who dares to leave.

But when a strange old man shares a mysterious pamphlet that promises a path through the void, Sam and his friends set off on a journey that unravels everything that they thought they knew about their home.

The void is dark, atmospheric, and relentlessly tense with cinematic sound design, a full voice cast, and a haunting musical score.

Think stranger things meet Super 8, but in podcast form.

Search for the void wherever you get your podcasts and step carefully.

The woods are watching.

I find myself in a warehouse.

We must be deep underground.

I was climbing on that ladder for what felt like,

oh, I don't know, two minutes and thirty seconds plus thirty to sixty seconds for ads.

This warehouse is lit by dim lights hanging high above from a ceiling that I cannot see.

There is still no sign of anyone else here, but there are hundreds, if not thousands, of wooden crates.

The air is heavy and stale.

I feel like I might be the first person to enter this dusty sanctum.

The crates go on forever.

There is no indication what is inside them, but from somewhere in this warehouse, I hear the voice of my mentor, broadcasting on as though he did not die in front of me.

Blood on asphalt, a soul dissipating.

So I keep moving forward.

Deeper and deeper.

And this brings me no nearer to the voice.

I reach out.

Brush my hand against the wood of one of the crates, and then...

I open it.

Oh.

Inside there is a woman.

She is dressed in a work shirt and jeans.

She gets up and says, hey, thanks, and walks off into the darkness of the warehouse.

Okay.

Well,

let me try another one.

Okay, this one has a small toy train.

There is a post-it note on the train that says, let me see.

Highly cursed, do not play with.

If the words choo-choo are said near it, the consequences could be dire for us all.

Oh.

Ah.

Um.

The inside of the locomotive is lighting up and steam is pouring out of its tiny stack.

I'm starting to think I shouldn't have read that note out loud.

I'm just going to close the crate again.

There we go.

All good now, I'm sure.

Leonard's voice is even louder over here.

Um...

Uh, another crate.

Okay.

This crate opens into

what looks like a hotel hallway.

I am stepping down into it, and even as I do, gravity shifts

sickeningly, and

now I am standing upright in the hallway.

Leonard's voice is coming from somewhere in here.

I'm walking down the hall.

Every door is boarded shut except one.

Room 2A.

I push, and the door swings open.

Oh,

hi.

Leonard?

It's...

Is that you?

I think so.

Self becomes such a confusing subject past a certain point, doesn't it?

I saw you die.

I expect you did.

Do you know where we are by chance?

We're at the headquarters of Labyrinth.

Ah, that makes a lot of sense, actually.

Did you know that one time I tried to do an investigative report on Labyrinth and they ran me over with a truck?

Yes.

I was there.

Of course, you said.

I think they've trapped me here to send secret messages to their agents in the field.

At first, I was content to be in front of a microphone, but...

How long have I been broadcasting?

Oh, uh, about two weeks.

Ah, see, from my point of view, it's been, if I check my watch here,

about 2,000 years.

An upsetting amount of time for anyone, I'd think.

Well, thank you for opening the door.

I suppose I should be getting along then.

Where will you go?

Right?

Who even knows?

Well, hopefully I see you again under better circumstances.

Or at least different ones.

Bye, Leonard.

And with that, he ambles out of the hotel room and down the hallway, before disappearing around a corner.

Well,

I do feel good having rescued my old friend and mentor.

I am not feeling great about the fact that Labyrinth captured his soul somehow, maybe.

And...

What does all of this mean for Steve working here?

All in all,

kind of a mixed day.

Time to return the equipment to satisfy.

Oh no.

Uh

the exit from the crate disappeared.

So I'll first have to find my way out of this vast otherworldly hotel.

I hate it when this happens.

Stay tuned next.

For the new hit single from Chapel Roan, I don't have eyes and you shouldn't either.

Good night, Night Vale.

Good.

Oh, great.

All of the doors disappeared.

And there go the lights.

This is going to take a while.

Good night.

Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Night Vale Presents.

It is written by Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Craner, and Bree Williams and produced by Dispirition.

The voice of Leonard Burton was James Urbaniak.

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

Original music by Dispirition.

All of it can be found at disparition.bandcamp.com.

This episode's weather was What Really Matters by Arielle Silver.

Find out more at the link in our show notes.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com or follow us on Blue Sky at Night Vale Radio or on Instagram, Tumblr, and TikTok at Nightvale Official.

Or dance like no one's watching because you're the only one left in some sort of apocalypse scenario.

But mainly, check out WelcometonNightvale.com, where we have a twice-monthly mailing list that is the best way to keep up to date directly from us to you.

Today's proverb: hats off to you, socks off to you, and a shirt that doesn't quite fit, off to you.

Trip Planner by Expedia.

You are made to outdo your holiday, your hammocking,

and your pooling.

We were made to help organize the competition.

Expedia, made to travel.

I'm Amy Nicholson, the film critic for the LA Times.

And I'm Paul Scheer, an actor, writer, and director.

You might know me from the League Veep or my non-eligible for Academy Award role in Twisters.

We love movies and we come at them from different perspectives.

Yeah, like Amy thinks that, you know, Joe Pesci was miscast in Goodfellas, and I don't.

He's too old.

Let's not forget that Paul thinks that Dune 2 is overrated.

It is.

Anyway, despite this, we come together to host Unspooled, a podcast where we talk about good movies, critical hits, fan favorites, must-sees, and in case you missed them.

We're talking Parasite the Home Alone, From Greece to the Dark Knight.

We've done deep dives on popcorn flicks.

We've talked about why Independence Day deserves a second look.

And we've talked about horror movies, some that you've never even heard of, like Kanja and Hess.

So if you love movies like we do, come along on our cinematic adventure.

Listen to Unspooled wherever you get your podcasts.

And don't forget to hit the follow button.

Are you squeamish about horror movies, but kind of want to know what happens?

Or are you a horror lover who likes thoughtful conversation about your favorite genre?

Join me, Jeffrey Kraner, and my friend from Welcome to Nightville, Cecil Baldwin, for our weekly podcast, Random Number Generator Horror Podcast Number 9, where we watch and discuss horror movies in a random order.

Find, here's the short version, Random Horror 9, wherever you get your podcasts.

Boo.