249 - Rifts

Did you know that Nightfall is not just a podcast, it's also books?

That's right.

It's like movies for your ears, but in written word form.

We have four script collections that are fully illustrated with behind-the-scenes intros for every single episode.

And then we have three novels.

The first Welcome to Nightfall novel, in which two women have their lives turned upside down by a mysterious man in a tan jacket.

We reveal the origin of that, the man man in the tan jacket in that one.

Then the New York Times best-selling thriller, It Devours, in which we really try to get to the bottom of a certain smiling god.

Finally, my favorite, The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home.

Part Pirate Adventure, Part Haunted House, all Faceless Old Woman.

Find the three novels and four script books wherever you get books.

Okay,

enjoy this episode of a podcast.

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You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

Without you, darkness would shroud the earth, leading to the mass extinction of all life as we know it.

Please don't take my sunshine away.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Wow, it's a beautiful day out there, isn't it, listeners?

I'm not talking about the weather.

Obviously, it's not time to talk about the weather yet.

I'm talking about the town cleansing project that's been underway for the last week or so.

A citywide cleanup event sponsored by our very own Mother Lauren.

Our strange benefactress who slid through the portal from the desert otherworld one day and started changing hearts and minds.

Literally rearranging the cellular content of our most vital organs using beams of amber-tinted light shooting from the tips of her fingers.

As well as toppling our buildings and raising entire city blocks that were no longer serving us.

Establishments that had outlived their purpose.

Places that were not sparking joy.

Now, I'm not trying to sugarcoat anything.

I know there's been some concern, some protesting, some uprising, and that's exactly why Mother Lauren has erected smiling god worship centers in the charred remnants of the former Ralph's, Arby's, and Michael's Craft store.

With so much upheaval and unrest going on, what if you could just

feel okay about it?

Wouldn't it be better to stare at a golden idol, relax, let your eyes roll slowly backwards until only the whites are showing, and let your mouth fall open into a big, warm, welcoming smile.

On a personal note, I'm especially pleased to see the changes in the boy from Grove Park, also known as the young version of Kevin from Desert Bluffs.

He used to be so lost, both literally and metaphorically.

Now, he's really growing up before our eyes, both literally and metaphorically.

He's become much more mature as well as several feet taller, and I'm happy to report that he is no longer holding any knives.

Though his teeth are now extremely long and sharp, so he's basically holding 28 knives, they're just all inside his mouth.

Mother Lauren has been a true mentor to the boy and has really taken him under her wing.

Under her enormous oil-slick colored wing.

The wing that beats the worship drums at sunset and sunrise.

The wing that blows gales of sand through the streets, purging the debris from collapsed homes and buildings.

The howling gusts that carry an undercurrent of singing voices, of weeping, of blissful delirium.

The boy nestles there, in the pocket of that wing, growing and smiling and nodding along in agreement to something that only he can hear.

We are all very proud of him.

In other news, all coffee shops in the Barista district are now serving pup cups.

Those foamy delights made of whipped beef tallow are once again available to your furry friends.

Feel their ravenous delight when you place the cup before them.

Witness their slavering mandibles, plunging with more enthusiasm than you've ever felt for anything in your entire life.

Question, why that is?

Did you make bad choices?

Or is it more of a general human problem, the curse of having a brain capable of comprehending the endless horrors of existence that really dulls the enjoyment of life's simple pleasures?

Your dog doesn't have that problem.

Your dog lives in the moment, feels every sensation to the fullest, and barely remembers yesterday.

With the pup cup, you can live vicariously through their uncomplicated joy.

You can at least be happy for them and envious?

Definitely.

In fact, you will get such a rush of jealousy from seeing their euphorically chomping, foam-flecked muzzles that you might feel the desire to try the pup cup for yourself.

Despite the cautionary flyers posted all over the barista district warning against this very thing, the pup cup is not intended for human consumption.

If this line is crossed, the natural order will be disturbed.

There will be consequences.

But luckily, self-care isn't just for dogs.

The newest addition to downtown is the Hazy Mirage Tanning Salon, Nightvale's only maximum security spa for maximum relaxation.

A full-service dirt football field surrounded by glaring white concrete walls and loops of concertina wire ensures a private experience of uninterrupted you time.

Give up your phones, clothing, and all other personal items at the door and enter the locked, shadeless compound for your day of serenity.

Emerge hours or possibly years later, with a deep, fully baked color and a completely new mindset.

Even your closest friends and family will barely recognize you after just one session at the Hazy Mirage.

Your physical appearance and personality will have undergone such radical changes, you may not even recognize yourself anymore.

That's because you've become a small living piece of the sun here on Earth.

You have submitted to its power, and in turn, it has bestowed upon you great and terrible gifts.

Hazy Mirage Tanning Salon.

Let the sun shine in.

And yes, as you may have suspected, that was an advertisement and not actual news, but they paid extra to be featured in the headlines, so eh, kind of the same thing.

In real news, I'm getting word from my reliable and extremely handsome source in the science district, my husband Carlos, that the portal inside his lab is now making a a soft hissing noise.

He's unclear whether it's more of a power line buzz or a carbonated soft drink fizz or something closer to television static, but he is doing rigorous testing to determine the most accurate simile for the sound.

As bystanders gather around to watch Carlos pour different colored liquids into different beakers, I'm getting reports that a distant figure is approaching from the other side of the portal.

The figure is at first a smudge, then a shadow, then a silhouette.

As it gets closer, the noise becomes louder.

Carlos has now concluded that the noise most closely resembles air escaping from a punctured tire, or possibly a steam radiator, maybe a large snake.

As the sound reaches the intensity of a million wasps, give or take, the dark figure becomes clear.

It is Kevin.

He is not smiling.

He does not sit down calmly on his side of the portal as he did last time.

This just won't do,

is all he says.

With the sound of a screaming tea kettle, he steps through the portal into Carlos' lab.

Every test tube, graduated cylinder, Erlenmeyer flask shatters in an instant.

The computer monitors split apart like liquid crystal fault lines.

The windows explode both outward and inward.

Oh, geez.

Carlos was overheard to comment.

Kevin pays no attention to the scientist who is rummaging through the closet for a broom.

He walks past him, through the shards of glass, out the door, and onto the street.

He stands there.

as if waiting for someone.

Or possibly the bus.

The 12 stops outside Big Rico's Pizza, as does the streetcar.

While we wait to see who or what Kevin is waiting for, let's go to a word from our sponsors.

Well, this is an unusual treat.

Our sponsor today is actually a local non-profit organization.

I don't even know how that works.

Shouldn't someone be sponsoring them or...

Anyway.

It's a pleasure to be associated with a group that's doing positive work in our community.

Charities for a Smiling God is Nightvale's newest donation center.

Bring all your old, functional weapons down to the big yellow drop box at Somerset and Maine for charitable reasons.

Whether you're able to donate or not, Charities for a Smiling God wants to take this opportunity to share the good word.

That word is teeth.

It's a really good word, isn't it?

Teeth.

Teeth.

Chompers.

Chompers!

Smilers!

Showbones!

Happy Squares!

Jaw Candy!

Show us your teeth!

Give us your weapons!

We are always watching.

Now, traffic.

This weekend, the Cineplex is hosting a 24-and-a-half-year anniversary screening of Steven Soderbergh's classic multi-narrative film about international cat smuggling.

This landmark movie shed light on the the complicated relationship between the United States and Mexico as related to their mutual reliance on the illegal kitten husbandry industry.

It's a smart, unflinching, and downright adorable portrayal of damaged lives and toxic politics, all told through family-friendly animation and incredibly realistic gore.

Be sure to stick around afterward for a Q ⁇ A with actor Lee Marvin in attendance.

While he was not in the film, he has a lot of opinions about it.

Not all of them are favorable.

This has been Traffic.

Back to our top story.

From across town, a great and thunderous wailing.

It reverberates off of buildings and streets.

It destroys our ability to concentrate on anything else.

It comes from the deepest depths.

Though from the depths of what we do not know.

What we do know is that Kevin was not waiting waiting for a bus.

He was waiting for himself, specifically his younger self, also known as the boy from Grove Park.

And that boy has just arrived via the streetcar, which lets off in front of Big Rico's pizza.

As the boy hops off the trolley, the wailing ceases.

The hissing sound from the portal ceases.

Now,

There is a great and thunderous silence that reverberates off of buildings and streets and destroys our ability to concentrate on anything else.

From all over town, we can hear their conversation, though it is spoken in low tones and meant only for themselves.

I told you I would be ready for you next time, the boy says.

And I told you I wouldn't be alone, older Kevin says.

No one knows what older Kevin means by this as he does appear to be quite alone.

I'm the one who is not alone, younger Kevin says, his eyes aflame with amber light, his body stretching another foot taller.

A towering shadow falls across the street, shielding young Kevin from the sun.

Older Kevin grimaces.

I didn't come here to fight, older Kevin says, his eyes fixed on the shadow now instead of the boy.

Of course not, young Kevin agrees.

You came here to be destroyed.

Young Kevin raises his hand up, his fingers glowing and hypnotic.

Older Kevin opens his mouth to speak again, but no words come out.

His mouth just continues to open and open and open, falling into a gaping smile of his own needle-sharp teeth.

Without another word, he crumples to the ground in front of the number 12 bus stop.

Mother Lauren steps from behind Big Rico's, beaming down at the boy.

He beams back up at her.

As they gaze into each other's impossibly long eyes, a chill passes individually through every person in Night Vale.

A chill that numbs each of us to inaction.

We sit or stand perfectly still.

listening to the distant sounds of buildings collapsing and streets buckling, smelling smoke and acid.

Our jaws loosening.

Opening.

Smiling.

Until another shadow falls across the street.

One resembling a distorted tripod.

Everyone in town simultaneously turns to look toward the new silhouette at the end of the block.

We gape vacantly at the form of three small human beings, their fists raised together in the air to form a tiny pyramid.

Listeners, it is none other than Alejandra Nunez, Ronnie Sharma, and Nanako Barnes of Mr.

Prescott's fifth period AP English class.

The tweens who so bravely vanquished the villainous librarians at the Eastside Branch opening all those months ago.

The child warriors who faded from the limelight due to their focus on homework and standardized testing and extracurricular reading.

The heroes we forgot we even had who are now, as of three o'clock today, on summer break.

We're not going to let you ruin our vacation, lady.

Ronnie addresses the entity who is not exactly a lady, but is somewhat lady-shaped.

The three break their pyramid fist, then fan out, blocking off their end of the street.

Mother Lauren spreads her wings, of which there are many.

blocking off the other end of the street.

Her mouth that is smiling laughs.

Her mouth that is frowning screeches like a freight train.

The boy from Grove Park reaches up and holds her hand.

The two small groups advance toward one another.

More on this after a brief public service announcement.

With so much confrontation in the air, the Nightvale Psychological Association wishes to present an alternative opinion.

Avoidance.

Have you thought about maybe just not?

Avoidance has a bad reputation, but it actually has numerous health benefits.

Avoidance has been proven to lower stress hormones and raise antioxidant levels.

It even contains lycopene, a superfood chemical previously thought to exist mainly in tomatoes.

When faced with conflict, it's natural to become reactive.

The Psychological Association recommends closing your eyes instead.

Clear your mind.

Turn around.

Walk away.

Don't look back.

Feels good, doesn't

Now back to the chaos and warfare at hand with a statement by Council Member Tamika Flynn.

Hi everyone, it's me, Councilmember Flynn.

First of all, I wholeheartedly endorse the words we just heard from the fine folks at the Nightvale Psychological Association.

I know things are a bit tense right now, and it's only natural to respond to violence with violence.

I'm speaking specifically to my young friends, the library tweens.

I've been where you are, and I know how super satisfying attacking evil can be, especially when you're using your fists and feet and weapons and brains all together in a perfect cocktail of absolute annihilation.

But I want to reassure everyone that I am working hard on passing a comprehensive legislation package to stop Mother Lauren from destroying our town, have everyone extradited back to their own realities, and close the portal down for good, okay, friends?

So just sit tight, avoid, relax, and wait.

Oh, and young Kevin, please come home.

I'm making mac and cheese sandwiches for dinner.

I know that's your favorite, okay, bud?

Everyone else, we're gonna get through this together.

I promise.

But first, the weather.

Shit.

Yo, absolutely no cat was used in any batch of goo that rehashed into me.

Ratchet rapper from the a woman with jewelry, no addicts react by relapsing to me.

Out the blue, I be active, shooting this action movie.

You are acting to me.

I'm off the losers, I'm back pursuing when I'm back to Julie.

Constant shocker like Glocker, with Lost and Roster like Glocker.

Don't come to me with no gaga, no cuckoo and no bottles, no boo-goo and overfollows.

No bad days, no problems.

I had days when I was out of it.

Forgive me, y'all, I ain't proud of it.

How died did I get out of there?

I ate up my spinach.

I ate up my limits, elevated my energy, weighed up my spirit.

And came for the gimmicks, my haters don't get it.

I made it my business to do things just to say that I did it.

And save on the image, like save every minute.

They stay on the hit list, the greatest to exist, to slay all these bitches.

Aided by native and native, a witness.

If it's heavy, I want it.

I'm on my way to the lift.

Life is a fun game without challenging.

Anybody who wants it can come.

It don't matter what number you run.

Hit him with the distance at the dump.

Get up with a lunch.

Hit them with a punch.

Shuri or gun.

Hadook, you know, whatever.

Drive like the devil, lie on the metal.

Go so fast that your knees hit the pedal.

Made that go out, made that shatter.

Put that soul in, made that better.

Just because the world is an illusion doesn't mean that I won't find a thing that I wanna improve.

And then I mean the meaning of this life being a dream.

And if it ain't what it seems, the meaning of the life will be what you do with it.

So I'll blow my whole load on my hogo, my heart on my logo.

In a mortal enemy with mortals on the throne, my flow gonna get in that hole, like getting that hoe.

Superhead who blows up off the straight.

The hunt, bro, choke, bro.

Egos live your truth.

I do me, I don't do you.

You gotta die on it, wow, who do be number one while I do, do, do.

They move for me, two, they do true shootings and being the new king.

From who is keeping the key away from me?

I do think I'll be on my way because I believe my QI to be be Ivy League and life to me is my movie.

I am the writer of my own IMDB.

I am seeing your reaction when it comes to action.

I am leading, so I will be the one screaming and lighting teams.

I mean,

performing at the bottom.

I'm not gonna have nothing tried to make a man and out of y'all.

But my mom allowed her put the beat under the ground.

Made a volume over how incredible the style is.

Who'd have messed it up in auto loudest?

Nigga, who be moving on in high end?

Getting really comfortable with silence.

Is it really just the point that I'm the liveest?

Uh, no, I'ma tell you niggas like I told everyone else.

I'm very particular about being glow to the self.

So whatever isn't in the minute is on the shelf.

I'm aware no selling, revealing revealing my iller self.

Not wearing my middle finger out loud as felt.

See, I'm carrying a little bit to benefit all the wealth.

But I'm never doing anything to kill my ass health.

And I'm losing my maneuver.

I don't prove it to my mama.

I'm a student who ain't knew that I'm new.

I'll look at a plate.

The party mind proving I do, it's not a problem.

Who's to say I even got him all the life and at a bottom?

I make love to the beat.

Love is in me.

Love into me so much that I keep on with a bug.

It should be not above, but beneath me.

And my feet beat like a bug underneath.

Love into me so much that I'm a screen.

Joy that your boy was awarded to beat.

Don't be fucking up and thinking that you're charter to me.

I am more than a beef.

I'm more than a lyric.

I'm more than a beef.

Liga see, I'm in liking.

I sort of the bright light on mics.

What you're writing, you'll look more like it's more of a bit to me.

See, Can y'all hear it?

This nigga got the spirit.

And when you get on tracks, that nigga always go for realer.

Pop shill is on the illus.

Pop piece gets only real up.

But watch out for my niggas, cause them niggas is killers.

Let's watch your mouth and slip it.

Get turned into a victim.

And them only my orders.

I told them niggas different when you show real love to niggas.

Guess what?

Niggas get protected.

So I wasn't shocked.

We get dropped.

This nigga, that's expected.

I hope my folks will see in this the hopeful hip-hop geniuses.

Who know that hip-hop will not die as long as they know we exist.

So no, I must say we insist to those opposing we exit.

Go take all of your grievances to right below our penises.

And don't you share your speakers with none of those who don't believe in shit.

Life is just a bunch of snares you post to fight your demons with.

I exist cause I exist.

I'm higher than you see me here.

Life is just a moment and your only job is be within.

So love it all.

Every hard day that you couldn't face is a good day.

Who that is, who that is, who that is,

You chose to hit play on this podcast today.

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Mike and Alyssa are always trying to outdo each other.

When Alyssa got a small water bottle, Mike showed up with a four-liter jug.

When Mike started gardening, Alyssa started beekeeping.

Oh, come on.

They called a truce for their holiday and used Expedia Trip Planner to collaborate on all the details of their trip.

Once there, Mike still did more laps around the pool.

Whatever.

You were made to outdo your holidays.

We were made to help organize the competition.

Expedia, made to travel.

Listeners, while I found Council Member Flynn's statement compelling, it turns out that the library tweens did not feel that way at all.

Their favorite teacher, Mr.

Prescott, insists that they are usually very obedient kids in the classroom who have a lot of respect for adult authority within reason.

But on summer vacation, all bets are off.

Despite Tamika's call for non-violent and lawful solutions, I am reporting to you now that violence is occurring.

Like

A lot of violence.

I will try to describe the battle unfolding on our streets as accurately as I can, with the caveats that I don't actually

understand what I'm witnessing.

I can't tell what's right or wrong anymore, and I have no way to gauge who's winning or losing.

You know how in summer camp movies, there's always a food fight scene that makes no real sense in terms of anyone's motivations or alliances, it's just a complete mess for the sake of messiness.

That's kind of what I'm seeing out there right now.

Except instead of mashed potatoes and pudding flying around, it's blood and viscera.

Sometimes farm animals.

Cars.

Office furniture.

A little bit of mashed potatoes.

But it's not just Mother Lauren versus the library tweens.

The town has been divided and everyone is pitted against each other, fighting for one side or the other.

And I'm getting word that there's now a third faction emerging, which is mostly made up of turkey vultures who were drawn into town by the smell of fresh carrion.

And yes, there are some human defectors who have abandoned whatever side they were previously on and are now fighting on the side of the vultures as well.

In fact, I don't think there's actually anyone out there listening to the radio anymore.

Nearly everyone has taken up arms, left their houses and workplaces, and joined whatever cause they believe in, or think they believe in, or want to believe in, or were forced to believe in.

Stay tuned for the end of something

and the beginning of something else.

I would say goodnight, Night Vale, but

if a tree falls in the forest,

you know.

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

It is written by Joseph Think, Jeffrey Kraner, and Bree Williams and produced by Dispirition.

The voice of Tamika Flynn is Symphony Sanders.

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

Original music by Disparition.

All that can be found at disparition.bandcamp.com.

This episode's weather was Freak Flip by Lafayette the Artist.

Find out more at the link in our show notes.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com or follow us on Instagram and on Tumblr at NightvaleOfficial.

We now have a TikTok at Night Vale Official as well.

So you know, tick that talk.

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

We love you, and you are special to us.

Today's proverb.

Hey now, you are all stars.

Get your game on your space.

Hey now, you are all stars.

Get your game on your space.

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-season, and 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.

Hi, I'm here to tell you about Good Morning Night Vale.

Welcome to Night Vale's official recap show and unofficial best friend food podcast.

Join me, Meg Bashwinner, and fellow tri-hosts, Hal Lovelin and Symphony Sanders, as we dissect all of the cool, squishy, and slimy bits of every episode of Welcome to Night Come for the insightful and hilarious commentary, and stay for all of the weird and wild behind-the-scenes stories.

Good morning, Nightvale, with new episodes every other Thursday.

Get it wherever you get your podcasts.

Yes, even there.