232 - A Car Crash on Buellton Avenue

Howdy, Jeffrey Kraner here.

You probably know that Welcome to Night Vale does live tours.

We've done seven of those tours, in fact.

If you never got to see these tours, or even if you did and you want to relive them, we have live recordings available to you right now over at nightvale.bandcamp.com.

You can find those seven different live show performances, including our most recent show, The Attic.

We've also got some one-off events like our Thrilling Adventure Hour crossover show, our first-ever live show, Condos, as well as The Debate.

These albums are only $5 and they're so much fun.

So while we're between tours, tide yourself over with our live albums.

That's nightvale.bandcamp.com.

Summer is turning to fall, which frankly, rude of summer to do.

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Welcome to Night Vale.

There was a car crash on Buelton Avenue, listeners.

A bad one.

Possible injuries.

Probable injuries even.

A man who has been watering his lawn has laid down the hose and started sprinting toward the crash.

His mouth is wide and his lower teeth are more visible than they have ever been outside of the dentist visits that he doesn't do as regularly as he should, if he's honest with himself.

He tries to be honest with himself.

He rarely fully is.

A woman who had been one car back from the crash is vibrating.

It's the chemicals in her blood.

When she saw the crash, she knew that in a set of circumstances that are terrifyingly similar to the ones that happened, it would have been her in that wreck.

In the twist and the rend of it.

Her flesh caught between this and that, split open, smeared.

Her teeth chatter as she thinks of it, and she thinks of injuries she doesn't have, consequences she won't have to face.

There was a car crash on Buelton Avenue, listeners, and it could have been any of us.

But it wasn't most of us.

Our lucky day then.

More soon, but first, the headlines.

An update on the Randy Newman Memorial Nightvale Airport.

There was some embarrassment earlier this month when it turned out that, after the expensive and high-profile construction of a new terminal, the management of the airport never contracted with any airlines to have flights into or out of Nightvale.

Well, This oversight has been corrected.

Nightvale Airport CEO, Archie Lavery, is proud to announce that he has made an agreement with Dale Lucero, whose wife Betty coaches the Little League team.

Dale has an old Cessna he likes to take out on weekends when it isn't too cloudy or windy, and he figures that he can get most people pretty much where they want to go on most days if they're a little patient.

This old bird don't quite fly like she used to.

Dale said, chewing on a straw and leaning on a plane that appeared to have been last painted during the Brando administration.

But I reckon she's still got some sky left in her.

When asked about international flights, Dale admitted that he hasn't gotten his passport renewed after that trip to Antigua in 95, and so he probably couldn't help anyone with that.

And he was obligated to point out that his pilot license was a certificate he printed off a site called Fun Pilot Props for children ages three to five.

But still, he said it should be totally fine and no one should be worried at all.

Ain't never killed no one yet, he said with a grin that kept stretching wider and wider as his eyes watered with the strain of his distending face.

Triple negative there, boss.

How you like that?

Dale muttered to the sky.

Airport CEO Archie Lavery added, I'm excited about this new arrangement and look forward to you all flying the friendless skies.

Dr.

Carlos Robles, Dean of the University of What It Is, Central Knightville Campus, and father to my child, has been consolidating control of the army of scientists now under his command.

He has been doing the usual team-building exercises like two truths and a lie, zip-zap-zop, and mock executions.

But still, There are certain leftover resentments and confused thinking from the era overseen by that villain herself, Dr.

Janet Lubell.

Carlos needs his team to all be on the same,

you know,

team, because he has great things in store for them.

Many of you were worried about how I've been after finding out that Carlos had been stuck in that terrible desert otherworld for 10 years, rather than the one year that I experienced.

And it was tough to know that he hadn't trusted me enough to help him carry that pain.

But I understand why love might make someone feel that they need to keep such terrible secrets to themselves, that some secrets are so painful that to share them is itself an act of violence.

But now, we can all share the weight of his secret, can show him there is no shame in having received pain, no guilt in a harrowing past.

I love my husband.

I do not hold it against him even a little that he could not tell tell me, and I will support him in any way that I know how.

In any case, understandably, he wants to know more about this world that held him for a decade of his life, and so he is mustering the considerable forces of the University of what it is to that end.

Soon, hopefully, we will know more about that terrible other place.

More on science as soon as science continues to occur.

There was a car crash on Buelton Avenue, listeners.

A real smash-up.

Glittering debris running down the street.

As it happens over 2 million years ago during a different age of the Earth, there was a stream here.

Clear blue water.

And it ran exactly where this trail of glass is now.

No one involved in the crash knows that, nor any of the witnesses.

That information wouldn't be helpful to them now.

The only information that might be helpful to them is more practical, such as how to staunch bleeding, how to deal with visible bone both in terms of wound repair and psychological impact, how to retain senses when your body is trying to shut down.

This is the information that is needed.

History exists right until the present insists upon itself, and then past and future fade until the present ceases being an emergency.

There was a car crash on Buleton Avenue.

There is blood, although although I don't know its location or quantity.

There is a hand reaching, although I don't know if it is reaching out or in.

I will give you more updates as I have them.

And now a word from our sponsors.

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There was a car crash on Buelton Avenue, listeners.

Something is trying to crawl out of the wreckage.

This might have once been someone, but they have been reduced to something, and still they are trying to crawl.

A man who had been watering his lawn nearby arrives at the wreckage.

He sees what is trying to come out of it and he is torn between wanting to flee and wanting to help.

He decides to help.

In fiction, we assume that humans are cowardly, but in reality, humans are often generous and brave.

We are a self-hating species, and like any self-hater, we are mostly incorrect.

The man gets down on his knees.

He does his best to help, but he doesn't know how.

Nothing has prepared him for this.

Nothing has prepared anyone for this.

No one spends time learning about the possibility of this, even though the possibility is always there, always present behind even the quietest, most comfortable moments of our lives.

Catastrophe is, after all, only a catastrophe away.

And now for the music charts.

Number one with a bullet is, of course, Help me, I'm a time traveler lost in history and I need to get a message to my superiors in the future in the form of a hit song by Justin Bieber.

I can't stop humming it like...

Okay, I don't have a great ear for melody, but it's something like that.

You know the song, you don't need me to tell you.

After that, we have a newcomer on our list, Nightfell's own Michelle Wynn with Music Song, a piece she put together using a new for her system in which she uses music to compose a song.

When asked about her groundbreaking technique, Michelle said, I thought I was post-music, but then I got bored of listening to trees grow and 40-hour white noise compilations, so I became post-post-music.

And it turns out music is pretty good.

I am glad to have invented it, and please feel free to compliment me about it whenever I am feeling insecure, which is a lot of the time.

Michelle concluded.

Well, Michelle, personally, I think music is okay,

and I'm glad you invented it.

Finally, of course, we have Basket Case by Green Day, which has been number three on our charts for over 60 years.

Long before the band released it.

No matter what we do, it is just right there in the third spot.

At least it got a little less confusing for us after the song came out.

This has been the charts.

There was a car crash on Buleton Avenue, listeners.

A haze in the air that looks like smoke, but it is not smoke.

It is finely pulverized glass, and it scatters with even a slight breeze.

The hand of something that was once someone reaches out from the wreckage.

The woman, one car back from the crash, exits her vehicle.

Her mouth is open, but she is not making a sound.

She doesn't know what sound she could make.

Nothing she can do can adequately express her horror at what she has seen.

The man on his knees has given up on trying to help the thing that once was human.

He looks past the crawling, mewling creature and sees...

something he does not understand.

The interior is twisted around itself, but it looks as though it goes much deeper than the car once did.

If he didn't know any better, the man would think this was a tunnel.

In fact, he doesn't know better, and he does think it's a tunnel.

He crawls uncertainly forward past the hand that is begging for aid, past the creature that once was human, deep into the wreckage, deeper into the wreckage until the sound of the world fades away and it grows dark and warm and damp.

More on,

well,

whatever it is that is happening here,

but first, and always,

the weather.

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.

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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.

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.

There was a car crash on Buelton Avenue, listeners.

The man who had been watering his lawn crawls through the long belly of the wreckage.

It is dark and warm and damp, and then as he continues to move, it grows dark and cold and dry.

He hears a voice, as though there is someone beside him as he crawls.

The voice says, Ah, it's you again.

Who is that?

asks the man.

The voice replies, it's just me, again.

I don't know who you are, the man says.

And then, from directly in front of him, so close he can feel cold breath on his face, smelling of grass clippings and graveyard dirt, the voice says, don't you?

The man howls and tries to scramble backwards.

As he does, he finds himself in a hospital hallway.

The light through the window at the end of the hall is sunset golden.

He turns and cannot find the tunnel he entered through.

The man calls out, but no one answers.

This hospital is empty.

He walks to the end of the hall, enters a door-marked exit, and finds himself at a school.

It is 1974, he is 12 years old, and he is late for class.

He runs as the bell rings, but it is no use.

He is and has always been late.

When he finally opens the loud, squeaky door, the teacher shakes her head in disappointment.

Find your desk, she says, and that is tricky, because he doesn't remember which one was his desk.

There are three that are empty.

He walks toward one and no one calls out in correction and so he sits down.

Good, his teacher says, in a new voice, a voice that is so familiar.

Now, let's begin the lesson.

And with that, The man is back in the tunnel.

But now there is daylight ahead of him, the lulling sound of traffic.

He scrambles toward it, afraid that the voice will come out again.

With both hands, he grabs the frame of the wreckage and hauls himself back out.

He finds himself in the seat of a car.

There is a steering wheel in front of him.

He glances with confusion in his rear-view mirror and sees the woman one car back singing along to the hit.

New song by Michelle Wynn.

The song makes her very happy.

A respite of a commute in a tedious, busy day, and he smiles at at her happiness.

Then he looks again to the intersection before him and he starts his left turn.

When it happens,

it is so quick, he doesn't even know it is happening.

He only knows that he is back in the wreckage, and that he is no longer someone,

but something.

He tries to crawl out, but he can only reach out a hand and a familiar man on a nearby front lawn drops his hose and starts running over.

There was a car crash on Buelton Avenue.

There is a car crash on Buelton Avenue.

There will always be a car crash on Buelton Avenue.

Stay tuned next for Fallout Boys' new cover of The Disintegration Loops.

Good night, Night Vale.

Good night.

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

It is written by Joseph Think and Jeffrey Kraner and produced by Disparition.

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

Original music by Disparition.

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

This episode's weather was One Man's Trash by 7th Street Big Band.

Find out more at 7th Street Big Band.bandcamp.com.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com or follow us on Twitter, I guess, at nightvale radio.

And Instagram at nightvaleofficial.

We now have a TikTok at nightvaleofficial as well if you like short videos by a fictional radio station.

Most importantly, check out WelcomeTonightBell.com, where we have a twice-monthly mailing list that is the best way to keep up to date with us without it being suddenly rebranded into something stupid.

You can learn about things like our upcoming brand new live show, The Attic, which we are working on right now and it's spooky and cool as hell.

Today's proverb: don't judge anyone until you've walked a mile in their shoes, until you've stolen their shoes and gotten a clean one mile away.

Don't judge them.

Olivia loves a challenge.

It's why she lifts heavy weights

and likes complicated recipes.

But for booking her trip to Paris, Olivia chose the easy way with Expedia.

She bundled her flight with a hotel to save more.

Of course, she still climbed all 674 steps to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

You were made to take the easy route.

We were made to easily package your trip.

Expedia, made to travel.

Flight-inclusive packages are at all protected.

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 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 Nightvale, 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.