182 - It Sticks With You

Hey hey, Jeffrey Kraner from welcome to Night Vale here.

Apart from Night Vale, we make other podcasts.

If you're already a big Night Vale fan, check out Good Morning Night Vale, where cast members Meg Bashwiner, Symphony Sanders, and Hal Lublin break down each and every episode.

Or if you're looking for more weird fiction, there's Within the Wires, an immersive fiction podcast written by me and novelist Janina Mathewson.

Each season is a standalone tale told in the guise of found audio.

Finally, maybe you like horror movies or are scared of horror movies but are horror curious, check out Random Number Generator Horror Podcast Number 9, where me and the voice of Night Vale Cecil Baldwin talk about a randomly drawn horror film.

We have new episodes every single week.

So that's Good Morning Nightvale Within the Wires and Random Horror 9.

Go to NightvalePresents.com for more or get those podcasts wherever you get your podcasts.

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.

Today is the third day of the rest of your life.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Hi listeners.

It's been a dull winter and I haven't gotten out of the house much.

My family and I have been nesting mostly, and that's nice.

Cooking dinner, catching up on all the popular shows like Lupin, Blown Away, and even old episodes of The Office.

Oh, not the American one, but the original Luftnarp version, where the main character is a one-eyed starling voiced by film legend Lee Marvin.

It's much more cutting in its humor.

My favorite episode is when the whole staff learns to summon the lost souls of the ancient ones, and the starling sings a dirge about drowning in a lake, and then the corporate manager is interrogated by Interpol for successfully doing alchemy.

But TV has gotten kind of old and we got a touch of cabin fever.

So we decided it was time to get out of the house and go for a hike.

On Saturday, we drove a few hours north to Redwood Remains State Park, and we brought our little Esteban with us because it is never too early to introduce children to nature.

And it was a fun and spiritually rewarding trip.

And there's nothing like like the mighty heights of centuries-old trees to make you feel small, like a baby, held close and tight, protected from the dangers in the malicious sky above.

I feel so refreshed.

I can't recommend the woods enough.

What a rewarding time to spend with a family.

It's a trip that will stay with me forever.

More on my hike soon.

But let's have a look now at traffic.

At the intersection of High Street and McDowell sits a 2004 Honda CR-V, silver with a broken taillight.

Inside the car is a man named Sergei.

He's looking at the night sky.

He does not see the light change from red to green, nor does he notice this process repeating.

There is no one behind him to indicate his attention should be otherwise paid to the road.

The intersection of High Street and McDowell is curiously empty, except for the man in his 2004 CR-V.

If anyone else were around and they were to look at the same night sky, they would see blackness and stars, the faint slit of a nearly new moon.

They may see an airplane or the wisp of a cloud, yet Sergei sees something that anyone else would not.

Sergei sees a triangle of bright orange lights.

They do not move nor blink.

They simply are an inscrutable pyramid perched in the firmament.

Sergei wonders if they are extraterrestrial or just a trick of the eye.

The traffic signal changes from red back to green and the CR-V does not move.

No one else is around.

He is scared.

He is hopeful too.

Sergei hopes that he is to be abducted, saved even.

Taken away from his job, and his wife and his dogs and his family taken away from his CR-V with its broken taillight, taken away from High Street and McDowell.

He doesn't know if the alien craft would imprison him, experiment on him, or even kill him.

Everything that is unknown is hope.

Sergei does not pray.

He only thinks of the possibilities of leaving his car, his body, his planet.

And as the traffic signal changes, again,

Sergei opens his car door and steps out, jacketless, into the brisk night air.

A swirling breeze curls his hair.

He stands in the center of the intersection at High Street to McDowell and waves.

He waves to the triumvirate of orange lights in the night sky, and he imagines someone or something

waving back.

This has been traffic.

More on our hike.

I can't stop thinking about it.

My husband Carlos, as you may know, is a scientist, and he was truly in his element.

He showed us all kinds of flora and fauna, telling us tons of interesting facts about everything that we encountered.

We saw lots of dragonflies, some as large as my hand.

There were hawks galore, just the most hawks.

Like, think of all the hawks you've ever seen.

Now double that, then add nine, then divide by three.

That is how many hawks we saw in just a single afternoon.

The hawks circled above us, which caused the rabbits to hop and scamper in all directions.

Our little three-year-old shouted, bunnies, and he tried to pet them, but Carlos cautioned him that while most mammals look like they want hugs, almost none of them do.

Esteban was disappointed that he could not pick up the rabbits, especially when one of the hawks did that very thing.

Carlos Hud explained the circle of life to our inconsolable son, which went over better than expected, especially because we found a little creek with some toads for Esteban to play with.

I remember going to the woods as a young boy with my sister and my mother.

We used to go about three or four times each year on a long hike.

What I recall most vividly were the owls.

Even in the bright of day, they were so loud, so very loud.

I asked my mother why the owls were so noisy, and she never answered me.

Oh, once I even found a sleeping raccoon, and a coyote coyote was hunched over it, playfully gnawing at its open belly.

Ah, you learn so much in the woods.

I'll never forget those times.

Last Saturday in the woods, I heard the owls again, their low hoots and growls, ever-present.

I had forgotten their sound, but it all came back to me.

I asked Carlos why the owls were always making that noise.

But he didn't seem to know why, or even understand what I was asking.

Ah, it was a wonderful day.

Watching Esteban and Carlos sitting on moss-covered rocks and pointing at fish and salamanders, I thought of what it must be like to have a dad, and how I was so glad that, unlike me, Esteban has a loving father.

In fact, he has two.

Ah, that moment will stay with me forever.

More on our trip soon.

But now, financial news.

Investors speculate on sadness as a commodity.

Dreams unveiled their IPO.

Sunshine is a cryptocurrency.

Look around you, investors say.

Everything can be monetized.

All of it is capital.

All of it is fluctuating.

Do you sometimes feel tired?

Reap dividends on your emotions.

There's no reason not to earn compound interest on feelings.

Look at the S ⁇ P 500, investors say.

It is a list of 500 of the top intuitions being felt by human beings.

Healthy skepticism is up two points.

Indecision is up 1.5.

And that sensation in your belly when you go down a hill too fast is up six.

Futures trading on happiness is all the rage, according to the financial experts.

Short sell your despair.

Angst is trading at an all-time low, say financial planners.

Past performance is not an indicator of future results, except when it comes to money.

Money is always increasing.

It's just pouring from every orifice, says a man in a suit, standing arms outstretched in a claw-foot tub, pennies falling from his eyes, nickels and quarters spewing from his contorted mouth, the rear of his slacks bulging with Sacagawea dollars.

This has been financial news.

And now back to my mini-vacation to the woods.

I...

Uh...

Well, let's see.

When was I there?

I know I started this show talking about a recent trip I took.

Was I with Carlos or was it just me?

Huh, I'd written down some notes, but I thought

my stenopad is completely blank.

It was such a memorable excursion, but for some reason I

lost my train of thought.

Oh, I do remember owls.

I didn't see any owls.

I don't know that I've ever seen an owl in the woods, but I heard them.

I remembered the sounds of the owls quite clearly, the low drone of the relentless nightbird shaking the deep coils of my inner ear until I could not walk in a straight line.

Could barely stand up.

I remember a man holding a boy's hand and telling him about a tree.

And they look a lot alike, those two.

Go into the tree.

The man tells the boy, and the boy does not want to.

It's warm and quiet in there, the man says to the boy.

But the boy cannot hear him over the sound of the owls.

I can't shake these memories, but I can't express them either.

In the meantime, here's a sports update.

John Peters, you know, the farmer, plowed his fields of invisible corn this week.

He tilled the soil and then covered it over in fresh sod and compacted dirt.

He marked up the area with long chalk lines and built a fence at the far end.

The cornfields are completely gone now.

In their place is a baseball diamond.

John said, I was in my fields of invisible corn and I heard this voice, and the voice told me, if you build it, he will stop by for a visit.

And I knew it was the voice of my narrator.

John continued, Like the ancient gods, I only exist because people talk about me, believe in me, and if the narrator of my life should ever discontinue his old yarn about old John, well, I'd cease to exist.

So I built it, like the man said, I built me a baseball diamond.

John thought the voice was suggesting that by building a baseball diamond, the ghost of John's father would come to the farm and play catch with John.

But, as it turned out, the voice meant the tax collector.

See, John's farm is not zoned for sports and recreation, so he got hit with a pretty hefty fine.

John said, It wasn't wasn't my paw.

That would have been nice.

But Pat Lusk, the tax collector, he was real friendly.

Older fella, we threw the ball around a few times.

It felt great.

Pat's gonna come back.

We got a standing date every Saturday now to play catch.

John hopes he can start a professional team and join the major leagues.

He said he's already sent letters to some scouts for the Padres, Diamondbacks, Death Worms, and Dodgers.

Good luck, John.

Hope you win the pennant.

This has been Sports.

Now I remember.

Oh, it's crystal clear now.

I'm in the woods, listeners, at this exact moment.

And there's the sound of the owls.

Do you hear it?

Just one long, discordant groan?

Ah, my ears hurt and my skin is flinching at the cold air.

I feel the wind in my bones.

There is a redwood in front of me.

It is noon, but the woods are dark, save for a small ray of speckled light shining on the base of the tree.

And there's a hole in the trunk, and it's barely wide enough to fit my shoulders.

But I want to enter the tree, but I'm also afraid I cannot look inside it.

Yes, I remember all of this because it's happening again at this moment.

The woods stay with you for a lifetime.

The memories are never fleeting.

I look into the hole, and I see

nothing.

I place place my feet in the hole.

I slide my hips into the tight fissure.

My chest, it is so cramped, I do not know if I'll be able to fit or free myself.

Oh, it's so warm.

Like the sun,

like the day,

like the weather.

Watch for ships

teeming with fresh recruits

Listen for the clatter

of all those strangers' boots

Hide out by the well pump where no one thinks to go

Let the day pass so slow.

Sometimes, no matter how hard you sprint, you still don't make it to the car.

And the navel

is just a scar

could travel for a thousand lifetimes, you wouldn't reach the nearest star.

And the navel

is just a scar

Been three months since I furloughed on mainland

I prefer my life within stainless steel and a solid plan

We perform a service here without us it all disappears

Got to keep my goals and purpose clear

My fear sears inside my bones like it was made of molten tar

And the navel

is just a scar

My dreams are merely bad ideas that I haven't yet let go too far

And the navel

is just a scar

last night.

I thought the waves would tear this whole platform in half.

Started to pray to nothing in particular on our behalf.

I think something hurt me,

or maybe I just echoed back.

Turns out that I have what I thought I lacked.

Opened a door that all this time I thought was locked, blocked, sealed, and barred.

And the navel

is just a scar.

You can't dodge every single blow that comes your way if you spar

and the navel

is just a scar

If you stay still long enough

then that becomes who you are

And the navel

is just a scar

Yes, the navel

is just a scar.

You chose to hit play on this podcast today.

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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 come together to host Unschooled, 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.

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

Listen to Unschooled wherever you get your podcasts.

And don't forget to hit the follow button.

Where was I?

Just now.

I do not know where I was.

I'm in my studio, and there's a microphone in front of me, a blank notepad, and huh?

A micro cassette player.

Wow, is that.

Yeah, it's the little recorder I had as a kid.

Oh, I use this thing all the time, pretending to be a little radio host, narrating every part of my life.

I haven't seen this in years.

Did I bring it to work with me today?

No, I would have remembered that.

Huh.

Let's see what's on it.

It's Cecil Gershwin-Palmer, March 18, 2019.

I climbed inside a tree.

It's dark, darker than anything I've ever experienced.

I cannot find my way out.

I am afraid.

And I am alone.

Above me, I can hear the loud hum of owls like a diesel engine.

And I am trapped.

I am.

Wait.

I see a light.

It is so cold, that light.

I do not like it.

And it's growing brighter.

No.

No.

No.

Cecil Gershman-Palmer, February 26, 2020.

I crawled into a hole at the base of a tree.

I was on a hike, I think.

Gosh, it's so dark in here.

I've never been in such darkness.

I am alone, except for owls.

I hear the gnashing gurgle of owls, like a chainsaw and low speed, and there's...

Wait, there's a light.

It's coming toward me.

I cannot move.

But I must.

Cecil Gershran-Palmer, February 15th, 2021.

I am inside a tree.

There was a hole, and for some reason, I crawled inside it.

I've never done anything that crazy before.

Gosh, it's so dark.

Darker than anything I've ever seen.

And above me, I hear owls wailing like a pressurized steam valve on a radiator.

None of this is familiar.

Except that light.

Light is filling my mind.

I know that light.

I know that light.

I-

Well, sorry about that.

I thought I might get to hear some old recordings of me, but it was just a blank tape, listeners.

Oh well, probably for the best.

If I ever found any old tapes of myself, I bet there'd be some really embarrassing stuff on there.

Maybe this whole show has been nothing.

Honestly, I don't remember any of the news from today.

It's.

I've just been in this job for a long time.

Probably longer than I've been alive.

I mean, you've been alive.

Yeah.

I can't remember every detail of every show.

Something about owls, I think.

We were talking about owls.

And the weird sounds they make?

Oh, that reminds me.

You know when I was a kid, I used to go on these hikes in the woods, a couple hours outside of town at the Redwood Remains State Park?

My mother would take me and my sister Abby.

Our mother wouldn't speak to us.

She would just walk and walk.

much faster than we could.

And I think she wanted to lose us in the shadowy labyrinth of tall trees.

But Abby and I made our own fun.

We played hide and seek and tried to catch toads and even had contests to see who could climb the highest.

And we always found our mom.

She was at the same old tree, leaving flowers at the base of its giant trunk.

And we would hike home.

I don't remember who the flowers were for.

Maybe she never said.

They were were good memories, those trips.

I think I'd like to go back to those woods.

Maybe I could even find that same tree where my mother left those flowers.

I have no idea what I would gain from that.

I haven't been to the woods since I was very little.

Maybe it's time to go back.

Nature is a great escape.

It'd be a fun trip for Carlos and Esteban, too.

The whole family.

Memories to last a lifetime.

Stay tuned next for subliminal advertising played as a dull hiss under pop music.

And as always, good night, Night Vale.

Good night.

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

It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Kraner and produced by Dispirition.

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 We Provide a Service Here by Joseph Fink.

Find it and more songs at josephfink.bandcamp.com.

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

Or try to identify which animals made which tracks in the snow.

A fox maybe?

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Today's proverb.

Laughter is the best medicine, except in cases where you're actually suffering from a medical condition or disease.

For real though, you need drugs for that.

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 try-hosts Hal Lovelin and Symphony Sanders as we dissect all of the cool, squishy, and slimy bits of every episode of Welcome to Night Vale.

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.