178 - Rattlesnake Rest

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.

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Success is not final.

Failure is not fatal.

It is the courage to stand by in silent frozen horror that counts.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Good news!

There are no more vacancies in the town cemetery.

Every single grave, crypt, and vault at Rattlesnake Rest is filled.

And you know what that means?

No one else can die.

Yay!

I mean, well, okay, death is still physically possible, of course, but municipally frowned upon.

So be a good citizen and hang in there.

Annette Jacobi, director of Nightvale's Prince of Sorrow funeral home, is already preparing for a potentially long period of unemployment by taking a creative writing class at the community college.

I've always wanted to be a novelist, Jacobi remarked.

She then added with a toothy grin, I have lots of experience with plots.

A long silence followed as her smile faded slowly.

We wish you all the best, Annette.

Likewise, Al Kincaid, the gravedigger, plans to spend more time with his daughter, Sophia, now that his evenings won't be occupied by ceaselessly making holes for decorated corpses.

He timidly suggested a family game night, to which his daughter rolled her eyes in annoyance even though she was secretly pleased.

With the news that Rattlesnake Rest has been completely filled, I thought we should have a retrospective of our favorite graves.

Like all cemeteries, this one is located at the end of a winding dirt road.

And like all cemeteries, the grounds are tangled with dense vegetation in the middle of a desolate, howling plateau.

It is a normal cemetery, with a chill in the air even on the hottest summer day, and an impenetrable darkness even on the brightest full-mooned night.

And nearly everyone buried here died somewhere else.

Nearly everyone.

The most important grave in the cemetery lies at the southwest corner.

It is the grave around which all the other graves were built.

Instead of a formal headstone, it is marked by a gaping hole in the earth and a broken wooden sign that reads, Rattlesnake Mineshaft.

17 miners are buried here, all of them headless.

To understand the history of this important grave, we go to the year 1851.

The new player piano in the Earl Street saloon was on its tenth repetition of buttons and bows.

The first few times the rowdy patrons sang along, but now no one could get it to stop, and the song was putting everyone on edge.

It seemed to get louder with each verse, more frantic with each chorus.

At least that's how it felt to saloon owner Tamson Zilphia.

She tried to drown out the pounding chords with whiskey, which worked, but it also made everyone sad and chatty.

Talk soon turned to the topic of the missing miners.

A group of 17 siblings had come in on the train from nearby Red Mesa.

They had been working their claim out at Rattlesnake Mine, but hadn't been heard from in several weeks.

Some folks thought, well, they must have struck it rich, and were busy kissing their numerous gold ingots, or whatever it is wealthy gold barons did.

No one in the poor town of Nightvale was sure how the other half lived, but they were certain that if they had gold ingots, it would not make sense not to kiss them.

But some feared something tragic had taken place in that mine.

At some point that night, the player piano stopped abruptly, and a faint skittering sound could be heard outside.

When Tampson and her saloon patrons investigated, they were shocked to witness a gleaming army of human skulls running over the desert toward them on tiny thrashing legs.

It was a family of 17 hermit crabs wearing the new shells they had discovered out in Rattlestake Mine, some still hanging with ribbons of flesh.

flesh.

The settlers of the unincorporated township of Knightvale decided the collapsed mineshaft was as good a place as any to establish an official cemetery.

There were already 17 skullless bodies buried there, which was a higher concentration than any of the other random collections of bodies buried around town at that time.

And so, Rattlesnake Rest was born.

The town blacksmith commemorated the event by constructing a wrought iron fence for the new cemetery, featuring a beautiful decorative inlay of a skull-wearing hermit crab harbinger on the front gate.

Listeners, I've just been handed some breaking news.

Smokehouse brisket sliders are back.

Slow smoked for 13 succulent hours, topped with aged gouda, crispy onions, barbecue sauce, and mayo.

At Arby's for a limited time only.

You never know when they're going to show up.

You never know when they're going to disappear again.

And when they do disappear, you don't know if they're ever coming back.

But they're here now.

And when they're here, everything

just feels right.

Isn't that good enough for you?

Can't you just live in the moment?

Don't ruin things by asking for a bigger commitment.

Let your hair down and get wild with Smokehouse Brisket Sliders.

Only at Arby's.

And only when we say so.

Got it?

Back to our retrospective of Rattlesnake Rest.

Opposite the old mine shaft is the grave of the town crier.

It's a modest grave with its crumbling headstone and faded Latin inscription, Clamor viventum est, vivus est clamor.

Which is supposed to mean crying is living, living is crying, but I've been told by my niece Janice's friend Marcy, who attends Catholic school, that it actually translates to something more like, cry creature is living out cry.

Which doesn't make a lot of sense.

The town crier was a tortured individual, employed by the city to walk aimlessly through the streets, ringing a bell and weeping openly.

After his death, many residents said they could still hear his sobs floating upon the early morning air.

And, And in a large crypt at the back, shrouded by a grove of whispering elms, lies the Mahalia family.

The Mahalia family owned a very important video store annex inside the Ralphs back in the 1990s.

They also kept a melted VHS copy of the movie Powder displayed on the front counter to warn people against keeping videotapes inside of hot cars, lest they incur a hefty fee.

We have never forgotten that valuable lesson.

Listeners, a breaking news update.

The Arby's drive-thru is closed until further notice.

The same teal Honda Civic keeps entering and re-entering the drive-thru, ordering and reordering the Smokehouse Brisket Slider.

Although he's ordered over 700 sliders and counting, the driver expresses how hungry he is during each appearance, before frowning, glancing nervously at his watch, and there's no Arby's packaging visible in the car.

The cashier theorized that the driver, identified as Jim Saling of Desert Elm Drive, is stuck in a time loop and has not actually retained any of the sliders, despite each order being successfully charged to his credit card.

After the employees expressed concern for Saling's plight, everyone gathered together for a briefing on the situation.

Maybe the pity we feel for him is wrong, suggested shift manager Sigrid Borg, who was recently awarded Employee of the Month for her positive attitude and dove-like white wings with which she gloriously soars through the golden afternoon skies.

Maybe getting to order his smokehouse brisket slider after such a long absence from the menu was just the happiest moment of his life, Borg said.

And now Jim gets to relive that moment over and over again, as if for the first time.

The employees huddled up, chanted softly, and broke apart, sufficiently motivated to continue selling sliders to sailing that he will presumably never get to eat.

Harvey's is advising that all other customers please come inside the restaurant to order at this time, and thanks for your understanding.

And now I have here an exclusive excerpt from Best Fangs, the upcoming YA horror novel by Nightvale funeral home director Annette Jacobi.

Chapter 1.

On the outskirts of town, there was an old, dark house.

Everyone said it was abandoned, but Claire Delmonico swore she saw things moving past the windows at night.

Not just things, a girl.

Maybe even a girl her age.

Claire was new in town, and all she really wanted was to make a friend.

A real friend.

Someone she could have sleepovers with and make brownies with and dance to whop with.

Claire was the child of a funeral home director, and the only guests that were ever invited into their house house were already dead.

One day, brave with desperation, Claire marched up the crumbling steps to the old dark house and rang the bell.

A girl answered, tall and pale, with long hair that hung across her face.

What up?

The girl asked softly, barely looking Claire in the eye.

Claire explained that she had just moved in next door, and she was wondering if anyone lived here.

Ha ha ha, the tall girl said.

I guess you could say someone lives here.

Claire laughed too, though she didn't understand the joke.

She needed a friend and a weird friend was better than no friend at all.

Annette is still shopping to publishers if anyone has any leads.

Oh, and if it helps, Annette's creative writing instructor at the community college wrote pretty good on her last assignment.

Once again, we wish you all the best, Annette.

More breaking news.

The Knightville City Council is under investigation for misconduct.

Leaked surveillance footage from the Arby's has revealed the City Council soliciting a free smokehouse brisket slider.

In the video, which has gone viral, the cashier is seen refusing the request from a single being with multiple arms and heads, which is clearly the Knightvale City Council.

I mean, there aren't many other entities who meet that very specific description, except for the McReynolds family over on East Bedford Road, but the McReynolds are vegans.

The cashier's refusal prompted the council to tap their collective chests several times in a self-important manner.

The cashier again declined to serve them, citing Arby's Constitution, Article 5, Section 1, which, as we all learned in seventh grade civics, grants Arby's employees the power to declare war, enter alliances with foreign powers, and disallow free sandwiches to government employees for any reason the cashier sees fit, barring a two-thirds vote by shareholders.

The city council became belligerent, yelled the S-word, crushed a sauce packet beneath their fist, wept, hugged the confused cashier, rapidly blinked in and out of existence, and eventually fled the restaurant, dragging the rest of its many heads and arms behind.

The video then shows a baby raccoon entering the restaurant through the open door, eating lettuce scraps underneath the table, and falling fast asleep.

Which is unrelated, but super cute.

If you haven't seen the video yet, you really should check it out.

Or you could just go on down to the Arby's.

I mean, the raccoon is still there.

I've named it Honey Mustard.

And now more on Rattlesnake Rest.

Since the cemetery has been declared full, we've all been freed from the bondage of certain death.

Of course there are a few people who aren't exactly happy about this.

Let's look in on them now.

Nightville funeral director Annette Jacobi gazes out the window at the abandoned house across the street.

Unlike the character in her book, she has never seen anything pass by the windows at night, except an occasional bat tapping at the glass, eating bugs.

No publishers are interested in her work.

She considers self-publishing, but the thought makes her feel like a failure.

Validation is important.

The kind of validation she used to receive when she did a nice job on a deceased loved one's makeup, or tracked down their favorite flowers for the service, or played a flawless rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings on the pipe organ.

Annette misses funerals, and the feelings she used to get from them, that special connection to the community that once filled her life with purpose and meaning.

Across town, Al Kincaid, the gravedigger, loses his third consecutive game of Scrabble to his daughter.

He can't spell, he discovers, and doesn't know very many words.

He's spent most of his life digging, and he's never needed the written word for that.

Sophia is a great speller.

Al learns that she's been winning ribbons at Spelling Beast for years at her school, and he's proud of her, but he doesn't know how to say it.

Instead, he just grunts and nods and gets dirt on the furniture.

As much as Al enjoys spending time with his daughter, there's more tension between them now that he's home more.

Sophia is used to having time to herself, and Al misses working with his hands.

Just a moment ago, Al dug up the entire backyard of their house for no practical reason.

This infuriated Sophia, and the two are barely speaking right now.

Al knows things can't go on like this much longer.

He calls his former colleague, funeral home director Annette Jacobi, and the two talk in hushed, secretive tones long into the night.

Now,

the weather.

Trustful,

arms full.

I've never seen you before.

Tell me, am I out of my mind?

Face like

an angel,

and your hands like Helios.

You and all the sun in my eyes.

You pick me up, you make me fall.

You kiss me like you are my miracle.

You pick me up, you make me fall

for you.

Try to hold

on the rush.

You stretch against my rush

with hands like yours.

I

am

for

you,

dreams.

You let this go, I

meant to

figure

me out.

I wanna give you my doubts

so that you can throw them aside

Crazy,

out loud.

As if we've only learned how

all the signs can come from inside.

You pick me up and make me fall.

You catch me like you are my miracle.

You pick me up and you make me fall

for you.

Try to walk

from the night.

You're stretched against my rise

with hands like in the arms.

I

am

in

for

you.

Treat your life.

There's no

choose.

With hands like in your

steel.

You pick me up, you make me fall.

You catch me like you are my miracle.

You pick me up,

you make me fall

for you.

Try to walk

from the rise.

You're stretched against my waves

with hands like healing.

I

am

in

for you.

Treat you like this go.

I am in to

dream.

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

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

Think Stranger Things meets Super 8, but in podcast form.

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The woods are watching.

Mark your calendars, everyone.

This weekend, Rattlesnake Rest Cemetery is having a grand reopening.

Truck full of giveaways, discounts, raffles, and a book signing by local self-published author and funeral home director Annette Jacobi.

Freshly cleaned, like-new plots and crypts will be offered at bargain prices.

Oh, and a cakewalk featuring the confectionery of local celebrity chef Earl Harlan.

With pastries so fresh, they still have the salmon bones in them.

This weekend only, come on down.

Wait a minute, you might be saying to yourself, how do graves just become vacant all of a sudden?

Aren't they supposed to be our final resting place on this earthly plane, like final, final?

Well, the gods work in mysterious ways with their gnashing teeth and glittering eyes and long silky manes, gnashing their teeth on their sweet apples and cute little heaps of oats.

Their eyes glittering because they just love oats so much.

Majestic creatures.

Honestly, I might be thinking about horses here.

Yeah, my religious studies coursework and 4-H club activities, yeah, sometimes they run together.

Anyway, I asked Annette Jacobi how every single grave, tomb, and crypt in Rattlesnake Rest became empty overnight.

I've been reading the secret and just like manifesting things like crazy, she said.

Self-help and magical thinking really work, you know.

She then deliberately avoided eye contact with Al, the gravedigger, who was standing nearby, his face, hands, and coveralls completely caked in dirt.

Been helping my daughter learn to play Scrabble, Al blurted without prompting.

That's why I'm covered in so much dirt, he barked, still looking at the ground.

Okay.

Sounds reasonable, I said, which is the motto of all good investigative journalists.

I then bought six raffle tickets.

I'm really hoping to win that Starbucks travel urn.

Fingers crossed.

Don't go out to the scrublands, Al added with a shout.

I wasn't planning to, I said.

Good, he said.

Just a bunch of lumps of recently upturned soil out there.

Just stay home and ignore that place.

That's my advice, he concluded.

And I could see his pupils shaking.

Cool, I said.

So cool, Annette chimed in.

Yeah.

Good interview.

Well, listeners, we are free to die once again.

Death is scary, painful, and permanent, but it is our right as Americans.

I, for one, am glad it has been returned to us.

The possibility of immortality was nice while it lasted, but it was kind of a lot of pressure, too.

I mean, I didn't even realize it at the time, but now I really feel like I can breathe again.

Oh, and if you go out to the scrublands, make sure you avoid the giant mass of hermit crabs.

They've really taken over that part of the desert.

Stay tuned for the the skittering of a hundred tiny legs, weighted down by gleaming, grinning shells, approaching rapidly in the dark.

Oh, and a reminder from our sponsor that the Smokehouse Brisket Slider is back at Arby's, but it is no longer for sale.

Not to the likes of you, anyway.

Good night, Night Vale.

Good night.

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

This episode was written by Bree Williams with Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Kraner and produced by Dispirition.

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 Hands Like Helios by Crystal Eyes.

Find out more at crystalofficial.com.

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

Or love yourself for who you are.

You deserve it.

Check out Welcome to Night Vale for info about our Patreon, which is the only reason we still exist in this hell year.

Thank you to everyone who is able to support.

Today's proverb: don't bite the hand that feeds you.

Go for the legs.

It'll throw them off balance.

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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 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.

Hey y'all, it is Jeffrey Kraner speaking to you from the year 2025.

And did you know that Welcome to Night Vale is back out on tour?

We are.

We're going to be up in the northeast in the Boston, New York City area, going all the way over to the upper Midwest in Minnesota.

That's in July.

You know, kind of draw a line through there, and you'll kind of see the towns we'll be hitting.

We'll also be doing Philly down to Florida in September.

And we'll be going from Austin all the way up through the middle of the country into Toronto, Canada in October.

And then we'll be doing the West Coast plus the Southwest plus Colorado in January of 2026.

You can find all of the show dates at welcometonightvale.com slash live.

Listen, this brand new live show is so much fun.

It is called Murder Night in Blood Forest, and it stars Cecil Baldwin, of course, Symphony Sanders, me, and live original music by Disparition, and who knows what other special guests may come along for the ride.

These tours are always so much fun, and they are for you, the Die Hard fan, and you, the Night Vale new kid alike.

So feel comfortable bringing your family, your partner, your co-workers, your cat, whatever.

They don't got to know what a night veil is to like the show.

Tickets to all of these live shows are on sale now at welcometonightvale.com/slash live.

Don't let time slip away and miss us when we are in your town because otherwise we will all be sad.

Get your tickets to our live U.S.

plus Toronto tours right now at welcometonightveld.com/slash live.

And hey, see you soon.