138 - Harvest Time

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.

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

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Everything old will be new again, except for when it's so old it disintegrates at your touch and scatters into oblivion.

Welcome to Night Vale.

It's harvest time.

A time of reaping, sowing, and rebirth.

A time of turning over old soil.

And doing something with crops.

Maybe.

No one really knows.

All we know is that every night for the past week, we've heard the air raid siren blasting in the town square and a separate voice chanting, Behold, despair, rejoice.

Harvest time approaches.

There has never been a harvest time before, so it should prove to be an exciting event, or phenomenon, or period of forced manual labor.

No one currently has any guesses as to what exactly will be harvested, since the land surrounding Nightvale is barren sand wastes, as noted on the new tourism billboard, out on Route 800, which reads, Now entering Nightvale.

If you lived here, you'd be dead by now.

John Peters, you know, the farmer, remarked with pride that he's never encountered a single visible crop in all his years of farming, and then remarked with suspicion that he doesn't believe in roots.

And if anyone tries to tell you different, they're a filthy liar.

He then opened a tobacco tin, pulled a wad of feathers from inside, and ate them.

A big congratulations to former Nightvale Community Radio intern Maureen, who has just received her heating, Ventilation, and Air Conditioning, or HVAC, certification.

It's apparently one of the only certifications one can receive from the community college that does not require internship credits.

She isn't sure if she's passionate about the ventilation sciences yet, but it at least makes for a lucrative side hustle, especially in this current heat wave.

According to our friends at the Unavoidable Casualties Bureau, the current heat wave will statistically take eight lives by morning.

Who will they be?

I don't have the answers, of course, and there certainly isn't a betting pool laying 7 to 1 odds on Susan Willman or anything like that, but it's a fun thought experiment, right?

Former intern Maureen has also expressed the need for an income boost so she can help her girlfriend Michelle's store, Dark Hour Records, out of financial difficulties.

Dark Hour Records has been on hard times since they took a stance against free market capitalism by ceasing use of actual currency.

We have here a testimonial from one of Maureen's satisfied customers.

Gladys R.

from Old Town says, Our air conditioner was making a terrible sound, and Maureen came in and installed new insulation and coolant pipes and even fixed the motor.

It works great now.

The insulation she used was made of premium wolf spider eggs, which she explained are particularly energy efficient, since they are made to withstand the extreme desert heat and keep all those tiny wolf spider embryos nice and cool.

Millions of matured wolf spiders did begin pouring out of every vent in our house after a few weeks, but the air quality remained crisp and cool.

An exterminator came in and sprayed for the spiders, which totally killed them, so that's not an issue anymore.

But the poison that was used to kill that particular species did cause small benign tumors to form along my underarms, as well as my husband's.

And the tumors began pulsating, and the doctors later discovered heartbeats inside the tumors, but they did stress the fact that these tumors are totally benign.

The doctors advised a wait-and-see approach and put my husband and I on a course of prenatal vitamins.

Unfortunately, the vitamins gave both of us a rash, which is slightly itchy, so we stopped taking them.

There's no specialist in town to help us with this, and no ointment or home remedy that seems to work.

That's a little frustrating, but the air is still very crisp and cool.

And the unit doesn't make that terrible sound anymore.

Thanks, Maureen.

Five stars.

Would suffer sentient tumors again.

Wow.

What a nice review from Gladys.

Personally, I love it when it's this hot out.

It feels like everything is just moments away from catching fire.

It's exhilarating.

Now the community calendar.

Let's see.

It's all just notations in a childlike scroll about how harvest time is coming.

Oh wait, here's something else.

There's a spaghetti feed tonight at the Elks Lodge.

If you've never been to the spaghetti feed before, you're really missing out.

It's all about folks in the community coming together and eating and eating and not knowing when it's over because the spaghetti just keeps coming.

It's about commitment and dedication.

It's about not being a quitter.

Remember when they called you a quitter growing up?

Quitter!

they said, pointing at you and your half-eaten sack of pasta.

Don't you want to prove them wrong?

Keep feeding.

Feeding isn't about nourishment, not anymore.

It's about quantity, mass, volume, and proving you're no quitter.

It's about commitment.

Tonight at the Elks Lodge, this has been the community calendar.

And now, traffic.

When you were 12 years old, you sat in the passenger seat waiting for your mother to come out of a clothing store called Don's that used to be on Main Street.

You turned the ignition to the battery-only settings so you could listen to the radio.

You were reading a fictional tabloid newspaper and eating candy.

The window was halfway down.

A crisp breeze ruffled the newsprint in your hands.

You were perfectly content.

A feeling you won't experience again until well into your 30s.

The car that was parked next to you began to back back away.

You saw it from the corner of your eye, and you were overcome with the panicky vertigo sensation that your own car was moving forward, that it was picking up speed and rolling right into the dons, through the display window, through the mannequins and Wrangler jeans that hung loosely around their plastic hips, and oh god, your mother.

She would be mangled.

among heaps of bloody denim and plastic body parts, and it would all be your fault, somehow.

Yes, you probably turned the ignition too far and somehow put the car into gear.

You were only trying to listen to the radio.

Your hands slammed onto the glove compartment, and you waited for the deafening impact of plate glass, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

This has been

traffic.

Did it just get dark out suddenly?

No.

Wait.

There's something covering the windows of the studio.

What is that?

It looks like someone has plastered flyers all over the building.

Wait, let me peel one of these off.

Okay.

Plastered all over other nearby buildings as well.

They say, harvest time is nigh.

All will be cleansed.

Huh.

I just got a text alert saying saying the same thing.

Did you guys get that?

Wait, is that smoke outside?

Hang on a second.

Yes.

The Nightfell Fire Department is assuring me now that the air is filled with black, acrid smoke, but there's no fire to account for its origins.

So the fire department says it's not actually smoke.

It's perfectly normal, dark air.

Breathe deeply.

Go for a jog.

Let the little ones run free in the park.

Fire Chief Ramona Incarnacion announced from inside her airtight bunker.

The dark air is coming from all directions at once, Incarnacion explained.

So there's no point in avoiding any particular areas.

Just go about your business, folks.

Visibility is hovering right around zero, so please stick to the posted speed limits when driving.

You will not be able to see the posted speed limits, so just try to remember what they are.

We're on the honor system here, okay?

The fire department recommends trying memory games to help sharpen your skills, like look, look, or fruit flip, or get yourself a Simon.

You guys remember Simon?

The toy that flashed different colors in a certain order and you're supposed to correctly mimic their patterns.

If you do it right, they tell you a secret.

Sometimes, it's a secret about someone else.

Maybe a stranger.

Maybe someone you know.

Probably your girlfriend.

It's a secret about you.

Something she would never tell you.

And certainly something you don't want to know.

The only way to make sure that secrets stay safe is to get the pattern right.

Blue, blue, red, green, blue, yellow, ochre, persimmon, cornflower, chartreuse, chartreuse.

Ecrue.

It helps to sing it.

Remember, if you fail at this or anything, Incarnacion added, it's because you didn't try hard enough.

Everything is a pure meritocracy.

Speaking of remembering, my niece Janice has been practically knocking herself out studying for the pre-SATs.

I know a lot of other kids at Knightvale High School are doing the same right now, so we're going to run through a few practice questions to help them prepare.

First, basic analogies.

Scavenger is to carrion

as love is to A.

Car accident, B, quitting your job, C.

Cooking for friends, or D, cooking friends.

Wait, how's the answers for the verbal section?

Um,

here, let's try math.

How much would you have to be paid to pull out your own fingernails?

The correct answer is $450.

How much would you have to be paid to pull out your own fingernails in the year 1979?

The correct answer is $1,520 adjusting for inflation.

How many box turtles would it take to eat a common raven?

Hmm,

think about that while we go to the weather.

Burning down the walls, scared of the world and crawl.

I remember you.

When you kept me safe in your shoe,

please be real.

say just what you feel.

She says, Bitch, I love you, you and me will always be cool.

Guessing by the lie, I got here just in time.

Got you up, go run them up.

You're just gonna keep on fucking up.

Guessing by this lesson,

this is my depression.

Telling me you're all the same.

Get your head up in the cave.

Are you a friend of all?

Little did you know I'd carry you, I'd keep you safe with no conditions.

Take your precious time, hope one day you'll find a way to be a little more kind to me.

Are you a friend of all?

Please just let me know if I overstep with any secrets I have kept.

Just don't keep me blind.

Try to keep in mind I'm in you well while you keep raising hell.

Hiding from a lot,

she told me all this time.

I'm the realest and I'm the type, no fake-ass bitches.

No one beholds you praising, reminiscing out the days.

You used to play people who were just like me.

I won't start a fight, but let me take a sec to get this right.

Everyone you know is disposable

Leading me dry each day while all the others have to take the blame you used to say Love them with such a shame

I carry you, I keep you safe with no conditions

your precious time,

hope one day you'll find a way to be a little more kind to me.

Are you a friend of all?

Please just let me know if I overstep any secrets I have kept.

Just don't keep me blind.

Try to keep in mind I'm in you well while you keep raising hell.

Are you a friend of all?

Little did you know I carry you like you safe with no conditions.

Take your precious hand, hope one day you'll find a way to be a little more kind to me.

Are you a friend of all?

Please just let me know where found a step.

Any secret high,

just to keep it blind.

Try to keep in mind I'm being well.

I'll leave you crazy in here.

You chose to hit play on this podcast today.

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Breaking news.

A giant statue has been erected in the town square.

A post-minimalist anthropod.

the size of a suburban ranch-style house.

It's made of Italian marble with tasteful touches of bronze, but also concrete, scraps of paper, chicken feet, and plastic hubcaps from a 1997 Nissan Ultima for eyes.

Scratched into the dirt around the statue are the words, harvest time is now.

Theories vary on what this means, but seem largely to fall into three categories.

Religious leaders believe harvest time may finally signify the onset of end times, which they can't deny will give them a certain smug satisfaction.

There have been more than a few human sacrifices so far, which some are saying is a bit preemptive, but as John F.

Kennedy famously said, sacrificers gonna sacrifice.

Others are claiming this is all a viral marketing campaign for a new vegan restaurant.

A voice was heard echoing the smoke-filled streets.

It's a chain, isn't it?

I've eaten at one.

It's a buffet thing.

The voices shouted.

The restaurant is inside the statue.

Others still prepared a public demonstration by standing around holding blank signs, knowing they will feel strongly about something soon.

Hmm.

Looking at the community calendar, I no longer see the notations for harvest time.

The Elks Lodge spaghetti feed is still happening, though.

Not too late to get down there and grab a plate.

I know that's where I'm headed right after this broadcast.

I'm getting a report report from the spaghetti feed that those in attendance felt painfully full only moments ago or abysmal with spaghetti, as one feeder put it, and now falls somewhere on the spectrum between ravenously hungry and the absence of any sensation at all.

Sounds delicious.

Okay,

all right.

I am getting quite a lot of reports all at once.

It appears some things have gone missing.

Citizen Jeremy Godfrey, who has been experiencing symptoms of a midlife crisis for several months, reported a sudden and complete loss of the fear of death.

My brother-in-law, Steve Carlsberg, reported his Christmas decorations are missing from his attic.

Now this includes the life-size Santa that sits in an aluminum boat and casts a fishing pole string made of lights.

My niece Janice expressed a dissenting opinion that the loss of these decorations may actually be a gain for the family.

Janice also reported her PSAT practice test went completely blank after she spent hours filling it out.

Fortunately, she enjoys standardized tests, so she just did it again.

Professor Harrison Kimp is missing two toes, though luckily they were his two extras.

Siobhan Azdak has reported the loss of a close acquaintance after inadvertently hurting their feelings online, but noted maybe it's better this way, if they're going to be such a crybaby about little things like all caps curse-filled insults.

Little League coach Betty Lucero reported all of her baseball bats are missing.

She found her garage filled instead with fruit bats, which are, at the time of this report, drowsily eating bananas.

Ah, also, everyone in town reported their credit card numbers stolen and maxed out.

Hmm, the charges on the cards originated from the same places, a building supply company, a scrapyard, and the Michaels craft store next to the staples.

It appears all the stolen funds have gone to building the new statue in the town square.

Now there are mixed feelings about this, as it is a beautiful statue, but you know, it's also credit fraud.

And I have here an addendum to the testimonial I read earlier from former Intern Maureen's air conditioning client, Gladys R.

It reads,

The skin hangs loosely from our arms, where tumors once bulged with unknowing life.

They hang flat and empty with tiny open sores,

perhaps where something emerged in the night while we slept.

We slept so well.

I can't emphasize that enough.

The rhythmic sensations of those little heartbeats vibrating against the fat and bones of our arms lulled us into a state of complete

relaxation.

A relaxation deeper than we have ever known before.

We miss that.

We really miss that.

We can't sleep anymore.

We didn't fully appreciate what we had until it was gone.

We acknowledge that and we repent.

We want to find whatever it was that was inside of us and put it back.

We don't know what to look for or where to begin.

If anyone has seen anything, please

let us know.

Thanks, Gladys R.

We'll do.

Wait, are you guys hearing that?

There is a new sound coming from the town square.

It sounds like the trumpeting of ram's horns.

And the smoke has started clearing up.

And now there remains only a great dusty quiet.

Is it over?

Did anything really happen?

So many things are like that, aren't they?

Anticipation and disappointment.

Loss and abundance happening at the same moment, so that you end up with only the uneasy illusion of balance or meaning.

I'm hearing now that there's an engraved placard on the anthropod statue, previously unseen because it was slopped over with plaster and looked hastily scratched into the back of a license plate with a nail.

It says,

Ripeness is perfection, and perfection is the step before decay.

Aw, that's sweet, right?

Anyway, better get down to the spaghetti feed before it's over.

Oh, and the answer is two.

Two box turtles can completely devour a common raven.

Stay tuned for the original 1972 folk rock ad jingle for the Simon Memory Game, entitled Never Forget to Remember and Remember to Forget to Forget.

Good night, Night Vale.

Good

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

It is written by Bree Williams with Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Craner and produced by Disparition.

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

Original music by Disparition.

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

This episode's weather was friend or foe by Low Power.

Find out more at soundcloud.com slash low power music.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcome to nightvale.com or follow us on Twitter at nightvale radio or think about what it's like for a dog, you know?

Check out welcome to nightvale.com for more information on this show and our holiday selection of Night Vale Presents merch for the weird podcast person in your life.

That person might be you.

Today's proverb.

If you circle the letters in the Bible just right, you get the phrase, lightly dressed kale.

So I don't know what that means, but it's direct from God.

Hey, Jeffrey Kraner here to tell you about another show from me and my Night Vale co-creator, Joseph Fink.

It's called Unlicensed, and it's an LA Noir-style mystery set in the outskirts of present-day Los Angeles.

Unlicensed follows two unlicensed private investigators whose small jobs looking into insurance claims and missing property are only the tip of a conspiracy iceberg.

There are already two seasons of Unlicensed for you to listen to now, with season three dropping on May 15th.

Unlicensed is available exclusively through Audible, free if you already have that subscription.

And if you don't, Audible has a trial membership.

And if I know you, and I do, you can binge all that mystery goodness in a short window.

And if you like it, if you liked Unlicensed, please, please rate and review each season.

Our ability to keep making this show is predicated on audience engagement.

So go check out Unlicensed, available now only at Audible.com.