136 - The Mudstone Abyss Part 2

and I don't just write Welcome to Nightville, we also write books that are not about Nightville, and here are some of them.

Alice Isn't Dead, a lesbian road trip horror love story for fans of Stephen King.

The Halloween Moon, my book for kids of any age about a Halloween where things really start to get weird for everyone.

The First 10 Years, a memoir from me and my wife about our relationship told year by year without consulting each other about our differences in memory.

And from Jeffrey, You Feel It Just Below the Ribs, an apocalyptic novel that takes place in the same universe as the Within the Wires podcast.

No matter what you're looking for, we've written a book just for you.

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Rules and restrictions apply.

Age is just a number that counts quickly upward to an ending point.

Welcome to Desert Bluffs.

Hello, Desert Bluffs.

Let's start there.

Let's start with a greeting, a simple hello, and of course, a huge smile.

Then let's move right into the good news.

The happy news.

Charles and I went on our first date many weeks back, and it was magical.

I met up with him in the Newtown Square, which is a sand dune with a cow skull on it.

I was wearing my best rabbit fur coveralls and rainbow-striped headband.

He was wearing a rose-gold lame cravat and soccer shin guards.

We went to eat at Desert Bluff's newest restaurant, Vermilion, which specializes in lip meat.

We shared a bottle of Cabernet and talked comfortably about all the things you shouldn't talk about on a first date.

Politics, we're both theocrats.

Religion, we were both raised in the arboreal faith.

Sex,

we both have had it.

And banking, we had some polite disagreements here.

Later, we went back to my house next to the Temple of Joy.

It has been a long time since either of us had.

Well,

I don't want to share too much.

So, I'll skip to the next morning, where over coffee we talked about our dreams, or rather, dream.

It was that same shared dream that all desert bluff citizens have every night with the birds flying in seemingly random directions over the cornfield before crashing their bodies into the ground.

Charles, being new in town, had a lot of questions about this dream.

But I said that the dream is nothing more than a simple pleasure we all share as a community.

It's fun to know that the whole town sometimes wakes up at the exact same time, sweating and screaming for joy.

After enriching conversation and strong coffee, he said he had to go meet someone.

When I asked who, he said, We'll talk about it later.

It's not a big deal.

He kissed me, and I smiled like I have not smiled in years.

I smiled so hard that every glass object in my kitchen exploded all at once.

A lacerating confetti of joy.

An update on the construction of the new Mudstone Abyss.

Mayor Lauren Mallard reported today that the dig is behind schedule.

She cited a shortage of workers.

She had planned for a larger turnout of labor, but this simply has not manifested.

I'm disappointed to hear this, Desert Bluffs, but it's certainly understandable.

We all have jobs and responsibilities, and making time to contribute to the building of this great monument can be difficult.

Desert Bluffs is a place of hope, of renewal, of refuge for those in need, and above all, of joy.

The Mudstone Abyss is a celebration of all those things, and I tell you now that the reward will be great.

Not just the reward reward of being devoured by the smiling god, but the reward of your eternal impact on your town.

Think of the Rapa Nui people who built the Moai,

or the proud union workers who erected that Deco masterpiece, the Chrysler Building, or the time-traveling street artist collective known as Banksy, who built Stonehenge.

Every great monument is built by human hands, and those hands leave their artistry for generations to enjoy, discover, and study.

The Mudstone Abyss will be a triumph of Desert Bluff citizens, and later a tourist attraction, and later a historical landmark, and eventually a curious and misunderstood artifact of a long-dead civilization.

You can be part of this.

Mayor Mallard and I put our heads together and agreed that the solution here is to set up communes and camps along the dig site to make your commutes easier.

Schools and businesses will go on half-day schedules so that everyone can make time for the monument.

Mayor Mallard, and I support her brilliant idea 100%,

believes this is the only task we should be focused on as a town.

The Smiling God deserves a physical manifestation of our penitence and devotion.

Desert Bluffs deserves a notable landmark.

And best of all, if we all worked and lived together, we would get to know each other's interests, cultures, languages, histories.

If we worked together, we could become

so much

closer.

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So after my first date with Charles, we went out again the following week.

I showed him around Desert Bluffs.

I took him to the Sandy Blossom Bowling Alley and Arcade Joy Compound.

We bowled that afternoon and played a few old video games like Ms.

Pac-Man, Sleepy Time Spider Swallower, and Horse Carcass, all the classics from our youth.

We then went for a romantic walk along the beach.

Charles thought it shouldn't be called a beach because there was no body of water, but I pointed out that it was sand and that there was water somewhere.

How close the water is is all a matter of faith.

He laughed.

and I squeezed his hand.

Then we went to the food truck park.

He bought some cheese pierogies from the Odessa Dumplings truck, while I went to the Tex-Mex truck and got a burrito filled with fiberglass insulation and refried beans.

The food trucks weren't nearly as classy as vermilion, but food is only as good as the company you enjoy it with.

And I really enjoyed my time with Charles.

It's hard to intimately connect to people, especially as you get older, but my time with Charles made dating seem easy.

Why would anyone choose to be single when they could just walk up to the perfect man and say,

let's know each other.

When life is good, it's hard to understand how it could have ever been bad.

After dinner, I suggested we could go get a drink together.

Unfortunately, Desert Bluffs doesn't have any bars.

Not for religious reasons, I explained to him.

It's just that no one's been able to open one yet.

The state places some pretty high taxes on hard liquor transported across dimensional rifts.

So I offered to have him back over to my place for some more wine, but he said he had to be going.

I protested.

Charles said, Kevin,

you fill me with such joy, and I don't want to keep secrets.

I should tell you I have a son.

His name's Donovan, and he's five.

He's a sweet kid.

Charles said he moved here because Donovan starts school next year, and he wanted to raise his boy in a community based in happiness and positivity.

But Charles is concerned about bringing dates home with him until he knows they will stay around for a while.

Kevin, he said, touching my face along the socket of my left eye,

I think you would be great around Donovan.

My smile disappeared from my face.

Not because I didn't feel happy, but because I felt so many things.

My lips couldn't express them all.

He said, I'm not suggesting we have to be serious right now.

We can figure that out with time.

He then said we should go back to his place, but on the way he needed to pick up Donovan from Grandma Josephine, who has been babysitting.

We spent the rest of the evening drinking sodas at his home.

I wanted to touch Charles, to put my hand against his chest again, to kiss him with real passion.

But instead, we watched Donovan play with toy airplanes, and Charles talked about the things parents talk about.

Donovan was nice, but I had to concentrate hard to keep my smile.

An update on the construction of the Mudstone Abyss.

Nearly everyone in town is now at the dig site setting into their lean-tos and pup tents and gathering up the appropriate tools for the physical labor ahead.

Mayor Lauren Mallard said she's heartened by the outpouring of support in the past hour.

We have made huge strides, already marking out our mile-wide parameter and deepening the pit to almost 1,000 feet.

Some stone workers have even begun carving sacred texts from the Book of Devouring.

I'm getting reports from the construction area that some of those etchings have begun to glow bright white as the earth trembles beneath them.

Wow.

I'm getting chills just thinking about this.

There have been some scuffles among the workers, miscommunication, and arguments that devolved into small fights.

The Desert Bluffs Police Department sent two officers, who are also friends of mine from the Temple of Joy, Keon and Kelton, to break up some of these skirmishes.

But more fights and arguments happened than they could control.

Officers Keon and Kelton reported that the parties involved in fights were shouting nonsense at each other.

They initially thought some were non-English speakers, but they could not identify the languages.

Then they saw young Ryan Nichols, who was an English major at Alab

Albama,

at his former university,

spouting absolute gibberish at another person.

Keon and Kelton reported that sometimes people's words sounded like normal English, but without any context or meaning, and at other times like unconventional noises that are not common to any human language.

But everyone speaks passionately and personally, thinking they're communicating what they mean, even though they were not.

Apparently the fighting became pervasive enough that Mayor Mallard had to make a public address.

Here's a transcript of what she said.

Desert Bluffs, please do not fight.

Remember to take time to smile and relate to one another.

If someone says something you do not understand or do not appreciate, simply cauliflower.

Roomba Starlight Rice Tankship.

Stallion the balusters right on through, until balloons.

And then she repeated until balloons over and over with complete conviction and passion.

And eventually the fighting stopped.

Not because of the speech, but because of sheer confusion and exhaustion.

As the fighting stopped, so did the construction.

No one knew what anyone was saying.

Longtime friends could not find their words and so resorted to physical gestures.

But even Jerry Kramer and his daughter Morgan, who communicate mostly through sign language, found that they could no longer comprehend any of the phrases.

More on this developing situation, but first a look at traffic.

Near the dig site for the Mudstone Abyss, several hazy dark shadows, vaguely human-shaped, have begun to appear.

They are drifting along city streets, which has caused nearly a dozen minor traffic.

Acidis.

Accessent.

Accidents.

There is a ten-minute backup entering downtown along sci-fi novel.

Along rhubarb.

Ah, I can't.

Oak tree.

Can't.

Sparrow modem.

Barrow

modem.

Sparrow modem.

That's not right.

I have to condensate.

Have to condensate.

Yellow refrigerator shelves.

I'm trying to say

crabgrass to the petroleum.

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

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First unheard message.

Kevin.

Sorry to bother you.

It's Charles.

I need you to get the word out that language doesn't work right in a desert Blus.

I haven't found a single dictionary that expresses normal word structure.

I've been recording and re-recording this message for the past hour, and each time it comes out like alphabet soup.

No syntax, no identifiable verbs, no words that even appear to fit together.

But I did finally manage to find an old text you wrote about the souls of the unpure.

Those whom the smiling God cannot clean even upon devouring.

There's a certain style of hat you described that can keep your thoughts and ideas pure.

I drove over to your house because I remember you had one just like this you told me you wore during sermons.

Sorry for going through your stuff, but the hat seems to be working for now.

Anyway, based on my research, I think this dig is loosing those spirits back into the world and they're causing.

There's something at my door, Kevin.

I.

I need to go, okay.

I'll call you back and we'll.

I don't know.

End of message.

There's a hazy dark shadow hovering about my front door, Kevin.

It's not knocking.

It's just hovering in front of my house.

I can't make out a face.

I'm peering through a crack in the living room blinds to get a better look.

Oh no.

It saw me.

End of message.

Okay, it's gone, I think.

This giant yellow hat is really remarkable.

Anyway, I wanted you to get the word out on your radio show about the dig and let your friend Lauren know as well.

If we can fully stop this giant pit, I think we can stem the return of these unpure souls who I believe are dismantling our language.

Also,

I haven't heard from you in a while.

I hope bringing Donnie around didn't scare you off.

If it did,

please just tell me now, okay?

I won't be hurt.

That's a lie.

I would definitely be hurt if you stopped seeing me because I have a child, but I won't be bitter.

That's really it.

I won't be bitter if you tell me now.

Well, now that I think of it, that's not true either.

I'll be less bitter, less hurt, less angry if you tell me now.

Or maybe you're busy.

I know the Mudstone Abyss has all of your attention these days, and what with communication failing us, I'm sure it's hard to think about having dinner or even,

I don't know, like a family date.

You and me and Donnie.

Maybe a trip to the amusement park or

we were thinking about adopting a cat.

Is there an animal shelter in Desert Plus?

That could be a really fun day together.

Either way, when you have a chance, just let me know you got this.

I don't want to stop seeing you, but I'd rather know sooner than Aquifer.

Aquifer?

What?

I mean, Platter.

Kevin, that shadow is back.

He's not at my window anymore.

He's inside draft huts.

No, I mean, Grant First.

Grapple wigs, grapple wigs.

Kevin, I handle bar cereal, okay?

Handle bar cereal.

End of new messages.

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

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

The voice of Desert Bluffs is Kevin R.

Free.

Original music by Joseph Fink.

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

This episode's weather was She Left Without a Goodbye by Sarah.

Find out more at soundcloud.com/slash Sarah Music.

That's C-E-R-A-H.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com or follow us on Twitter at Nightvale Radio.

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Two shows we cannot wait for you all to hear.

Today's proverb.

Girl, did you fall from heaven?

Because there's a giant crater where you landed and radiation levels are spiking.

It always starts the same.

I'm in the water.

Hanging.

Suspended.

And it's deep water.

And it's dark, I can't see anything.

The water is the same temperature as my body, it feels pleasant.

My hair is just gently swaying, and then I feel a little bit of cold on my legs.

And at first, I think it feels sort of nice,

and then a little bit more cold,

and then slowly I realize

that something huge is moving underneath me.

Man, did I need a break

from New York, from boys,

from the whole world?

So, when my friend needs someone to watch her house while she's gone on vacation, I think that's perfect.

Cleveland, Ohio, here I come.

But almost as soon as I get there, I can tell something's off.

All of the streetlights start flickering,

and everybody's talking about this murderous quarantine zebra.

And I keep having this strange, recurring dream.

And then I meet a boy.

Hi.

A boy who I share a terrifying secret with.

I call it Dream Boy.

A secret that might not be just ours.

And now I don't know who is leaving these cakes on my porch or why my nightmares are making me hard.

What What I do know is that everyone here is aching, pulling towards something.

Something close, but hidden in the dark.

The lady at the supermarket feels it.

The butcher down on Rivington feels it.

Those creepy, nocturnal girl scouts that keep following me around feel it.

I think you're starting to see.

And now I feel it too.

That there's dirt under the grass in Pepper Pepper Heights.

Dream

boy,

dream,

boy.

You're my

only

dream.

Dream Boy.

It's one word.

It's a new music fiction podcast.

It's out October 23rd.

Look for it anywhere you get your podcasts.

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 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.

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.

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Listen to Unschooled wherever you get your podcast.

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Boo.