125 – A Door Ajar Part 2

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When one door closes, another opens.

That's why there are so many raccoons living in your house.

Welcome to Night Vale.

The Phantom Ocean has struck again.

Last night around 2 a.m., a horrible splintering sound sound was heard across town.

Many residents awakened exclaiming, what was that horrible splintering sound?

Many others who heard it shrieked, I heard nothing, nothing at all.

Flickering lights splashed across the desert sky.

The lights moved into the neighborhoods, forming dark shapes across walls and streets, shapes which moaned and shuffled as if wounded.

A confused seagull cried out for sandwich crusts in the dark.

Big Rico, owner owner of Big Rico's pizza, neither heard the splintering sound nor saw the lights.

He was awakened instead by a soft knocking at the door of his home.

Believing the knocking to be part of his recurring dream where he is driving a pizza delivery car eternally down a dark suburban street looking for an address that doesn't exist, he tried to get back to sleep.

not wanting to end such a pleasant fantasy.

The knocking grew more insistent.

Rico groaned his way to the living room half asleep and was confronted by a bedraggled group of entities in rain slickers who appeared to be in trouble.

Though they did not speak a language known to Big Rico, the leader of the group who we now know as the captain managed to explain the situation by drawing an entire graphic novel on old pizza boxes.

The images told the story of a doomed sailing vessel that met with misfortune when the ocean disappeared from underneath it and it was dashed to pieces against solid earth.

The confused sailors had gathered themselves from the desert floor, gotten together torches and supplies, and journeyed approximately eight blocks to civilization.

The secret police confirmed the story after finding the wreckage of a wooden sailing ship in the scrublands earlier this morning.

Illegally parked nearby was a silver 2011 Mini Cooper with an open sunroof filled to the brim with salt water and blobs of translucent jelly.

If this is your vehicle, please pick it up immediately.

Looking at you, Susan Willman.

After being physically coerced by the secret police, several caring families in Nightvale have volunteered their homes to these sailors: the Captain, Dr.

Shouty, Old Wood Teeth, Rebecca, and the Really Tall One.

We will be checking in with some of these families periodically for updates on how things are going.

Brandy Lance, behavioral science expert of the Girl Scouts Splinter Faction, the Onyx Fist, believes there was a mutiny in progress before the shipwreck even occurred.

A theory that was substantiated by today's exceedingly awkward welcome breakfast at the Pancake House.

Rebecca and Old Wood Teeth spoke only in grumbling undertones, periodically telling Dr.

Shouty to shush, while the captain sat far across the restaurant and pensively stirred his clam chowder.

Bitter looks were exchanged between all parties.

But eating together in suffocating silence doesn't necessarily mean anything is wrong.

For example, Since Carlos didn't want to go to the welcome breakfast, we had a quiet meal at home.

Like,

really, really quiet i told him his scientist friends nilanjana and mark had called again to ask about organizing a case study on the shipwreck survivors he got the strangest look on his face and said he was really busy with another project right now i asked him what he was working on and he said oh you know and then made the universal hand gesture for science.

Then he kissed me on the cheek, washed his plate, and disappeared into his home lab.

Later, I heard the muffled screams of a sitcom laugh track from behind the closed door.

Meanwhile, in light of recent happenings, the Knowle Tourism Board, along with the Business Association, has announced plans for a massive expansion of the Harbor Waterfront project.

This has been met with protest from the Marine Biology Association, who are intensely opposed to encouraging the existence of an ocean in a desert.

In response, Madeleine LaFleur of the Tourism Board issued the following statement at an emergency town hall meeting.

We believe expanding the waterfront project will bring forth new opportunity and added value to this great city.

Just because we don't know how, when, or where the ocean appears and have literally zero control over its behavior doesn't mean we can't get at least profit from sightseers.

The agitated marine biologists responded, that's stupid.

You're stupid.

To which Annette Mahaka, head of the business association, responded in a whining tone, why can't you just let us be happy?

LeFleur added in a much deeper, more authoritative tone, plunging ahead without considering the consequences is one of the maverick values this great land was founded on.

This last statement was met with thunderous applause, based entirely on her tone of voice rather than the actual words spoken.

Despite the conflict around this issue, there is something I admire about each party's ability to clearly state their positions.

There's no confusion about either side's feelings.

They can express their concerns and move on from there.

Or maybe they'll end up deadlocked in stalemate, repeating the same phrases continuously until they cease to convey actual meaning.

But at least they know where they stand.

Comprehension without flexibility is so important when resolving conflict.

Let's have a look at other local news.

The first annual Fisherman's Stew Contest, sponsored by the Nightvale Culinary Society, has named a winner.

John Peters, you know, the farmer, one with his five-ingredient corn chowder recipe made with invisible corn, hot water, cold water, kosher salt, and Swedish fish.

Also, Nightvale Community College has its first ever Nobel Prize winner.

Tara Arya won the coveted award for her work in mathematical poetry with the following haiku couplet.

You keep the drawer locked, where all five sharp knives are stashed, but now it's open.

You live alone, right?

And didn't use any knives?

But now there's just four.

Tara has a fine future in the mathematical poetry trades.

Ah, speaking of the community college, I think that I am overdue to give another guest lecture there.

It's been, wow, um, over five years?

I know because it was back when Carlos first got to town.

I was walking down the hall on my way to the communications department and I saw him standing there, talking to a group of people in hushed scientific tones.

Our eyes met for a second as I walked by and he gave me a cordial nod, his perfect hair shimmering almost indigo under the fluorescent lighting.

Later, after my lecture, I went back to that hallway, and it was empty.

But then I heard his voice.

He was talking to someone in an office a few doors down.

I wanted to hide.

I was so giddy and nervous, but then he was in the hall again and before I could speak he said, hey, you like science?

My mouth didn't work, so I nodded.

And he said, you want to see something scientifically interesting?

We went up the back staircase to the Earth Sciences Building roof, and he pointed toward a field at the edge of town.

There was a hazy column of darkness stretching from the middle of the field into the sky.

What is that?

I asked.

Carlos told me he wasn't sure, but it could only be seen from this exact angle and distance.

We took two steps to the side, and it was gone.

We took two steps back to the left, our feet in perfect unison, a stilted little barn dance, and we could see the dark column again.

That is scientifically scientifically interesting, I said, not sure if I was overselling my level of scientific interest.

I told him, you can also see my apartment building from here.

It's always there.

It doesn't disappear.

And he asked, which one is it?

And I showed him, and he said, that has a nice roof.

Good shingles.

It was the first compliment he ever gave me.

And then he had to go to a meeting and I went home.

It was a while before we spoke again, but I used to think of that moment often.

You know, I'm going to think of it again now.

And while I do, you should think about the weather.

Through our old neighborhood, see all the Chevy and Pollins,

the front yards upon blocks, and a park, in an alley, and a read

through the postcards you contend you

to send

as indirectly as you can.

You ask could I remember?

I like these tortured devices from my old best friend.

Well, I'll tell you what I know,

like I swore I always would.

I don't think it's gonna do you any good.

And I remember the train headed south out of Bay Cockdown.

I always get a late start

when the sun's going down

Traffic's thinning out The glare is hard to take

I wish the West Texas Highway was a mobious drill

I could ride it out for real

And when I feel my heart break

I almost swear I hear it happen.

It's bleeding my heart.

I'm coming off the highway,

park in my front yard.

Fall out of the car,

like a hostage from a plane.

And think of you while I start wishing

rain.

And I remember the train headed south out of Maine.

Gotten down

to

the

war.

Come into the house,

put on a pot

of coffee,

walk the floors a little while.

Set your postcard on today

With all the others light

Start sorting through the pile

I check the pictures and the postmarks and the captions and the stand

No signs of any pattern at all

When I come on with your head

Feeling almost still fulfilled,

a little few of my

fancy spot.

Smile, you're a smile.

It's not a good thing to see.

I think about a little bit of blackboard back in 1983.

And I remember the train heading south out of Bay Cotton.

two.

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

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Let's check in with our host families to see how some of our nautical residents are adjusting.

Dr.

Shouty and Rebecca have gone to live in a barista commune, learning secrets of coffee making, such as the only difference between a latte and a flat white is 50 cents,

and memorizing the incorrect spelling of every single human name.

Old Woodteeth lives with the Wallaby family, Herschel, Talk, and their daughter Megan, who is an adult hand sewn onto a tall Russian submariner.

Megan showed Old Woodteeth photos of submarines and he didn't believe that they were real so she rented Crimson Tide and while it didn't change Old Woodteeth's beliefs, he's now boy crazy over Denzel Washington and doesn't understand how Denzel didn't win an Oscar for Malcolm X.

I have a report here from my brother-in-law, Steve Carlsberg.

The Palmer Carlsberg family is hosting the Really Tall One.

Now, the Really Tall One has proved to be a calming presence in the household and has even even taught the family nautical dancing, sailing dirges in her native tongue, and how to read ancient star charts that were used to accurately navigate the globe long before maps and GPS.

Janice, my teenage niece, has shown the Really Tall One which remote controls are for the Blu-ray player and which are for the surround sound.

My sister Abby has noted a strong odor that seems like a combination of ozone, copper, and shrimp permeating the house whenever the really tall one is asleep.

The odor gets stronger the deeper into unconsciousness the really tall one is.

Other host families have also reported this phenomenon, but have been quick to add that it's totally not a complaint, you know, just an observation.

Unfortunately, we've learned that the captain, who is being hosted hosted by witness protection resident Sigrid Borg, due to the extra levels of security in her apartment, has been reported missing.

Sigrid released a statement saying, please stop telling people I'm in the witness protection program.

We'll keep our eyes out for him, Sigrid.

I'm getting word now that the conflict between the tourism board and the marine biologists has escalated.

The biologists have discovered what appears to be a makeshift aquarium being hidden in a 12 by 12 public storage unit in Radon Canyon.

The secret aquarium consists of several tanks containing blobs of semi-animate clear jelly, likely taken from the lungs of the Treelores, the rucksack of Girl Scout Splinter Faction leader Randy Lance, the potholes in Old Town, and or Susan Willman's Minnie Cooper.

The biologists also discovered plans for a more complete aquarium once the funding for the expanded waterfront project comes through, to which the biologists cried out, over our dead bodies, alerting nearby tourism board sentries of their presence.

A verbal altercation took place, with both sides speaking over one another at louder and louder volumes, eventually erupting into awkward, grabby physical violence.

It ended.

when their roughhousing tumbled most of the scufflers into the canyon.

The remaining biologists have chosen a more non-violent approach, instead marching through town waving signs warning of impending doom and chanting rhymes.

Madeleine LaFleur of the tourism board responded on public access television that most Nightvale residents support waterfront development.

Several have even submitted their own ideas for storefronts, LaFleur claimed.

like one of those places where you write your name on a frisbee and puff paint, or a savory taffy stand.

Or a mysterious warehouse, which appears abandoned, but sometimes you hear clanging sounds inside.

Oh, hang on, listeners.

Someone is knocking on my studio door.

It's weird.

I'm not expecting anybody.

Oh, maybe it's Carlos.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Everybody, just let me...

Oh, um.

Okay.

The captain has entered the studio.

He's wild-eyed and is making the shushing motion with his finger.

Oh, and now he's hiding underneath my desk.

Oh, and now my phone is ringing.

Okay, this is a lot happening at once.

I had better deal with this.

Listen to this pre-recorded PSA while I figure things out.

Hello, Night Vale.

This is Deb, a sentient patch of haze, speaking for the Department of Motor Vehicles.

When it comes time to renew or apply for your driver's license, please remember to check the eyeball donation box on the back of the form.

Contrary to those nasty rumors, it does not authorize a representative of the DMV to break into your house at night and remove your eyeballs while you sleep.

Usually, those days are, for the most part, long behind us.

It does mean you have the chance to be a hero in one of the many eye-claiming accidents that disproportionately affect residents of our fair city each year.

Say you get into a car accident and die.

Say someone else who was in that accident is alive, but no longer has any eyes.

Your eyeballs will be removed from your face and placed into that person's face.

Then that person not only regains the power of sight, but you do as well.

Your consciousness, which lives inside your eyeball's posterior chamber, will remain intact, seeing whatever your host body sees, experiencing whatever they experience throughout the rest of their life.

And of course, if that person gets into a fatal accident later, both of your consciousnesses will remain as your eyeballs are transferred to a third party.

In this way, it is technically possible to gain immortality.

So please remember to check that box on the back of the form.

Thanks, friends.

I'm sorry about that.

I was greeting the captain, and then my phone rang, and it was Carlos, and he wanted to meet me on the roof of the Earth Sciences Building and watch the sunset together over the column of hazy darkness.

A purely romantic gesture is somewhat out of character for Carlos, but I didn't feel like questioning it.

I'm just grateful he finally seemed willing to open up.

You know, I didn't realize how much it's been getting to me until talking to him just now.

I mean, I know I haven't resolved or even fully understood what's been bothering me, but I feel relieved anyway.

Tentatively relieved.

No, no,

I feel relieved.

I mean, why frame positive things with the fear of losing them?

So, I'm closing tonight's broadcast a little early.

I'm sure you'll understand.

Station management won't, which is why I've set up a Cecil-shaped mannequin I made out of burlap, twine, and dried lentils to place in my chair for the final few segments of the show.

You know, maybe I can get the captain to help me secure the...

Oh!

Oh my god, I forgot about the captain.

He must have snuck out of here while I was on the phone.

Oh, yeah, yeah, I can see him through the window.

He's climbed up to the top of our radio tower and is looking through a spyglass, gesturing frantically at the horizon.

And he's crying out, we are doomed, we are all doomed.

Oh man, he's going to blow my cover.

Okay, if I'm going to sneak out of work, I need to do it now.

He's an eccentric fellow, that captain.

Sigrid Borg, I know you're trying to keep a low profile.

What with your participation in the witness protection program but please come to the station and collect your house guest susan woman your mini cooper has been towed all right stay tuned next for a cecil shaped mannequin made out of burlap twine and dried lentils reading you the latest on traffic in the community calendar good night nightvale good night

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

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

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

The voice of Deb is Meg Bashwinner.

Original music by Disparition.

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

This episode's weather was Source Decay by Holy Sons, covering a song by the Mountain Goats.

Hear it and other covers on the new podcast from the folks behind Night Vale.

I only listen to the mountain goats, out now.

And find out more from holysons at holysons.com.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com or follow us on Twitter at NightvaleRadio or read self-help books to learn all of the ways you'll never change.

Check out WelcomeTonightvale.com for more information on this show and our many other shows from Nightvale Presents, a carefully curated network of podcasts we love.

love.

Today's proverb, I believe in tough love, also tough tenderness, tough vulnerability, and a daily session of tough mindfulness meditation.

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 Dude 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.

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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.

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

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