103 - Ash Beach

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Welcome to Night Vale.

The Nightvale Tourism Board announced that after 12 years of superfund site cleanup, Ash Beach reopened today to the public.

The tourism board's new brochure shows a young, happy family having a picnic lunch and wearing respirator masks, building ash castles and flying kites against a blackened sky.

We're landlocked here in the desert, with no body of water in sight.

So, back in the 1950s, the city decided to create a public beach made entirely out of municipally burned books that were deemed too dangerous or too boring to read.

Carlos and I are so excited about the reopening of the beach.

We're already planning a trip in the next few weeks with the family.

According to the tourism board, there will be a refurbished boardwalk there with food trucks and carnival games.

Beachgoers can stroll down the pier and watch the surfers lie on their boards as we all wait for the oceans to rise dramatically enough that Nightvale finally has a waterfront.

This Friday night, Dark Owl Records will be holding an album release party for Stevie Ray Vaughan's newest album called Beyoncé.

which is a collection of instrumental covers of Leonard Cohen's greatest hits.

Vaughan's unique approach to music has always been to eskew instruments altogether and simply read the name of each chord aloud.

Vaughn will be at the store taking selfies with fans and asking everyone how he got here and why he cannot hold tangible objects.

Sunday at the Rec Center is the annual gun show sponsored by the Night Vale chapter of the NRA.

All patrons receive a free trucker hat that reads, guns don't kill people unless you shoot those people with said said gun and then they die.

But other than that, that one specific situation, we've never known a gun to kill anybody.

Gun dealers from all over the United States will be at the show selling handguns and hunting rifles and telling fantastical stories about a mythical government that would try even in the slightest to regulate gun ownership.

The first 500 ticket buyers will have their government implanted tracking chips surgically removed for free.

We're getting reports that the grand reopening of Ash Beach is going...

well?

Oh,

not well as in good.

I mean well as in...

I'm not sure what to say next.

So the beach, which is completely black and not at all connected to any body of water, is apparently Really hot, and beachgoers are having a difficult time getting the dark ash stains off their burning skin.

Also, there are reports of hazy humanoid figures emerging from the ash.

They have long, thin arms, gaping mouths with hundreds of tiny square teeth, round glowing eyes, and they shimmer in and out of visibility.

Some witnesses reported hearing faint clicks and crunches, like someone rapidly chewing eggshells.

Amber Aquini and Wilson Levy are celebrating their first wedding anniversary at Ash Beach today.

They claim to have seen these ephemeral beings and moments later experienced a flood of memories that never happened to them.

Wilson remembered his wedding six years ago to his high school girlfriend Tanya.

The memory was so clear.

Tanya in her strapless white gown with ivory piping.

Ew.

His best man, Aiden, accidentally dropping the ring and comically chasing it as it rolled into the third row.

The string trio playing pocket bells, hey ya, as ushers escorted guests into seats and pushed the safety bars down firmly over their shoulders.

But Wilson claimed he never knew anyone named Tanya and was never married to anyone before Amber.

Telling this story, he had tears in his eyes, the fond memory of the wedding he never had still fresh in his mind.

Amber remembered a vacation resort a few miles from Mount Kilimanjaro.

She was only eight years old.

She was standing outside the resort near her mother's Toyota pickup truck.

Her mother was speaking in Luo to an elderly couple.

The couple said they wanted a ride to a camp checkpoint at the base of the mountain.

Her mother offered them a ride as she was going to the same place.

Amber, her mother, and the couple shared the cramped bench seat as they rode toward the cloud-shrouded peak.

The couple smelled like coffee and brand new sleeping bags.

They offered Amber some cushata and told her about different types of birds.

Amber said she had never been to Tanzania and that her mother passed away when Amber was only three.

Nor does Amber believe in mountains, nor does she know what cushuta is, and she doesn't know a single word of Luo.

So the memory could not be real.

But she could understand the Luo in her memory and could could taste the soft coconut crunch of the cushuta.

Wilson brushed Amber's cheek and she kissed his wrist.

They both cried quietly as they laid out some small shovels and buckets, rubbed UV protective lotion on their arms, unfolded beach chairs, and erected a large umbrella.

More on this story as it develops.

Good news, listeners.

Five-headed dragon Hadassah McDaniels and her legion of dragon lawyers from whatever dragon world they're from have stopped crushing local businesses and eating pets and setting fire to public parks.

The bad news is that we're not certain what the dragons are doing right now.

No one has seen them in over a week.

It's like when you see a spider and then you turn your head and when you look back that spider is gone and that is the true definition of horror horror because you don't know where that spider is and you miss it so much it was a really cute spider

the dragons were last seen visiting the terrible court of the distant prince it was difficult to say for certain that it was the distant prince because those who saw this visitation said it happened quite a long way away Witnesses reported that they definitely saw the dragons talking with what looked like a young man wearing a crown.

His form blurred, as though moving quickly, even though he was standing still.

But he was partially hidden by harbingers, as well as court shriekers and mangled servants.

The witnesses did not mention seeing any hollow-eyed weepers, so it may not have been the distant prince at all.

Maybe a distant Viscount.

At best, a distant earl.

A distant countess, even?

Listeners, Old Woman Josie's daughter, Alondra, wanted me to thank everyone for all of the good wishes and gifts to her and her dying mother.

She asked that people please stop sending flowers, though.

She has nowhere to put them.

And plus, flowers are sort of gross.

You realize that flowers are just water and manure and seeds and dirt, Alondra Ortiz said.

They look and smell nice, but just remember what the smell is made of.

Gross.

Stop it, she said.

Then she added, I mean, if you already sent flowers, they're beautiful.

Thank you.

And then she rolled her eyes.

Carlos and I visited Josie last Saturday.

We brought her and Alondra a framed photo of Josie breaking ground at the new old Night Vale Opera House.

For a picture that's only a couple couple years old.

Josie looks so young.

It's her smile, I think.

Her smile never aged.

In the photo, she's wearing a hard hat, orange construction vest, tan jodpers, and five-toed running shoes.

She's holding a shovel filled with dirt in front of a sign that says, Opera House, coming soon.

She was so proud of Nightvale that day.

I showed the picture to Josie, who was lying in her bed, eyes open.

She didn't respond.

I wished I had visited sooner, but I was glad to have seen her again before she leaves us.

Carlos patted her hand, and I kissed her forehead.

I said, Josie, Carlos and I love you.

As does Alondra, as do all of the angels.

And at this point, I heard the citywide angels acknowledged sirens go off, but I didn't care.

There were angels all over her house.

There have been for years, and I'm sort of tired of pretending they're not there.

The angels love you and will take care of you, Josie, I said loudly over the sound of the blaring sirens.

And I think I saw that young smile gently touch the corners of her dry, pursed mouth.

In lieu of flowers,

might I recommend donations to the opera house in Josie's name, or any place that supports the arts.

Nothing would make her happier.

We're getting more updates from Ash Beach.

Everyone at the beach today is covered in dark ashes, their skin burning, the sun muted by a cloud of char.

They have all seen the waggling, hazy figures that fade in and out of sight.

The figures open their long mouths and point their spindly arms at people, and those people in turn experience vibrant memories that never happened.

Frances Donaldson, manager of the Antiques Mall, said she remembered winning a silver medal for figure skating in the Olympic Games, but she's never even seen ice in real life.

Green Market Co-op Board President Tristan Cortez said when the figures on the beach pointed at him, he remembered being lost in the wilderness with a golden retriever friend of his.

They were soon joined by a Himalayan cat.

They were all homeward bound, sharing an incredible journey together.

But that never happened.

Tristan said it was actually a bull terrier and a Siamese cat and that this new memory is false.

John Peters, you know, the farmer, said he had a striking memory of his brother, Jim.

The memory was from only two days ago.

Jim was cleaning out the tractor shed with John.

John said it was unusually warm for late winter, and they were both getting tired.

It was almost noon, and John wanted to break for lunch, but Jim said, Hey, Johnny, look at what I found.

John said Jim held up an old football.

It's from when we was kids, Johnny.

Jim said of a memory instigated by a physical object inside John's memory from today of something that didn't happen earlier this week.

John and Jim went out into their untilled fields of imaginary corn and tossed the ball around for nearly an hour.

John said he wished this memory was real.

His brother's been off serving in the blood space war for nearly 40 years now.

He probably ain't even arrived at whatever planet he's supposed to fight yet.

What with the destructive limitations on matter as it approaches the speed of light, John said, sadly reminiscing about his long-lost sibling.

I bet they gotta be in a kind of frozen space sleep or something like in that documentary, Aliens, he added.

Listeners, if you're at Ash Beach, try not to look at the thin beings coming up from the ashes.

Hide from their pointing hands, and above all, do not trust the memories they fill your mind with.

They are untrue.

They are fever dreams.

They

are

lies.

Wait, in fact, I'm just now getting word from witnesses that large waves are crashing down on Ash Beach.

There's no indication where the water is coming from as Night Vale, again, is in a desert.

Some beachgoers began tearing hoods off cars and using them as surfboards.

Someone has spelled out help, lost, in seaweed.

But the crashing waves washed it all away.

Many people are being dragged out into a non-existent sea by a dangerous undertow.

Where is this water coming from?

Until we know for certain, stay away from Ash Beach.

More soon, but now, the weather.

yeah, yeah.

Yeah.

I got bridges, I got matches, but I got limits.

You'll never see them.

I'll cut and run before you get near them.

Wipe the hand, despite the trap.

Save the body, trust the map.

Feet don't fail me, we can fail.

Let's keep this shell intact to hell and back.

And not a slogan on a shirt to show.

I want you bad, and I don't show it, but it hurts to go.

It's feast of famine.

I honestly kinda hate both.

And I'm drowning in this optional.

Tell me what's impossible, and I'll tell you, slow down.

I promise if you do, I'll stick around.

I know my promises ain't much to you, I've found.

My place, my safe, and sound.

My whole life, I've been out here begging.

Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me.

I need, I need, I need, I need more.

I need more.

Yeah, I need more.

Yeah, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me.

I need, I need, I need, I need more.

I need more.

Yeah, I need more.

Yeah

I got bricks, I got mortar This clock is ticking She's sis or fissing outside my mission Wishing I'd listen And I do but I don't I mean I hear, but I won't I am fear She is hope personified, it's war to start boarded up this core of the heart Trust is fleeting She can't be that demon eating Leaving me wide open bleeding torn apart I need more She needs more Some other stuff Ache to love and built to lust Take the fill ignore the trust trust.

She's like, Calm down, I promise if you do, I'll stick around.

I knew my promises ain't much to you, but now

you're here, I'm safe, I'm sound.

I know your whole life you've been out of screen.

Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, I need, I need, I need, I need more.

I need more.

Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me.

I need, I need, I need, I need more.

I need more.

I need more.

Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me.

I need, I need, I need, I need all.

Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me.

I need, money, money, money, oh.

My place was safe and sound.

Oh, I'm not afraid.

Stay

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The tide has ebbed.

The beach is clear.

The ashes are gone, washed out to

well.

Oh, not well as in I don't know what to say next.

I meant well as in an old well that appeared in the same spot it had stood two summers ago.

draining the water into it in a direct reversal of a well's usual role, and then vanishing again, as old wells often do.

Well,

Ash Beach is neither ash nor beach anymore, simply a great expanse of sand, endless and dry.

Those who saw these shimmering apparitions said the memories they were given are as real as ever.

They were not merely daydreams, nor vivid hallucinations.

They are actual events that never happened.

Simone Rigideau, the transient who lives in the Earth Sciences Building of the Knightvale Community College and who recently began teaching courses there, much to the chagrin of the college administration, said she was at Ash Beach today and she saw the figures.

She saw their pointing, wriggling, translucent appendages.

She saw their numerous flat teeth in their long gray mouths.

She saw their bulbous white eyes.

She heard the sound of crunching like chewing eggshells.

And

she had a memory.

She remembered the college campus.

She remembered it was 1983.

She remembered students with boom boxes, Trans Am muscle cars.

She remembered the news anchors that day, Tim and Trin, with their feathered hair, double Windsor neckties, shoulder pads, and deep maroon nail polish.

She remembered the news of missiles already launched.

Apologies for a miscommunication, a mistake in a training drill.

Apologies not accepted.

Missiles launched to retaliate.

She remembered the news anchors Tim and Trin trying not to cry, trying to report the news.

She remembered students and faculty gathered around the television, trying not to cry, trying to receive the news.

She remembered

the world ending.

Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with silence.

The absence of thought and feeling.

Everyone went missing all at once together.

Time, body, memory,

gone.

Simone then said she remembered something else from the new memory she received today.

A woman with a deer mask had appeared on the television screen, her face flickering through the loud static and obscuring the faces of Tim and Trin.

She spoke in a language unknown to Simone, but she recognized the name of the woman,

Hunto Carr.

Oh, I know Hunto Carr, I said.

She did this, Cecil, Simone said.

Hunto Carr is super weird, I said.

Makes sense that she would be behind this whole Ash Beach thing.

I'm not talking about the beach, Simone said.

Then what are you talking about?

I said.

She is the destroyer, Simone said, shaking her head.

Simone said she remembered the world ending.

It was so clear, so vivid.

But it did not end.

She touched my arm and said that we are

here.

How are we here?

I told Simone,

You always say the world ended in 1983.

I don't see how this is so special for you.

She said, I knew it ended.

I just couldn't remember it ending.

Now I do.

The world ended, Cecil.

I saw it on the news.

Oh, then it must be true, I said.

Are you being sarcastic?

She asked.

Why would I do that?

I replied.

I still can't tell if you are or not, she said, eyeing me suspiciously.

I don't understand what she was getting at.

Whatever our truth.

Night Vale, you can feel your body.

Hear my voice.

See the sunlight through dissipating ash clouds.

I do not know if we are real,

but...

We are alive.

We are tangible, feeling, and whole.

Stay tuned next for the sound of something trying to dig its way out of your chest.

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 Joseph Fink.

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.

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Today's proverb: if you're not wearing a denim vest, then this conversation is over.

Martha listens to her favorite band all the time: in the car, car,

gym,

even sleeping.

So when they finally went on tour, Martha bundled her flight and hotel on Expedia to see them live.

She saved so much, she got a seat close enough to actually see and hear them.

Sort of.

You were made to scream from the front row.

We were made to quietly save you more.

Expedia, made to travel.

Savings vary and subject to availability, flight inclusive packages are at all protected.

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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Hey, Jeffree 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.

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

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