90 - Who's a Good Boy? Part 2

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.

You wanna go outside?

Outside?

You wanna go outside?

You do, you do?

I bet you want to go outside.

I bet you do.

Welcome to Night Vale.

The beagle puppy stood fully upright on his hind legs, breathing heavily.

I inched back from the dog.

Here's where I want to tell you I drew a glowing sword and he drew a sword made of fire.

I want to tell you our mighty blades clashed above our heads as our elbows and faces met.

I think it'd be a really cool thing to say that I then pushed him back with a kick to the chest and swung my blade down upon him as he tried to deflect it with his own, my sword shattering his, causing him to burst open with white light and doves, and order returned for good to Night Vale.

But what I'm going to tell you is, I don't own a sword.

Doves aren't real.

And the dog had destroyed everything we are without a single conventional weapon.

Plus, I tripped while trying to run away.

The beagle was standing over me.

There was a boom that dimmed my hearing, and the dog was jolted backward violently.

Sam, our sheriff, stood behind me, a shotgun in their hand.

Come on, Sam said as they grabbed my shoulder and pulled me up.

I turned back to see the carnage, but the beagle was standing again, exactly where he was the moment before.

Perhaps a little closer, actually.

His adorable puppy mouth distended horribly with each labored breath.

Don't look at it, Sam said as they pushed me into City Hall and through a door marked forbidden.

Sam slammed the door shut and bolted the lock.

We were in the city council's chambers.

The council was there.

They had not fled the city after all.

They all all spoke in unison, their black robes undulating like a storm-tossed ocean.

The only details of the council's hood-shrouded faces I could discern were their reddish-brown teeth.

We have reopened the dog park, the city council shouted.

It sounded like an accusation.

Sam plans to lure the strangers into the dog park and lock them away there.

How do you get get them to go into the dog park?

I asked.

The council was silent for a long time, finally muttering, well, their leader is a beagle, so

and then trailing off.

Sam interjected, we get every person left in Night Vale in front of that dog park.

If they want nothing, they'll have to go there and create it.

I was thinking about what nothing meant, about beings that don't exist.

And who better to fight off a lord of hell than

sounds good, I said.

Is there a way out of here that doesn't go through that beagle?

I need to visit a friend of mine.

Let's have a look now at traffic.

There's a metal grate about 11 feet off the ground.

It's large enough for most human bodies to fit through.

There are eight 10 millimeter hexagonal bolts holding it in place.

Sitting atop a person's shoulders, who's sitting atop another person's shoulders, and then using a simple torque wrench, it is not difficult to remove these bolts and pull oneself through into the ductwork.

The duct eventually ends at a similar large grate.

Then there is a 12-foot drop to the ground behind City Hall next to a dumpster.

A car driven by Mayor Dana Cardinal is there.

Then that car drives to Old Woman Josie's house out by the used car lot.

This has been traffic.

Can I speak to Erica?

I said to Old Woman Josie.

Which Erica?

she asked.

All of them.

I need to speak with the angels.

Old Woman Josie winced.

A couple miles off I heard the angel acknowledge siren go off down by the firehouse, but I was certain law enforcement was dealing with bigger problems than a radio host who happened to acknowledge an angel or two.

There are way more than two, though.

A bright black light filled Old Woman Josie's living living room, illuminating at least a dozen tall, winged beings.

Dana and I shaded our eyes.

My body tingled.

I swore I could hear a cello and smell confectioner's sugar.

Dana and I explained the sheriff's plan to lure the strangers to the dog park.

How do you lure something that wants nothing?

One of the Erikas asked.

Technically, wanting nothing is actually wanting something, one of the Erikas explained.

We are not having this argument with you again, Erika, another Erika shouted.

We just need to do something, I said.

If what they want is nothing, then we must make sure that we are always doing something.

Can you help us?

The black light grew painfully bright.

I took that as a yes.

Let's have a look now at today's horoscopes.

The stars are silent.

They have been absent from the sky for weeks now.

They refuse to tell us anything.

Perhaps the silence is for our own protection.

This has been

Horoscopes.

On the drive back to town with Dana.

I know he tried to kill you, I said carefully.

I know he's on death row now for his crimes, but what if?

What if we made a deal?

Dana interrupted.

I'm not offering Hiram a deal.

We drove past the dark and empty radio station.

I thought about Koshak, our station cat, who hovers four feet off the ground in what used to be the men's restroom.

Oh, all of our restrooms are unisex now, which is great because everyone can visit Koshek.

He's been much happier with the extra attention, buzzing and licking visitors with his chest tongues.

But when I had last checked in on him, before we lost all power to the radio station, he was...

gone.

His kittens were also gone.

No sign of a fight, just gone.

I missed him.

I missed the radio station.

All over town, no electricity, no gas, barely any drinkable water.

I could smell distant smoke.

The sky was completely gray, even though there was not a single cloud.

Dana said, I'll talk to Hiram Cecil.

I'll find out if he knows anything about the strangers and if he could be of some help, but I'm not cutting a deal with him.

We pulled up to a mob of about 50 people.

In the front was the sheriff, hand in hand with a woman in long yellow robes and a wide rectangular hat.

I recognized the medallion on the front of her chest.

She was one of the leaders from the joyous congregation of the Smiling God,

the church that most of Desert Bluffs and a few Nightvale residents belong to.

In the crowd I saw John Peters, you know the farmer, and also John Peter, remember the pharmacist.

I saw Tamika Flynn and her teenage militia.

In Tamika's left hand was Sarah Sultan, who is a fist-sized river rock and current president of the Nightvale Community College.

Around them were many faces I didn't know.

Former Desert Bluffs residents, I could see it in their eyes.

Dana and I got out of the car and joined them.

A prayer march against a common enemy.

How strange humankind is that two cities, Nightvale and Desert Bluffs, could hate each other so much

and then hold hands so tightly in mutual hatred of something else.

We marched toward the center of town, chanting prayers.

I have never been a believer in the Smiling God, so some of the chants were new to me, but a lot of them were similar to recitations, verses, and prayers common across most religions.

Basic stuff like, please God, destroy our enemies, amen.

Some really long gurgling sounds, and one chant that sounded identical to an old prayer I was taught in Torah school, where everyone just shouts, defense,

defense,

while clapping in rhythm.

Our crowd grew.

We saw strangers on the street, not moving, just breathing and watching.

We were nearing a thousand, our mob, feeling invincible, united to save our our town, a town we all loved and believed in, no matter how long each of us had lived there.

Carlos joined, along with my sister Abby, her husband Steve, and my young niece Janice.

I was worried for their safety out here, surrounded by the strangers, but I was also worried for their safety at home, hiding from the strangers.

I was worried for their safety always and everywhere.

Our huge crowd stopped near the dog park.

There were hooded figures in the dog park.

The gates were open.

They are rarely open.

We looked to the strangers.

Their numbers had grown as well, an equal motionless mob to our heaving, praying one.

Being at the front of the crowd, I could feel the steady breath of the stranger directly in front of me.

They weren't dead.

They weren't undead.

They were nothing.

I was afraid of dying, of becoming one of them, of existing only in the dark, wet cavern.

Frances' voice in my head, I'm still in the mud.

I'm still in the mud.

And also, her voice from right in front of me, suddenly at the front of the crowd of strangers, eyes wild as though struggling against the complete stillness of the rest of her body, screaming, I'm still in the mud.

I'm still in the mud.

The crowd of strangers parted, although none of us saw them move, revealing the beagle puppy on his hind legs, his front paws dangling crookedly against his chest.

The breathing wasn't coming from the dog, but from behind me.

I turned to see Sheriff Sam, their jaw hanging limp and open.

The dog's breath came from their mouth.

Who's a good boy?

said the voice coming from Sam.

Who's a good

boy?

Am I the good boy?

said a different voice from right next to me.

My brother-in-law, Steve, his eyes locked to mine, confused.

Am I the good boy?

He said.

I cried out, No, and held him tight.

Janice, Abby, and Carlos all put their arms around him too, trying to hold him in place, keep him from being taken to the cavern, helping him to resist the pull of a dark and muddy hell dragging at him from within.

We heard a sound above us, like wings, many wings.

We looked up and saw all of the Erica circling above.

There are angels,

said Janice in awe.

No one corrected her.

There was also the sound of a different kind of wing, not angelic,

reptilian.

We saw the five heads of Hiram McDaniels, four of them with prison tracking collars, fire spewed from Hiram's mouth, and for a moment the gray, cloudless sky shone blue.

And I finally noticed in the heart of all this fear and tempest, how calm the weather was.

No,

not calm.

The weather was

it was

love us as we are.

See us and we're holy.

In this shall we shall

ever be holy ourselves.

Your love will take us far.

Praise us, and we'll show you from heaven to the glory holds, glorious and free.

There are those who think we're wicked,

there are those who call us names,

depraved, lost, and sickened.

We'd rather bathe us in shame.

We put the sin insincere,

we put the do in the doubt.

God is perfectly clear.

We are perfectly out.

Love us as we are.

See us, and we're holy.

In this shall we shall ever be holy ourselves.

Your love will take us far.

Praise us, and we'll show you from heaven to the glory host.

Glorious and free.

I believe in the ritual of lipstick,

the sanctity of

electric guitar.

But it's cool

if you're not that Catholic.

You can be

wherever you are.

Love us as we are.

See us, and we're holy in this shall we shall ever be

holy ourselves.

Your love will take us far.

Praise us, and we'll show you from heaven to the glory holes, holes, glorious and free.

Love us as we are.

See us, and we're holy.

In this shall we shall

ever be

holy ourselves.

Your love will take us far.

Praise us, and we'll show you from heaven to the glory holes.

Glorious and free.

According to us, and whatever

control our jubilee.

In this, shall we shall ever be glorious

and free.

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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 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 Grease to the Dark Knight.

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Night Vale, we have power once again.

We have electricity and water.

I'm back on the air.

And many of you are back in your homes.

The strangers and the dogs are gone.

Defeated.

Question mark.

Francis, Sam, Steve, those who were taken or who were about to be taken, all humans once again.

But here's where we run into the problem of my narrative, because I don't know what caused it to happen.

Our crowd had chanted and prayed.

I'm not a religious person mostly, but I do think we had an impact, driving away that thing summoned from the dark, wet caverns of hell.

And even if it wasn't the Bloodstones, or the joyous congregation's smiling god, or any other kind of god, The mere spiritual coming together of so many people may have been enough to rid the town of this hound and his army.

But then, intern Karim reported that Koshek is back in the station restroom.

Koshek was badly scratched up, as though he had been in a great battle, and Karim noticed that inside Koshek's second row of teeth was a small piece of fur-covered flesh.

Karim thought It was a piece of a dog's ear.

Is Koshek our hero?

Janice says Tamika Flynn drove away the strangers with her militia of book-loving children.

Abby and Steve told Janice she's still too young to join a militia.

And Tamika's running drills out in the desert and will not comment on what happened.

Old Woman Josie claimed the angels used their powers of heavenly good to push back the brazen evil.

of the beagle.

Who else can destroy a creature of hell other than angels?

Maybe that's true, if you believe in angels, which you are not allowed to do.

Melanie Pennington, celebrated computer programmer, managed to get the power utilities back on and claims that with the help of young prodigy Megan Wallaby, she wrote a deadly computer virus to bring down the strangers.

I'm not really an expert on programming, but I feel like you need a computer to catch a computer virus.

What?

Oh.

Um, Karim is telling me you don't anymore.

Computer viruses are totally airborne.

Huh.

Wow.

Technology.

Sheriff Sam and the city council claimed their plan to lure the strangers to the dog park worked perfectly and the strangers were rounded up and locked away.

Sam also added, Now that the situation is under control, the dog park is no longer open.

And then they folded an origami sea urchin, elaborate thin spines and everything.

Yeah, no, it's off limits once again, Sam said.

Michelle and Maureen, over at Dark Owl Records, claimed they were playing a copy of Beyoncé's newest album, the follow-up to Lemonade, an album no one else has heard.

According to Michelle, the strangers wanted to hear that album quite badly, and this human desire filled in the hollow that these years in the mud had carved in them, turning them back into non-strangers, into friends.

Michelle and Maureen claimed to be the real heroes, or whatever.

I asked Michelle if I could hear the album, and she said no, because Beyoncé asked her to stop playing it.

Beyoncé called you?

I asked, astonished that Michelle knew such a famous musician.

Well, her lawyers called, Michelle said.

They were really angry and also confused and scared because Beyoncé hasn't actually written or recorded the album yet.

Chad, my former intern who summoned the Beagle in order to destroy the world government, says that he thinks the reversal of his summoning worked.

He is no hero, he says, but perhaps he is not a villain either.

He's pretty okay, I guess, Maureen said.

At least I got my internship credit.

And then there was Hiram McDaniel's brave fighting against the strangers.

If anything was more powerful than our coming together as a town, it was the brute force of a 18-foot tall dragon with five heads.

He fought valiantly for a town he had once threatened, a town who had recently condemned him to death.

And we all saw his bravery, and we all knew that he must be pardoned.

Pardon him, we cried.

He was not pardoned.

They locked him back up.

He is still scheduled for execution.

So, perhaps Hiram was the hero?

But there is

one

more theory.

One more possible story.

Just before coming on the air, I felt a presence behind me.

It was the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home.

We didn't drive them away, Cecil,

she said.

We didn't win.

They chose to leave.

I argued that surely it was because we or someone forced them.

They don't need a reason, she said.

They never did.

They left, and they may return.

It won't be for any reason, but it could be at any time.

They want and need nothing, Cecil.

The computer programming and the dog park and Beyoncé album, it's all noise.

She added, they left because they decided to leave.

And if they return, it will be because they decided to return.

And it will be unrelated to anything we do.

Nightvale.

We live with the illusion of safety.

That we can use caution and care in order to preserve our lives.

The strangers came and we don't know why.

And then they went and we don't know why.

We are

always

in danger.

It was just that while they were here, we were made aware of the danger.

They simply revealed to us that personal control is an illusion.

We live

die,

and we never get to learn any reasons for that.

In any case,

strangers are gone, and we can go back to living the lie of reason and control once again.

And it is a very, very comfortable lie.

Stay tuned next for a deep sigh.

Deep.

Deep.

No, no, no.

Deeper than that.

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.

This episode's weather was the premiere of the brand new song, The Queer Gospel, by Erin McEwen.

Find out more at ErinMcEwan.com.

That's Erin with an E M C K E O W N.

Or see Erin on tour with us this July as our live weather.

Schedule on our website.

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That'd be amazing.

Today's proverb: you can tell a lot about someone by coming into our office and confessing everything you know about them.

Hi friend, it's Kevin.

So many of my old pals from Desert Bluffs came to live here in the desert otherworld with me.

We built quite a little city with roads and a school and a radio station.

I'm back on the air, Cecil.

We even built our new little town to look just like our old little town.

In fact, we just decided to call this new place Desert Bluffs 2.

2 is an also, not the number 2.

Although we debated that.

But we thought it was too charming.

We need to build to that level of charming.

Someday we will.

Someday we'll be so charming, it will hurt.

Hi, we're Meg Bashpiner and Joseph Fink of Welcome to Night Vale.

And on our new show, The Best Worst, we explore the golden age of television.

To do that, we're watching the IMDb viewer-rated best and worst episodes of classic TV shows.

The episode of Star Trek, where Beverly Crusher has sex with a ghost, the episode of The X-Files, where Scully gets attacked by a vicious house cat, and also the really good episodes, too.

What can we learn from the best and worst of great television?

Like, for example, is it really a bad episode, or do people just hate women?

The best worst, available wherever you get your podcasts.