80 - A New Sheriff in Town

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I fought the law and the law won.

I ignored the law and the law won.

I abided by the law and the law won.

Welcome to Nightvale.

There's a new sheriff in town, Nightvale.

The former sheriff, whose name we never knew, whose face we never saw, and whose voice was only ever heard through a vocoder, is gone.

Our former sheriff was secretive, reclusive, really into classical music and kleptocracy, rarely made public appearances, and when he did, it was with a balaclava and cape.

The new sheriff has a more public persona, refusing to wear the traditional mask or cape and actually allowing their first name to be known.

It's Sam, by the way.

The sheriff called a press conference this morning to announce that they are taking over the secret police, effective immediately.

More on this story as it develops.

But first, an editorial.

It's the holidays, Night Vale.

I know many of you will get to spend this time with people you love.

I know I'll be sharing some eggnog with my dearest family, Carlos, Abby, Janice,

others.

But let's not forget those people who quietly make our lives better.

The postal carriers, the baristas and food servers, cab drivers, and the agents from a vague yet menacing government agency who sit outside our homes night after night, recording all of our conversations and activities.

Think how boring a job domestic espionage must be.

They are out there at all hours.

Do they ever get to sleep?

Or spend holidays with families?

Or take vacations?

Who even knows?

So, the other day, swept up in the holiday spirit, I took some delicious Faffernusa cookies out to the windowless van across from my home and gave them to the agent sitting in the back.

Her name is Monica Barnwell and she was just a lovely person.

She appreciated that I recognized all the hard work she has put in the last several years surveilling me and I thanked her for her service to our community.

We had some small talk and then I said, well, gotta get back to my dull life as I looked down at my shoes.

She said, thanks, Cecil.

And then I said,

Monica, would you like me to, I don't know, question the world government or be more anti-war or talk more like a political dissident or something?

Just to make your day a little more exciting.

Oh, that'd be so fun, Cecil.

Thanks, she said.

Then I went back inside and told my boyfriend I wanted to get a beret.

Either red or camouflage.

So Night Vale, this holiday season, think about all the people you may take for granted.

You don't have to give them a gift or anything.

Just a thank you and a smile for all their hard work is enough.

And if you have any particularly juicy secrets, Consider brightening some agent's day by announcing them in a loud, clear voice to the nearest hidden microphone in your home.

The new sheriff has spoken.

They opened their press conference with the following statement.

Citizens of Nightvale, we have a crisis on our hands, and that crisis is.

Then the sheriff performed a 10-minute modern dance piece, set to music by Steve Reich, of course, that frantically yet lyrically conveyed a disdain for the fiscal irresponsibility of of current mayor, Dana Cardinal.

The press corps loved the piece, especially its subtle tribute to choreographer Anna Teresa de Kiersmacher's sweeping repetitive style, even though the sheriff's muscular longitudinal movements obviously indicated heavy training in Lester Horton's methodology.

They applauded politely, and the sheriff continued with their speech.

Quote,

Our secret police force has been secretly requesting budget increases to help cover overtime and new equipment.

Maybe you didn't know about it, the sheriff said, because it's, you know, secret and all.

But we were requesting it secretly.

Don't print that.

It's a secret.

The sheriff went on.

Instead, the mayor has decided to use our money to help the citizens of our unfriendly neighboring town, Desert Bluffs.

We will not only see a rise in crime because we have a mayor who decided to disrupt our stable economy, but We will also face a lack of financial ability to effectively stop this crime.

I will secretly undermine the mayor's authority with the help of the city council and some lizard people I know to keep Night Vale safe.

Hey, don't report my finger quotes around the word safe.

They're secret.

This is my promise to you as your new sheriff.

One reporter then asked,

Um,

what happened to the old sheriff?

The new sheriff responded by painting a canvas entirely blue.

More on this story.

But first, an update on the trial of the century.

Judge Siobhan Azdak has brought in a computer programmer named Melanie Pennington to develop the first ever all-AI jury for the trial of Hiram McDaniels.

Attorneys have had a difficult time finding a jury of peers for McDaniels, as he is literally a five-headed dragon, and outside of his family, seems to be the only one of his kind in the area.

Not knowing how to find actual dragons to serve on the jury, and not willing to have a five-headed dragon unfairly juried by all humans, Judge ASDAC called for science to solve this problem.

Because according to ASDAC, science has solved every other problem.

Both the prosecuting attorney, Troy Walsh, and the court-appointed defense attorney, also named Troy Walsh, agree that this is a fair solution, and artificial intelligence is probably a thing anyone with a MacBook and some Red Bull has already mastered like years ago, they said in unison with identical smiles and matching haircuts.

Pennington has been working with young computer prodigy Megan Wallaby, who is an 11-year-old girl girl who inhabits what once was the body of a Russian sailor and also was only born three years ago.

But then the specifics of her identity and her manifestation within time are really none of your business.

Wallaby is helping Pennington engineer a sentient program that can think exactly like six different five-headed dragons.

Megan has had a real affinity for computers ever since the

uh the incident in the school gym that one time.

The other members of the jury will be humans.

Auditions for those jury slots will be conducted Wednesday at the Nightvale Community Theater.

Four of Hiram's five heads are being brought up on charges of conspiracy and attempted murder of our mayor.

The fifth head, the violet one, is being courted as a key witness by the prosecution, but they're having a difficult time getting a private conversation with it.

The trial is scheduled for early next year.

Oh, by the way, listeners, I ran into former station intern Maureen.

I actually didn't notice her at first as I was listening to an album I just got.

It's a new musical about Alexander Hamilton, who became our nation's fourth president because he successfully killed former Vice President Aaron Burr in a duel.

Anyway, the soundtrack is fantastic, and I was totally engrossed in my lip-syncing and self-styled choreography when I saw Maureen waving to me from down the street.

I saw she was with someone, but his baseball hat was pulled down over his face, so I didn't get a good look at him.

Maureen then asked me for a letter stating she'd completed her internship because she needed those two credits for college.

I reminded her she spent most of her internship flickering in and out of existence, so I couldn't write the letter.

But I was really excited to see she was dating someone.

Then she said something about not assuming people are dating just because they're hanging out, blah, blah, blah.

I don't even like boys, blah, blah.

But I kept staring at the boy in the ball cap, and I did not like him one bit.

I felt like I knew him from somewhere, but I couldn't put my finger on where.

Oh well, I'm sure it won't come up again.

I told Maureen it was a good thing she wasn't into boys because this one seemed like bad news.

Really bad news, I whispered, and Maureen groaned and rolled her eyes in what I assume was agreement.

Then I said, good seeing you and walked away.

She shouted, come back, and where's my credit letter?

while waving her fist and cussing, which is, I guess, how kids today say goodbye.

Oh,

listeners, I need to make an apology.

Earlier in today's show, I mentioned giving some cookies to the agent from a vague yet menacing government agency, and in the process, I revealed her full name as Monica Barnwell and the location of her operation as in front of my home.

Because of this security breach, Monica has apparently lost her job as a secret agent and had to go into hiding for the rest of her life, changing her looks and identity and never seeing her family or friends again.

Really sorry about that one, Monica.

Let's have a look at traffic.

What do you say?

Feet apart, toes together.

Right foot turned 45 degrees.

No need for mathematical precision, but if you have a protractor, break it into pieces and swallow it.

Absorb its numbers like nutrients.

Bend your knees.

Bend other things that allow for bending.

Do not force malleability.

That right foot, though, what's it doing?

Did you move your foot?

Memories aren't real.

Do you control yourself?

Not if you don't remember being in control.

Maybe we pretend to have experienced things so we don't have to actually understand why they happened.

Your foot is flexing now.

Why?

What silent siren song calls your right foot?

You are sitting.

You are passive, still.

Your left foot idols in the dark, complacent and obedient.

Your right foot serves a greater God.

It flexes for its idol, all plastic and steel and full of fire and fumes.

Your right foot wishes for you to pray with a clear mind and open eyes.

This has been Traffic.

And now an update on the new sheriff's press conference.

The sheriff announced that while they couldn't do anything about the money the mayor has already wasted on neighboring towns, the secret police would certainly make it clear to anyone from Desert Bluffs who might be trying to enter Nightvale that they would not be wanted.

The sheriff announced a plan to tag all Desert Bluffs citizens with bright orange hats that have the word unwanted.

written in blinking LED lights across the front.

As the sheriff said this, several journalists shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

This was because their seats were uncomfortable, but they still nodded excitedly about the sheriff's cool new idea.

One journalist pointed out, though, that the orange hat thing would be an added expense, what with having to print up hats and design the LEDs and all that.

And this whole press conference seems to be about our city's lack of funding for new projects, the journalist said.

And the tense silence that followed, the journalist added, Plus, everyone from Desert Bluffs is pretty easy to identify, what with all the blood on their sh.

But then the reporter was helpfully tackled and muzzled by the other reporters who did not want to get off on the wrong foot with the new sheriff.

As the great television newsman Edward R.

Murrow once said, hey,

don't rock the boat, okay?

In the commotion, no one seemed to notice the appearance of several strangers standing around the perimeter of the conference room.

Our new station intern, Karim, was there and claimed the strangers really didn't appear so much as seem to have always been there, even though he was positive they were not there at the start.

They were completely still, except for their breathing.

They were definitely breathing, and everyone heard it.

No one knew what the strangers wanted, but they were certain it wasn't good.

The members of the press stepped backward into the middle of the room.

They waited, and from the silence came a noise.

There came a sudden.

Oh,

it's almost twenty past the hour, listeners.

I'd better get to the weather report.

Here you go.

She knows a thing

pretend

about

me.

She didn't learn

in passing.

She knows I'm scared of the dark.

She knows I'll bleed on command,

she knows I'll shut my mouth.

She'll take my hand

and just

how cruel I can be.

She knows a thing

or two

about me.

She knows a thing

or two

about rain.

She calls it holy

water.

It rained the day she was born.

Oh, how her mama cried.

The rain I felt with her,

I swear was electrified.

She wash

is away

my pain.

She knows a thing

or two

about rain.

Where could she go

that I would not follow,

leaving

my sorrow behind?

She knows a thing

or two

about love.

She learned long

before

me.

The day is already done

before

it has begun.

And she's the only one

that commands

the sun.

And with

her,

I

will

be.

She knows a

or two

about

me

She knows a thing

or two

about me

When you look into the shadows, do you ever feel something looking back?

If you're looking for your next great fiction podcast, something dark, immersive, and just a little unsettling, listen to The Void, the new series from Fable and Folly.

It's made for fans of horror, sci-fi, and seriously spooky stories.

In the town of Milton, the darkness isn't just in your head, it's in the woods.

They call it the void, a cursed expanse that surrounds the town and swallows anyone who dares to leave.

But when a strange old man shares a mysterious pamphlet that promises a path through the void, Sam and his friends set off on a journey that unravels everything that they thought they knew about their home.

The void is dark, atmospheric, and relentlessly tense with cinematic sound design, a full voice cast, and a haunting musical score.

Think Stranger Things meets Super 8, but in podcast form.

Search for the Void wherever you get your podcasts and step carefully.

The woods are watching.

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

You're on a desert island, but not a deserted island.

Someone else is there.

Something else is there.

In the water, surrounding you lurks lurks a mythical beast with two large eyes and many long arms.

You're just now hearing of this beast, but you're not afraid because you don't plan to swim.

Though that water looks nice, you're good at talking yourself into things, and soon you are in the sea, frolicking and splashing.

You even squeal, thinking you're all alone.

But you forgot what I just said.

You're not alone.

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You look down and see the mythical kraken.

You start to scream, but in its other tentacles are bottles of kraken black spiced rum and kraken gold spiced rum.

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It winks and tells you kraken rum is ideal for Halloween cocktails and disappears back into the dark, briny depths.

Visit the official sponsor of Welcome to Night Vale, Kraken Rum.com to release the Kraken this Halloween.

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Like the deepest sea, the Kraken should be treated with great respect and responsibility.

Where was I?

Ah, aha.

They waited.

From the silence came a noise.

Then there came a sudden.

Okay,

yeah.

Basically, everyone was quiet until a reporter asked the sheriff, who are these people?

Will the secret police protect us?

The sheriff did not respond.

It was quiet, save for the stranger's breathing for about three minutes.

Then the questions and cries came in increasing volume and pace.

Who are these people?

Sheriff, why aren't they moving?

What do they want?

Has anyone seen my phone?

We're going to die, etc.

Eventually, the room devolved into panic, members of the press shoving to get out, but in a way that suggested that the exit was through each other.

Then the sheriff raised their hand and announced into the microphone, Everything's fine.

No one believed the sheriff, and the sheriff, knowing this, rephrased the statement.

Some things are not fine, but other things are fine.

This,

and here the sheriff indicated the whole room, is probably fine.

The panicked reporters were now filled with both fear and doubt.

The sheriff stood stupefied as a single bead of sweat rolled down their brow, along the nose, forming a thin, wet crack across their entire face.

No one breathed, except the strangers, of course, who, by the time the droplet had completed its erratic journey, were somehow several feet closer to the press corps, despite never having visibly moved an inch.

Everyone in the room, including the sheriff, knew that death was upon them.

None of them were afraid of death.

They were, instead, terrified of what would come immediately before and immediately after death.

Listeners, like I said earlier, our own intern Karim was part of that press corps today.

So,

to the family of intern Karim,

he's a good intern and is doing great work.

He got back from the press conference a little bit ago saying he had a great time and he also provided some excellent reporting.

According to Karim, the strangers encroached slowly on the remaining journalists, moving without seeming to move.

No one could look the strangers in the eye.

They did not know what the strangers wanted of them, just that their lives were likely over.

Karim said he heard someone crying, another person frantically chanting, and he was trying to take it all in.

But then, he heard a flapping of wings, like a pteranodon or a librarian.

And looking up, he saw a flash of blackness and long feathered creatures descending from a dark sky.

And the next thing he knew, he was back at the radio station, safely interning once again.

Karim called the creatures that saved everyone angels, but I reminded him that there is no such thing, and according to the AP style guide, it is illegal to acknowledge the existence of angels, so this is why.

Oh.

Uh, Kareem is now trying to argue with me about the fluidity of vernacular and the constant evolution of language.

Ugh.

Okay.

All right, listeners, I need to deal with this.

Stay tuned next for the real-life actualization of that dream you had last Tuesday.

You'll make a cute couple, so congratulations.

And as always, 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 produced by Joseph Fink.

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

Original music by Disperition.

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

This episode's weather was She Knows by John Fulbright.

Find out more at johnfulbrightmusic.com.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com or follow us on Twitter at nightvale radio.

Check out welcometonightvale.com for more information on this show as well as all sorts of cool nightvale stuff you can own.

And while you're there, consider clicking the donate link.

That'd be way cool of you.

Today's proverb: there are hot singles in your area.

And they all died exactly 20 years ago on a night just like tonight.

Mike and Alyssa are always trying to outdo each other.

When Alyssa got a small water bottle, Mike showed up with a four-litre jug.

When Mike started gardening, Alyssa started beekeeping.

Oh, come on.

They called a truce for their holiday and used Expedia Trip Planner to collaborate on all the details of their trip.

Once there, Mike still did more laps around the pool.

Whatever.

You were made to outdo your holidays.

We were made to help organize the competition.

Expedia, made to travel.

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 Season, and Casey Missedums.

We're talking Parasite the Home Alone, From Grease 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.

So if you love movies like we do, come along on our cinematic adventure.

Listen to Unspooled wherever you get your podcasts.

And don't forget to hit the follow button.

Hey, Jeffrey Kraner here to tell you about another show from me and my nightvale 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.