45 - A Story About Them

Welcome to Night Vale has a lot of really amazing merch, and it's all at welcometonightvale.com.

And you click on store, we've got t-shirts, leggings, blankets, stickers, posters, mugs, bags, holiday carts, throw pillows, blankets, etc., etc.

Oh, ugly Christmas sweaters, whatever you need.

Even if you've been to our merch store before, it's different now.

We're constantly taking down old things and putting up new things.

So if something looks pretty dope to you, get it soon because who knows if it'll be there for long.

I'm really right now, I just got a bunch of stuff.

I'm really enjoying my mutated vegetable tea towel designed by Jessica Hayworth, my University of What It Is sweatshirt, and of course, my Moonlight All-Night Diner coffee mug.

Plus, we have dozens more things for you or someone you love for the holidays or just on a lark.

Go to welcometonightveil.com and click on store.

If you're dying for the next batch of Wednesday season 2 to drop on Netflix, then I'll let you in on a secret.

The Wednesday Season 2 official wocast is already here.

Dive deeper into the mysteries of Wednesday with the Ultimate Companion Video Podcast.

Join the frightfully funny Caitlin Riley along with her producer, Thing, as she sits down with the cast and crew.

Together, they'll unravel each shocking twist, dissect the dynamics lurking beneath, unearth Adam's family lore, and answer all of your lingering questions.

Guests include Emma Myers, Joy Sunday, Hunter Doohan, Steve Buscemi, Fred Armison, Catherine Zeta Jones, the Joanna Lumley, also show creators Al Goh and Miles Miller, and of course, Wednesday herself, Jenna Ortega, plus many, many more.

With eight delightfully dark episodes to devour, you'll be drawn into the haunting halls of Nevermore Academy deeper than ever before.

But beware, you know where curiosity often leads.

The Wednesday season 2 official wocast is available in audio and video on todoom.com or wherever it is you get your podcasts.

This is a story about them,

says the man on the radio.

And you are concerned, because this is not a story you were ever supposed to hear.

Welcome to Night Vale.

This is a story about them.

They sit in a car much like your own, perhaps.

Do you drive a black sedan with tinted windows, into which innocent people disappear forever?

Then it is very, very much like your own.

There are two men in the car.

The man who is not tall watches a house through the window.

He makes no attempt to hide what he is doing.

The car is similarly clear about its existence.

What they do is secret, but there is no need to hide it.

Not in this town.

For instance, This day, the radio has just started narrating what they do as they do it, for all to hear.

The man who is not tall glances down at the radio, not annoyed or concerned or afraid.

He just looks at it, because that is what his eyes do right then.

And then he looks back at the house as the man on the radio says that he looks back at the house.

The one who is not short is supposed to be watching the house as well.

Four eyes are better than two.

Seven eyes are better than three,

and so on.

But he is not watching the house.

He is looking down at a crossword puzzle, on which he has just written teeth for the fifth time.

This iteration fits neatly into the horizontal of another.

He considers the crossword for a long moment.

His partner only considers the house.

He, the one with the crossword, turns to the other and begins to say, what is a five-letter word for the discrete bone structures attached?

But he is cut off.

There he is, says the one who is not tall.

They exit the car and approach a man who is leaving his house.

The man does not appear surprised to see them.

People rarely are.

What is this?

He says, but he leaves a period at the end of the sentence, not a question mark.

They take the man and put a blindfold over his eyes, and they put him in the car.

This is not a story about the man.

You don't care about him.

The two men and the car, along with the other blindfolded man, leave Coyote Corners, a quiet development of old tract homes, the same way they had come.

Openly, not thought about, feared,

secret.

I was thinking of inviting you to dinner, says the one who is not short.

He often voices what he is thinking of doing and rarely does any of those things.

That would have been nice, says the one who is not tall.

Yes, it would have been, says the other, a tad dreamily, perhaps.

That is not an adverb that is supposed to crop up in a car of this description.

Few adverbs are.

Says the man with the hood over his head.

Forget him.

This is a story about them.

That part of their work done, they drive to the moonlight all-night diner.

It is not night, but the neon is on, an insubstantial wisp of green in a larger, insubstantial wisp of blue.

They are narrated along by the radio, until the man who is not tall turns it off.

In the parking lot, the man who is not short looks up.

Hey, what is that?

he says, indicating the clear nothing nothing of the sky.

What is what?

says the other.

I saw something, he says, for a moment, just there, for a moment.

He points again.

Again there is nothing.

There couldn't have been less.

Oh, I'm sure it was,

continues the man who is not short.

but he does not say what he is sure it was.

The man who is not tall considers his partner for a moment and shakes his head.

Inside the diner, inside a booth.

After menus and waters, they dig into matching turkey clubs.

The diner smells like rubber and bread.

The man on the radio tells them this quietly from staticky speakers set into a foam-tile ceiling.

Read any good books lately?

says the man who is not tall.

Of course not says the other.

Good says the first.

Bites of sandwich, bits of thyme.

I've done the living room in a different colour, says the other, who is not short.

It was one colour, it is now different.

I hope that I will feel differently as a result.

Hm,

says the first.

He never knows what to say to things like that.

He wishes he did.

He offers the man who is not short some fries, instead, to indicate what he feels about their friendship, but cannot say.

The man who is not short eats a couple.

He knows what the man who is not tall means by offering the fries, because they have worked together a long time, and also because the radio explained it to him just then.

Outside, the blindfolded man sits in the car, the desert heat trapped within by the glass.

Don't worry about it.

After lunch, the three men drive to the industrial part of town, which was set aside by the city council to be the industrial part of town some time ago.

Yes, the council said, this area around here will be pretty industrial.

Warehouses and factories and things like that.

Some graffiti and chain link fences.

They cut a ribbon that they were carrying with them.

The council always carries a ribbon for that purpose.

The car pulls into a warehouse.

The radio is back on and still talking about them.

The warehouse is cavernous and full of crates.

Some of them tick.

Others do not.

They form an angled hillscape of of corners and flats, up and away in every direction.

The warehouse smells like rotting wood and dryer sheets.

Their supervisor waits for them with crossed arms and a cross expression.

A disgrace, she says.

Let me tell you something, she says, and says nothing more.

The two men indicate the blindfolded man in the back seat of the car.

Ah,

ah,

she says, waving vaguely at the blindfolded man.

Someone has to be to blame, she says, pointing at everything but herself.

It was very simple, she says.

We take buildings from the miniature city we discovered under the bowling alley.

We put them in crates.

We ship the crates out to various warehouses in the desert, and, as as a result, our interests are furthered.

It could not be more simple.

The man who is not short is not paying attention.

Something has caught his eye.

It is so dark and distant what he sees.

It seems like it cannot possibly be real.

Hey, look at that.

He says, pointing at what he sees.

The man who is not tall and their supervisor look where he is pointing.

There is nothing but the ceiling of the warehouse with some dust and light in between.

Very good, says the supervisor.

Yes.

Good, says the man who is not tall.

They turn back to each other.

Oh, is it?

says the man who is not short.

He squints up at what he sees.

I was worried that it wasn't very good at all.

Anyway,

says the supervisor, now the city has declared war in revenge, although they haven't yet figured out it was us stealing the buildings.

They just declared a general war, in the name of their god, Hunto Kar, on everyone from the upper world,

as they call us.

This war has been raging for almost a year now.

People have died, yes, but listen.

People die all the time for all different kinds of reasons.

I wouldn't worry if I were you.

Hold on, says the supervisor.

She mumbles instructions into a walkie-talkie, and a series of yes, sirs, and no, sirs, and hawk-shrieking sounds come in response.

Sorry, she says when she is done.

I didn't have to do that now.

It wasn't urgent at all.

I understand,

says the man who is not tall.

He understands the second most of the three people in the room.

And then the voice on the radio coming from the car changes its story.

They all notice.

They are told by the radio that they are noticing before they notice, because that part of the narration happens before the story changes.

Even the man on the radio does not know why he changes the story or where this other story comes from.

He does not always understand everything he does.

Sometimes he does understand,

but he hides it from you.

In any case, here is a new story, one he tells without regard for why he is telling it.

Somewhere else, not here,

there is a woman wandering a desert, a desert not unlike this one, but not like this one either.

It's not the same desert.

I need to clarify that.

Also with her are great masked warriors, women and men of enormous size, who listen as she speaks and follow her as she walks.

She is winning them over because she has survived so much.

She is young, but in her experience she is as lost and scared and ancient as the rest of them.

Her feet hurt.

They hurt.

She keeps walking, and they keep following.

Beyond her, no longer just on the horizon, much closer than that, is a light spreading across the desert.

The light is alive and malicious and vast and encroaching.

It buzzes and shines and everything about it hurts those who are close to it.

and destroys those who are within it.

It spreads not just in the desert I am talking about, it spreads in different forms in deserts not unlike it.

In deserts very similar to the one I am talking about now,

not always in the same form, not always as light at all,

but with the same intent to devour

everything

until there is nothing left.

It is is a smiling god of terrible power and ceaseless appetite.

The woman wanders the desert, followed by the masked warriors.

They look back at the light on the horizon, and they know that the time when it will reach their little patch of land is coming.

and so many other little patches of land as well.

Soon they will have have to turn.

Soon, they will have to face it head on.

And not just that woman and her desert.

Not just her at all.

The man on the radio returns to the story about them.

He does not know how he knew what he just said.

Or why he would tell it to you.

He is innocent and kind.

But anyway, this is a story about them, and so you do not care about anyone but them.

They and their supervisor are listening with interest to what just happened on the radio.

The man who is not tall has taken notes.

I'll look into that, he says.

It is exactly as we suspected, he does not say.

He did not suspect any of that.

Someone has to be to

the supervisor says again, gesturing this time directly at the blindfolded man.

I understand

completely, says the man who is not tall.

Me too, says the man who is not short, although he does not understand.

He usually does not.

His partner understands for him, and it all works out okay.

As they leave the warehouse and the supervisor and the piles of wooden crates, the voice on the radio says something about the weather.

Hook, light, and sinker, drop it down to the bottom.

Butterfly flow, flicker saw to the top Kill for the thrill, cut it, stick it where you got em Circle rolling under, running right to the star Where's your mother?

Fall down dead, dirty my dirty mouth, pretty little head

I wish you were here, I wish you'd make my bed Dirty my dirty mouth, pretty little

Sister, bring your hair and push it down below.

Catch yourself a look, girl, let it go, go, go.

Wanna have your baby, but I'm so, so slow.

Don't you worry, honey, cause I can't stand though.

But where's your mother?

Fall down dead.

Dirty mine, dirty mind, dirty little head.

I wish you were here, I wish you'd make my bed.

Dirty mine, dirty most pretty little head.

take a breath, my heart, and hold your tongue.

It's just a conk in the ear of all my love.

Take a breath, my heart, and hold your tongue.

It's just a cong in the ear of all my love,

all my love,

all my love,

all my love,

all my love,

all my love,

all my love,

all my love.

Where's your mother?

Fall down dead, dirty mud, dirty mouth, pretty little head

I wish you were here, I wish you'd make my bed Dirty my dirty mouth, pretty little head

But where's your mother?

Fall down dead, dirty mad, dirty mouth, pretty little head

I wish you were here, I wish you'd make my bed.

Dirty mind, dirty mouth, pretty little head.

But where's your mother?

Fall down dead, dirty mind, dirty mouth, pretty little head.

I wish you were here, I wish you'd make my bed.

Dirty mind, dirty mouth, pretty little head.

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 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.

Something wraps itself around you.

It lifts you high in the air, waving you about at dizzying heights.

You 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.

I love kraken rum, you say.

It's bold, smooth, and made with a blend of spices.

You high-five the beast as it sets you back down on the island, along with the bottles of kraken rum.

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 Kraken this Halloween.

Copyright 2025, Kraken Rum Company, Kraken Rum.com.

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

Summer is turning to fall, which, frankly, rude of summer to do.

But don't worry, Quince is here with fall staples that will last for many falls to come.

We're talking cashmere, denim.

This is quality that holds up at a price that you frankly just won't believe.

We're talking super soft, 100% Mongolian cashmere sweaters, which sounds like the kind of item that you need a credit check to even imagine, and it starts at just $60.

Plus, Quince partners directly with Ethical Factories, so you get top-tier fabrics and craftsmanship at half the price.

I got an adorable dress for my daughter, which she helped pick out.

She wore it at her first day of school.

She loves that dress.

It has pockets, if you know, you know.

I also got myself a mulberry silk sleeping mask.

And every night since has been a luxury, I have never gotten better sleep than with mulberry silk draped upon my eyes.

Experience what it must be like to be wealthy without having to, you know, have a bank account that doesn't make you wince when you check it.

Keep it classic and cool this fall with long-lasting staples from Quince.

Go to quince.com/slash nightfail for free shipping on your order and 365-day returns.

That's quince.com/slash nightfail.

Free shipping and 365 day returns.

Quince.com/slash nightfail.

By the time they leave the warehouse, it is night.

Or maybe the sun has just set early.

The sunrise that morning had been particularly loud and strenuous.

You know, says the man who is not short, looking down at his crossword, I worry every time that I'm not going to finish these when I start them.

The future where I have finished seems so distant from the present where I have started.

I wouldn't worry about that, says the man who is not tall.

But you would,

I know.

I know you would worry about so many things.

I do worry about that, about you worrying.

Do you think everything will turn out all right?

says the man who is not short.

I mean everything,

he says to clarify.

Absolutely everything

he says as further clarification.

Yes,

says the other.

I do.

He does not.

I do

he says again.

He does not.

He glares at the radio.

They drive past the moonlight all night, a glass box of bad food and good people.

They pass Teddy Williams' Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, badly damaged by the war, but still running its weekly bowling league.

They pass by City Hall.

which is covered in a yellow tarp, stamped with an orange triangle.

Moving farther out, with absolute purpose, they pass by the used car lot, alive with the wolves that populate all car lots at night, and Old Woman Josie's house, silent and empty for months now.

Then, the town is behind them.

and they are in the scrublands and the sand wastes.

They stop the car and get out.

Pebbles crunch in the sand in response to their movement.

The radio murmurs behind the closed doors of the car.

The headlights illuminate only a few stray plants and the wide, dumb eyes of some nocturnal animal.

The two men don't look back at nightvale.

They look forward.

at the darkness that stretches out as far as anyone here can imagine.

Most anyone here tries to imagine as little as possible.

There is no need to imagine here.

Well,

get him out,

says the man who is not tall.

And the man who is not short opens the rear door of the car and guides the blindfolded man out.

The blindfolded man stumbles a little, but not much.

And there isn't anything specific he stumbles on.

He stumbles like a stage direction, like the next in a bulleted list of items.

Put him over there.

The man who is not tall says unnecessarily, we all know the drill.

We all know how this and everything else ends.

The blindfolded man walks fifteen feet or so in the direction of the darkness, so that the men and the car are between him and the distant dome of light that is night veil.

He walks to a certain point in the cool sand and then stops,

partly because the man who is not short guided him there, but mostly because he has taken himself there, as we all eventually take ourselves to that point where we will not be able to take ourselves any farther.

The man who is not tall, still, by the car,

pulls out a knife.

It is not stained, does not look used, but he speaks its brutal history in his posture, in the way he holds it.

The blindfolded man breathes normally, his shoulders loose,

his covered face slightly down.

His feet sink a little in the sand.

Behind him, in practical terms as far away as anything has ever been, is the town he is from.

The man who is not short, standing next to the blindfolded man, looks up at the sky.

The man who is not tall walks up to join them with the knife.

What

is that?

says the man who is not short, pointing at the sky.

What is

what?

says the man who is not tall from just behind him.

That planet up there, says the man who is not short.

It's so dark and so close.

It's looming.

It's so close.

I wonder if I could

he reaches up.

The man who is not tall makes a gesture with the hand that holds the knife.

The man who is not short is no longer reaching up, he is no longer standing up.

In many ways, he no longer exists at all.

Someone has to be to blame,

says the man who is not tall.

Or no, he sighs this.

Or no, he thinks it out loud, but it comes out more thought than speech.

He looks up at a night sky that is absolutely clear of anything but void and stars and the occasional meteor and mysterious lights moving at impossible speeds and the faint glimmer of spy satellites looking back down from the nothing to the something.

I'm sorry, he says, although not to anyone that still exists and can hear him.

He just says it, leaves some undirected words in the hot night air, and then returns to the car.

He may be crying.

I know if he is or not, but I am choosing not to tell you,

because this is private information and you have no real need to know it.

The blindfolded man removes his blindfold and looks down at the man who once was not short

and now is not anything at all.

He,

the man who can see, is also not short.

He follows the man who is not tall to the car.

The man, not short, not blindfolded, gets in the passenger seat.

Always an unpleasant business, he says.

He does not comment further.

He does not need to.

Looking forward to working with you, says the man who is not tall.

The same to you,

says the man who is not short.

Ah, the same as well

to you.

This has been a story about them.

The radio moves on, news, traffic, political opinions and corrections to political opinions.

But somewhere in the desert there is one person who does not move on.

This was also a story about him.

Stay tuned next for as long as you can until you cannot stay tuned anymore.

Good night, Night Vale.

Good night.

Welcome to Night Vale is a production of commonplace books.

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 Pretty Little Head by Eliza Rickman.

Find out more at Elizarickman.com.

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

Check out welcome to nightvale.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 cool of you.

Today's proverb.

Knock, knock, who's there?

Orange?

Orange who?

Orange you glad I didn't say your mother's in the hospital?

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Is there anything I can do?

Listen, I'll drive you over there.

We'll leave right now.

Grab a coat.

It's a little cold out.

I'm so sorry.

Bundle and safe with Expedia.

You were made to follow your favorite band and 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 shear 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 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.

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

Listen to Unschooled wherever you get your podcasts.

And don't forget to hit the follow button.

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.

That's in July.

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

We'll also be doing Philly down to Florida in September.

And we'll be going from Austin all the way up through the middle of the country into Toronto, Canada in October.

And then we'll be doing the West Coast plus the Southwest plus Colorado in January of 2026.

You can find all of the show dates at welcometonightvale.com slash live.

Listen, this brand new live show is so much fun.

It is called Murder Night in Blood Forest and it stars Cecil Baldwin, of course, Symphony Sanders, me, and live original music by Disparition, and who knows what other special guests may come along for the ride.

These tours are always so much fun, and they are for you, the Die Hard fan, and you, the Night Vale new kid alike.

So feel comfortable bringing your family, your partner, your co-workers, your cat, whatever.

They don't got to know what a night veil is to like the show.

Tickets to all of these live shows are on sale now at welcometonightvale.com slash live.

Don't let time slip away and miss us when we are in your town because otherwise we will all be sad.

Get your tickets to our live U.S.

plus Toronto tours right now at welcometonightveld.com/slash live.

And hey, see you soon.