32 - Yellow Helicopters

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Honey punches of votes is the forma perfecto den pezad en el accounto familia.

Cono ju las crucientes y mi elberad qual lo niños les encantas.

Ademas delicos trosos de granola, nuces and fruits that all van disputado.

Hani punches devotes to all

benefit to

cry on.

This is what makes us,

us.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Sad news, listeners.

Old Woman Josie says that the angels who have been living with her, helping around the house, and ultimately protecting her from all evils, have disappeared.

It's hard to say just how sad this news is for two important reasons.

One, angels are not real.

And two,

we are not allowed to know about their existence or hierarchical structure.

Josie called this weekend and spoke to Vithya, our station intern.

She said that the angels often leave her for a few hours or days at a time, but they've never been gone for three straight weeks.

She thinks that they are off fighting an important war for good,

but she's worried that maybe she just made them mad or bored.

Angels get bored very easily, Josie said.

which is strange because they are eternal and there is a lot of downtime during immortality.

Vithya told Josie that angels aren't real and that we cannot know such things about them.

But this just made Vithya cry, because if you talk about angels, and you are one who has been secretly chosen by angels for special angelic purposes, you will start crying.

Vithya has been sobbing quite a bit this morning, as a matter of fact.

I keep asking her, Are you okay?

But she just says, Angels aren't real, and then buries her heaving face into her inner elbow and runs off.

Dear listeners, it appears the angels, if they are real and they are not,

have left Night Vale.

And none of us are allowed to know this.

So forget I said anything.

The Night Vale Medical Board wants to know, are you heart healthy?

How healthy is your heart?

Have you ever checked?

Doctors recommend checking your heart at least once a year.

Simply separate the skin on your upper chest and break open the ribs.

Here's a tip.

If you don't have a bone saw handy, just sterilize any old electric saw you might have in your workshed.

Right behind your ribs, kind of to the left, is a potato-shaped muscle lump filled with straw and maybe some incense.

That's your heart.

Pull that out and sew your chest back up.

Wash your heart in warm water, pat dry with a paper towel, and roll flat on a floured surface.

Brown both sides in a sauté pan and eat immediately.

Remember, a healthy heart is a healthy life.

This has been Community Health Tips.

Ladies and gentlemen, we've been getting reports that several yellow helicopters have been seen hovering above town.

We are all aware of the black helicopters, which are world government, and blue helicopters, which are secret police, and the helicopters with detailed murals of diving birds of prey, which are the helicopters that took all the children in Night Vale away a few months ago.

We still don't know what those helicopters are, but they did bring all the children back unharmed and much more well-behaved than before, so they are deemed just as safe as the other helicopters.

But these new yellow helicopters,

no one quite knows.

They tend to hover in packs of three or more in fixed locations for several minutes before moving on.

The city council has said that the helicopters are our guests, and they should be treated as such.

But added that the helicopters, more specifically, are uninvited guests and should be treated with fear, hatred, and uncontrolled panic.

If you have any more information on these yellow helicopters, keep it to yourself.

There's no question they can hear every move, every sentence you make.

Be quiet and stay inside.

They already know.

Let's go now to sports.

After a second straight loss this weekend, Nightvale High School football coach Nasr al-Mujahid expressed some concern over senior quarterback Michael Sandero's poor play.

Last season, the Scorpions won the division title under Sandero's leadership and special powers he had acquired from multiple lightning strikes.

One such advantage was the second head he had grown, which helped him see rushing linebackers and get better reads on zone coverage.

But in the offseason, Sandero had one of his heads surgically removed, leaving him with only the head that speaks Russian.

Angry fans speculate that because Sandero no longer looks like his original self and because he no longer speaks English nor Spanish, he does not have the same rapport with his teammates.

When asked whether or not Sandero was losing the respect of his team, Coach Al Mujahid said, Our boys play together.

Our boys play good games.

We want to

And here he paused, clearly upset with his star quarterback's decision to get off-season surgery without consulting team trainers.

We want to be good football boys, he concluded.

The coach then reached his fingers into his mouth, pulling his tongue slowly out, slowly, slowly not stopping.

He kept pulling his seemingly endless tongue out, staring at the reporters the whole time.

After he stretched it to about two feet, the last reporter left the room, clearly shaken.

The coach remained in his office quietly and with wide eyes, pulling out his enormous tongue.

Larry Leroy, out on the edge edge of town, says that just this morning he was visited by a man in a tan jacket who carried a deer skin suitcase.

Larry said the man approached his farm and asked about how much sunshine he had been getting.

I told him, John Peters, you know the farmer, his imaginary corn crop had been good this summer, and the sun seemed to be doing just fine.

Larry said.

Although some days there's no sunrise sunrise at all, and on other days the sunrise is extremely loud.

Larry added that this was a pretty strange question, asking about how much sunshine he'd been getting, as the sun comes up every day, save those two or three sunless days last week.

Larry said he was a nice enough fellow, though, named Emmett.

Larry said he couldn't remember exactly what Everett looked like, nor what his last name was.

When asked who Everett was, Larry replied, the fellow in the tan jacket.

When told he just said the man's name was Emmett, Larry replied, yes, Ernest.

I said that.

Don't bog me down, son.

Then he slapped the reporter's tape recorder, making the following loud thumping noise.

Larry said that after the man left his home, he saw a dark black line in the sky coming from the heavens down to near where old woman Josie lives, down by the old car lot.

He said, he thinks it was probably something to do with those weird, tall friends of hers that fly around and make loud trumpet noises and will not stop smiling all the time.

When asked if he meant angels, Larry replied, Don't bog me down, son,

and then started weeping.

Angels aren't real,

Larry said through quick breaths and incomprehensible tears.

As part of our service to our town, Night Vale Community Radio is taking another moment to allow one of the candidates for mayor to make a brief statement.

The following is from Hiram McDaniels.

Hi, I'm Hiram McDaniels.

You've heard a lot of things from my opponent about how the night sky is beautiful but sad and how sagebrush is a very important smell.

You've also heard that I am literally a five-headed dragon.

All of that is completely correct.

But what you haven't heard is that I'm literally a five-headed dragon.

Who cares?

Now this is also my campaign slogan.

I'm literally a five-headed dragon.

Who cares?

And what you haven't heard is that I care about small business owners.

What you haven't heard is that I care about the future of our children.

What you haven't heard is that I care about the future of our small children business owners.

Have you ever heard the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home say that?

No, you haven't.

Really, you shouldn't be able to hear her say anything at all.

She doesn't have a mouth.

I have five mouths.

What you haven't heard is...

Do you hear the beating of my terrible wings?

Do you feel the flames lick at the corners of a life you once thought belonged to you?

Sorry about that.

My greenhead got excited.

We all have human foibles.

I don't.

I'm literally a five-headed dragon.

But what you haven't heard is my new plan for an expanded park system and more youth sports program.

And you will never hear hear it?

It's a secret and buried in a secret place.

That's a good point, Purplehead.

So vote for me, Iron McDaniel.

The faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home is all about politics as usual.

Also, she doesn't have a mouth, and that's weird.

A stillness touches the most frantic heart as we all look up in awe and terror.

A sudden shout of fire, and all is forgiven.

A gentle touch of flame, and all is as if it never was ira mcdaniel what you haven't heard can't hurt you

listeners we received word from old woman josie that half a dozen yellow helicopters are circling her home at this moment She also said that she's receiving no sunlight.

She says all of her clocks tell her it's the middle of the day, but that she is receiving no sunlight.

And yes, I'm looking at our own station clocks, including the wristwatch Carlos gave me for our one-month anniversary.

The watch he said is the one true timepiece in all of Night Vale.

And it is, indeed, the middle of the day.

I have only been on the air a few minutes, and before I arrived in this studio, the sun was definitely out, no clouds in the sky.

Josie also told us that she used her old opera glasses to look more closely at the helicopters.

Just an aside for our younger listeners, Josie was the chairwoman of the Night Vale Opera for many years, until it folded in the early 1990s when a massive puppy infestation destroyed the theater's infrastructure.

Josie said each helicopter has a large triangular logo with an orange S in the middle.

She doesn't know what that means, but she thinks the darkness enveloping her home is the angels'

last act to try to protect her.

Wherever they have gone, they have left behind a protective shade.

keeping out the helicopters and all other dark forces.

I reminded her that angels aren't real, and she said, as if I hadn't even interrupted, that if she falls, so does this town.

There was a long pause, and then she said, We never go bowling anymore, Cecil.

Why is that?

I don't know, I reflected.

There has been a tiny underground army living under the bowling alley, and they've declared war on all of us.

They injured my new boyfriend.

Also,

I have a new boyfriend.

Listen, we should totally get the team back together and go to League Night again, just like old times.

I would like that, Cecil, she said.

But then her voice slowed, turning cold.

as if we were strangers with wrong numbers.

I'm afraid the sunlight has come back.

And the phone went silent.

Listeners, I do not know what is happening or to whom these helicopters belong, but I do know that we must protect our town, Night Vale.

Protect it from all outsiders, whether they are flying machines or tiny war-mongering civilizations, or simply neighbors who don't say the Pledge of Allegiance loudly enough.

I hope Josie is safe.

I hope you are safe.

I hope we all live to see tomorrow's sunrise or whatever day the next sunrise is.

But for now,

I give you

the weather.

Un sueño de negras alas te cubrio.

Alolejo soyuncan que se brompeo.

Bajo la renas infoder salir.

Quí se dar te mis ganas de vivir.

Mis ganas

de

Atra ve este aquella pueritade cristal.

Tusojos per didos quería encontrar.

Unilo invisible envelle vas ya ti.

Prefiero pensar que aunte a cuerdas de mi

que aunte a cuerdas de mi.

ollecho a volara volare pa la braz de paper

E le

tar deser yunar vol se encendia el noche sin saber que a ser

sin

saber que acer.

Hoy todos tus vezos y gual que una flore.

Estan enterrados en mi corazón.

La yubia gritando que tu ya nuestas me tiende el paraguas de la soledad

de la

soledad

Poycho a volar, a volar pa la braz de pape

ene la

tarcer.

Yunar vol séncendi a la noche, sin saber que acer,

Prefero pensar que a unte a cuer das de me

que a unte a cuer das de me

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listeners i just received word from vithya who went downtown to the city records office she said she found several emmets everetts and earnests

but there was one particular file that stuck out to her and she copied that file and put that copy copy in her backpack, and then walked out into the street, ready to begin her investigation into the identity of the man in the tan jacket.

But, according to witnesses, Vithya found herself caught up in what looked like a strong wind.

She lifted slightly off the ground.

Witnesses all agreed that she began to elongate.

She began to glow a deep black, a dark, pulsing aura,

and amidst the sounds of bold trumpets and melancholy cellos, and even the haunting call of a muted French horn, Vithya ascended to heaven.

To the family of Vithya, let me say that she was a very good intern, and while angels are not real, we are certain she is in a better place, whatever that place might be.

She has become a better thing, whatever that thing might be.

Know that your daughter did not die in vain, and perhaps, given the tenuous reality of existence, she may not have died at all, for it's debatable whether any of us ever truly live.

The witnesses all agreed that Vithya was no longer real, and that we were no longer allowed to know anything about her.

It was a lovely sight, said one witness.

I cannot even describe the beauty of her ascension, said another.

You kind of did, though, said another witness, who was wearing a fedora, by saying you cannot describe something that is a sort of apophysis, a paralipsis, if you will, which gives the object an implied description through non-description, he continued.

Plus, the word indescribable carries with it a universal connotation and is itself a description.

Here, let me explain.

But the other witnesses moved a little ways up the sidewalk so they could no longer hear the man.

They said nothing to one another.

They just stood in a circle, sharing the knowledge that they had seen something they should never have seen.

They looked one another in the eyes.

They breathed in unison.

They smiled politely, intimately, knowingly, until one of them, in fact, each of them as individuals, decided that the moment had passed.

and they parted ways.

They will likely never see the others again, and if they do, they will be but unacquainted pedestrians.

But before they left, the witnesses said that some low-flying yellow helicopters began dropping orange leaflets onto the city streets.

The leaflets read,

Strex Corp Synernists, Inc.

Look around you,

Strex.

Look inside you.

Strex.

Go to sleep.

Strex.

Believe in a smiling God.

Strex Corp.

It is everything.

Oh, oh no.

Uh,

dear listeners, we must issue an apology.

Those helicopters are completely

safe.

Even safer than safe.

In fact, Strexcorp recently bought our little radio station from the mysterious unseen forces who founded it centuries ago.

I'm glad to know that Josie will be okay,

and that Strexcorp

has come to Nightvale.

Rest easy, listeners.

Knowing that this was all just a simple misunderstanding.

But now we fully understand everything that is happening, and we are not misunderstanding anything else at all.

We are completely

safe.

Stay tuned next for the sound of slow, steady dripping and occasional screams.

Good night, Night Vale.

Good night.

Welcome to Night Vale's a production of commonplace books.

It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Craner and produced by Joseph Fink.

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

The voice of Hiram McDaniels was Jackson Public.

Original music by Disparition.

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

This episode's weather was Palabra's De Papel by Nelson Poblete.

Find out more at nelsonpoblete.com.

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

Check out commonplacebooks.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, sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never quite describe the pain.

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 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.

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.

Are you squeamish about horror movies, but kind of want to know what happens?

Or are you a horror lover who likes thoughtful conversation about your favorite genre?

Join me, Jeffrey Kraner, and my friend from Welcome to Nightville, Cecil Baldwin, for our weekly podcast, Random Number Generator, Horror Podcast Number 9, where we watch and discuss horror movies in a random order.

Find, here's the short version, Random Horror 9, wherever you get your podcasts.

Boo.