25 - One Year Later

Here's something I say a lot, but it's just the truth.

We couldn't make this show without our Patreon.

It is by far the biggest way we are able to pay everyone working on the show, from the writers to the actors, to Jessica, who does original artwork for every single episode, to Joella, who does all the back-end business stuff.

All of these people are able to pay their bills, and we are all able to put out the show because of our Patreon.

We try to give some cool rewards as a thank you.

Four bonus episodes a year that are not released on the main feed, ad-free versions of our episodes, monthly Zoom hangouts with the Nightfall Writers, director's notes on every episode, a brand new book club we are launching led by the Nightfall Writers, and even the chance for you to appear in future Nightfall episodes as a character.

So, all of that is there, but also just the knowledge that this thing exists in the world that otherwise wouldn't, and you are part of that.

So, consider heading to welcometonightvale.com and clicking on Patreon and becoming a patron or upgrading your existing membership.

We deeply, truly appreciate it.

Thank you.

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A friendly desert community where the sun is still hot, the moon still beautiful, and mysterious lights still pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.

Welcome to Nightfail.

Word is in about a disturbance at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun complex.

There has been the sound of chanting and machinery from under the pin retrieval area of lane 5.

And Teddy Williams has changed all the bowlers' names on the electronic scorecards to

They

Are Here.

This is causing some confusion and has completely ruined Jeremy Godfrey's 50th birthday party, which had rented out a few lanes for the afternoon.

Jeremy was last seen drinking a light beer out of a plastic cup, shaking his head sadly as he swished the liquid around and looking out the window at the sky, mostly void, partially stars.

Teddy Williams was last seen howling, commanding his militia to surround the pen retrieval area and prepare for an attack.

And Carlos,

sweet Carlos, brave Carlos, was last seen approaching the entrance to the underground city, saying he was going to get to the bottom of this, that someone had to, and that Teddy Williams was deranged.

Teddy Williams was then last seen saying, Oh yeah, oh yeah, say that to my face, big shot.

But Carlos, my poor Carlos, was already gone.

I fear, Night Vale, I fear for what we know, I fear for what we don't know.

I fear for what we don't yet know that we don't know.

The Apache tracker stood outside of the bowling alley, glowering at the entrance and shaking his head.

I remind you that this is the white guy who likes to dress in a cartoonish approximation approximation of a Native American and claims to have mystical powers.

He's a real racist jerk and no one likes him.

And the fact that he recently disappeared and reappeared as an actual Native American changes nothing.

And neither does the fact that he can now only speak Russian.

He is still the same embarrassment to our town he always was.

Anyway, he's glowering at the entrance, arms crossed, wearing one of his stupid plastic feather headdresses.

But back to Carlos.

Carlos, the scientist.

Perfect of stature and bearing, perfect of tone and taught,

and time having fixed what the barbarous barber Telly so treacherously snipped away, perfect of hair.

One year,

one

year

later.

Listeners,

listeners,

one

single year since two major events in our town's history.

First, the opening of our lovely state-of-the-art dog park, which is forbidden and which I will not mention again.

Second, and most important,

it is

one year since the arrival in Night Vale of our most beloved and singular citizen.

He came to us to investigate our town because he said it was scientifically extraordinary and downright bizarre.

We had no idea what he was talking about, but with his golden voice ringing out from the bell of his mouth, who among us could argue with the content of such perfect speech?

Oh,

just

one short year ago.

I had arranged a small ceremony to mark this occasion and invited Carlos to attend.

However, it looks like he will be...

delayed.

But I am not worried.

I am not upset.

I know that Carlos will be here for the ceremony.

I have the trophy here in my hand.

I am holding the trophy and I am not upset.

Carlos will be here.

He will.

I am holding the trophy.

In other news, a commercial airliner appeared today inside the home of surprised Night Vale citizen Becky Canterbury, who said she was about to get in the shower when it roared down her hallway and then disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived.

There is no conclusive evidence that this is the same airliner last seen in the Night Vale Elementary Gym one year ago, but we have jumped to that conclusion and will defend it against all naysayers, violently and without mercy.

Our truths may or may not be true, but they are ours, and we stand by them, even as the experts and sceptics hold aloft clipboards and intone to us about snow and mountains.

Becky added that she would like to take that shower now, and that she has no idea how we managed to arrive for an interview mere seconds after the incident occurred.

My doors are locked, she said.

My windows, too.

I've had my eyes shut for years.

How did you get in here?

The local chapter of the NRA

has begun market testing some possible new slogans.

These include: Guns don't kill people,

blood loss and organ damage does

guns don't kill people, people

kill guns.

A list of things that kill people.

One, conceivably anything.

Two, not guns.

Guns don't kill people.

We are all immortal souls living temporarily in shelters of earth and meat.

And

if you say guns kill people one more time, I will shoot you with a gun and you will, coincidentally, die.

To vote on the new slogan, simply fire a gun at the object or person that best represents your choice.

Parents.

Let's talk about safety when taking your children to play out in the scrub scrublands and the sand wastes.

All children in Night Vale are missing this week, so there's no current safety issues.

Hope we find them.

Oh

happy day.

I have just received word that Carlos returned from the entrance to the city, gesturing to everyone around and asking them to follow him.

He led them into the pin retrieval area, which is not an easy place for a crowd.

So there was a lot of crouching and saying, excuse me, excuse me.

But soon enough, They were all arrayed on the clifftop overlooking that dreaded subterranean metropolis.

Teddy Williams and his militia, and the folks who had come for Jeremy's birthday party, and Jeremy himself,

still holding his plastic cup of beer and leaning morosely against the wall, pointedly refusing to look where everyone else was.

This

was the first time

most of them had seen the city.

It seemed so distant below them, its strange spires small and far away.

The windows in the buildings, alight with the fire of hostile life, were tiny dots from where they stood.

They could hear the footsteps of the approaching army.

The chanting.

Many of them quaked with fear.

But not Carlos.

My brave Carlos stepped out into the pit, climbing down the slope.

At first, onlookers were horrified at his lunatic descent.

Then they were confused.

as he got to the city much faster than they expected.

And then

there was

panic as their eyes told them a story they could not understand,

let alone believe.

Behold,

said Carlos, standing in the center of the underground city,

this is not an enormous city miles below the earth.

It is a very small city about 10 feet below the Earth, populated by tiny people who have had to spend a year slowly climbing the 10 feet to our world.

He gestured at the spires, which came up approximately to his knees.

We have nothing to fear.

Well,

if Carlos says it,

I will happily

repeat it.

We

have nothing to fear

and

never

did.

The city council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens and the hierarchy of angels.

The reminder reminder is that you still should not know anything about this.

The structure of heaven and the angelic organizational chart are still privileged information.

Also,

angels aren't real.

I really get tired of having to say this, a city council representative said to a group of disgruntled angels.

Angels aren't real, they just aren't.

The angels became unruly and were dispersed by a thunderclap from heaven.

Oh,

a truly fearful thing has happened, listeners.

Carlos,

standing triumphantly in the toy-scaled city, was attacked by tiny people using projectiles and explosives.

He fell back to the side of the small hole in the pin retrieval area of lane five.

Blood

welled through his shirt,

and here I am,

stuck in my booth,

useless,

only able to narrate and not to help.

He staggered, fell to his knees.

So much blood.

He collapsed completely.

Curse this town that saw Carlos die.

Curse me.

Curse it all.

Let us take a moment to

let us take

this moment

ladies and gentlemen let us mourn the past

I can't

I can't

I am still holding this trophy

I

We go now to this pup pre-recorded public service announcement

Scientists and science in general would like to remind you that some things exist and some things do not.

Usually you can apply the simple test of seeing if it is there.

If it is there, it exists.

If not, it probably doesn't.

But it might just be currently existing somewhere else.

Existence is tricky, the the scientists say.

Research shows this.

For instance, there is that house in the housing development of Desert Creek out back of the elementary school.

The house that doesn't exist.

It seems like it exists.

Like it's just right there when you look at it.

And it's between two other identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not.

But it does not exist.

They have proved this with science.

The scientists still haven't gotten up the nerve to ring the doorbell and find out what happens.

Do you want to do it?

They'll pay you $5 if you do.

Just ring it once, okay?

We'll be watching from back here.

You'll probably be fine.

Ladies, gentlemen, how

wonderful.

Carlos is not dead at all.

It seems that the Apache tracker ran in, crouching awkwardly through the pin retrieval area and shouting, Nakunets Moyo, Vremia Podoshlo.

He leapt into the pit, trailing his offensive feather headdress and heaved Carlos up in a mighty bear hug, carrying him out of the pit while being attacked viciously by the miniature citizens of the miniature city.

Even Jeremy, upset still about his ruined birthday party, couldn't help but cheer as the formerly false, now real Native American laid Carlos safely on the linoleum floor.

Teddy Williams, who of course is also a licensed doctor, as all bowling alley owners are required to be, checked his wounds and indicated through a series of rhythmic hoots that Carlos will be in fact

okay.

He's okay.

Never before in my career as a broadcaster have I gone through such a roller coaster of emotion and fear.

To think that I had lost that most precious thing to me, the presence of Carlos in my life, and then to have it brought back so that I could appreciate it all the more.

Oh, Carlos, all the words I would never have said to you.

And the news that the city is in fact only a miniature city, ten feet down, well, that was startling as well.

But it appears that all is well,

and so I say to you, with a heart singing its way from heavy to light, good night, night veil.

Good.

Oh no,

I have just been handed a note.

Oh,

this is not good news.

Ladies and gentlemen,

in his valiant valiant rescue of our beloved Carlos,

the Apache tracker was mortally wounded.

He is bleeding profusely and it is getting all over his fake feather headdress, and he says that even his ancient Indian magics will not help him,

which of course they won't,

because they're not real.

Listeners, how could I have been so wrong about this man?

A racist embarrassment to our town?

Maybe.

A real jerk?

Yes.

But he also was a man with Night Vale's best interests at heart, who worked closely with the angels and the mysterious man in the tan jacket to protect us from the miniature city under the bowling alley.

And he, at the cost of his own life,

saved Carlos.

Carlos breathes, and soon the Apache tracker will not.

Tell me nothing else, and still I will tell you.

Here is a good

man.

Here is a good man dying.

Here it is.

The end of a good man's life.

The Apache Tracker spoke, not in a hoarse whisper, but with a clear, ringing voice addressing the sky hidden behind the styrofoam panels of the ceiling.

Ladna, Ladna,

Jasnal, Etoslutsia,

Timozesh Yesviat, Moyumashnu.

He said this,

and then he died.

The Apache tracker is dead.

Teddy Williams confirmed.

Jeremy is slumped into a folding chair, kicking his feet and saying, this is the worst birthday party anyone has ever had.

Good night, brave tracker.

Good night.

I thought you were one thing and you were another.

It is likely I will learn nothing from this.

And oh,

message on my phone.

Carlos wants to see me.

He says to meet him at the Arby's parking lot.

I am not sure what scientific exploration now needs the services of my radio audience, but I will dutifully go.

Dutifully meet him.

And as I go, let us all go.

Go now

to the weather.

The heart of love is patience and this coffee that I'm making.

And you

because Cause outside kids are breaking

on rocks of their own making.

And we are

breathing

easy

and seeing

clear.

I guess if I wanted to move, now I could.

Yes, I know the leaves are changing,

but I don't find that image interesting right now.

Cause even as time's moving, it's just you in different clothing

we are

breathing Breathing

easy

And see it

clear

I guess if I wanted to move now I could

And if this blanket moves at all we'll be back in time Spree fall or lose

So hold on tight to last night denial wrapped in morning light we choose

With arms and hearts and leftovers and barely watch TV shows we sue

I guess get dressed, we join the mess But I think about that less and less with you

Yes, I feel the future looming

and the tide of time subsuming

and you

Cause the warmth from your body makes this

a Sunday morning stasis

We are

breathing

easy

and seeing

you

I guess if I wanted to move now I could

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

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I arrived at the parking lot to find Carlos perched on the trunk of his car in flannel and jeans, his perfect hair must,

his perfect teeth hidden.

What is it?

I said.

What danger are we in?

What mystery needs to be explored?

He shook his head.

Nothing, he said.

After everything that happened,

I just wanted to see you.

My heart leapt.

My heart soared, my heart metaphorically performed a number of aerial activities, and literally, it began to beat hard.

Oh,

I said, my voice more tremble than word.

Carlos looked at the setting sun.

I used to think it was setting at the wrong time,

he said,

but then I realized that time doesn't work in night vale,

and that none of the clocks are real.

Sometimes things seem so strange or malevolent, and then you find that, underneath, it was something else altogether, something pure and innocent.

I know what you mean, I replied.

Somewhere the tiny people of the city below have arrived in Night Vale and are beginning their war against us,

having already shown themselves capable of murder.

Somewhere, a man in a tan jacket is whispering into the ears of our mayor,

and we do not know what agenda they pursue.

Somewhere, The body of the Apache tracker lies cold and still,

never to speak of ancient Indian magics again.

This all happens

somewhere else.

But here,

Carlos and I sat on the trunk of that car, his car,

looking together at the lights up in the sky above the Arby's.

They were beautiful in the hushed twilight, shimmering in a night sky already coming alive with bits of the universe.

One year later,

one year since he arrived,

he put his hand on my knee and said nothing.

And I knew what he meant.

I felt the same.

I leaned my head on his shoulder.

We understand the lights.

We understand the lights above the Arby's.

We understand

so much.

But the sky behind those lights, mostly void, partially stars,

that sky reminds us

we don't understand

even more.

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 downloaded for free at disparition.info.

This episode's weather was Sunday Morning Stasis by Joseph Fink.

Want to have your music featured in the weather section?

Want to contribute your talents to the show?

Just want to say hi?

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 our books on the unused story ideas of H.P.

Lovecraft and what it means to be a grown-up.

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

That would be cool of you.

Today's proverb.

Fun game.

Say toy boat over and over.

Do it for the rest of your life.

Retreat from society and live on alms.

Whisper toy boat as you die.

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-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 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 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 trio 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.