#but yeah I think Cecil is a weird little disaster even by Night Vale standards

[madbard]

I often think about the fact that Carlos had zero reference for dating and social behavior in Night Vale before meeting Cecil.

He shows up, and this random public broadcaster pledges his love for him on live radio, which would typically be strange, but also there’s a house that doesn’t exist and a dog park you can’t enter and the town should have already been destroyed by earthquakes but it’s still standing and said radio host’s microphone is emitting truly astonishing levels of radiation and yet somehow he’s still alive and everybody is terrified of librarians and there are literal angels walking around that no one is allowed to acknowledge and at any given moment he is being stalked by the secret police and several people have extra eyes and limbs and everyone is WORSHIPPING A FREAKING CLOUD-

So. Cecil’s immediate and public love confession becomes a little tame by comparison.

I like to imagine that Carlos is left thinking that Night Vale residents typically fall in love at first sight and then proclaim it from the rooftops. Only to find out, years later, that nope. Cecil is just Like That.

[cecilspeaks]

Ghost Stories: Bonus Tracks

You can purchase Ghost Stories here.

Transcript of the main tracks here.

16. CARLOS

The finale of my ghost story coming up.

But first. A lot of people don’t believe in ghosts, which is kinda weird, because we have an entire city full of them one town over in Pine Cliffs. But people just refuse to believe that there could be any presence of a spirit after a person dies. And I figured that there is only one way to really investigate the truth of the paranormal. And that is to ask a scientist.

So I invited my boyfriend Carlos to the radio station. Hi, Carlos!

Carlos: Hey, Cecil!

Cecil: So Carlos, what scientific evidence, if any, supports the existence of ghosts?

Carlos: Oh there is lots of valid research done on ghosts, like that famous story where Ben Franklin tied a kite to a gravestone, you know? Ghosts are 100 % scientifically real. In fact, I have a story about a project I worked on that proved that ghosts were real.

Cecil: Ooh.

Carlos: So, I was working late one night, and it was exactly midnight, OK? And there was a full moon, and I was alone in my laboratory. So context: right next door lab is a graveyard filled with former scientists who all failed to have OSHA standard eye wash stations. It’s very scary, OK?

So some of, like, the great minds of our field are buried there. Marie Curie, George Washington Carver, David Blaine, OK? But David Blaine, he comes in and he comes out, right, you got that.

But so… Back to the story, so I was pouring green bubbling liquid from one flask into a beaker full of orange steaming liquid, when I heard a noise, OK? Footsteps. [breathes heavily] I thought it was Winchell, one of my assistants, who lives in the crawl space above the lab. The footsteps were coming closer. I could hear the wind howling outside and I could see an owl on an angular branch just outside the window, it was staring back at me but... [whew] just a normal government surveillance owl!

And then the room, it grew so cold that I began to shiver. And the footsteps stopped suddenly, their sound coming from just behind me and I couldn’t look!

Cecil: Because you were frozen in fear!

Carlos: No, OK so like I said, I was pretty sure that it was just Winchell coming down the stairs..

Cecil: Oh, OK..

Carlos: Yeah so yeah, just stay with the story. So you know, thought he was getting a snack and then I was trying to finish my experiment by logging the results of what happened when I mixed the two liquids. Um ahem (quote), “the new mixture turned brownish”, I wrote in my science journal, satisfied at my productivity. But after that, I turned around to see that it wasn’t Winchell at all, it was an apparition, a hazy silvery form of a person and his hair was curly and wite, and he wore an 18th century cravat and long coat with like really ornate buttons like little flor de lis, you know, carved out it was so delightful. And anyway, he hovered a few inches off the ground and before I could say anything, the ghost opened its contorted wrinkled maw like this! [long pause, audience laughs]

Cecil: So this is the radio, Carlos.

Carlos: Then, stil making that ghastly face, he groaned. [groans] Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrr… [coughs, gasps]

Cecil: Oh.

Carlos: Anyway, he reached out his cloudy hand toward me, still moaning, and the wind outside roared, and I could hear the owl flapping quickly away. And he stepped forward and I heard the booming clop of his buckled shoe on the hardwood floor, and I jumped back and I shouted…

Cecil: Whoa Carlos, this is too scary.

Carlos: [high-pitched] No, how interesting!

Cecil: Wait, what?

Carlos: That is what I shouted, I said “how interesting!” This ghost with no real tangible form still made noise when he walked.

Cecil: Oh.

Carlos: And I asked the ghost, “how are you making that noise,” and he continued toward me still groaning. [groans] Right, ok. Still groaning and I backed away from him making notes the whole time! I had to circle backwards around the lab several times as he continued following me and I asked him more questions like, “so how did you die” and “where did you get those stunning thights, your calves look fantastic?” But he didn’t answesr. He simply maintained his slow pursuit. I ended up writing down some calculations and observations, but it was getting late so I backed on out of the lab. The ghost didn’t seem to want me to go. He wailed as I stepped out of the front and he made an even more horrible facial expression than before. Like this. [long pause, audience laughs]

Cecil: Radio.

Carlos: And while he made that facial expression, he made one final terrible sound, OK? Like this: eeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.. [gasps] I felt bad, so I told him, “I’ll be back Wednesday night, I want to learn more about you physically..”

Cecil: What?

Carlos: And then I said – oh god, no no no no. I said no no, that came out weird like I want to study your body and then I said aaah, wait wait I just mean I wanna experiment with you, you know? Agh, nevermind, I’ll see you Wednesday!

Cecil: Ohhh. That was a harrowing encounter!

Carlos: Yeah.

Cecil: So did you learn how the ghost makes sounds when he walks?

Carlos: Oh you know what, so it turns out he doesn’t.

Cecil: No.

Carlos. Yeah. That was Winchell just walking aroud the the kitchen, making a little snack. Just coincidentally exactly timed with the ghost. Also, really cool, I learned that the ghost was actually the ghost of Winchell’s like great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, visiting from early colonial Canada.

Cecil: Whoa! I’ve actually never heard of Canada. Where is that?

Carlos: I’m a scientist Cecil, not a map maker! [chuckles] It’s in Boston.

Cecil: Oh, OK. Whoa! Thank you for sharing your story, Carlos.

Carlos: Sure. You know I love it when [flirtily] science and radio overlap.

Cecil: [flirtily] I do too. [chuckles] Love you!

Carlos: Love you too.

Cecil: Thank you, Carlos.

17. DANA CARDINAL

So. Because the ghost stories competition is such an important event in our town, Night Vale’s Mayor, Dana Cardinal, has sent herself, Dana Cardinal. And she is here at the station to deliver her own press conference, so please welcome Mayor Dana Cardinal!

Hello there, Mayor Cardinal!

Dana: Hello to you, Cecil.

Cecil: Now you sent Pamela earlier to speak on your behalf.

Dana: And let me guess, she just told you this story about that rock she ate?

Cecil: Wellll…

Dana: There weren’t even any ghosts in her story, were there?

Cecil: Aaaah not explicitly, but her argument was that she we-

Dana: Cecil! Today it is I who speaks for myself. Not Pamela. Not hollow-eyed messenger children, or the City Council, or community radio, or that power all city officials have to completely take over anyone’s personality and body and use them to spread propaganda.

Cecil: Wait what, you can do that?

Dana: Today I am going to speak for myself. I want to tell a ghost story. It sounds like fun, and frankly being mayor of Night Vale is a lonely and tedious position. I could use some fun.

Cecil: Well great, let’s hear it!

Dana: [clears throat] This is a true story. Or as true as any story is, which is to say that it’s entirely made up. And it is about my great uncle Herbert. Now my great uncle Herbert owned the old mansion on the hill. You know, the one with walls continuing upright bricks meeting neatly doors sensibly shut, silence laying steadily against the wood and stone, and whatever walks there walks alone?

Cecil: Oh sure, yeah. I saw that real estate listing.

Dana: Right. Well, old Herbert died a few years back. His passing was sad, but not unexpected. Our family had long seen it coming because the day, time, and detailed description of the exact farm equipment he would be found scattered beneath were written in detail at his birth by the doctor on the birth certificate under “expiration date”. Also, he had cut off all contact many years earlier with his family, relying only on his silent glowering manservant, Sherfwood, to see to his affairs. Which is how it came to be that Sherfwood was at the door of my family’s house one morning with a message from my late great uncle. Whosoever could spend the night on the old mansion on the hill would inherit it, along with the rest of Herbert’s property.

Cecil: Whoa.

Dana: Mm hm, yeah. You know, you’d think a weirdo like that would have done something strange, like make everyone in my family uncomfortable by naming one specific person the owner and leaving the rest of us feeling left out. No, but instead he followed normal procedures for will settlement. So we all went to the old mansion on the hill and were shown to our rooms. We were nervous but excited, confident that sleeping inside a house couldn’t be that hard.

Cecil: Well, I do it almost every day.

Dana: Mm hm. But none of us made it through the night.

Cecil: Oh no! Dana, what happened?

Dana: Well it was the house. The house was full of truly hideous things, horrible things!

Cecil: Oh like  monsters and ghosts?

Dana: No. Glass-topped tables!

Cecil: [gasps]

Dana: Lacker-veneered dressers.

Cecil: Ooh.

Dana: High-pile rugs. Wallpaper. Wallpaper, Cecil!

Cecil: No, eww. Just eww!

Dana: It was all so badly thought through. Everything clashed with everything else, the design was a disaster! All the cups in the kitchen were covered in a garish star design. We tried to ignore it, to grit our teeth and wait for dawn, hoping to find just a hint of Danish modern or even something made of driftwood. But even my cousin Denise, who’s a ghost, couldn’t stand it. She said that she did not want to waft transparently through any of those ecru walls.

Cecil: OK, now I am going to be sick.

Dana: Plus, what ghost wants to drift through walls anymore? Had Herbert never heard of an open concept floor plan? I mean, it provides more room for ghostly activities, like dragging chains and wailing! In the end, the only one willing to stay was Sherfwood, who had been in charge of designing the place, and so was the only one able to withstand the outdated décor.

Cecil: Ughh. Well, I don’t know if I would call that a ghost story, but at least it did have one ghost in it.

Dana: Don’t you see, Cecil? In this story, the house itself is the ghost.

Cecil: [long beat] Really?

Dana: No, that was a joke.

Cecil: Ah! Oh haha, ahahaa-hahaa, I totally get it now, that’s hilarious!

Dana: [long beat] [clears throat] You know Cecil, I love civic events like this. Serving your town, giving it every hour of your working day, can paradoxically make you distant from your town and from the people in it. You no longer are among them but over them. The dynamic shifts. I miss hanging out with you.

Cecil: Yeah, I miss hanging out with you too, Dana.

Dana: Well then let’s hang out sometime. How about anywhere but the old mansion on the hill?

Cecil: That sounds great.

Dana: OK.

Cecil: Thank you so much, Dana!

18. EARL HARLAN

So this Thursday afternoon, Night Vale’s hottest restaurant, Tourniquet, will be hosting a chefs master class, taught by executive chief LeShawn Mason and sous-chef Earl Harlan. Now, Earl has agreed to come up to the studio and talk about this educational culinary event. So please welcome Earl Harlan!

Earl: Hi Cecil! I am so excited to promote this class.

Cecil: Oh I can tell! I mean, you have your index fingers pulling back the corners of your mouth to expose your teeth.

Earl: Yeah, people say my smile really gives me away.

Cecil: Mm hmm.

Earl: Now, with so many popular cooking shows like Top Chef, The Great British Baking Show, Chopped, America’s Next Top Self-Surgeon and Who’s in the Slow Cooker?... culinary classes are in high demand. Chef Mason and I will be teaching amateur chefs some important cooking techniques. Things like knife skills, knifing skills, descaling a fish, chicken manipulation, using industrial strength lye to dissolve a corpse, how to peel an orange, and what that strange humming closet at the end of the counter is for.

Cecil: Oh yeah! Carlos and I have one of those humming closets, and when I open it up, there’s a light inside and cool air washes over me and I’m just like – what is this thing?

Earl: Well, that’s just your refrigerator, Cecil.

Cecil: Wait, that’s a refrigerator?!

Earl: What have you been using as a fridge?

Cecil: [beat] So tell us more about this master class um, Earl.

Earl: Well, Cecil, since this is the ghost story competition day, I had a ghost story I wanted to share with you, one I heard back when you and I were in the boy scouts. So I need to set the spooky campfire mood a little bit, so just hang on.

Cecil: OK. Um oh listeners, Earl is now stacking some wood on the floor, oh aand he is pouring gasoline over it…?

Earl: Oh haha no no no no, no I wouldn’t pour gasoline on your studio floor, Cecil! This is just a fancy bourbon that’s sold in five-gallon gasoline canisters.

Cecil: And listeners, he is now lighting a fire, um, [chuckling] there is a large fire in the studio, listeners!

Earl: No no, like I said it’s just bourbon! Right, here’s a stick with a marshmallow on it.

Cecil: Oh, thank you.

Earl: Here’s another one with a hot dog…

Cecil: Thank you.

Earl: And here’s another one with a live rabbit.

Cecil: Oooh! Cute and delicious! [creepy chuckle]

Earl: So the story goes, as our old scout leader Ron Veal used to tell it. one summer, a troupe of scouts went camping. They didn’t know how to use a compass yet, so they followed the North Star. But it turns out that what they thought was the North Star was just a firefly, and they were soon lost. It was getting dark. They were alone and afraid. It had been over an hour, so they had to rely on their special survival training. So they drew straws, and the scout who drew the short straw was eaten by the others.

Cecil: Uh, I never actually completed that activity, so I never got my survivalist badge.

Earl: Aww. I did.

Cecil: Oh, cool.

Earl: [clears throat] So. By early that evening, the boys had painted their faces, removed their scout uniforms, donned animal pelts, and developed their own language, government, and currency. They sharpened sticks and invented war chants. Then, just as the sun went down, they heard a voice close by. The voice called, [cheerfully] “Dinnertime, boys!” It was one of the boys’ mothers, calling from the porch of the back yard they were camping in. But they had been away from civilization for so many hours, they did not understand English anymore. Her voice was gibberish. They silenced their chants and paused building the bonfire, and the voice called again. “Enough horsing around, kids! Come inside!” Now they understood her welcoming gesture, so they went inside and they had dinner. The voice called out again, this time from across the dining room table. “Where’s Richie?” But they said nothing. They only ate the food ravenously with their bare hands. “Do you boys know where Richie went?” the voice called again, the boys’ eyes darting guiltily to one another. [high-pitched] “Richieee!” came the voice one final time, but the scouts only shifted in their chairs, pretending not to understand her refined, civilized rhetoric.

[creepy voice] To this day, it is said that if you stand in a backyard at dusk, you can hear the sound of wind rustling through trees, and birds chirping, and you can watch the bright dot in the sky turn orange and sink into the horizon.

Cecil: So that must be the ghost of Richie, right?

Earl: No, that’s just the wind and the birds and a sunset.

Cecil: Oh?

Earl: [creepy voice] But Richie’s ghost did rejoin the troupe later that night, and they all played board games.

Cecil: Ooh.

Earl: He got his apparition badge, and all of the other boys eventually got theirs, too!

Cecil: Oh wow! Gosh, it just feels like centuries since we were boy scouts together!

Earl: Yeah that’s because it has been, Cecil. How have we lived so long? And forgotten so much?

Cecil: [long silence]

These last lines are in the next track for some reason.

Cecil: Well, thank you so much coming on Earl.

Earl: You bet.

19. INTERN JEFFREY CRANOR

I’ve asked my station intern, Felix, to prepare a ghost story of his very own. You see, Felix has been such a hard worker with a great attitude, and I wanted to reward him with some practical broadcasting experience. So Felix, come on over to the microphone, and tell Night Vale your story!

…You’re not Felix.

Intern Jeffrey Cranor: No, Felix couldn’t… [sighs] [softly] make it.

Cecil: So who are you?

IJC: Oh I’m your new intern, I’m Jeffrey Cranor.

Cecil: Oh, intern. Intern Jeffrey, alright um, hey what happened to Felix?

IJC: It’s difficult to say.

Cecil: Aww. Because you don’t know what happened?

IJC: No I know, it’s just emotionally difficult to say it out loud. You know the fridge in the break room?

Cecil: Yes.

IJC: And you know how it makes that mechanical grinding noise whenever you open it, that krrrrr?

Cecil: Oh, yeah yeah.

IJC: Well it stopped making that noise. But you know how blood pours of it now when you open it?

Cecil: No?

IJC: Oh oh oh, heh, well okay let me back up then. You know how near the break room there’s that hole in the wall? Cecil: Oh yeah, I’ve been asking operations to fix that for weeks now.

IJC: Right and you know how that hole is like three feet wide and these weird noises and shouts can be heard from it? and you know how Felix was always talking to those voices?

Cecil: Oh yeah, like all the time!

IJC: Right, like (blablabla).. So you know how when you die, your soul drifts through all of time mostly simultaneously, it’s not really as a ghost although some people manifest as such, but most of us fill the void with our decimated consciousness, all of the pain of life melts away as we pass into the beyond, and the sweet relief is immediately replaced by the crushing pain of knowledge, of eternity and the vastness of a universe that has no fences and no borders, but in death we can see what lies beyond, and you know how it is awful and beautiful and inspiring and ultimately boring because of the whole forever thing, you know?

Cecil: I mean, I’ve never died.

IJC: [laughs] OK, Cecil. Anyway. You know the hunger, the hunger we feel during mortality? You know, that insatiable urge to fill our temporary bodies with comfort, sustenance, something to momentarily destruct us from the immense pain of it all, yada yada yada? Felix had that hunger. He had that hunger, and he went to the fridge in the break room. Because he remembered the potato salad he brought to work last December but didn’t finish. And the fridge made that noise, that krrrrrr! Felix went to open the door but that was, he had forgotten what the voice in the hole in the wall had just been telling him, and that was unfortunate because it turns out that that voice in the hole in the wall was him, it was Felix’s immortal soul across all of time attempting to warn Felix that there was an active jet engine from an Airbus 8320 inside the fridge door. Which Amy in sales left there yesterday after lunch. Krrrrrrrrrrrshhhhhhhhhhup! [long beat] I mean. And Felix was just… [sighs] Um, HR made Amy take the jet engine home but the – oh man, the insides of that fridge is still covered in uh… memories of Felix.

Cecil: [whispers] That’s terrible! Well… [normal voice] To the family of intern Felix… He was a really good intern.

IJC: He was.

Cecil: And he will be missed.

IJC: Yeeeah, I guess. I mean, he’s still in the wall over there, you can go talk to him through that hole right over there.

Cecil: Oh, well that’s good, well could you ask him to finish up his filing by the end of the day please?

IJC: [chuckles]You got it, boss!

Cecil: Alright. Oh hey, Jeffrey Jeffrey Jeffrey. You seem to know like a lot about the afterlife. Are you – dead? I mean I mean I mean are you – like a ghost?

IJC: Oh.. It’s um, difficult to say.

Cecil: Oh, because you you don’t wanna talk about it?

IJC: No it’s just difficult because I’m eating this peanut butter stuffed pretzel. [chews]

Cecil: OK.

IJC: [mumbles through chewing]

Cecil: Oh.

IJC: [chews for a long time] But no, I’m not.

Cecil: Alright, well welcome to the station!

IJC: Thanks boss!

Cecil: Alright, thank you Jeffrey!

20. LOUIE BLASKO

Cecil: It is time for one of our favorite segments: Louie Blasko’s music moment!

Louie Blasko: No.  

Cecil: No?

LB: No I don’t wanna do music, I’m trying to get out of the whole… music thing. I, I’d like to tell a ghost story.

Cecil: But but you’ve got a ukulele and a music stand?

LB: I don’t think so.

Cecil: OK. So listeners, it is now time for Louie Blasko’s – ghost story moment!

LB: Thank you Cecil. Now my horror story is about a haunted locker room at Night Vale High.

Cecil: Mm.

LB: Now there have always been strange sounds heard in there, you know footsteps, the cawing of crows. Distant warped voices singing the Night Vale High fight song.

Cecil: Wait wait wait, Night Vale High has a fight song?

LB: Oh yeah, you know, it’s that song they sing before every football game to remind us that no matter who wins, everyone involved will eventually perish.

Cecil: It’s not really ringing a bell.

LB: No no no, it’s uh, [tone-deaf] “You didn’t have to do that to him, uh he had nothing to do with any of this…”?

Cecil: No…

LB: You know it’s like uh, “I-I was gonna get you the money, I just needed like” um…

Cecil: I dunno, maybe, I…

LB: OK OK. W-w- uh [clears throat]. [plays ukulele, sings] “When doing business with spiideers, I advice that you always honor your debts. I have it on the very good authority of the most reliable insiiiider, that though they seem harmless, even dare I say kind, on the day of the deal when the contract is signed, and though, [out of breath] I cannot stress enough that you must bear in mind that they do not forgive and they will not forget… 

[high-pitched] “Ooo-ooo, ooo-oooo, o-o-o-a ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-oo… 

[speaks] And you can tell yourself: What have I possibly got to lose? But even a humble music teacher, who has never known the warm breath of love, whose cold heart has no room in it for friendship, companionship, partnership or any manner of ship whatsoever. They will find, who long ago traded his soul for a can of trombone grease, and a very rare limited edition Chet Baker LP. No, even a man such as this is not immune, for somehow they know [whispers] the architecture of his heart even better than he knows it himself. And they will find that one thing or person that he cherishes above all else in this world, that single creature whose presence gives him just a little rush of joy. We’ll use just for example, [sings] a boy.

[talks] A pudgy, awkward little boy. We’ll just call him Harold. Ignored and abused by his schoolmates, spectacularly unmemorable in almost every respect. But with a certain promise on the clarinet and not without a charming – lack of fashion sense.

[high-pitched] Oooo-ooo, ooo-oo-oo, o-o-o-o-a-oooo-ooo-oooo. [yells] Everybody! [Cecil and audience chime in] Ooo-ooo, o-o-o-a- ooo-oo-ooo…

[yells] They act with speed, great precision, and professional care. Leaving just a small smudge of blood and a little bit of hair. And an endlessly echoing scream through the halls! [speaks] As if to intimate that his horrible suffering has still not ended yet, [screams] at aaaall!

 [speaks] And I know that the terms of the contract were abundantly [high-pitched] cleeear! The language concise, and the interest rates [falsetto] faaaaiiiir! But as much as one pleads and as much as one begs, to their eight empty eyes and their long furry legs… [quietly] He wasn’t coming back. He really isn’t coming back. Ooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaghhhhhhhhh…

[yells] You didn’t have to do that to him! He had nothing to do with any of this! I was going to get you the money, I told you that! Ooooooo-oooo, oooo-oo-o-ooo…

Four, three, two, one! [Cecil joins in] Night Vale High is number one! Zero, negative one, negative two, if we go down then so will you!!”

LB: [yells] I’m so sorry, Harold! I am so so sorry!

Cecil: OK, yes, I do remember that song now. Great, great. So OK, um, let’s get on with the story then.

LB: What? Oh oh oh oh yeah uh, that was the story. Uh, Night Vale High’s locker room, it’s haunted. Uh.. the end?

Cecil: OK.

LB: Well, thanks for having me. Oh and if anyone wants to learn the basics of bluegrass, just head down to the burned down site where Louie’s Music Shop used to sit, and just hang out there in the ruins til it gets dark. And then, wait until you are taken gently by the hand. And then, bluegrass lessons! Or something else - will happen.

Cecil: Thank you, Louie!

21. MELONY PENNINGTON

So listeners, I have to admit something. Um, I had some computer difficulties earlier and I had to call technology support. And actually I was pleasantly surprised when Night Vale’s top computer programmer and creator of the local numbers station, WZZZ, showed up to fix my computer. So please welcome Melony Pennington!

Melony, welcome to the radio station!

Melony Pennington: I’m in a radio station? You just said that. I mean, you say a lot of things. How many things do you say that you mean? How many things do you mean to say? What are some mean things you’ve said? Maybe radio station is a joke. Like maybe it’s your house, and you’ve just left some headphones and microphones lying around and you’re like, this is totally my radio station. L.O.L!

Cecil: Well I never joke when it comes to the radio.

MP: I didn’t catch your name. Did you know saying LOL out loud takes just as long as saying the words they stand for? Loss Of Lungs.

Cecil: Oh.

MP: But somehow it feels shorter saying the initials, LOL.

Cecil: You’ve such an active mind, Melony! Oh, thank you by the way for helping me with my computer earlier. Um, I’m so embarrassed that the problem turned out to be, it wasn’t even plugged into the wall.

MP: You would be surprised at how often tht happens, even with computer professionals. Just the other day, I was trying to debug the software the City Council uses to control earthquakes. I brought my laptop, like usual, but then I realized I completely forgot to bring a basic (-) [0:01:41] Ethernet cable to plug into the network. Thankfully, it turns out the device that controls earthquakes wasn’t even running Windows (-X). It’s a glowing red gem inside the hollowed-out skull of some land mammal. Horse, I guess? So I didn’t even need cables, those things run on wi-fi. And you can connect to any wi-fi network with chanting and a little blood.

Cecil: Wow!

MP: Got that software all patched up.

Cecil: Wow! It’s hard to believe that we can control earthquakes with a glowing red gem!

MP: Oh, you can control anything with one of those. I have one that I use to make birds attack my enemies.

Cecil: Oh.

MP: Yeah. I also have it set to move the stars around into coded messages, plus it runs Bluetooth audio from my record player. They’re really handy! [chuckles] I’m tired of talking about that subject. I have a ghost story for the ghost story contest. I’m going to tell it now.

Cecil: Oh excellent, I would love to hear it!

MP: OK, so I got a brand new computer. It was night and I was home alone, or I thought I was alone. When I turned the computer on, the blinking cursor on the screen started moving, without me touching the keys. The cursor began typing out a message. “Help,” the screen said. “I have been murdered and my killer programmed me into this computer.” “Oh, like a literal ghost in the machine!” I exclaimed. Then, there was a long, long silence. I watched the cursor closely, but it just blinked in place. Just when I thought I couldn’t wait any longer, it moved again and began to write out a message.

Cecil: What did it say?

MP: It wrote, “you have to type it out for me to know what you’re saying. I can’t hear you speak.”

Cecil: Mm hm.

MP: So I wrote back, and he told me he used to work in a computer factory, which is how he ended up inside this computer, and that his killer is an evil supergenius programmer.

Cecil: Whoa, whoa, but if the ghost was a computer program that the killer wrote, then the KILLER must have been the one sending the messages. [very fast] Oh my gosh this is so exciting, a cat and mouse chase between two brilliant programmers, so you must have had to decipher clues from the program but then had to consider whether the killer was one step ahead of you, and how do you determine the truth, how do you know what’s important and what’s a red herring, oh my gosh I live murder mysteries so much! What happened next Melony, what happened?

MP: Oh, I formatted the drive.

Cecil: [disappointed] Oh.

MP: [chuckles] It was a new computer, and these box store manufacturers preprogram so much bulky chunk on there. Do I need a cloud-based calendar solution and a pinball game and the ghost victim of an evil programmer? No I don’t. So I formatted and installed my own operating system.

Cecil: Wow, that was pretty easy then.

MP: Mm hm. I’ve got a load of memory now for gaming though. [excited] Hey, hey look, the birds are gathering! Oh I think something cool is about to go down. I should go.

Cecil: Well bye Melony.

MP: Bye, whoever you are. Nice house.

Cecil: Oh, thank you. Thank you, Melony.

22. MICHELLE NGUYEN

A quick update on next Saturday’s open mic night at Dark Owl Records. For more on that, let’s talk with Dark Owl owner, Michelle Nguyen!

Michelle, thanks for coming in.

Michelle Nguyen: Thanks, Cecil. This is Dark Owl Records’ first ever open mic night. We are encouraging everyone in Night Vale who has a song to sing, a standup comedy set, or a thing on their back they want a doctor to look at to come down to Dark Owl Records.

Cecil: OK, so attendees will sign up for a slot to get up on stage, sing their song, do their comedy, or get their back looked at.

MN: Oh, god no. I don’t wanna hear any of that. An open mic isn’t an invitation to just walk up it and start yammering like you’re a real artist. Eww. No.

Cecil: Oh.

MN: An open mic is a live microphone and an empty stage at the front of the room. Attendees will sit quietly and stare at it.

Cecil: But you said that people who have a song, a comedy set, or a diagnosis needed should come.

MN: Of course. I only want people who think of themselves as performers to come. But I want them to pay attention to the only real true performing art. Silence and nothingness. If we were to just stop all of that for a moment and listen to that silence, we would understand what art is. A void.

Cecil: Oh. That’s actually quite beautiful.

MN: Oh no, it is.

Cecil: Yeah. I mean this sounds like a lovely event and inviting and welcoming night for everyone to experience art together. So thank you for sharing your space with Night Vale.

MN: On second thought, I’d rather just hear people read their awful poems and struggle through another (Churches) cover. Everyone come on down to open mic night next Saturday and kill us all slowly with your desperate need for attention.

Cecil: OK! Oh, while you’re here, do you have a ghost story you wanna share?

MN: Yes. I was making myself a mix tape one night. I recorded myself chewing on some tin foil, as well as the sounds of distant coyotes. Coyotes are dope. Also I was wearing a leather wristband, knee-high red socks, and armored chest plate because – it was fashion week.

Cecil: Ah! Mm, I wore my new antlers and rubber hip waiters because it was fashion week. [chuckles]

MN: Antlers and hip waiters? Was it fashion week 2008?

Cecil: [long beat] [through clenched teeth] Go on with your story, Michelle.

MN: So when I played the tape later, it wasn’t what I recorded at all. What I heard was not the chewing or the coyote howls. It was something much much worse. What I heard chilled me to my bones.

Cecil: What was it?

MN: It was a hiss, like a single unbroken breath. A gentle… shhhhhhhh, for like 30 minutes on both sides of the tape. I wept from fright. I was terrified, I couldn’t turn it off! Shhhhhhh.. It must be a curse, a haunted sound that once heard cause you to die exactly one year later. Now that I think about it, that would be pretty exciting. No one in the music industry is doing anything like that anymore. I mean, Madonna popularized audio death curses in the 80’s, but that was like 30 years ago, so it’s like it never happened.

Cecil: OK Michelle, that shhhh sound across both sides of the tape, I’m pretty sure that the recording just failed, and you were listening to a blank cassette. So you’re not gonna die in a year.

MN: [long beat] [sadly] Oh.

Cecil: Are you OK?

MN: [sadly] Nothing fun ever happens to me.

Cecil: Oh well, well that’s not true! I mean, you have a great record store, you have good friends, and you host fantastic events. You’re an important part of our town, Michelle!

MN: [softly] Thanks Cecil. That means a lot. [angrily] I guess!

Cecil: Oh OK, well I’ll see you soon.

MN: [angrily] Don’t tell anyone I accepted your compliment!

Cecil: Alright, I won’t, I won’t. Thank you Michelle! [long beat] She likes me.

23. SHERIFF SAM #1

Oh but first, listeners, my red phone is ringing. And that means it’s time to pick up the beige phone and hear which of the six other ringing phones I should be picking up, so let’s see here. Orange. Oh, that means it’s the sheriff, oh – standing right next to me in the studio!

Sheriff Sam: It is a simple system.

Cecil: Oh, hello Sheriff Sam! You know, you could always just knock and say hello.

SS: But we already spent the money on this coded phone stuff. The taxpayers deserve to get what they paid for, even if it makes everyone’s lives harder. That’s democracy. Or maybe it isn’t. I don’t know or care what democracy is.

Cecil: So how has this day of ghost stories gone for you, Sam?

SS: Look, I want to tell a ghost story but uh, I’ll be honest Cecil..

Cecil: Please.

SS: I’m afraid.

Cecil: You’re afraid of ghosts?

SS: Of ghosts? Well of course. But also – pine trees. They’re just so tall and pointy, you know? And I’m also afraid of the tiny scampering feet of mice I can hear in the ceiling running back and forth, and in addition, I’m afraid that while I sleep an earthquake will happen, or a flood, or a sunspot. I’m afraid of the night time because I can’t see anything and – I’m afraid of the daytime because I can see everything.

Cecil: Oh.

SS: I’m afraid of action and interaction. I’m afraid of contradictions, I’m afraid of food poisoning. But do you know what I’m really afraid of? San dunes, terrible things, like indecisive mountains. Are you a hill or a heap? Make up your mind, sand dune! And I’m afraid of being afraid. I’m afraid that if I’m afraid for too long, then that’s all there will be to me.

Cecil: Well, maybe it’s time you faced your fears.

SS: Ooh... No. I’m quite afraid of faces. The only person I’m not afraid of is the Faceless Old Woman who Secretly Lives in My Home. Or I wouldn’t be, except that I’m also afraid of the elderly.

Cecil: Now I gotta say this doesn’t seem like you, I mean you’re always so authoritative and shouty.

SS: Well what I seem like and what I am is not the same! [chuckling] Except I am very shouty. I mean not now obviously but then [shouts] suddenly, at any moment I am shouting and I cannot hear my fears!

Cecil: Aww, there’s the sheriff I know.

SS: But then I’m not shouting and I’m afraid again. Cecil, one day I will look you right in the eye, and I will tell you a ghost story. I promise you that.

Cecil: Well great!

SS: Until then, Cecil – uh oh, it appears your silver phone is ringing, and you know what that means.

Cecil: Uhh, actually I don’t. What does the silver phone mean? Oh.. Now they’re gone. Now I’m gonna be worried about this.

24. SHERIFF SAM #2 This is the same story told by Dana above

Oh, listeners, it appears that Sheraiff Sam has something to add to their previous statement as… they are currently breaking down my door with a battering ram and have thrown several smoke canisters into the room. [coughs] Sheriff, what is this emergency?

SS: Cecil, I’m ready. Even though I’m still afraid, I want to tell a ghost story of my own. It’s my legal right, says so in the law. Don’t try to censor me.

Cecil: I won’t. You know, you could have just asked, I mean you don’t need to break down the door.

SS: Oh no, the door broke itself.

Cecil: Oh.

SS: We were trying to stop it. Anyway. This is a true story. Or as true as any other story is, which is to say that it is entirely made up. And it’s about my great uncle Herbert. Now, my great uncle Herbert owned the old mansion on the hill. You know, the one with walls continuing upright, bricks meeting neatly, doors sensibly shut, silence laying steadily against the wood and stone, and whatever walks there walks alone?

Cecil: Yeah, sure. I saw that real estate listing.

SS: Right. Well, old Herbert died a few years back. His passing was sad, but not unexpected. Our family had long seen it coming because the day, time, and detailed description of the exact farm equipment he would be found scattered beneath were written in detail at his birth by the doctor on the birth certificate under “expiration date”. Also, he had cut off all contact many years earlier with his family, relying only on his silent glowering manservant, Sherfwood, to see to his affairs. Which is how it came to be that Sherfwood was at the door of my family’s house one morning with a message from my late great uncle. Whosoever could spend the night on the old mansion on the hill would inherit it, along with the rest of Herbert’s property.

Cecil: Oo, wow.

SS: Yes. You know, you’d think a weirdo like that would have done something strange, like make everyone in my family uncomfortable by naming one specific person the owner and leaving the rest of us feeling left out. But instead he followed normal procedures for a state settlement. We all went to the old mansion on the hill and were shown to our rooms. We were nervous but excited, confident that sleeping inside a house couldn’t be that hard.

Cecil:  I mean, I do it almost every day.

SS: But none of us made it through the night.

Cecil: Oh no! Sheriff, what happened?

SS: It was the house. [sighs] The house was full of truly hideous things, horrible things!

Cecil: Monsters, ghosts?

SS: No. Glass-topped tables!

Cecil: [gasps]

SS: Lacker-veneered dressers.

Cecil: Ohh.

SS: High-pile rugs. Wallpaper. Wallpaper, Cecil!

Cecil: Oh god!

SS: It was all so badly thought through. Everything clashed with everything else, the design was a disaster! All the cups in the kitchen were covered in a garish star design. We tried to ignore it, to grit our teeth and wait for dawn, hoping to find just a hint of Danish modern or something made of driftwood. But even my cousin Denise, who’s a ghost, couldn’t stand it. She said she did not want to waft transparently through any of those ecru walls.

Cecil: Oh god, ecru? I’m gonna be sick!

SS: In the end, the only one willing to stay was Sherfwood, who had been in charge of designing the place, and so was the only one able to withstand the outdated décor.

Cecil: Ughh. Well, I don’t know if I would call that a ghost story, but at least it did have a ghost in it.

SS: But I told it, didn’t I? I’m proud of myself. Thank you. But uh, but I am sorry about your door, heh. I’m sorry about a lot of things. I find that scaring someone else does help alleviate my own fears, so I had to break down your door, I’m sorry.

Cecil: That’s OK, Sheriff. You know, a true apology is changing how you act in the future.

SS: Mmm.. that sounds difficult. I-I’m not sorry enough for that. I said some words and that should make up for anything I’ve ever done or ever will do. Until next time, Cecil!

Cecil: Alright, until next time She- oh, and… [long beat] And they broke my window on their way out. [sighs]