#how WELL it captures Lucy Gray's legacy.

[quixotin]

i've been listening to Can't Catch Me Now for days now.

it is my entire personality. it has consumed me. i-

the beauty, the rage, the sadness. i am BANGIng my head against the wall, do you understand me? 2023 is for the dystopic girlie reinassance and i feel so ALIVE.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXVI

Cordelia stood beside the window in the old study with James on her left. The warmth from the fire did nothing to ease the chill that had settled in her bones after returning from Cecily and Gabriel’s house without Lucie. It’d been three hours since their return. Who knew how long that meant Lucie had been enduring whatever misery she’d been dragged into. Her stomach clenched and she grimaced as if in pain at the thought of her dear friend, alone in that horrid place. 

James, upon hearing her or sensing her distress, took her hand his, entwining his fingers with hers so their palms pressed together. His hands were warm against her cold skin and she let herself lean against his shoulder. The contact helped to relieve some the anxiety enough for her to listen to conversation around her.

Will leaned over the table with both hands firmly planted on the wood. A look of destructive rage and distress ebbed his features into someone Cordelia hardly recognized. He hadn’t been himself since word arrived to them of Lucie’s capturing. 

Tessa sat on the sofa, her hands clutching each other in her lap as if she were praying. She hadn’t spoken much since the news. Her features didn’t twist in fear or anger or sadness. She looked like one of the pale shells Cordelia had found on the beach once. A fragile, beautiful thing with the sound of the ocean raging inside of it. 

Magnus stood at the table beside Will. They both studied the ring that James, Cordelia, Alastair and Thomas retrieved from Tatiana’s cold finger, now sitting on the handkerchief Cordelia used to pry it off. Grace had quickly explained the significance of it once again to the adults before going after her brother who was being seen by Brother Zachariah in an adjoining room despite his pleas to help find Lucie. Jesse was his name. His affection for Lucie seemed to run far deeper than that of a friendship. Cordelia could see it in his beautiful, sea colored eyes, the concern for her friend. Not just concern, the desperation. A painful, consuming thing desperation can be and it was swallowing the young Blackthorn boy whole. Between Brother Zachariah, Grace, and Will, they managed to convince him to go and be treated to be sure that his resurrection brought back the Jesse Blackthorn of old and not a new weapon being used by Belial for whatever his plans might be. 

“I still don’t understand why one of us can’t just put it on and summon the bastard,” said Will, his dark hair spotted with strands of gray fell in his face uncharacteristically. “If he wanted someone, why not come for one of us? Why my Lucie?”

Cordelia watched Tessa shudder and close her eyes at his words. She understood now what plagued Mrs. Herondale. It was not sadness, anger, or fear— perhaps a mixture of all of those things, but more importantly, there was guilt. 

“We have no idea the power this rings manifests,” said Magnus, curiously. “All we know is that Tatiana might have used it to contact Belial or he might have used it to contact her. If one of us were to put it on, we’d have no idea how to make it work.”

“So what should we do with it then?” Will demanded.

“I’m thinking,” said Magnus.

“Think faster,” said Will. “My daughter is trapped only the angel knows where with a prince of hell who plans to use her as a conduit of some sort. We don’t have time to sit and stare at it as if it’s going to rise and tell us what to do.”

“I understand your paternal concerns and while I sympathize, do not think for one moment if you continue to raise your voice at me in that condescending way I won’t turn you into a silent wall ornament until I figure out the best plan,” said Magnus without taking his eyes off of the ring. 

Will moved back a step, voluntarily or not, Cordelia wasn’t sure. He had the good sense to bite back whatever was prepared to come out of his mouth next, but by the straining muscles in his jaw, it took a lot of effort. 

James’s hand tightened around Cordelia’s. As much as she was drawing strength from him, it appeared he was drawing strength from her as well. She offered what she could and still felt as if it weren’t enough. 

“There is something,” said Magnus quietly. “A spell. If there is anything tethered to this ring, it will reveal it.”

“Then why haven’t—“ Will took a deep breath through his nose and started again. “All right, is there a reason why you’re hesitant to do this spell?”

“Yes,” said Magnus and undid the buttons around his wrists so he could move his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. “It’s a revealing spell. It requires a lot of energy, energy that will leave me vulnerable and weak, but it will give us the information we seek.”

“Is it dangerous?” asked Tessa, the first words she’d muttered in over an hour.

“Only for me,” said Magnus, with so much kindness in his voice that tears sprung to Cordelia’s eyes. 

“Magnus,” Tessa breathed.

“When your first child was born I thought you two idiots for bringing a helpless, vulnerable little creature into a terribly unfortunate world such as ours,” start Magnus as he stretched his fingers. “But the little bugger made the two of you so happy that it all seemed worth it. It made all the bad seem a little bit better. I didn’t possibly think you’d need anymore. Then the second one came along and your happiness tripled. I asked you once, why risk it? When you could lose everything so easily, why risk it? Do you remember what you said to me?”

Tears brimmed in Will’s eyes as he looked at Magnus. “Because a moment of that kind of pure happiness is worth a lifetime of sadness. That if I were to lose everything, if all I had left was the one memory of holding my child for the first time, I’ll have been grateful.” And to Tessa he said, “I am so grateful.”

Magnus nodded. “On each of their birth nights I made a silent promise to do whatever I could to protect and watch over them and do whatever I could to help in their times of trouble. I secretly prayed they’d have a lot more sense than their parents but it appears the apple does not fall far as the saying goes.”

James grimaced. “Just keeping life interesting.”

Magnus shook his head. “For this to work, I need absolute silence.”

“Would you like us to leave?” asked Cordelia.

“No,” said Magnus. “Just stay quiet. 

He placed both hands inches above the ring and closed his eyes. At first nothing happened except Cordelia could feel the hair on her arms and neck rise to attention. She looked down at her arms at the tiny bumps that rose along her skin and noticed that James’s was doing the same. The air filled with an electricity like a brewing storm as blue sparks started to dance from Magnus’s fingertips. 

The ring on the table began to rattle with enough force that the table shook beneath it. Soon Cordelia could feel the ground tremble beneath her feet. 

“Reveal yourself,” whispered Magnus. “Who do you belong to?”

A picture fell from the wall inches behind Tessa, if it were not for Will’s quick movement, the thick frame would have landed on her head. He held her against him and settle back in the far side of the room where nothing could fall on them. 

James, in a similar fashion, wrapped his arms over Cordelia’s head and his own. With limited visibility over his shoulder, Cordelia watched as the ring exploded with light, highlighting Magnus’s face with it’s blinding radiance. 

“What is it you want?” said a voice from the ring that Cordelia felt she faintly recognized.

“Your help,” said Magnus, eyes still closed. “We need your help, Tatiana.”

“Tatiana,” said Will before Tessa hushed him.

“And why should I help you, downworlder?” 

“Because we’re going to destroy the demon that murdered you,” said Magnus. “The one who took you away from your family. You can help us, if you can provide us with the information that we need.”

The ring went silent for a moment. Still rattling and glowing as the only sign that Tatiana was still there. The whole room seemed to hold their breath as they waited for a reply.

“What information do you need? 

“Did you communicate with Belial through this ring?”

“No,” said Tatiana. “This ring belonged in my family for generations. It is nothing more than heirloom.”

James cursed into Cordelia’s ear.

“Is there anyway for us to communicate with Belial?”

“Only if he wants you to,” said Tatiana.

Magnus’s breathing hitched as his teeth grit together. “Is there anything you can tell us to help us fight against Belial?”

“Does he already have the child?”

“Yes,” grunted Magnus.

“Then you are already doomed.”

“No,” said Magnus. “There must be something we can do. Anything you can tell us.”

“Arriving up here, manifesting himself the way he did, exerted an extreme amount of his power, he’s likely recharging in the Shadowrealm now. As with all great evils, Belial was spawned from one of the seven heads of the great dragon Tathamet. He lorded over the Realm of Lies in Hell, and was mentored by Mephisto, and like his mentor, he is always in the shadows.

“A long time ago, the Lesser evils came to be discontent with the Prime Evils’ focus on humanity after the events of the Sin War, furious that the Great Conflict had been apparently abandoned. In the midst of this period, Belial and Azmodan saw a chance to overthrow the Prime Evils and take control of Hell for themselves. Belial manipulated Azmodan into making war against the Prime Evils. The two evils made a pact with their brethren, assuring them that humanity would not stand in their way in the course of the Great Conflict. Ruling over hell itself wasn’t enough for Belial, soon after he vested his time and efforts into Garreth Rau. An orphan with a spark of nephalem legacy in his blood, Rau was twisted by the Lord of Lies, becoming a powerful dark mage in servitude to Hell. Rue’s personality and memories were over written with the persona of the Dark One, an insidious and jealous mage. Belial planned to use Rau and his followers to build an army on Sanctuary, and after conquering the mortal realm, use it to launch an invasion against Heaven itself.

“Belial’s plan was foiled by Cain and his allies. Despite possessing overwhelming power, The Dark One succumbed to Cain’s resourcefulness. The persona of the original Garreth Rau briefly resurfaced and drove himself to suicide. It appears Belial is trying to enact his plan once again.”

“How do we stop him?”

“You can’t,” said Tatiana. “The only way to stop him was to keep him from possessing the child. Now that he has what he wants the only one who can stop him is the child.” 

Tessa sobbed into Will’s chest and James’s arms wrapped tighter around Cordelia. She had little means of consoling him as she felt as if she were shattering herself. 

Lucie, she wanted to scream. Her name is Lucie! Not the child! 

“I wish you luck,” whispered the ring. “If I may ask for one small favor for my knowledge?”

Magnus’s hands shook as he held onto his power. “What is it?”

“Please, please give this ring to my daughter,” said Tatiana. “I would like to be with her in the only way that I can.”

“I’ll see that it’s done,” grimaced Magnus.

And just as the door to the library burst open, Magnus released his grip on the ring and collapsed backwards into the awaiting arms of Matthew who has just come through the door with Christopher on his heels. Through a curtain of blond curls, he looked around the somber room and said, “What’d I miss?”

(A/N: Thanks for waiting for this one guys. The story of Belial is not my own. It was pulled from a source and I kind of elaborated on it a bit. hope you guys enjoyed this and I’ll see you again on Friday!)

[remember-wim-faros]

Episode 1 - Are You Listening?

[voice echoing] When a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it,

it makes a sound!

[birds chirping] Ladies and gentlemen. We have found the music! It had been lost, as so many things are lost. Missing, disappeared, misplaced, vanished. Every day, what falls into obscurity without anybody noticing? Without anybody paying attention. What is locked in the attic?

I mean, let’s talk about some things that have been found in an attic, or spaces like attics. Did you know that Van Gogh’s “Sunset at Montmajour”, that beautiful painting, was found in an attic? Or that the original handwritten manuscript of “Huckleberry Finn” was found in an attic? The “Venus de Milo” was, well no it’s no-not an attic but, buried in a farmer’s field, unearthed by a peasant who came across some stubborn soil.

Did you know that the only copy of the pilot of “I Love Lucy” lay under the bed of Pepino the clown for 30 years, until it was swept out by his widow when she finally cleaned up around the place and taught to herself, this is pretty funny.

All these masterpieces just a broom sweep away from history’s dustbins.

And today, today! Recovered from a neglected attic of a suburban townhouse, one cassette tape destined to be sold in a garage sale, containing what is likely to be the first recorded concert of Wim Faros.

So.. who is listening? Hello? I’m Deirdre Gardner, and I welcome you to my new show. “It Makes a Sound”. [thumping, windchimes] It’s the first and only show in the nation dedicated to Wim Faros, native son of our Rosemary Hills. Where together, we’ll be part of a musical legacy. We will prepare to receive the genius that is Wim Faros. And to return him, like a prodigal son, to this deprived land. I will be the one to provide you up to the minute news and information about the artist, as I discover it. The name – Wim Faros. The subject – genius. And its location? Where us extraordinariness, I ask myself, don’t you? Don’t you ask yourself that? Extra..ordinariness, where I it today? Where are the truly exceptional ones who, out of our sheer proximity to them allow us to glimpse the intersection of our little lives, with the profound? Who walks among us? Is there anyone? Who walks among -us-, all the little uses? [chuckles] Uses… eh, eh, rolling lint off our pants. Uses, squeezing avocados in the grocery store and never picking the ripe one. Uses um, driving up and down the side streets to work because highway frightens uses. Uses um, drinking chamomile, attempting inverted yoga poses, popping melatonin and crossing our fingers as we slink into bed for the night. Where can we look here, in this vast wearied landscape of Rosemary Hills? Where our weathered old water tower reminds us in fading letters of past town mottos. Such as “golf capital”. Or “Rosemary Hills is alive with the whirr of commerce.” Or “Let’s tee in the hills.” But where now, the best boast we can master is “easy access to the highway”.

Well. Here, amidst the now abandoned golf course and its neglected grass, amidst the shuttered strip malls and these potholed streets, the extraordinary has tread. And the footprints, they linger. If you know how to look for them. And I think I do.

My fellow people of Rosemary Hills, citizens of the world, what have you forgotten? What treasures have we hidden under cobwebs and dust? What beauty awaits us on the other side of that drywall, as we wrestle fitfully in our sleep? What life lingers on these old fairways? What wonders just passed us by, as we bowed our head towards.. uh, a brightened 3-inch screen? Our necks hurt, our brains are zapped from too much screentime, our souls ache, and suddenly decades have past us by. Like poof. What are we missing?

Do we remember what used to be held in the delicate folds of our heart? Do we remember how things used to sound? Smell. Feel. Taste. I want to.

It’s time to unpack the attic! Today, we have a mind-boggling discovery. A confirmed to be authentic tape containing what is known to be Wim Faros’ debut public musical appearance here in Rosemary Hills, in the year 1992. And so we are not going to rush this moment, like we rush everything. We’re gonna slow down, we’re gonna savor. We are going to consider the tremendous significance of this relic. In order to fully appreciate it.

And thus, it is my privilege on this day of days to hold in my hands this freshly discovered tape. It’s an ordinary-looking cassette tape. But.. it’s possible some of you have never held a cassette tape. I will explain. Because, though it contains the stuff of wonder, to the human eye it is just a 3,5 by 2-inch clear plastic rectangle with two holes in the middle. And these holes, they have six little black teeth. Non-threatening teeth, so that you could feasibly uh, insert a pencil or a pinky finger, should sometime go [wry] [0:10:09]. Like if the delicate tape needs your manual assistance.

Now that tape is a very thing, translucent gray strip, of course containing some magnet um, magnetic properties. So and it’s spooled around the left hole, and as the tape plays in the cassette tape player, the tape will run along the bottom edge of the rectangle across a tiny magnetic strip. And the magnets pull the music out, with magnetic force, until it is fully spooled around the right hole, which means the tape is finished and you have heard the music. And that’s how a cassette tape works.  

I’m Deirdre Gardner. This is “It Makes a Sound”. I am describing a cassette tape.  Perhaps the most important cassette tape there ever was.

No won this particular model, we have a yellow sticker that covers the smooth section of the cassette. Nad written on that cover in purple felt tip pen, in bubble letters, is “Wim Fa”, but a waterspot has obscured the “ros”, leaving a purply pink splotch. It’s very pretty, like a watercolor. And underneath, with that same pen and font: “1992”. Crudely drawn stars in uh, multiple colors of pen, speckle the entire sticker. I mean… it’s great. it’s really incredible that one small object can capture so much of an entire era, even just aesthetically. We all seek the soundtrack of our lives, don’t we? And we wish to be privy to the voices of our generation. Yet it its a profound rarity that an artist like Wim Faros crosses into your limited sphere of existence. It’s like an alien prophet touching down on a ordinary Tuesday afternoon in a chain store called The Last Topper. Suddenly making the universe crack open to reveal infinite shards of meaning barely comprehensible to you. Standing there in cargo shorts, holding a casserole dish. Yes, yes. it’s hard to determine the full effect on Wim Faros’s music on this simple town of Rosemay Hills in the early-to-mid 90’s. it’s difficult to quantify the extent of – sacred devotion he inspired in his earliest fanbase.

How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand? That was a time without social media and its um, incessant public proclamations to hashtag, trending desires of the moment. Yesterday’s youth had to be more – intuitively united in our common affections. Had to keep the faith that even in a friendless existence, for instance as an example, living in an inherited furnished townhouse on the edge of Rosemary Hills’ gated golf course community, there were kindred souls somewhere underneath that same blue sky, wishing and waiting for a connection, just like you. Though perhaps at times to love in solitude, from afar, in the most generic of settings, was lonely and painful. That melancholy was trumped by a feeling of purpose. The purpose that comes from knowing that if someone out there could so perfectly capture the nuanced secrets of your soul, there must be greatness and solace in this universe indeed. isn’t that why we listen to the music? Isn’t that why we listen to the music?

We must ready ourselves to listen to the music. But I will say, even without the ease and benefit of cached fan pages or blogs serving as testimony to the early Wim Faros effect, the artist did manage to be a catalyst of cultural awakening in the town zeigeist. If a town can have a zeitgeist, can – sure. And there is archival evidence of the first reactions to Faros’s artistry. In fact… I happen to be in possession of documents from a Rosemary Hills resident who encountered Wim Faros in his earliest musical phase. Now, some of these pages are enclosed within a purple velveteen diary that I now have in front of me. The writing appears to be by the0 hand of a 12-year-old, I would estimate. And the paper is white ruled. And I seem to have come across a lengty series of haiku. Perhaps I sould share just a few of thes with you, for the sake of research. it’s a segment.. [rummages around] We’ll call it – the poetry of a little us.

[bangs a cong] You have changed my life by allowing me to see even thought you don’t see me.

[cong] I am hard to see in a golf community with many sand traps.

[cong]

You have a blind spot for almost nothing. But one in the size of me.

[cong]

I am the catcher you are a rare butterfly that I cannot grasp.

[cong]

Butterflies upclose freak me out. But you fly free, beautiful and free.

[cong]

I catch butterflies, yes, but I am afraid too. A contradiction.

[cong]

Faithfully you come to the window of my dreams singing: la la la.

[cong]

What is this music? Like, I never heard music before you played it.

[cong]

Now, those are just a few haikus and there are lots more, [chuckles] written here in Rosemary Hills circa 1991-1992. Likely dedicated to one Wim Faros.

[pause] If you’re just tuning in, hello. Welcome. I’m Deirdre Gardner, and this is the first episode of my show, “It Makes a Sound”. A discovery has been made in the attic. it’s Wim Faro’s first live album. It’s the real deal, it’s not a hoax, and it’s so rare that he only known copy exists, recorded from some distance, on a cassette tape. There is nowhere else in the entire universe where you will be able to hear a 16-year-old Wim Faros shaping what comes to be known as the sound – of an epoch. E-P-O-C-H. Stay with me and you will hear it here first, folks, because I have the tape and you’re gonna get exclusive access.

So we’re discussing Wim Faros’ formative teenage years as a musician, right here in Rosemary Hills. We’ve just begun working towards a fuller understanding of the human behind the mu-

[static] [hoarse voice] Who’s there? Who?

Deirdre: Oh, Jesus..

[static] I know, I know.. I know you! I knew!

Deirdre: Are you asleep?

[static, snoring]

Deirdre: Are you? Who’s that? (It’s something). OK. OK.

OK. Everything is good. I’m back. And i’m excited to introduce a new oral history segment of the show, based on town legend and lore around Wim Faros. It’s called – a portrait of the artist as a young man.

[music box plays] A light in the window of the second floor. The only window on the second floor, means Wim Faros is in his bedroom. And almost always when he is in his bedroom, he is drawing on the wall. What was on that wall? Everything was on that wall. The winds of change blew on that wall. The.. unfettered scrawl of technicolor wonders. The rainbow, a paltry container for the variety of colors applied to that wall. New color names would have to be invented. The ongoing overlapping shifting images and symbols, muraled, frescoed, appliqued, on that wall. All these ideas spewing forth from the eclectic multitudes of a single creative mind. In a blue and tan flannel shirt, his right arm braced against the drywall in an L-shape above his head. The bottom of his sleeve ripped and hanging down, he looks like he’s whispering secrets in a confessional. But he is drawing. There’s a lava lamp somewhere, out of view of the window, and it casts blobby spots that climb up and down the room, catching Wim’s distorted shadow when he’s out of view of the window frame. His left hand moves delicately or scribbles furiously. He is left-handed, as statistics prove that most geniuses are. If you’ve been watching, over the course of several months, you would have seen – his fantastic mural take shape.

In the center, a five-foot tall octopus, with the uncannily rendered face of Diane Sawyer. Her arms spread open, Christ-like, with magnolia blossoms and spiders dripping from her fingers. A flock of owls flying over a forest of pine trees. Each face of the moon, paired with a pizza pie of different toppings. Eight personalized pan pizzas, for eight different moons. A ninja army battling a family of squirrels throwing sharp acorns. Pages falling from a Gutenberg Bible into the gaping mouth of a Native American chief. Snoop Dogg. Scully riding a Mulder centaur as Ross Perot hoverboards over their heads! He was getting political.

As the seasons pass, the wall incrementally becomes and intricate map of his fertal, fertal inner life. Repetitions of hummingbirds and starfish, cans of beans, nunchucks. Later, peacocks. A dragon breathing fire, melting the iceberg just before it sinks the Titanic, which passes into clear skies. Dracula playing video games in front of a television set, flickering with an image of outrage from the Rodney King riots. And toaster strudels flying out of toasters into the rings of Saturn! Kurt Cobain offering an origami swan to a sobbing River Phoenix. And hundreds of other elegantly drawn details, too small to make out from a distance, that create a constellation of.. enlightened connectivity across the peeling beige wall.

And almost every night, after all the lights in the windows of the bungalow go dark, if you cared enough to pay attention, you would see the single beam of a flashlight splice a path behind the house, pointed towards a lopsided shed some 40 yards away. And if you were standing right up against the fence that separates Rosemary Hills’ gated golf course community from the unincorporated land that stretched out behind the scattered houses on Chamelia Road… you would hear a soulful strum of guitar, and a crescend of drums. Because in that decaying shed, surrounded by the loneliest darkness that is suburban darkness, is where young Wim Faros made the music. It was that music that pulsed through this town, permeated the air, pumped through the water.

Did everyone hearken to the call? No. If a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it wall, does it make a sound? Well. I’m here to tell you: trees have fallen. Trees are falling. And you may listen, but do you hear?

People of Rosemary Hills, it is time to hear. It is time to hearken. Hearken. I believe in your ears. Wim Faros sang for you. You didn’t know, but he will sing for you again. He has been lost in the attic, but now he is found. And maybe, [sighs] I don’t know. Maybe… maybe you’ve been lost in the attic too. There was greatness in our midst, transcendence, eccentricity, nuance. I’m Deirdre Gardner, and I believe that when a tree falls in a forest, it makes a sound. And i’m inviting you to try, to truly hear, and to remember. So stay tuned for my next episode when that music, lost but now found, will be born again straight into your ears. When you hear the first track from Wim Faros’ debut concert. The first track, perhaps, of the rest of your life.

This has been the inaugural episode of the first and only show in the nation dedicated to the music and legacy of Wim Faros. Thank you for listening. If you have any information about Wim Faros that you think should be shared with our listeners, or if you own a working cassette tape player, do not hesitate to contact me. Um, I, I guess for now you shoud just ca- um email me at ddg at.. no let’s not do that um, i’ll create, I’ll create a new, yes you can contact me at wimfaros@aol… Actually no. please contact itmakesasound@aol.com. Thank you. I’m Deirdre Gardner. Til next time.

 [windchime]

“It Makes a Sound” is created and written by Jacquelyn Landgraf. Co-directed by Jacquelyn Landgraf and Anya Saffir. Sound design and engineering by me, Vincent Cacchione. Original music Nate Weida. With Jacquelyn Landgraf as Deirdre Gardner and featuring Annie Golden as the voice from downstairs. It Makes a Sound is a Night Vale Presents production. For more information on this show and other Night Vale podcasts, go to nightvalepresents.com. We hope you’ll rate and review “It Makes a Sound” on Apple Podcasts, and that you’ll tell your friends and all sorts of other humans to listen to the show, to hearken to the trees. And remember Wim Faros.