#wtnv transripts

[cecilspeaks]

122 - A Story of Love and Horror, part 2: “Spire”

Do you hear that sweet melody? That sweet melody on the breeze? No one else hears that sweet melody, That sweet melody on the breeze.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Frances did her best to pretend that she had imagined what she had seen that night in the house of Nazr al-Mujaheed. When Barks Ennui, the cartoon spokesdog for the Sheriff’s Secret Police, had come out of the television and told her that she does not belong, and that they were both doomed. This obviously wasn’t an easy thing to forget, but people forget difficult things every day. We are all of us carrying around difficult things like cannon balls rolling, unstable in our heads, occasionally throwing us off balance when they shift too much to one side. But mostly, just slowing us down while we pretend nothing is wrong.

She and Nazr continued to see each other. He let people know at school, and the faculty and administration were happy for him. Everyone felt that he was always too consumed by high school football. Especially Principal Fryman, who grumbled to himself that the team didn’t even have a good record to show for all of that obsession.

Nazr took Frances to a faculty after school drinks meet-up, the first one he had ever gone to, because he always spent his evenings prepping for that week’s practice, studying game film, drawing up defensive schemes, and slithering around his living room on his belly while hissing like a snake.

Frances, in turn, took him to her monthly book club meet-up. This month’s book had been Irvine Welsh’s “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child”, the controversial follow-up to his classic novel “Trainspotting”. Everyone agreed that it wasn’t nearly as good as the original, since it only shared a couple of the main characters. They also agreed that Frances’ relationship was having a real effect on her. “You hardly seem like the same person,” said Jeremy, who had liked Frances before and was jealous that she might change and grow as a person, outside of his influence. Jeremy was, all in all, being a real shit.

Everyone else agreed that she seemed to be happier and more open to the world than before she had started dating. Frances quietly wondered if changing so quickly, just because you were eating meals with and sometimes sleeping with someone, was a good or bad or neutral thing. She thought that change was hardly ever neutral.

Through all of this, she pretended that Barks Ennui, the cartoon dog, did not appear to her most evenings in her home. But he did. He would crawl out of her television, even if she was watching a channel his commercials didn’t play on, or even if the television was off. The proportions of his body, lovably clumsy interview wo dimensions, seemed a horrifying mistake of nature in three dimensions. And his features were warped and blurred, as though seen through static.

“You don’t belong together,” Barks Ennui said in a goofy cartoon voice that occasionally veered dizzyingly into other pitches. Sometimes a child’s giggle, or a bassy growl for a few seconds before sliding back to the middle. She would hide under her covers, and she would hear from within the hot dark of her blanket, his familiar cartoon voice say: “There is a price that must be payed!” And she would scream and scream and then realize she was alone. And then she would choose to pretend that none of this had happened.

Nazr did not see Barks Ennui. But he was not without his own troubles. He would find, some evenings, that when he looked in the mirror, there were two of him. One of him sitting behind the other. He would stand and the second reflection would stand too. It would follow all of his movements from behind is primary reflection. This went on for days. Then one night, he looked in the mirror and there was only one of him. He sighed, feeling some relief to the tension that had been with him so long as to become his new normal. And that is when, in the mirror, his second reflection into the room, followed by Frances Donaldson.

Nazr whirled. The room he was in was empty. He looked back in the mirror. There was his own face, terrified, and behind that on the bed, there was himself again with Frances. The two of them were kissing passionately. He watched himself kiss, and then his reflection and the Frances in the mirror stopped watching and looked up at him with startled faces. They stayed frozen that way, and he stayed frozen too. After several moments, the mirror couple smiled. Their smiles got wider and wider, and then they were both dead, blood covered and sprawling at irregular angles. And then – they were alive again and smiling at him.

He shouted and stumbled back form the mirror. From them on, he too to covering his mirrors, and that worked for a few days. But then one day, he came home to find himself in his bedroom, already sitting in front of the covered bedroom mirror. The him that was in his bedroom looked up at him who had just entered, with wide eyes and a yawning mouth and Nazr, who believed himself to be the real Nazr, turned and walked out of his house. He checked into a motel and decided to stay there for a while.

Finally the strain broke on Nazr and Frances. At Applebee’s over lunch, she started crying, and he was so surprised that he started crying. And they were crying at each other and didn’t know why the other was crying. And she said, “This is going to sound crazy”, and he said, “You’re not going to believe me.” And then they told each other, and it didn’t sound crazy, and she believed him.

“What does it mean?” she said. “Why are we being punished just because we’re finally seeing someone?” “That’s a good question,” said Barks Ennui. He was sitting in the booth next to them. They both yelled in surprise, and the other people in the restaurant looked over with a mix of confusion and annoyance. None of them could see Barks, and so they assumed the couple must have accidentally ordered the electrolysis nachos appetizer.

“Who are you?” asked Nazr. “Me?” said Barks, his animation dog face stretching and compressing in mesmerizingly horrifying ways. “I’m a construct!” he said, “in order to allow communication”. “Communication with who?” said Frances. “I represent the Brown Stone Spire,” said Barks. The Brown Stone Spire was a strange monument at the edge of town. It offered great gifts in exchange for even greater sacrifices. It was extremely dangerous, and neither of them had ever heard of it trying to communicate with anyone. Barks continued: “Everything’s gone strange since you started dating. You know what I’m talking about?” “Maybe,” Nazr said, thinking of the mirrors in his home. “Maybe?” repeated Barks mildly. “Maybe it will get even stranger. Maybe your conditions will continue to deteriorate.” “What do you mean deteriorate?” she said. “We’re two people dating, what’s wrong with that?” “This town is a point where many universes meet,” said Barks. He was on the other side of the table, next to Frances now. “Recently those universes collapse into each other. When the mess was finally sorted out, not everyone ended up in the right universe.” “It’s me,” said Nazr, “That explains it. The other me in my house, plus my tongue is like two feet long and that doesn’t seem right. I don’t belong in this universe.” “No,” said Barks. “It’s Frances. She doesn’t belong here. Frances, you switched places during the collapse with the Frances of this world, and you are coming into contact with a person from a different universe, which has an exceptionally detrimental effect on reality. I believe,” he said to Nazr, “you were saying something about reflections in your house?”

And now, a look at traffic.

The cosmology of the universe is thus. First, there is the sphere. The indications of the sphere are warmth and bristle. The colors of the sphere are blue and yellow. Then, there is the cube. The indications of the cube are touch and lift. The colors of the cube are red and white. Then, there is the expansive plane. The indications of the expansive plane are speed and shadow. The colors of the expansive plane are myriad. And finally, there is the outward fade. The indications of the outward fade are a ringing bell and a rush of water. The colors of the outward fade are none. This has been traffic.

And now a word from our sponsors. Mute children perched atop strange formations on desert plateaus. Our eyes gaze toward a horizon that will never change. There is no movement here, no sun, but there is light. No darkness, but there is night. We do not need to eat, but we are hungry. We have no way to drink, but we are thirsty. We have nothing to sell you. Remember us. This has been a word from our sponsors.

Frances couldn’t believe it. or she could, but she resolutely chose not to. Nazr thought again and again of the other him and the other her, lying dead on his bed and then smiling. And then dead again. It was true that something was horribly wrong. Perhaps they didn’t belong together. Perhaps they didn’t belong together so much that the universe itself was collapsing around the relationship.

It wasn’t fair. Didn’t both of them deserve happiness?

Cecil here. I’ll go ahead and answer that. They did! But what a person receives and what they deserve is only ever tangentially and coincidentally related.

They decided they should go to the Brown Stone Spire. It had offered to help them. They should at least hear out what it was asking for in return.

Nazr drove them. Cars stop working within a few hundred feet of the spire, as the spire prefers humans to approach on foot. Actually, it prefers humans to approach on their bellies, but it takes humble walking as a compromise. The closest parking lot is the Radio Shack, but of course that one is always full of customers, and so they parked at the Wendy’s and walked.

Her foot started bothering her, but she didn’t know if it was actually bothering her or if she was just afraid of what the Brown Stone Spire would say.

The Brown Stone Spire hummed. They fell to their knees before it. “Help us!” said Nazr. “We just want to be together,” Frances said. “I don’t know if we belong together, but we make each other happy. Isn’t that something worthwhile? Don’t we get at least that?” The Brown Stone Spire heard. It hummed. It already knew the problem and it already knew the solution. And it already knew the price. It told these humans all three by implanting the thoughts directly in their brains.

Frances threw up. Nazr wept. There was a solution, but the price was unthinkable. It was impossible, it was inhuman. Of course, the Spire isn’t human nor possible nor even thinkable.

They walked back to the car in silence. And now, The weather.

[“Fire Drills” by Dessa]

That evening, they sat in Frances Donaldson’s living room and thought about what to do. “Impossible,” she said. “Unthinkable,” he said. “Then we agree?” she said. “Of course we agree,” he said. “What else is there?” he said. “We’re not monsters,” he said. “Right,” she said. “I want to show you something,” said Barks Ennui. He was on the TV screen so close that whatever backdrop was invisible, just his exaggerated snout and his wild eyes. “Come here!” Both of them knew for certain they would refuse, and both stepped forward obediently. “In here!” said Barks. “Into the TV!” Frances put her hand on the screen and felt nothing. It was a hollow frame. She put her hand through the frame. Her hand felt like her hand, no different than it had a moment before. She leaned down and put her torso in, and she felt a pull, like gravity. And she fell downwards through the TV screen.

She was in her living room again. It looked very much like her living room, although a few details were different. The framed poster from the International Musée (du Chats) [0:19:33] in Paris was now from the Museo Internacional (de los Gatos) in Mexico City. The taxidermy deer foot penholder on the mantle was now a taxidermy boar’s foot penholder.

Nazr tumbled in next to her. “Oh, cool penholder,” he said. Frances took his hand and helped him up. They looked around, and then out the front window. Frances was outside working in a garden. A different Frances, in the garden being watched by the first Frances in the living room. “The Frances from your universe, Nazr,” said Barks. His three-dimensional form was enormous this time, taking up the living room from floor to ceiling, although he displaced nothing in it, and Frances and Nazr had plenty of room to stand. “She ended up in this universe and the Frances from this universe, that’s you Frances, ended up in hers, a silly mix-up. But these things do need to be set right, or else both of you will slip further and further into the gap between universes, until neither of you exist anymore!”

Frances couldn’t take her eyes off herself in the garden. “Try to stay together,” said Barks, “and you both will cease to exist!” The Frances in the garden waved to Jackie Fierro, who was biking past. A car drove by. In it was Dana Cardinal and her brother. They waved, too. “Enough!” said Barks, grabbing them and pulling them upward. They were all back in the couch in Frances’ living room, or the living room she had thought was hers. There was only one Frances here. “You know the price,” said Barks. He crawled backwards into the TV, staring intently with his droopy animated eyes. “There are only two ways forward. The first is that this Frances returns to her correct universe, and you two never see each other again. The other would allow the two of you to live as long and as happy as anyone can together. It would be simple, but in order for that to happen, the Spire will destroy the other universe and every person who lives within it. That Frances and every other person in that world will cease to exist, but then you would be able to flourish in this universe.”

He was fully back onto the screen, a two-dimensional cartoon dog in a none yellow cartoon backdrop. But his eyes were still huge, like they were inches away. “You don’t have long to decide!” He gave a silly laugh, the kind he did at the end of his appearance on children’s shows. The laugh that made children laugh back at how silly it was. But this silly laugh did not end. For several minutes, Nazr and Frances stared at him, and he looked back, laughing.

Stay tuned next for decision to be made.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: I’m going to give you a piece of my mind. It’s in this clay jar. Please keep it in a cool, dark place and away from cats.

[cecilspeaks]

172 - Return of the Obelisk

“Nothing lasts forever” is a phrase with two meanings, and they’re both true. Welcome to Night Vale.

All of Night Vale is aglow. There is music in the air. You know what that means, listeners: the Obelisk has returned. It’s been nearly 8 years since the Obelisk last appeared, but it’s right back where it always shows up, in Mission Grove Park over on the east side, right next to the Wailing Pit. But a little bit south of the Memorial Debris Heap. The Obelisk returns every 5 to 10 years, sometimes as long as 50, and it brings with it joy, anticipation, and a deep fear. A terror so deep in the gut that it feels like you’ve eaten too much ice cream, but in all reality, your body is simply bracing itself for death. The Obelisk has always behaved benevolently, but so hast he sun, and we don’t trust that thing fully either, so I dunno. Past performance is not an indicator of future results. Unlike the sun, the Obelisk radiates a soft blue light, but like the sun, the Obelisk makes a lot of noise. In particular, music. The obelisk sounds like a Bach concerto played like a French horn and a theramine from inside a refrigerator. Everyone in town is gathering at Mission Grove Park to see the Obelisk in person, to pay homage to this rare visit, and to confront their fears head on. Hopefully everything works out fine, because there are some cool events I want to get to this weekend, and it would be terrible to have to cancel them over a rogue obelisk.

Let’s take a look at the community calendar, shall we? This Friday night is opening night of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Tony-winning musical “Sunset Boulevard” at the Night Vale Community Theatre. I’m very excited to finally see this show, it’s supposed to be a really lavish production, too. And it’s based on one my all time favorite Billy Wilder films about an aging silent movie star who finds an amulet that lets her travel in time, but whenever she moves through time, she enters someone else’s body and can’t leave until she saves her life. This staging of “Sunset Boulevard” is directed and produced by… oh my god, Susan Willman?? Really? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrhooonestly, this has been a pretty long week and Iiii might need to just rest at home on Friday. I mean I’m not trying to be rude here, but Susan Willman is the worst! Did you know she once judged the chili cook-off, and I came in third? Third! Behind Joel Eisenberg, which is fine, Joel’s an OK cook, but also behind who else? Susan Willman! You can’t be a judge and win first place. I’m also pretty sure Susan used a prepackaged spice mix in that chili. [laughs oddly] I don’t have that verified through a secondary source, but I can confirm, it was oversalted, again. I’m not saying, I’m just saying. Anyway, go see “Sunset Boulevard” on Friday if you want to watch uninspired actors and muddled blocking.

Saturday afternoon is the PTA bake sale fundraiser to send our Academic Decathlon team to a tournament in our state’s capital. The PTA secretary… [sighs] Susan WiIlman, says this money will go toward hotel and bus travel for our brilliant and talented Ac-Dec squad. “Academic Decathlon is about intelligence and perseverance,” says Willman in this overwrought press release. “Ac-Dec is about freedom and fastidiousness. It is a celebration of hard work, and we want Night Vale to show the rest of the state that blah blah blah blah blah,” God she just runs on! I mean yes, Ac-Dec is very cool and I wish our kids well. But chill with the grandstanding! Anyway, go buy a cake to support those amazing students, even though I’m sure Susan will still manage to mess up a box mix.

Sunday is Youth Reprogramming Day at the Night Vale Museum of Forbidden Technologies. Does your child love learning about new gadgets and advancements in technology? Well, come on down to the Museum of Forbidden Technologies on Sunday for a day-long reprogramming event. Docents and curators will engage those curious kids through hands-on unlearning. They’ll take their patented mindwipe beam and point it right at each child’s forehead until all interest in forbidden technology has been removed. Kids love the mindwipe beam, because it smells like grapes, and they don’t feel any pain for weeks after. Youth Reprogramming Day is a family friendly day of discovering that you know too much, and knowledge is treason.

Today’s appearance by the Obelisk is the 19th in recorded history. Little is known about what the Obelisk is, who controls it, or what it wants. Most scientists and historians agree that it was created by subterranean gods millennia ago, and they think its purpose is a type of census for life at ground level. The Obelisk is about 25 feet tall, it is oily and soft like a fresh brick of parmesan cheese, and when it appears, everyone in town carves their name into one of its four sides. We do not know why or when this practice began, it’s simply how it’s always been done. And to question tradition is to admit weakness. When the Obelisk eventually disappears, perhaps today, perhaps several days from now, it will take our names with it. And when it returns, those names will be gone and we will begin the tradition anew. No one knows what happens to those names. Are they simply erased, or are they read and recorded? Is this data mining for some ancient technology startup, or does the Obelisk truly belong to the gods? We only know what happens to one of the names carved on the Obelisk, and for that person, we feel both envy and pity. For while the Obelisk has always behaved benevolently, past performance et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Let’s have a look now at traffic. Route 800 is shut down until 4 PM today, as it has turned into a river. No cars are on Route 800, it’s just water. Rough and choppy, spiking white rapid caps atop nearly black rushing death. Highway officials are investigating the sudden appearance of this river, perfectly overlaying our main thoroughfare in and out of town. Beneath the quickly moving rush of the river, a single fish, probably a bass of some sort. Highway officials are uncertain because they don’t think about fish. Why would they? Highway officials are annoyed that you think so little of their awareness of fish species. They can tell a salmon from a marlin from a mackerel. “See what you made us do?” one highway official said. “We could have been repairing route 800, but you started picking on us for not knowing if that’s a bass or a mackerel or a whatnot. In fact,” the official continued, “we just looked it up on Wikipedia and it’s a bass. And fun fact,” they added, “did you know that bass can grow up to 25 pounds, have four rows of human teeth, and speak Spanish at a first grade level?” The river is now branching out down sides of streets and into neighborhoods. Pavement everywhere is a network of fresh water capillaries through town. Expect delays of up to 10 or 20 minutes, as you try to get to Mission Grove Park. This has been traffic.

The whole town feels like a carnival now with the flashing lights of the Obelisk and it’s crescendo of lively music filling the cool twilight air. We dance, we sing, we revel in togetherness and share our  fears of what will happen next. What will the question be? And more importantly, what will be its answer? When every name has been placed upon the Obelisk, then the blue glow of the towering monolith will die away. The entire structure will turn black. All except one name. One name will remain lit on the Obelisk, and that person shall be sent forth to ask their question. They may ask any question they choose and the Obelisk will tell them and only them the answer. No one else will hear this communication. If the receiver wishes to share what they now know, they are allowed to do so.

Many years back, this ritual was more organized. Early Night Vale townships planned a democratic approach to this opportunity: a committee of the Obelisk was formed to decide on the single most important question to ask. This approach came about in response to the super blunder of 1932, when a 6-year-old boy named Bartholomew Thomason was chosen to deliver the question. He  asked the Obelisk if he was, quote, “gonna have corn for dinner”. The obelisk apparently said no, because little Bart started crying and the Obelisk quickly disappeared, not to return for almost 10 years. By that time, the committee of the Obelisk was established and they chose the question: “how do you cure cancer?” Ah, this is a good and noble question. But the citizen chosen by the Obelisk was a farmer named Barry McKenney, who tried his best to take careful notes, but a lot of the detailed medical jargon was just too complex for him. The committee tried this question again 6 years later, but the Obelisk refused to respond to any question it had already answered. So Sidney Laynord of Old Time Night Vale, not having a backup question from the committee, asked if his wife Jessica was cheating on him with Gerald Framingham, and the Obelisk said no, but it only said that because Gerald’s actual last name was Framington, so Sidney just messed up.

Over the decades, the committee of the Obelisk asked: “Is God real”? And the Obelisk said yes, but nothing more. After that, they tried to ask questions that would elicit more detailed response. Um, one year they asked: “who planned the assassination of JFK?” and were disappointed to learn that it was a CIA - Fidel Castro – Frank Sinatra triumvirate that conspired to murder our 35th president. This was the most boring answer, but at least it verified what everyone already knew.

By the 1990’s, though, the committee of the Obelisk had kind of fallen out of fashion after years of corporate funding and corruption. See, this controversy exploded in 1997, when the question put forth by the committee, which at the time was headed by the CEO of Pepsico, was: “what’s the best tasting carbonated soft drink on the market today?” The Obelisk’s answer, to the chairman’s great disappointment, was Surge. Today, whoever is called on by the Obelisk is given free reign to ask whatever they choose. However many news outlets regularly publish lists of recommended question, but there is always the risk that someone will ask something frivolous like “what’s Jason Mraz up to these days?” or “where is the body of my missing fahter?” Please, God please, just don’t call on Susan Willman. She will blow it.

And now a word from our sponsors. Are you tired of wrinkled shirts? Do your clothes get static cling? [increasingly angry tone] How many times do you show up to work with your shirt all rumpled and not smelling like seafoam mist? You’re not going to get a promotion looking like that, and while no one deserves anything, you certainly should appear to earn that promotion. You need crisp, clean, non-ionised clothing that smells like seafoam mist. Don’t you wanna smell like seafoam mist?! Try Tide pods. With our special formula of citrus extract, kelp and milk fat, Tide pods can be the all natural solution to all of your laundry problems. You deserve Tide pods, because you deserve that promotion over Michaela, who’s only like 22 years old. What has she ever done to deserve a promotion? What’s Michaela’s deal even? Tide pods. Remember when we seemed like a big problem?

Oooooooo listeners, the Obelisk has gone dark. The music has ceased. The whole town encircles the tower waiting for its declaration for who shall ask the question. In the quiet night, under few start peeking thru the purple sky, we can hear only the sounds of crickets. The Obelisk, so black as to appear cut out from reality, suddenly shines a small blue line. It is a name, it is on the south face and is it… Oh no! No no no, listeners, I don’t know if I can stop this but I will try. Uuuh, let’s go now to the weather.

[“Pros and Cons” by Sugar & the Mint https://www.sugarandthemint.com/]

Welllll it’s too late. She’s asked her question. I’m not sure how I could have stopped this disaster, even if I made it over there before she could ask it. OK, as you know by now, the Obelisk lit up with Susan Willman’s name, and she grinned smugly and did that fake like “who me? What, oh my god!” gesture and then walked on up to the Obelisk. The crowd was calling out questions to her like  game show audience trying to help a contestant, no single phrase discernible above the others, and Susan just looked around, her big goofy eyes scanning the people around her, as if she would actually lower herself to listen to their questions. [scoffs] She thinks she’s so high and mighty with her PT officer status and her hit Broadway musical. No no no, Susan’s above us all, just as important as she can be. She waved her arms like wings for quiet, and the audience obeyed, she’s so self-important, so attention seeking. And then she asked her question. The one question we as a town get only every decade or so, and Susan said: “Hey, so what’s your name?” What’s your name?!! God! What a waste! Did she forget we only get one question? The crowd began to boo, or at least I did. I started booing and I am part of the crowd.

The obelisk began to speak only into Susan’s mind and Susan listened closely. She giggled at first, like a little girl hearing a silly joke from a grandfather, and then her tear-filled laughs turned into tear-filled breaths, which eventually became tear-filled sobs. After about three minutes, the Obalisk vanished, and Susan stood alone on the small hill between the Wailing Pit and the Memorial Debris Heap, and she told us what she heard. Or [scoffs] she told us some of what she heard.

Susan said, in an unusually booming authoritative voice: “Whosoever speaks aloud the name of the Obelisk shall become the Obelisk. Whosoever becomes the Obelisk shall live forever. Whosoever lives forever shall know all things. Whosoever knows all things shall be damned. And whosoever hears the name of the Obelisk spoken aloud shall perish.” The crowd parted for Susan as she left the park. They mumbled their disappointment in both the question and its answer. Some spoke with pity, some with disdain, while some thought it was all pretty cool and now. “Much better than last time, when Dave asked who would win the 2013 NBA championships,” said one person. “Dave won a lot of money on that answer, though,” responded another. “He has a yacht now over at the Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area.”

But most everyone whispered their fear for Susan’s power itself. I mean, Susan received a gif today, a cursed cursed gifts. You know what? I think I might go see that “Sunset Boulevard” after all and I love it. I don’t get to tell Susan very often what a visionary theatrical director she is, but I, I, [chuckles] I might even put some stacks down on her cakes Saturday too. Really support that academic Decathlon team. And the spirit of American ingenuity and perseverance, and all that.

Good question, Susan. I’d like to never learn the answer, but good question nonetheless. You’re one of, if not the, best person I know. Thumbs up.

Stay tuned next for our newest game show, “Nothing will ever be the same”.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Bite your tongue. Fun, right?