The lead story in this episode was contributed by Zack Parsons. Find out more about Zack's novel, LIMINIAL STATES, at liminalstates.com.

The optimist says the glass is half full. The pessimist says the glass is half empty. It is only the truth seeker who wonders: why is the glass there? Why is there water all over the floor? Why is it covering every other surface of the house? Who, or what, is doing this to us? Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, a new traveler has arrived in Night Vale. This is not uncommon, perfectly located, as we are, between several vertices, but this traveler is not one who will be mistaken for those other travelers. You know the ones.

This traveler is said to have a foreign face and a handsome, but terrible beard. He is reportedly wearing a uniform with silver epaulettes, golden braid, and buttons of a metallic alloy not describable in our limited color language. This is all very similar to the marching band uniform of the Desert Bluffs Cacti, prior to The Incident, but the traveler's uniform is not scorched and soaked with blood.

"I cannot say that I trust this interloper very much, and his actions do not give me reason to trust him," suggests The Manual on Interlopers published by the Sheriff's Secret Police. According to the manual, citizens are advised to not speak with the traveler and to dig a shelter in their garden or, if they do not have a garden, to make themselves into a metaphorical shelter through vigilance and a positive outlook.

Who can say what agenda the traveler might have? He drives a large and expensive truck, he digs in the desert late at night, he does not seem adequately respectful of forbidden areas, and he has already married Night Vale's third most beautiful woman, Cactus June. He persuaded her to come down from her cactus and he has married her. I am looking at a photograph of the wedding in the newspaper at this very moment. Now I am drinking something. [HE DOES] Now I am [CRUNCHY CHEWING] eating an enchilada that was just handed to me.

Mayor Pamela Winchell called an emergency press conference today, her fourth this week. After the usual crowd had gathered around, minus those arrested at previous press conferences, she began proceedings by vibrating slightly and staring at the sun for five straight minutes. Once these usual pleasantries were over, she read her statement, which was the following: THE FENCES IN THE CAVES. A HEART THROBBING FOR WHAT IT CANNOT HAVE. A HEART NOT HAVING WHAT IT NEEDS TO THROB. THE FENCES IN THE CAVES. HEAT FROM BELOW AND ABOVE BUT ALL IS COLD BETWIXT. THE FENCES IN THE CAVES. THE FENCES IN THE CAVES. Then she vanished in a puff of green smoke. Several follow-up questions were asked, but since no one was at the podium, none of them were answered. Many of the questions were rhetorical anyway. After the round of questioning, a few arrests were made and the chosen journalists were led away to wherever journalists are taken when they disappear forever. All in all, a relatively uneventful press conference.

And now, a public service announcement... The Night Vale Psychological Association recommends that you spend at least 30 minutes each day believing what you see. The NVPA cited a study showing that more than 60% of all working citizens live in a self-created dome of obstinance, distraction, and surreal fantasy. When confronted with actual things outside of their own understanding (referred to by the psychologists as “real life”) most test subjects closed their eyes and pretended there was a spider or something on the ground.

The study does warn that trusting your own eyes can lead to some dangers. For instance: poltergeists, robots, and humidity MAY create visual illusions, tricking you into unsavory activities like gambling and eating nonfoods, so that they can gloat at your misfortune.

But the NVPA assures us that taking what you see at face value (even if only for a few minutes daily) is the most efficient way to live. It saves the mind from the emotional stress of self-fiction and skepticism.

The NVPA statement adds that you look good in that shirt and that you should wear tighter clothing. People want to see what you look like under there. They also ask you to just touch their back. You don't have to rub it, just touch it. Just put your hand there. God I miss you so much, the report concludes.

This just in. The traveler and his wife, Cactus Judy, were seen shopping at the Ralphs just moments ago. He was shaking his head at the fashion of our clothing, and clucking derisively at our telephones and grocery scales. "We have much better when I am from," said the traveler, according to one report, which I am choosing to believe. He added, "That's right, I said 'when' and not 'where'." He then winked.

The Sheriff's Secret Police meanwhile are more than a little interested in the sudden reopening of Jerry's Tacos, located on the corner of Ouroboros Road. You will recall that Jerry's Tacos was encased in amber last summer with Jerry inside. Now it is as if Jerry never transgressed against nature with his enchiladas.

The traveler has been spotted in the vicinity of Jerry's Tacos. If I were you - and I do not believe I am - I would be very careful about ordering anything off the secret menu at Jerry's. Definitely do not order anything off the forsaken menu.

And now for corrections. In a previous report, we at Night Vale Community Radio were talking about the commonly held belief that there is such a thing as “mountains”. We scoffed at this belief, and bellowed repeatedly “IT IS FLAT ALL THE WAY ROUND. IT IS FLAT ALL THE WAY ROUND.” We wrote lists of friends we knew to believe in mountains and sent the lists to the City Council, recommending that all of them be put into indefinite detention. We got physically violent with an effigy labeled “Mountain Believer”, punching it repeatedly before burning it in our station’s bloodstone circle. In fact, we devoted a full day of our programming to getting together the entire station staff and screaming in unison “MOUNTAINS? MORE LIKE NOTHINGS” into the microphone.

Recently one of our previously mentioned friends, who thankfully had not yet been apprehended by the Council, took us for a drive out to a mountain. We looked at the mountain and even touched it, and it was definitely real. Therefore, we are forced to admit, there is indeed at least one mountain in this world, and we apologize for our previous energetic assertions to the contrary.

I’m still not completely sold on there being more than one mountain. It’s possible that the mountain-apologists built a single mountain in order to prove their skewed world view. Not certain, listeners. Not certain. But possible. This has been corrections.

Here, now, is an update. We're getting reports that the traveler was just seen standing on the tailgate of his truck and addressing a small crowd of curious people.

" I have traveled here from the future. I have saved Night Vale from destruction and I will save it again," the traveler reportedly said to the crowd. "You do not know this because your memories have been changed along with the course of events. Now that I have altered the past I cannot return to my own time. I am staying here. I will show you the way. I hope you enjoy my enchiladas."

The Sheriff’s Secret Police said they can bring no charges against the traveler, as Night Vale recently voted to decriminalize time travel.

Just what did the traveler mean when he said he saved our town? How will he save it again? We have always trusted in the unknowable purposes of the Hooded Figures. Can we afford to abandon what we presume is their wisdom and follow this new prophet of tomorrow?

And now, a paid editorial, sponsored by Yelp.com.

[WORDLESS HUMMING AND WHISTLING]

This has been a paid editorial, sponsored by Yelp.com

Here's a look at the community calendar.

8pm, Thursday, at Dark Owl Records: Curtis Mayfield reads from his new book, “Where Am I? I Cannot See, Cannot Feel, Do Not Know Who I Am Or How Long I Have Been Here: A Memoir”

Friday afternoon is free admission day at the Children's Science Museum. After school, take the kids to the newest exhibit: “Frogs: Truth or Legend.” They've also installed a new interactive learning room, where young scientists can play freely with such scientific items as paint thinner, nail polish remover, glass cleaner, and a half-empty bucket of grout starter.

Saturday has been merged with Sunday to create Superday.

Monday will not harm you, but you should stock up on latex gloves nonetheless.

And Tuesday is Hornet-Free dining at the Olive Garden.

More news soon, but first: the weather.

[WEATHER: "Jews for Jesus Blues" by Clem Snide clemsnide.com]

Ladies and gentlemen and those of you not clearly falling into either category, it is my ambivalent duty to report that the traveler is suddenly gone. His photograph has disappeared from the front page of the newspaper. His truck is missing. Some who reported seeing him have called back to say that they must have been mistaken and that they have never seen anything, that they don’t even know how to open their eyes.

Perhaps he has leaped again through the stream of time or passed to an alternate dimension created by the changes he has made to our world. Or perhaps he was surrounded suddenly by the Hooded Figures, speaking in voices that only the traveler could hear. Perhaps they closed in on him and he panicked as their circle tightened and tightened around him until all that could be seen by horrified onlookers were the Hooded Figures. And perhaps just as suddenly the Hooded Figures were gone and nothing remained of the traveler except for a pile of indescribable buttons from his uniform, left scattered around the hole in the vacant lot out back of the Ralph's.

Whatever happened, I can only say: Farewell, traveler.

In other news, Jerry's Tacos now and forever shall be under the management of the Hooded Figures. Plants in the vicinity of the restaurant have already begun to wilt, and animals and insects are avoiding the area. The restaurant has been renovated to resemble a nine-meter high black monolith with no visible entrance. If we learn of any change in the menu or pricing, you will be the first to know.

Finally, we are pleased to end today's broadcast with some happy news from Night Vale's hospital. There have been several additions to the community.

Tock Wallaby's wife Hershel has given birth to an adult man's detached hand, which they have named Megan.

The Black Dauphin has given birth to a smooth metallic pellet of astonishing density. It joins three previous pellets with similarly curious properties currently being kept inside a safe in the Sheriff's Secret Police's Secret Police Vault.

And the beautiful widow, Cactus Jane, whose husband we no longer remember at all, is glad to bring into this world a baby boy she has named Champ. The birth was attended by several agents from a vague yet menacing government agency. Champ is said to be a child with a foreign face and a handsome, but terrible, beard.

Well listeners, this has been another day, another night, another bit of time in this bit of space. I’m sitting at my desk, feet planted on old, thinning carpet, but in my mind I am anywhere but. I am above, in the sky above, looking down at our little Night Vale. I see the lights, in grids and curves, and the places where there are no lights, because they are off or missing or invisible. I see roads with cars, and the cars have people in them, and the people are traveling through the dark in the comfort and light of the cars, and I see all of this from above. I see where the town gives way gradually to the desert, the last few lights from the last few homesteads like stray sparks from a campfire, tossed out into the absolute black of the Scrublands and the Sandwastes. I see the orbit of citizen around citizen, all these ordinary Night Valians about their ordinary lives, in this singular, extraordinary place we call home. Moving higher, into the cold, thin air of the upper atmosphere, I see below me the criss-crossed lines of contrails and chemtrails, the signature of air machines that have long since moved on, the footprint of our civilization upon the night sky. And, looking up, I see only the stars and the void, all a little closer than they were before. All still so unreachably distant.

I have something of urgent importance to tell you, but I will tell it to you later, or I will tell it to you not at all. Certainly, I will not tell it you to now. Now I merely look, from the vantage point of my own imagination, down at a town busy with its own existence. And, for now, existing is enough.

Stay tuned next for an exact word for word repeat of this broadcast, that will seem to you imperceptibly but unshakably different, although you will never be able to explain why

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.