Trumpets playing soft jazz from out of the dark desert distance. They come tomorrow. It is too late for us. Welcome to Night Vale

Did you know there's a faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home? It's true. She's there now. She's always there, just out of your sight. Always just out of your sight.

Because you cannot see her, you were probably completely unaware that this woman likes to sift through photos of you and your loved ones. She softly touches each face as if wishing it were her own, or perhaps claiming it as her own, or perhaps simply cursing that person. It's hard to say. You've never seen her doing this.

The faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home does lots of things. Ever wonder why your web browser's history is filled with Bing searches for (quote) pictures of dead wolves or (quote) the melting point of birds? Or why sometimes your shower drain gets clogged with organ meats or why sometimes you hear crying from behind the walls? Or scratching at the front door? Or you awaken to find long silver hairs on the pillow next to you?

Or maybe you've never noticed any of those things. You've lived your life to this point completely oblivious to this old woman who has no face. And truth be told, I think she's probably harmless. But maybe you shouldn't sleep in your home any more. Just in case.

Ladies and gentlemen, Dana has continued to send me texts from beyond the tall, black fences of the Dog Park. Even though the Dog Park is forbidden to citizens and their dogs, Dana managed to get in and is now trapped there for who knows how long.

First off, she says she's okay. She says she has met some nice people and she's never bored. She met the Man in the Tan Jacket who has been haunting this city for the past few months. In fact, Dana says the Man in the Tan Jacket is quite nice, and they've really struck up quite a friendship.

She's still trying to figure out what the man's involvement is with the hooded figures and the recently-deceased Apache Tracker and the tiny, underground civilization of war-mongers who live below lane 5 of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. He has seemed to pop up in relation to a lot of strange events.

She's also trying to figure out what he looks like. Every time she steps away from that guy she can't remember a thing about him, just that he's wearing a tan jacket and carrying a deer skin briefcase.

Oh, and that briefcase, Dana says, is kind of weird because it's full of flies, and that's kind of creepy at first until you realize that he's a fly salesman and that they're all trained. They can retrieve mail and speak German and play dead and all kinds of cute things. She says he's a pretty cool guy if you get to know him.

Oh and I almost forgot, Dana wonders if any listeners with a good arm can get kind of close to the Dog Park and throw some beans or chips or beef jerky or something over the tall fence. She's very hungry. In fact, it took me awhile to get through her typos, listeners, she must be shaking really badly.

And now, a public service announcement from the Greater Night Vale Medical Community. Are you feeling run down, even after 8 hours of sleep? Are you having trouble breathing between the hours of 2 and 4? Are you gaining several extra pounds of weight only to lose those pounds suddenly and then gain them back, all in 5 to 6 hour stretches of time? Are you craving soil, like all the time? Rich, dark soil that you just want cooling your tongue, filling your throat, your sinuses your lungs your belly? Are you digging up the earth in the early morning, screaming at the half-formed sun, as if it would cordially leave, returning you to the darkness you so richly deserve and physiologically demand?

If you answered yes to all of those questions, then you’re fine. The program is working. All tests have been successful and phase 4 is imminent. This has been Community Health Tips.

More on the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home. She has issued a statement to the media just now. Here is that statement.

[recorded voice]

I’m confused. There's no sense to how you organize the objects in your fridge. i cannot determine any sense of order. What systems do you use to contain your vegetables, your cans, your jars, your food stains. There are stains. Organic brown and pink smears that tell the esoteric history of your food. I like the yellowish one near the crisper because I think it is the oldest. It has a topography.

Oh, I do not like all of these bugs you have in your home. I like some of them. I also changed your sheets. You do not change your sheets enough. I do not think you are unsanitary, but I think you would feel better if you changed your sheets from time to time. And time is weird because it doesn't exist for me in the same way, so your sheets are already covered with your bones and hair and blood, but not yet. Not really yet.

I wish you could see me. Just cleaning and re-organizing. Making sense of the nonsense plants and muscles in your fridge. But you never look. If you would just glance left or right every so often, you'd see me. I'm right next to you, right now. I’m even in the mirrors. But you just stare at yourself. Staring only at your overripe potato of a face. I'm there in every mirror, if you could just look for me in the background behind you.

Also what's your wifi password?

[end recorded voice]

So that's the old woman's special announcement. I have no idea how we received that recording, who recorded it, or how an old woman with no face (and by extension, no mouth) could speak so clearly. But it was very informative.

Maybe you should try paying more attention when you're at home. Or better yet, destroy all of your mirrors. As my mother used to tell me: "Someone's going to kill you one day, Cecil, and it will involve a mirror. Mark my words, child." and then she would stare absently through my eyes until I giggled. I miss her so much.

Listeners, a lot of you have written in asking for photos of Khoshekh, the station cat, and to learn what became of his litter of kittens. Station Management did not let us keep the kittens, but they have been given away to good homes. Unfortunately, like Khoshekh, the kittens are also stuck floating in fixed points in space, so their owners will have to visit them right where they were born, right here in the station bathroom. Khoshekh hovers about 4 feet in the air but some of those little ones are as high as nine! It’s sad that we cannot keep the kittens for ourselves, but it’ll be nice to see them every time we take a restroom break at work.

I wish we had some photos to share with you. But, alas, radio is not a visual medium. Also the last three staff members that took photos not only found that Khoshekh does not show up in pictures, but those staff members also died pretty agonizing deaths the week following. So we're refraining from even describing what he looks like.

But I did make a quick recording of the meow Khoshekh’s makes when it’s time to eat.

[terrible guttural, animal growl or shriek, maybe a loud machine noise mixed in?]

Like I said, I’m not a cat person, but Khoshekh has found a truly special place in my heart.

I'm getting word that authorities are surrounding your home. These authorities are secret agents from a vague yet menacing government agency. You are probably looking out your window now to see these agents, but they are highly covert. You cannot see them, even if you look hard. These specially trained men and women can expertly disguise themselves as trees and doors and birds and feral cats and wind gusts. A group of them have even disguised themselves as one item of furniture in your home. I am not at liberty to even speculate which one, but you’re probably looking at it right now.

The vague yet menacing government agency seems upset that the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home has been alerting you and the media to her presence.

I mean, we all knew she was there. Who doesn’t know about the faceless old woman that hides in all of our homes? It’s not dissimilar to knowing that Santa Claus isn’t actually real. Everyone (except young children, of course) knows Santa is this huge population of heavily-sedated and costumed bears that the CIA sets loose across the country every Christmas Eve. And like the Santa Claus myth, it’s important to keep up the image that we all don’t know the truth. Like, let’s all pretend Santa is a gift-giving old man & not a drugged-up government bear. And in the same vein, there’s no faceless old woman hiding in your home.

Anyway, the agents are encroaching on your home now and preparing to use deadly force. I’d like to tell you that you need to run. To get out of there now. To save yourself. But it is too late. Every entrance and exit is barricaded. I am afraid you are doomed.

Unfortunately, the faceless old woman must know something. She must know secrets, some very important bits that the vague yet menacing government agency holds dear. And those secrets are probably about you.

Perhaps she is planning to reveal your purpose here. Perhaps you, too, are connected (albeit unwittingly) to the vague yet menacing government agency, and this information cannot, must not, be shared. You are a walking top-secret document. And now, on the verge of this revelation, you must be destroyed.

On the plus side, you had a purpose, and that is more than most of us can say. You will be missed. So for your last moments, though surely not ours, I give you the weather…

[WEATHER: Mara Wilson (marawilsonwritesstuff.com)]

The faceless old woman secretly living in your home wants to apologize to you. She has issued another statement.

[recorded]

I’m sorry. Mostly I just wanted to figure out how to get online. I reset the wireless router and that helped, but you use Chrome and you never clean your cache or history and it was so slow. I downloaded Firefox for you and that seems to be working much better. I heard the mayor is retiring and I wanted to know if mayoral candidates were required to have faces. I have some good ideas I think would help this town. Like one thing I think is we can increase school funding while still lowering taxes. It’s an innovative plan, and I’m going to build a website that explains it and other great ideas I have that could help this town. I’m very excited to announce my candidacy for Night Vale mayor. Also, I lit your fridge on fire. It was upsetting me. Now I’m smoking a cigarette and notating your copy of Infinite Jest.

[end recording]

She didn’t leave a name or a website URL. And I’m not sure how she can read websites or books at all without a face (and by extension, eyes).

We’ve also received word that the covert agents from the vague yet menacing government agency have retreated and have obviously not used deadly force, as you are still alive (regardless of how dead you feel inside). They did, however, release several thousand spiders into your home.

Fortunately for you, like the faceless old woman, you will be unable to see these spiders unless you look closely. They are highly-trained spiders, moving just outside of your periphery. But (and this is also just like the faceless old woman) from time to time you will feel them brushing against your soft cheeks and lips as you sleep.

So keep your eyes open. Listeners, let us all keep our eyes open. It’s not always easy knowing who and what wants to be seen, but when you look around you, pay attention to those fuzzy and dark corners. Peer deeper into those predictable patterns like walls and moons. Furrow that brow and seek visual truth, Night Vale. If you could only see what you’re not seeing. If you could only take in all the complex layers of horrors that lie just beyond your range of sight. If you could only see the world as it really is! It is awful and on fire and beautiful.

Listeners, stay tuned next for our newest hit program: Open-Mouthed Chewing. Tonight’s topic: glass shards – how to make the most out of a bad situation.

Until next time, good night, Night Vale. Good night.

Proverb: The human soul weighs 21 grams. Smells like grilled vegetables. Looks like a wrinkled, tartan quilt. And sounds like bridge traffic.