Mountains. Endless mountains. Peak after barren peak. And what lies restless in the shadowed valleys? I cannot say. I cannot say. Welcome to Night Vale

Hello. Let’s start there. Let’s start with a greeting, a simple hello, and then let’s move right into the most exciting news, the most wonderful news. As you may remember, a few weeks ago, along with the beginning of a vicious war against us by tiny people from a tiny underground city, Carlos, the beautiful scientist, finally returned my expressions of affection. And not in that dry science way he always used to use, saying things like “I’m not calling for personal reasons. I need to tell your radio audience about the strange hole that might appear in their wall.” Oh, yeah, I forgot. There’s a strange hole that might appear in your wall. He said it was important to tell you, especially after what happened at the Smithwick house. I forgot. That was awhile back, so I guess it doesn’t matter much now.

But yesterday when he called me, he started his call by saying “I am calling for personal reasons. Also my calculations show a strange source of energy approaching the town, but not emanating the kind of light that such a source should.” Isn’t that so sweet! And, well, one thing to another, and last night we went on our first date. I just have to tell you about it. I have certain obligations though, so first let’s get to the news.

The Secret Police, in association with a Vague Yet Menacing Government Agency, announced that those trucks full of crates far out in the desert are nothing, and that we shouldn’t worry about them. The trucks, which no one in town knew about until this announcement, are filled with crates that are warm to the touch. Some of them tick. Others do not. Don’t even worry a little about them, say the Secret Police. Forget we said anything. No, really, remembering we said anything is now against the law.

We reached out to Lt. Regis of Unit Seven of the local National Guard Station and KFC combo store for a comment, and he said he’s been ruminating on a lot of things. “Just a lot of stuff’s been running through my mind. That’s an interesting phrase. Running through the mind. Where are the thoughts going? Are they trying to leave? And, if so, for where?” When pressed to comment specifically about the trucks full of crates out in the desert, he just repeated everything he had said, with the exact same inflections and gestures.

Well, I’m sure these crates won’t come up again, and pose no future danger to any of us. No more on this story ever, I’m sure.

The Night Vale Public Library will be expanding into a second branch, the Night Vale Private Library. This library will be right next door to the current location, and will be available only to one person, local billionaire Marcus Vanston. It will contain thousands of books on any given subject, an interactive children’s area shaped like a full sized pirate’s ship, and a biography section featuring not just biographies of Helen Hunt, but also biographies of Sean Penn. Plans include floor to ceiling windows facing the Public Library, which Marcus, the only person who will ever be allowed inside, says he will use to stroll nude through his library, staring ordinary citizens in the eyes as he does not read or make any use of the towers of books around him. Marcus continued: “Maybe I will pick up a book and open it as though I were going to read it, but then reveal to those watching that I am holding it upside down before laughing and throwing the book away. I’m not sure. I haven’t planned out every moment. I will definitely be nude though.”

The Public Library board of directors issued a statement via loudspeaker from their helicopter that hovers continuously over our city, indicating that they feel this expansion will serve the community by showing how rich Marcus is, and what a great guy that obviously makes him, and have you see how many cars that guy owns. Wow!

Reports also indicate that the Night Vale Private Library will be entirely free of librarians, a fact that will be of little comfort to the many Public Library goers who are injured or killed in librarian maulings every year. Remember, if confronted by a librarian while looking for a book to check out, do not attempt to escape by climbing a tree. There are no trees in the library and the precious moments it will take you to look around and realize this will allow the librarian to strike. Don’t become a statistic.

Alright, news done. So, now let’s talk about the date. Carlos and I met up in Old Town. I was wearing my best tunic and furry pants, and he had on a laid back “weekend” lab coat. We were both beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight, each other’s dreams met in a real world moment. Our destination was none other than Gino’s Italian Dining Experience and Grill and Bar, the fanciest restaurant in town. It was a perfect day, other than the strange blot of darkness buzzing on the edge of town, but that was probably yet another Applebee’s under construction.

We went arm in arm into Gino’s, and were immediately seated, with no memory of who greeted us at the door or how we got to our table, situated in a classy, understated, and absolutely doorless room. The full Gino’s experience. Their menu is somewhat limited after the ban on wheat and wheat by-products, so we each ordered a single Portobello mushroom, served rare and bloody, as is the Gino’s way. From the window we had a great view of the sunset, and of the buzzing shadow thing, which seemed to have moved closer.

“I’ve been thinking,” Carlos said.

“Uh huh?” I said.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing lately,” he said. “Thinking. It’s part of being a scientist. What have you been up to?”

And so we talked. Just us, and our bleeding mushrooms, and the buzzing shadow presence, and a blooming haze of romance in the air. Hold on, Station Management is apparently getting agitated, flailing around their office and howling, so I need to do more news real quick.

Violent incidents increased across the entire Night Vale area over the last several weeks, as the people of the miniature city under lane five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex continue to wage their war against us, with tiny bodies and tinier weapons. Citizens are urged to protect themselves against this army in our midst by stomping everywhere they go and keeping a vigilant watch towards the ground rather than keeping our eyes closed as we usually do. In related news, the City Council has erected a monument to the fallen Apache Tracker, that hero who died for the welfare of us all. The monument will be dedicated in a secret, silent ceremony, attended by no one, and the monument itself will be buried somewhere in the desert where no one will find it, because he was also a racist embarrassment and we don’t want our town associated with that kind of thing.

And now, the community calendar.

Monday will be the annual Bluegrass Festival held in the burned out shell that used to be Louie Blasko’s Music Shoppe before he lit it on fire and skipped town with the insurance money. Participants can huddle among the ashen remains, casting haunting looks at each other and sharing some of their favorite bluegrass dirges. Legend has it that if you look into a mirror and say absolutely nothing three times, Louie himself will appear and teach the crowd some simple, easy bluegrass licks before taking your soul back with him into the dark of the mirror.

Tuesday is a holiday. Make sure you have adequate emergency supplies and plenty of clear plastic sheeting. We’re not sure which holiday it is, so have all possible antidotes on hand.

Wednesday, the staff of Dark Owl Records are getting a band together. “We know a lot about music,” they’ll say, grabbing knives and hammers. “We should start a band.” “Definitely,” they’ll continue, over the screams. “Let’s get a band together. We should do that.”

Thursday through Sunday will be a blur of routine and practicalities, a series of moments and actions that we will fail to notice as we experience them, and will forget the moment they are gone.

This has been the community calendar.

Alright, boring stuff done. Back to the date! We wrapped up dinner at Gino’s with a slice of their special invisible, non-corporeal, and tasteless carrot cake, which was as light as air and resembled air in all other qualities as well. Our waiter, formerly a heavyset man with a large mustache, was now a buzzing shadow man defined only by the absence of light in the vague shape of a torso and limbs. Presumably our former waiter was on break. We asked for the check and then made our escape from the doorless room by breaking the window using the brick our waiter had provided for that purpose.

Carlos and I, oh the magic of that phrase, oh the ecstasy of all that a simple conjunction can imply, took a stroll through Mission Grove Park. It was just us, and the trees, and the crowd of our fellow citizens who were all doing the usual recreational activity of pointing at the sky and shouting in terror. I asked Carlos if he wanted to join in for a round, but he said he had already been scared of all that the empty sky implies yesterday, and so was pretty tired.

“If you want,” he said, “we could do some tests on the trees. I’ve been meaning to do some scientific tests on the trees. They seem normal, but given all that I’ve observed in this town, it is a significant chance that they are not.”

Well, of course I could not pass up the opportunity to perform real science side by side with my Carlos, and so we approached the nearest tree, an old sagging thing, and begin to perform tests, the nature and purpose of which I am not remotely qualified to describe.

Meanwhile our fellow parkgoers had ceased screaming and had taken up being strange buzzing shadow beings. All of them were standing exactly where they had been, but were now defined only by the absence of light in the vague shape of a torso and limbs. I stroked Carlos’s cheek. I don’t know if he noticed. He said the tests were inconclusive, and also was perfect in face and form.

And now a word from our sponsors.

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And now, a station editorial. Listeners, a lot has been made about the topic of beauty, and I don't think we in the media always do our best to promote healthy self-images.

Movies and magazines and tv shows and advertisers love to use photo and video editing to make people seem skinnier, fairer, more appealing to a false ideal of human beauty. And I think this takes a strong hold of us, especially children.

But remember you are beautiful only when you do beautiful things. Full lips aren't as beautiful as a full laugh. Skinny hips aren't as attractive as a quick wit. Think about treating others right and those others will flock to you in screaming droves.

Just peel back those artificial layers Night Vale. Unzip that name brand coat, those skinny jeans, wipe off that make up, and gently (but very quickly) peel off that skin that's covering up the true you. Look at those exposed eyes, dangling unprotected from their gaping sockets. Look at the blood and sinew slowly uncoiling from quivering bones. Admire that slippery viscera trying to squeeze under those dynamic ribs of yours. You are organic, to be sure, listener. Be proud of who you are.

Speaking of pride, speaking of beauty: more from my date soon. But first, the weather.

[WEATHER: "Team the Best Team" by Doom Tree, doomtree.net]

Let’s get right back into it, shall we?

After the park, I drove him back to his lab, next to Big Rico’s Pizza. The drive was difficult, because at this point it seemed that everyone in town but the two of us had hopped onto the buzzing shadow entity train, and were loping around town as malevolent holes in our reality, emanating an energy that made the hairs on your arm stand and your bowels vibrate. Or maybe that was just the chemistry with Carlos I was feeling. A woman ran at our car screaming, a few of the shadow people chasing her, but before I could even touch the brake she must have changed her mind, because she had already turned into a shadow person herself. It’s like, ugh, run from the shadow people or become one. Make up your mind lady!

We arrived outside of Big Rico’s and there was that awkward moment at the end of every date where you pause outside of the person’s door and it’s like Should I call the City Council and submit the standard end of date report or are you going to? Also I was wondering if he was going to invite me into his lab, to look at all those breakers and humming electrical equipment.

“Well,” he said, pointing to the lab. “This is me.”

“Uh huh,” I said.

“I should probably do something about this buzzing shadow thing,” he said “A few experiments to see if I can save the town.”

“Oh,” I said “Do you need any help with that?”

“No,” he said. “A scientist is self-reliant. It’s the first thing a scientist is.”

“Oh,” I said again, but softer, sadder.

Which is when he leaned forward and kissed me, just once, just gently, just before slipping out of the car and into the lab. I’ll tell you listeners, I was almost swallowed by a cloud of malevolent shadow energy on the drive home and I hardly even noticed. I was so happy.

I guess Carlos managed to find a way to defeat the shadow energy, as everything seems normal today. A couple neighborhoods are emptied out, sure, with books and food and televisions left where they had been at the time of the sudden vanishing, a tableau of a life that never again will be. But it wouldn’t really be a weekend without that happening somewhere, right?

Night Vale, my sweet and only Night Vale, may you find love. May you find it wherever it’s been hidden. May you find who has been hiding it and exact revenge upon them.

As the old song goes, “Love is all you need to destroy your enemies.” Finer words were never chanted.

Stay tuned next for Efficiency Hour with our own productivity expert, a reversed voice underscored by hypnotic pulses.

And with all the love in my loving heart, and with a loving voice in a loving and terrifying world, good night, Night Vale. Good night.