Listen to your heart. You can hear it deep under the earth, creaking and heaving, with roots snapping and birds flapping quickly away. Welcome to Night Vale

Listeners, there's a visitor in my studio today. No one you know. No one I know. Not even a thing you or I know. It is... I am unsure what it is. Let me describe it. Imagine a duck. But just the eyes. No, larger than that. Really large duck eyes. Now imagine fur, puffy fur, like a bear cub. Soft and tan and a thick round belly and no real discernable arms or legs, just little nubs that flit about as it slowly moves across the floor.

Oh my god. It's adorable. I wish you could see this thing.

Oh!

It just made a noise. Did you hear that, listeners? Like a mouse squeak meets a bike horn meets a sincere question about love.

What a cute surprise. Many of you remember a couple years back we here at the station found a stray cat in the men's restroom. We named him Khoshekh. Khoshekh is still in the men's bathroom as he has always been (and presumably always will be) hovering exactly 4 feet off the ground at a fixed point in space.

Khoshekh has been a real anchor for us here at the station. We built him a special litter box and feeding dish because of his distinctive physical state. And I have just been in love with that cat. I've never been a cat guy but Khoshekh. He's the sweetest boy.

Now this new... whatever. It doesn't move much. His big dark eyes, oh god they're so charming, just staring, pleading.

Well, it's not really doing much. I think it's scared. Let's let it be for now, and I'll get us to the news.

Controversy is plaguing the Mayoral race here in Night Vale. After Pamela Winchell announced her surprise resignation from the post last spring, two front-runners for Night Vale mayor have been polling neck and necks: the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home and Hiram McDaniels, who is literally a five-headed dragon.

Supporters of the Faceless Old Woman are claiming that while officially acquitted of insurance fraud, evidence suggests that Hiram is in possession of a stolen truck. They checked the registration of his vehicle and found that it belonged to one Frank Chen, who was found dead nearly two years ago. Frank’s body was covered in claw and scorch marks, and the coroner gave the cause of death as “Dragon, at least three heads.”

Hiram denies that he stole the truck and says that Frank is a friend and is totally not dead. Frank was probably just fooling around with all those weird injuries, McDaniels claimed.

His campaign fired back at the Faceless Old Woman, saying that since her origin is lost to distant history and she has no birth certificate, she is not able to prove that she's an American citizen.

Election day is June 15. Votes will be cast but not tabulated, as the mayor is of course decided by counting and interpreting the loud pulses coming from Hidden Gorge.

Let's have a look now at traffic. There's a silver pickup. Full-sized. Well-worn. Tall. Long. The windows are gray with dried dirt. The tires are lined with firm tread. Inside sits a man. Full-sized. Well-worn. Tall. He has a hat and some denim. His face is lined with firm tread. His mind is gray with history.

He doesn't remember things. This does not mean he can't. It means he doesn't. He just looks at what is in front of him. He deals only in the present. The past dictates his disposition, but the present is the only thing he can see. Cars, people, animals, trees, mud, a telephone. A telephone that rings sometimes. A telephone that rings and shows a name he knows. But he does not pick up. That name is not part of his present.

Forgiveness and memory are too inextricable to, say, answer a phone.

Brake lights. He slows. He drives carefully. He drives in the moment. He is a good driver. He is good at lots of things. The phone rings. He is not good at everything.

This has been traffic.

Wow this little creature is so shy. I tried placing a cup of water on the floor, but it just won't move. It just stares at me from the corner with its giant duck eyes. Just stares at me motionless. Really cute though.

Wait.

I think it moved. Here boy. Or girl. Or either. Get some water. Come here. You're so cute. So so so cute.

Nope didn't move. But its eyes followed me as I moved in my chair. Or did they? They're just solid black, all pupil. It's like a... what? A spider? Well that'd be weird. There are some other dark dots around it's face. Could be eyes. But no. I don't think it's...

Wait.

That noise again. Listen....

Well, whatever it is, it's cute. Or weirdly cute. Or just weird. Let's look at the community calendar.

This Wednesday night, the Night Vale Community Theater will be holding auditions for the musical Into the Woods. Interested thespians should bring night vision goggles, glass cutters, a breathable ski mask and quiet shoes to the First Night Vale Bank.

On Thursday, the Museum of Forbidden Technologies will open their new exhibit called Thought Crimes. Anyone who attends the exhibit is obviously interested in learning about forbidden technologies and will be arrested immediately. Tickets are available on the museum website. And here's a tip: they can't arrest you for buying tickets if you're in your own home. They can, however, use tear gas to flush you out and then arrest you.

Friday afternoon, the staff of Dark Owl records will be wearing black pants and chainmail veils.

Saturday night is the grand opening of Night Vale's newest restaurant Tourniquet, featuring executive chef LeShawn Mason, who was previously a sous chef for Night Vale's top rated fine dining establishment, Shame. LeShawn hopes to bring classical French cooking into the 21st century with a mix of molecular gastronomy and human remains. Tourniquet offers a prix fixe menu for $35 featuring choice of appetizer, entree, dessert, and sudden awareness of a hideous, suppressed memory.

Sunday morning is. Period. It just is.

Okay, listeners, I think I finally got this thing to trust me. It waddled over here just a moment ago - oh so cute the way its bulbous square of a body moves. It came right up to me and let me pet it.

I'm petting it now. And it's... purring I think? Humming? Or buzzing.

Oh what a cuddly little addition to our station this thing will make. What should we name it? Can't tell if it's a boy or a girl or maybe genderless like the future humans who visited Night Vale in the 1950s with their time travel technology which was then outlawed until last yea-

Oh. My. God. Listeners, it's hugging my leg. It's hugging my leg. This is the cutest thing. I have got to get a photo of this. Let me get my phone from my bag. If I could just... Oh god, you're really heavy. Can't seem to move from this spot here, ladies and gentlemen, and the little guy or gal doesn't seem to want to let go.

You're so strong. Yes you are. Yes you are.

We've received an update from Carlos and his team of scientists about the house that doesn't exist. The one in the Desert Creek development. It looks like it exists. Like it's right there when you look at it, and it's between two other identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not, but it doesn't actually exist.

The scientists have been carefully monitoring John Peters, you know the farmer? who has been standing alone in the house for weeks. The house is completely empty except some photographs on the wall. Each one seems to be of a lighthouse.

The scientists, long too scared to open the door, finally got the nerve to go up to the house and try. It was locked. They shook the handle, hard at first, violently at second, pounding and yelling at third.

And those observing John from the window saw no change in his behavior. The door slammed opened, and a woman answered. "What do you want?" she shouted at the scientists. "We wanted to see what that man was doing in there?" one of them meekly replied. "What man?” the woman said. “I live alone."

And looking in from the front door they could see a room of the same shape and size as the one John Peters, you know the farmer, had been standing in. The room was full with chairs and a couch and plants, and a table, and photographs, but none of lighthouses, most of faces, faces similar in form to the woman's at the door.

The scientists who were at the window could still see John standing in the empty room looking at lighthouses.

The woman said her name was Cynthia and she'd lived there for 19 years. The scientists left her alone, returning quietly to the lab.

Carlos added that the Desert Creek housing development was only 3 years old.

Ow! Ow! Listeners, I think I've been bitten by this... thing. Oh god, I can see blood. Get off. Get off. Ow. I need to go wash this. Let's go now to a word from our sponsor.

KEVIN: Are you achieving your fullest potential? Are you finding the right solutions for your challenges? Are you making the most of what you are given?

Do you believe in a smiling god?

Of course you do. We all do. We must.

Well, what if I told you the smiling god was smiling more than ever. What if the smiling god had a smile so wide that you could see yourself in its mirrored teeth. And what if I told you that your gauzy reflection looked perfect. Just perfect.

You would like that. Of course. We all would. We must.

And what if I told you your perfect self hated your imperfect self. And as the smiling god smiled wider you could see a tongue pressing through the teeth. Thick and pink and gray and wet. And what if I told you you could see your imperfect self in the shining sheen of the bulging tongue and in your reflection you were slack and sallow and maybe bleeding. A lot. Bleeding so much.

And what if I told you you could kill your imperfect self? What if I told you you could achieve your fullest potential.

StrexCorp Synernist Inc. is a proud supporter of the Greater Desert Bluff and Night Vale Community. StrexCorp - Believe in a smiling god. Believe in your perfect self.

Strex.

Strex!

CECIL: Listeners, I'm on my cell phone calling from the men's restroom. I had intern Jeremy patch me into the board so I can still broadcast. That thing tried to follow me in here as I limped down the hall. I was able to outrun it, but I've had to use the deadbolt on the bathroom door to keep it out.

All this talk about Khoshekh today, and here he is. Hi, baby boy. That thing is nothing at all like you. It--

[loud crunch]

The door's come off its hinges. It's gotten in. I'm ducking into this stall.

[whispering]

I'm peering now under the walls & see nothing. I'm standing now on the commode & looking over the walls & see nothing. Listeners the only thing more terrifying than seeing the devil is no longer being able to see the devil.

Perhaps, I should be quiet. Intern Jeremy, can you 1) call animal control, and 2) take us now to the weath-

[roar and crash sound]

What was that?? Oh no. No. Khoshekh. What have you done with my cat you monst-

[loud shriek]

Jeremy. Take us to the weather! Come here you son of a-

WEATHER: "Cover Me Up" by Jason Isbell, jasonisbell.com.

Listeners... oh god, listeners, Khoshekh has been hurt very badly. Animal control came and took him to a hospital. They think he will live. They think he will live differently. They think there will be significantly less of him physically and mentally. But he will live.

He is my boy. He is my buddy. I love him so much. And this thing. This thing comes here and.

Yes. Yes. Let me tell you about this thing, this awful beast. After I saw it tear Khoshekh from his fixed point, and bite into his side, I kicked it. I kicked it again. Jeremy helped me pin it down, and animal control tried to sedate it. I wanted to beat it to death with a hammer. But I had no hammer, only self-control.

Animal control tried to inject it with their delicious poisons, but they stopped. They said we can't. We can’t inject. It is a machine. And they flipped its switch and it died. I have never been so relieved to be safe and so disappointed to be shorted my vengeance.

Our new program director, Lauren, came in and wanted to know why we destroyed my gift. My gift?, I asked. It's your birthday, she replied. Daniel and I and the whole StrexCorp management team got you that StrexPet, because we know you love animals so much. And I replied, But it's a machine. A biomachine, she retorted. And it's not my birthday, I mumbled as animal control took Khoshekh away.

I'm going to go now. Go see my Khoshekh. He should be out of surgery in half and hour or so. I'm sure he will live. I'm sure he will float again at a fixed point exactly 4 feet up in the men's bathroom of our community radio station.

I'm sure there is vengeance to be found. I'm sure I will find it. I'm sure I just have to find the right recipient.

Stay tuned next for the sound of your own thoughts, broadcast live on the radio for all to hear.

And as always, good night, Night Vale. Good night.

PROVERB: You won't sleep when you're dead either.