Did you know that over 50% of people who eat legumes end up dying someday? It’s true! Welcome to Night Vale.

Judgement day has come, listeners. One year ago today, Judge Chaplin ruled that the Sheriff’s Secret Police and the City of Night Vale had one year to produce a living Frank Chen, exactly as he was on the day he was murdered. Failing that, the family of Frank Chen would receive free and unconditional ownership over the town of Night Vale. Well, a year has passed, and after several embarrassing failed attempts to fulfill the judge’s order, there is no sign or word from the Sheriff’s office.

The family of Frank Chen is preparing to move into City Hall. Gathered outside are Norman and Don Chen, Frank’s older brothers, and Nicole Chen, Frank’s younger sister, as well as Mei Chen, Norman’s adult daughter, and Lyle Chen, Nicole’s 7 year old son. This small crowd of Chens eyed the clock, waiting for the 3pm deadline that would mean they officially owned the town. In answer to questions, they screamed “no comment” over and over.

The only exception was Mei Chen, who took me aside and said that the family feels vindicated by the judge’s decision, that they look forward to taking over this town and ridding it of injustice. “And making some big bucks,” her father, apparently unable to help himself, shouted. “Yeah,” said Mei, “if we’re going to get a town, I guess it makes sense to figure out how to turn it into restitution for this family, you know?”

Well, from the last hours in which Night Vale is our Night Vale, I will continue to report.

Frank Chen was born in Ottawa, but moved to Vancouver when he was four years old. Later he would tell people he didn’t remember Ottawa, but this wasn’t quite true. He had fragments of memories. An image of his father’s hand as they walked together to his first day at preschool. A swirl of snowflakes, their ethereal lightness made heavy and terrifying by the ferocity of the wind. Dancing to the radio, delighted by his own mobility. All of this, he would round down later to: “yeah, I don’t really remember Ottawa.”

Vancouver was beautiful but boring. He wasn’t much of a nature person. He could see the beauty in the lakes and the woods, in the sheets of rain drifting in from the Pacific, but he would rather live somewhere ugly where there were exciting people doing exciting things. In Vancouver there was only lumber and then later television productions, the rainy city standing in for everything from Los Angeles to London. Frank had few friends in high school, but the ones he had were very close. They would film videos, little action movies and musicals. Later, he would be glad that online video wasn’t a thing then, because what they made was terrible to watch, but a blast to make. Not all work needs an audience.

He applied to 10 schools, got into five of them, decided to go to NYU because his older brother was at Columbia, and it would be good to have a guide in this new city, in this new country, in this new stage of his life.

His mother held him tight in the airport. He didn’t even pretend that it was embarrassing or unwanted. He returned the embrace, and they stood like that until he had to let her go, pick up his carry-on with his left hand, and walk up the jetway.

And now an update on Susan Willman.

As you might remember, she learned the name of an Obelisk, and this name has taken residence in her head. Contained within the name is all of the knowledge in the universe, both past and future. Susan quit her job and all her volunteer activities. I, for one, was soooo sad that she quit the PTA. We’ll all miss how she never filled out her availabilities for meetings and then would complain that the meeting, quote “just wasn’t at a very convenient time but no don’t reschedule it. I’ll make it work. It’s just that it’s not very convenient for many of us.” That’s a big loss there.

Anyway, Susan has withdrawn completely from Night Vale society, and has taken to wandering the streets, whispering little phrases to plants and small animals. Her eyes carry a radiant darkness. You must be careful to not look into her eyes lest you never be able again to look away. She has changed in some fundamental aspect, and no longer seems a mere human being, but instead like something natural and vast: a front of thunderclouds, or a toxic mold destroying acres of crops.

What’s next for Susan Willman? Who cares? Not me. Ugh.

It is less than half an hour before the judgement of a year ago enters effect, and the family of Frank Chen take ownership of the town. Family members are now openly discussing their plans.

“Well,” said Don Chen, “we think there’s potential for some real tourism money. Fly people in, show them the sights, let them take a look at Radon Canyon and all that.”

“Of course,” added Norman, “we’ll need more motels and public bathrooms and other infrastructure for tourists, so some of this will need to be knocked down.” He considered the town thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he continued, “I think if we knock down everything from the Sandwastes to City Hall that should do it.” When it was pointed out that this constituted almost the entirety of Night Vale, he nodded and said “could be, could be, who can say?”

Mei Chen quickly added that they have the best interests of the community at heart, but also that the community covered up their family member’s murder and then offered no restitution, so maybe the best thing for this community was if it were just sliced up and sold to the highest bidder. “There’s always land needed for another golf course,” Mei said. “The dryer, the better,” she continued. “Golfers love knowing that their sport requires thousands of gallons of water to be shipped from a dwindling lake three states away,” she concluded.

I don’t know how I feel about all of these plans, listeners. Bad, I think? I think I feel pretty bad about them.

NYU was simultaneously everything Frank had hoped and feared it would be. The city was so full of activity, crammed to the corners with people striving for their ticket to lifetime success, only those tickets were in short supply and mostly held by the children of the rich. And so Frank turned to the opposite of ambition. He took up Polka. Ludicrously out of fashion, hard to discuss with anyone out of the scene, it was the perfect antidote to the New York Big Dream. He received a music degree, had no real plans for what it could be used for, merely knew that he liked music.

After graduation, he moved back to Vancouver. But his hometown felt even smaller than it had before, and no one there knew anything about polka. He spent a summer helping his father clean out the garage. His father put an arm around him when they were done. “I know that this is a time when we don’t know What Next,” said his father. “And unfortunately we never know What Next. None of us get that gift. But I have confidence that whatever you do, it will be very interesting.” His father patted his shoulder and went back into the house, leaving Frank staring at a perfectly clean garage floor.

A month later he moved back to New York, started his own polka band: The Big Apple Polka Players. They mostly gigged at festivals, the occasional wedding or party. He made almost no money. He was very happy. Two years passed.

Then Frank’s father died. Frank didn’t see it coming, because his father was too young yet to die. It hadn’t even been on Frank’s radar as a possibility. After he returned to New York from the funeral, he told his band he was taking a break, but he knew that the break would be permanent. He packed up his tiny apartment, gave most of the possessions away, and left New York for good. He had no idea What Next. But then none of us ever know What Next.

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The Night Vale City Council and the Sheriff’s Secret Police have filed a final desperate measure, claiming that the court has no jurisdiction over the town because courts are, quote, “like a made-up concept that we all agree to pretend is real, while Night Vale is an actual place where actual human beings actually live. A made-up concept can’t be more important than real human beings.”

Unfortunately, Judge Chaplin threw out the motion, pointing out that much of our modern society is built around treating made-up concepts as more important than very real human life. Then the city tried to get the Judge to recuse herself due to the fact that her ruling in favor of the Chen family is a strong indication of her favoritism towards them, but this was also tossed out.

There are no more judicial challenges to be met, and the deadline is only five minutes away. I’m afraid there’s just no way around it. The Chen family is about to take ownership of the town of Night Vale.

For a long time, Frank Chen moved from place to place. Six months in Columbus. A tedious summer in Iowa City, helping organize the university’s music archive. Three lost years in Ventura, playing Sunday nights at the Polish Community Hall in an inland strip mall near the freeway, the drone of cars a constant accompaniment to songs like the Pennsylvania Polka and In Heaven There Is No Beer.

It was after one of these gigs, as he packed his accordion away in the back of his 1998 Dodge Dakota, that he glanced up in the sky and saw something that did not belong there. It was a planet of awesome size, lit by no sun. An invisible titan, all thick black forests and jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans. It was so far away, so desolate, and so impossibly, terrifyingly dark, and that day Frank did not go home. He drove instead. He drove a long time, and eventually he ended up in Night Vale and he stopped driving.

Life in Night Vale was kind to him. He liked his neighbors. Just down the street was Old Woman Josie and her mysterious friends, who were many eyed and many winged and waved to him in the mornings. Right next to him was a trailer whose occupant he never saw, but who kept their yard tidy. He could hear their car starting early in the morning to go to some job, whatever job the person in the trailer had. Frank didn’t have a job. He found he didn’t need one yet. There was always cash in his wallet, always food in the fridge. This town wanted him there, and he was happy to oblige.

One day he woke, knowing that it was time. Time for what? He had no idea, but he had followed his feelings this far. He started his pick-up truck, drove out toward the desert. Was he leaving behind this town right at the moment it had finally started to feel like home? He hoped not. But he pitched his foot forward on the gas. He leaned back into the leather seats, smelling their age and the faint sweetness of root beer, a scent that had lingered in his truck for years now.

He didn’t know What Next, and he didn’t need to know. He could follow this feeling forever. A large shadow with a long tail and five serpentine heads, fell across the hood.

The family of Frank Chen has entered City Hall with just under 2 minutes left on the clock for the judgement to take effect. Norman Chen is getting the long vacant mayor’s desk organized. Mei Chen is asking several logistical questions like “So how does the government work?” and “Ok, so there’s a City Council in here?” and “my god what is THIS? What is it? What monstrous thing is this and where is the City Council?” and “Oh that is the City Council. Ok, cool.”

City Council itself is howling in terror and grief as control of the city it has so long ruled is slipping from its grasp. Truly this is the start of a new era.

And at the start of this new era, a man walks through the front door of City Hall. He moves quietly and uncertainly, feeling as though he is new to this world. He steps into the former mayor’s office and sees his brothers.

“Oh my god,” says Frank Chen. And as soon as his brothers see him, they understand that there is no question. This is Frank Chen. Exactly as he had been on the day he was murdered. The judge’s orders have been fulfilled with mere seconds left on the deadline.

“Yeah!” shouts Sheriff Sam. “Deus ex machina, babeeee. Rocked that one out.” They held up a rare grimoire they had bought at a dusty used bookstore on Wormwood Avenue. “Just did a spell from this old book, and it worked. It actually worked. Haha yess!”

Frank Chen and his family stared at each other in quiet disbelief. All across this earth, now and in every moment, there is weather.

[Weather: “Blacksnake” by Charming Disaster https://charmingdisaster.bandcamp.com/]

Frank Chen found himself enveloped by his family. Hands, big and small, clasped tightly to his back. “It’s you this time,” his younger sister Nicole said. “I know it. It’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me,” said Frank, unsure what they meant by “this time.” There had only been this time. Frank Chen only had the one life.

Lyle stood shy behind his mother’s legs. He had only ever seen his uncle in photographs.

Norman cried, silently, nodding as though answering a question.

It was Don who first said the unthinkable that they were all thinking. “Does this mean,” he said. “Uh, does this mean we don’t get the town?”

“Oh, I guess not,” said Nicole.

And Norman and Don frowned. “But, the investment plans,” said Norman. “It would make us a fortune. And they owe us a fortune,” said Don. “After all this.”

Now Nicole frowned. “We should get the town,” she said. “That’s not fair,” she said.

Frank had no idea what they were talking about. “What do you mean,” he said, “getting the town? What’s happening here?”

He had reunited with his family after years away dead, and the looks on their faces were of disappointment. He felt his heart break.

Finally it was Mei who stepped in. “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” she said. “Frank is home. Frank is home and that’s all that matters.” And she was right. It was all that mattered. And the adults in the room were ashamed, even Frank somehow, although he didn’t know why.

Frank Chen moved back to Vancouver. The city felt different to him. Better. He could see that there still wasn’t much in the way of exciting people doing exciting things, but these days he would rather have the beauty of the lakes and the woods, the sheets of rain drifting in from the Pacific. He took long walks along the ocean, wearing one layer too little. He relished feeling cold.

The years passed, as years must. He played polka. He taught music. He watched tv in the evenings and read a book in the mornings. It wasn’t much, his life, but it didn’t have to be. Because for almost a decade, he hadn’t had a life at all. Now he cherished every boring, tedious moment of this one life that had been returned to him.

When he was 73 years old, his niece Mei stopped by, as she often did when she visited the city. She had gray hair, and the same laugh. When she laughed, she sounded 17, and she always would. They ate soup, and disagreed about the particulars of favorite family stories, and then watched the sun set until Frank dozed off in his chair. Mei sat, looking at the uncle she hadn’t had, and then she had had again. She felt boundless gratitude.

And that is the life of Frank Chen. In the end, he only got the one, and he used it the best he knew how.

Stay tuned next for….well, I don’t know What Next. We never do.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.