The last shall be first and the first shall be last. The middle will experience no change at all. Welcome to Night Vale.

As a friendly gesture from one educational institution to another, Sarah Sultan, dean of Night Vale Community College, has invited Dr. Janet Lubelle, dean of the University of What It Is, East Night Vale Campus, for a tour of the Community College facilities. Sarah Sultan, who is a fist sized river rock, believes that education grows from cooperation, and she welcomes the addition of another institution of higher learning in town.

“When truth is discovered by one, it benefits all,” Sarah said, from the podium where an aide had placed her on a little coaster. “I look forward to welcoming my counterpart.”

Dr. Lubelle responded that she would be all too delighted to tour Night Vale Community College, just as soon as she’s done with her morning meditation. “It’s important to center myself,” Dr. Lubelle said, via an auto text response that she leaves on at all times.

I’m excited to see what these two great minds will come up with together. More soon, I’m sure.

But first, the news.

The new murals all over town are great, just great. We’re all really excited about them. But they have, and I don’t know how else to say this, they have started to molt. The paint is peeling away in long flakey pieces, revealing what is underneath. Which is, and again, I can’t really find another way to say this: It’s flesh. The happy painted faces of the happy painted children are now streaked with gashes revealing a pulpy red meat within.

The artist behind the murals, my old friend Jerrod, has disappeared. He left behind a note that said “I regret nothing. But I mourn everything.” Most of his possessions were missing and there was fresh soil all over the floor and kitchen counters. The police think that likely Jerrod is just visiting family and there is nothing to worry about.

City officials say that the mural flesh is almost certainly harmless, but just to be safe they are evacuating every house within 100 feet of a mural and the Sheriff’s Secret Police will be pointing guns at the murals while screaming “don’t move” every five seconds. Wow, I do feel a lot safer.

And now for a word from our sponsors.

A dark room. It is not a room you know. Perhaps you should not be so sure, because you cannot see the room. But some dark is familiar. And this darkness is a stranger to you. It makes you feel cold and lost. You have no idea where the walls of this room might be, no clear sense of direction at all.

Perhaps if you called out, you could hear an echo, which would give you some sense of the shape of the room, the dimensions of the emptiness. But you also feel that if you called out, you would risk drawing attention. From what? You have no idea, and hope you never find out. Something is sleeping here, in this darkness. Pray that it continues to dream.

You stumble forward, out of lack of any other option, and you come across a table. Or your knee comes across the table, and you make a sharp intake of breath to try to bury the expression of pain. You feel about the table, gently, careful not to knock anything to the floor. In the center of the table is something warm. A mug of coffee. You pick it up. Its scent is jarringly familiar in these strange environs. You take a sip. The coffee is fine.

As you sip, you hear a thick wet stirring in the darkness all around you. What once dreamed, is no longer dreaming. It is too late for silence. You break into a brief terrified wail that will last for the rest of your life.

Dunkin Donuts: Awaken that which slumbers.

Dr. Lubelle has arrived at Night Vale Community College for the tour. Sarah Sultan has expressed excitement at getting to show off the new Language Learning Lab, the Theater Center, and the Community College Library. The Library is a special point of pride, as recently, thanks to Sal’s Pest Service and Event Catering, it has been fully cleared of all dangerous librarians. Sal more than lived up to his slogan: “We’ll kill them all or feed them all, depending on what you want, and we hardly ever mix it up.”

But Dr. Lubelle seemed less interested in the newly renovated Community College Campus, and more interested in Sarah Sultan herself. “Why is there a rock here?” Dr. Lubelle said, quite rudely, I think. “How is it possible for a college to have a rock for a dean?” Sarah explained that she is a fist sized river rock, and Dr. Lubelle said “I must study this.” And she grabbed Sarah without asking and carried her back to the lab at the University of What It Is.

Well, I do not think that kind of behavior is acceptable. Please return Sarah Sultan, dean of Night Vale Community College, and fist sized river rock, to her place of work immediately! My goodness.

Let’s have a look at the community calendar

This afternoon, the Night Vale Sky Appreciation Society will be gathering to appreciate the sky. “The sky is our greatest natural resource,” said a group representative wearing a rubber Richard Nixon mask. “And we just want to give big ups to the Big Up.” This gathering will be happening at the parking lot of the Ralphs, which the group insists has the best view of the sky in town.

Tomorrow morning, all of the ants in town will leave. They’ll gather together into a huge collective march, a jittering black river leading out into the scrub lands and the sand wastes. We’ll be happy about this, obviously. But also we will be worried. Do the ants know something we don’t? The answer to that question is yes. Their experience of the world is almost completely distinct from our own. The real question is: Do the ants know something we don’t that will affect us negatively? The answer to that is also yes.

Monday is baseball game. Come on out for baseball game.

Tuesday is the collective sigh of relief. It’s at 4:12pm. Try to be genuinely relieved about something at that time. It works better if you mean it.

On Wednesday, Ghost Union Local 31 will be striking. If you were looking to get haunted on that day, please delay your plans and do not hire scab ghosts. We do not cross picket lines, not even ones made of electromagnetic energy and unusual cold spots.

Ghost Union spokesman John Foushee (foo-SHAY) said “We are simply asking for a clean and safe workplace when we haunt. Every day, ghosts are injured on the job when, say, they make knocking sounds from inside an old cabinet that has exposed nails, or when the chains they are rattling are not up to code.” Foushee concluded his statement with “ooooOOOOOoooo” while waving his arms and fading away.

Thursday is being held in reserve in case we ever need a Thursday in an emergency.

And on Friday, there will be a birthday party held on a planet in a galaxy that is only visible from Earth with the use of powerful orbital telescopes. The party is at noon, it is BYOB, and we will never know it happened.

This has been the community calendar.

And now traffic.

Not every trail leads to danger. No, some trails meander through meadows green and sunny. Or pass broad and straight through mountains and forests. Some trails are lovingly maintained by volunteers, or begrudgingly by low-paid workers. Some trails take beautiful detours along lakes so clear you can see the grasses sway on the sandy bottom, or along ridgelines where you’re told that on certain days you can see five different states, only how would you know? State lines don’t show up in the real world after all.

There are trails that take you to secret cabins, with lovely little gardens and snug little beds, and trails that take you to rustic lodges, with stone balconies and grand dining rooms. In this world there are trails that lead to desert springs and to fish filled coves. Some trails are evacuation routes, which explicitly exist to take you to safety. Of all the trails, almost none of them lead to danger.

But there are some. Some trails lead to brushland where it is so very easy to get turned around, or to vast regions of sand where no water can be found. Some trails lead to abrupt falls or to hungry animals or to hidden holes in the ground so deep that they might as well reach to the center of the earth. Trails can deceive or be badly marked or fade away into the wilderness. Trails can be maliciously designed, ushering you toward a squat home where a person with bad intentions waits with open arms and sharpened teeth. Yes, not all trails lead to danger. But some do. Oh, some do.

This has been traffic.

Crowds of faculty from the Community College have gathered around the University of What It Is, demanding the safe return of their dean.

Amanda Anne Leight (pronounced like “light”), associate Professor of the Fear that Something Might Be Looking Through Your Windows In The Dark, lodged a strong protest against the University. “Sarah Sultan is our Dean,” Leight said. “She is an important part of our town. And you can’t just study her like she’s an object.”

Dr. Lubelle came out to talk to the protestors, and seemed baffled by the uproar. “But she is an object,” said Dr. Lubelle. “She’s a fist-sized river rock. That’s literally what she is. The rock is coming under no harm, because rocks cannot feel harm. I am simply trying to understand how a rock could have developed the sentience to be the dean of a community college.”

At this, the faculty from the Community College started booing and throwing rotten fruit, which is a traditional Night Vale method of saying “Hey, I don’t 100% buy what you’re saying there, friend.”

Dr. Lubelle retreated into her lab, which was guarded by heavily-armed staff. I didn’t know the University of What It Is had heavily armed staff. Why do they have that? Seems bad. As she went, Dr. Lubelle promised to bring Sarah Sultan back with her as soon as the Doctor’s initial exam was finished.

Well, she better, that’s all I’ve got to say.

Let’s go now to a special audio puzzle. Today’s puzzle is Guess The Sound. I am going to play a few common sounds, and all you have to is guess what that sound is. Ok, let’s start with something easy.

[SOUND]

Did you get it? That’s right! That’s the sound of someone scraping the inside of an oven with the tip of a very sharp chef’s knife.

Ok, here’s another

[SOUND]

This one might be tricky. Really think about it. That’s right! It’s the sound of a pelican eating jello. If you didn’t get that one, I bet you’re really kicking yourself now.

This last one is going to be hard, so do not feel bad if you don’t get it. It’s a sound you hear every day, but one you may not think about.

[SOUND]

Did you get it? Let’s listen again.

[SOUND]

Yes that’s right! It’s the sound of the Faceless Old Woman’s tummy growling, when she’s so close to you in the dark, in the night, that you can hear just how hungry she is. So hungry all of the time.

This has been an audio puzzle. How fun!

Dr. Lubelle has emerged again from her laboratory and is holding Sarah Sultan. The Community College faculty, urged on by Professor Leight, is advancing on the doctor with pitchforks. Where did they get pitchforks? What is going on here? In any case, we need to hear what Dr. Lubelle has to say for herself right away. No delays. Except, of course, the weather.

[WEATHER]

Dr. Lubelle held Sarah Sultan. The crowd called out to Sarah, but Sarah did not answer. The doctor looked solemn, and she spoke softly and gently.

“This morning,” Dr. Lubelle said, “I took this rock to my lab. I ran some basic tests on her. None of these tests hurt the subject, they were non-invasive. We are not here to alter or destroy. We are here to explain. Explain it all, everything, until there is not a single mystery left. Here are the conclusions we came to. This is a fist sized river rock. That’s it. It’s a fist sized river rock, containing no miraculous properties. It is a pretty rock, with nice tones, but from a scientific standpoint, there is little of interest about this rock. You may have your rock back now,” Dr. Lubelle concluded. The doctor handed Sarah Sultan back to Professor Leight, nodded once, and returned to her laboratory.

Professor Leight started trying to speak to Sarah, to get her side of the story. But Sarah would not answer. Sarah could not answer. Sarah was a fist sized river rock, and fist sized river rocks, as Dr. Lubelle demonstrated, cannot talk. Professor Leight began to weep. “Please,” she said. “Please Sarah, come back to us.” But Sarah was gone. She had been a glorious mystery, and Dr. Lubelle had cleared her up. The doctor had chased away the fragile ambiguity on which Sarah’s existence depended, and all that was left was a fist sized river rock. And fist sized river rocks can’t be a dean of anything. They cannot think or feel. They are matter shaped by years of rushing water, and nothing more.

I don’t know what to say, Night Vale. I had been afraid of what Dr. Lubelle’s demand for explanation would do to a town so built upon mystery and shadow. And I am sad to have been so right.

I mourn my friend, Sarah Sultan, a fist sized river rock. She was funny, and clever, and a good administrator at the Community College. And now she has been explained away, and she is nothing. She is inert. She will never share another joke, or answer one of my questions in a wry and knowing tone ever again.

The faculty of the Community College is walking mournfully back to their campus, where they will lay Sarah in her favorite river, and the water will shape her into smaller rocks, and then pebbles, and then sand, which will float down the current, formless and free, like smoke, like dreams.

Stay tuned next for grief, and then fear, and then revenge.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.