Not today, Satan, not today! [beat] Next Tuesday is wide open though. Or Wednesday after 2:30? Welcome to Night Vale.

###

You all know the traveling Tarot reader. He’s the short man in the long coat who pushes his wheeled cart full of Tarot cards through town. He rings his little bell as he ambles through neighborhood after neighborhood. “Three dollars,” says the sign on the side. “Three dollars,” says the sign on the other side. “Three dollars,” the man would say if he ever talked. It is unclear if he is incapable or unwilling to speak, but we all understand his business. We know what he wants. He wants to travel and read the Tarot.

Today, the man rang his little bell in front of our radio station and I waved to him. He entered my studio and sat opposite me.

He is looking at me right now. In his hands is a thick deck of cards. He is barely moving his fingers, yet the cards flutter and twist in his palms, like a school of fish swiftly shifting directions.

On the backs of the cards, a lattice-work of thorny stems, a dull gold layered atop a dull rust base. The pattern is hardly noticeable, except in the cards’ movement.

I have not given the man his three dollars, but he has already begun. The deck is on my desk. With only the nod of his head and a wave of his hand, he has asked me to cut it. Thrice. And from there I shall choose three cards.

He does not ask me to ask the deck a question, yet I state one anyway. Rather I pose three: “What do I not know, that I should know? What do I know that I should not know? What is not knowable at all?”

I lift the first card. It is the Twelve of Birds. I have never drawn, nor seen, this card before. Let alone this number or suit.

I turn over the second card. The Shadow of the Leopard. I also know nothing of this Arcana.

And the third Tarot card… The Five of Rakes.

I am perplexed. And across from my desk the man sits silently, staring at my selections.

###

While he thinks, let’s go to the community calendar.

Tomorrow afternoon, the newly formed “Citizens Against Rock Murdering Academics” (or CARMA) will gather at the Rec Center to discuss how to remove the treacherous Dr. Lubelle and her colleagues at The University of What It Is from Night Vale. They have already killed our friend and fist-sized river rock Sarah Sultan by explaining away her existence. CARMA is asking anyone who thinks interlopers killing our neighbors is bad, to please join them at 4pm. They’ll be brainstorming the best ways to get rid of terrible people.

Sunday night, the Night Vale Community Theater will host auditions for their newest show: “The Doctor Must Go,” a world-premiere play about a town that rises up against a professor who is spreading lies and murdering rocks.

Tuesday night, around 2am, the people who huddle behind the Ralphs have invited everyone who is upset with the University of What It Is to huddle. Together. Behind the Ralphs. “Come huddle with us,” their press release reads. And that’s it. It’s just a piece of paper with that phrase scrawled on it. So, I guess, do that.

Finally, next Wednesday is Woodchuck Day. If Prickly Pear Peter, the woodchuck, sees his shadow, we’ll have 6 more weeks of sunshine. If he doesn’t, then the center of our solar system shall hold together for another year.

I like Prickly Pear Peter, because he has that little vest and hat. What a cutie.

###

The Tarot reader, right now, adjusts his overly large glasses. He points at the Twelve of Birds. His fist is so small and his index finger so long, that for a moment I think he has no other fingers on that hand.

The Twelve of Birds features a scarecrow made of what looks to be yarn, rather than straw, though the longer I stare at it, the more it appears to be sausage links. The birds’ claws clutch the figure’s innards, which are strung high into the sky. The scarecrow’s shape remains intact, but only because this is a still picture. Perhaps only 30 seconds later, and all that would be left is a wooden stake in an empty cornfield.

I look at the birds, which are not crows. In fact, they all seem to be different species. One looks like a bluejay. Another a falcon. Another a common pigeon. There are 12 of them, of course, each a different size, color, and shape. The scarecrow’s face is indifferent. It is simply a burlap sack with two circles for eyes and a straight line for a mouth. The sack is torn near the temple, exposing something dark orange. Likely this is a pumpkin, but it evokes an open wound.

The Tarot Reader moves his hand back to his lap and looks at me. He says nothing, but I know what he is thinking. I see it in the corners of his wrinkled smile. I feel pulled in too many directions. I am the scarecrow. The birds are my responsibilities. Control is just an illusion, once people see through me, they know I am not a threat. The birds, no longer fearing the guardian of the field, tear him apart and carry him away.

There is no food to be had here, the birds seem to say, so let us devour whatever remains of this empty effigy.

The man is nodding at me.

[under breath; close to the mic] I don’t know, listeners. Tarot is fun and all, but I don’t believe in any of this. Plus, I’m not sure this guy is working with a full deck, if you catch my meaning, which is entirely literal. I don’t think he has a full Tarot deck on him.

[normal voice] All right, let’s get to listener questions.

###

I’ve gotten lots of letters and calls the past couple of weeks. And they all seem to be about the same thing.

Like this one from Robin H: “Dear Cecil, I love your show. I listen every day. Have you not heard about the University of What It Is? They’re very very bad. I never hear you mention them. You should educate yourself in this matter.”

I’ve done several episodes about this Robin! You clearly aren’t listening every day.

Here’s one from Jerome C: “Hey Cecil. Why are you taking Dr. Lubelle’s side? All you ever do is talk about how smart she is. This is your town, too, man. You need to open your eyes to what’s really going on.”

Ok, Jerome, I’m not on “Dr. Lubelle’s side.” I’m not sure what else I can do to make you believe me.

Night Vale, I’m not the enemy here. Dr. Lubelle must be held accountable for what happened to Sarah Sultan. I have reported what I can about this issue. I mentioned the protests in the community calendar today. I called her treacherous and threatening. I don’t know what else you want.

Finally, this one Gustavo G: “Why won’t your husband speak out? We demand to know Carlos’s involvement with these people. Silence is suspicious, Cecil.”

[Cecil gathers himself. Takes deep breath]

Everyone, take a deep breath. Count to ten, whatever you need to do. We will protect our town, but we will not resort to paranoia, or violence.

###

Ok, the Tarot reader is pointing now at my second card. He looks smug. An “I told you so” sort of grin. I don’t like it, but I examine the card anyway.

The Shadow of the Leopard. On a flint blue background, there is a large black cat. Unlike a common leopard, it has no spots. The leopard is walking tall, its neck extended, and its head turned to the right. It is staring at something outside the border of the Tarot card. It does not look alarmed, rather, it appears almost pleased. Perhaps it sees water, or food. Perhaps shelter or even a potential mate.

To the left of the leopard across the plain grayish backdrop is the black shadow of the black leopard. It is unclear if the sun or the moon has created this shadow, but it is noticeable that the leopard and the shadow are both pure black. No light reflects from either. But the existential difference is palpable.

The actual leopard is black because it absorbs all light. The leopard’s shadow is black because it receives no light. Those who stand behind us define themselves by what they DO NOT have. And they define us by what we DO have.

Beyond that, the shadow has a different shape than the leopard. The shadow is crouched low, its joints bent, its back bowed. Its head almost appears to face forward rather than to the side. It is about to run or about to fight. Either way, it looks scared.

Is the shadow the leopard’s shadow? Or is it a different entity entirely? Or is it an alternate version of the leopard?

They are held together at the ground, yet they seem to behave independently of one another.

The Tarot reader pulls his finger away and blinks slowly at me.

###

I’m getting word that my former interns Dana Cardinal, Kareem Nazari and Joseph Fink have been in touch with one another. Each of them has dealt with a doppelganger in their lives. Joseph and Kareem are convinced that they are from some other reality. And that a doppelganger has replaced them back in their respective hometowns.

Dana also had a double, though she killed that double with a stapler. Or vice versa. She’s never been sure who killed who.

Upon learning that Kareem had managed to get back to the quote “Real World” last year, Joseph asked him for assistance getting there too. Kareem agreed to help but was unable to find his way back to the place he called Minch… Mitt.. Milligon.

So I guess with all other options exhausted, Joseph and Kareem went to see Dr. Janet Lubelle of the University of What It Is for help in this matter.

But Dr. Lubelle told them, “There is no such thing as doppelgangers.”

“You, Joseph Fink,” she explained, “are a resident of Night Vale. There is another Joseph Fink, in New York State, who writes podcasts and books. He has a child, and is perfectly happy living his life. You probably read an article about him. (He wrote a couple books last year and launched a new podcast recently, called Unlicensed.) Upon seeing that this Joseph Fink looks a little like you, you made the irrational leap that you two were one and the same.”

“And you, Kareem Nazari,” she explained. “You went to Michigan [pronounced correctly] last year and kidnapped the parents of a person who also shares your name. I have reported this to the Sheriff. They will return the Nazaris to their home state. And hopefully for you they do not press charges.”

Dr. Lubelle concluded: “Doppelgangers aren’t real, but delusions are. Go home. Both of you. And accept that you… are simply you.”

Before they left though, she asked “Wait. Did you say this Dana person killed her double? Tell me more about that.”

###

The Tarot Reader is pointing to the Five of Rakes now.

Unlike the other two cards, The Five of Rakes is light and fun. A boy is hiding in a pile of leaves, with five discarded rakes lying to the side. The boy has shirked his duties (or merely taken a break) in order to play. He has raked the leaves into a giant pile and dived in. We can only see his tiny face and huge smile peeking out from a hole in the side.

But why five rakes? And only one boy? Who else is missing from this picture? Where are the others? Why is the boy really smiling. Is that not a smile? Is it a smirk? A grimace?

Is the boy hiding as part of a game, or out of fear? Has he committed violence? Does he intend to?

I’m examining the image even more closely now. Why does the boy look like me? I glance at the Tarot Reader and I can see the same question in his eyes.

If you take The Five of Rakes at face value, it is a boy playing on an autumn day. But the real story is in what you cannot see. The other rakers. The secrets hidden from view. What else is buried in that pile of leaves? Who else? What does he want no one else to know?

###

Uh oh. Listeners, Dr. Janet Lubelle is here in my studio. Next to her is Sheriff Sam. Neither look happy. Nor do they look like they’re here for a Tarot Reading.

I am pointing to the ON THE AIR sign, because a passive aggressive call for quiet is my only power in this situation. Sheriff Sam is respecting the silence, but now they are writing a message. They’re holding it up. It says: “We need to talk to you. Now. You’d best take your listeners… to the weather.”

###

Weather: “Long Way“ by Bonfire Realm https://www.bonfirerealm.com

###

Sheriff Sam started with stilted small talk. They saw the framed picture on my desk that was sent to me last year. The photo changes all the time. It’s usually a picture of some Redwoods, but today it was a sepia-toned photo of a man dressed just like me. Sam asked “That your father, Cecil?”

I said I didn’t know. That frame was delivered to me one day from an unknown source. I keep throwing it away, but it keeps reappearing on my desk.

Dr. Lubelle began scribbling notes. She said “For future research,” like someone had asked. She then placed her hand on mine, as if sympathizing with my fatherless upbringing and added “Everything needs an explanation, don’t you think, Cecil?”

Finally Sheriff Sam said: “You want to tell us where Dana Cardinal is?”

I said I didn’t know. I hadn’t spoken to her in months.

Dr. Lubelle said, “She’s not in any trouble. I just want to learn more about these supposed doppelgangers in Night Vale. Dana claims to have met, and killed, her double.”

“Or the other way around,” I interjected.

“Of course, of course, or the other way around,” she repeated with saccharine empathy. “What I’d love to know, from Dana, is where this ‘double’ was buried.”

Then Sheriff Sam whispered excitedly, “Cecil, I just learned that murder is a felony! Dana could be in pretty bad trouble.”

“Well, we don’t know that yet, Sheriff,” Dr. Lubelle said. “Cecil, if her ‘double’ was, in fact, a doppelganger and not a real human being, then Dana’s in no trouble at all.”

The Tarot Reader had already packed up his cards. He held out his hand, and I understood. I placed three dollars across his palm. He bowed lightly, almost a shrug, and left, strenuously tugging his cart behind him.

“Wow, Tarot cards,” Dr. Lubelle said. “What a scam,” And she laughed pityingly.

Then she swung back to me with a fierceness in her manner I had not yet seen from her. “You call me if you hear from Dana.”

She tossed her business card on my desk and left with the Sheriff.

Next to her card, I saw that the Tarot Reader had left behind one of his own. It was a Tarot card I had not drawn. It was called “The Scientist.” On it was a person in a white lab coat holding a clipboard high in the air, covering the top half of their face. All that was visible was the scientist’s mouth, which was so poorly drawn, it was as if the artist fell asleep halfway through painting it.

And in the scientist’s pocket was a card. It was the same card: “The Scientist.” And in that scientist’s pocket, the same card, and on and on and on.

[trying to convince himself it doesn’t mean anything] I think I wasted three bucks.

Stay tuned next for the popular game show: “Who’s In My House?” where contestants try to understand strange voices and figures in the dark.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

###

PROVERB: You break it; you bought it. That’s the only way to purchase. We don’t accept cash in this store.