What’s the difference between a horse and an attic? What’s the difference between an electric shaver and a driveway? What is the difference between anything and anything? Why won’t anyone answer me? Welcome to Night Vale

Well, we thought we had rid ourselves of him for good, but it seems the Distant Prince is up to his old antics. Diane Crayton, who was driving out to have lunch with her son at Night Vale Community College, reported seeing what may have been the court of the Distant Prince. She wasn’t sure, because it was very far away and she closed her eyes and screamed for the rest of the drive, but she thought she saw the Mangled Servants, and the Hollow Eyed Weepers, and of course the terrifying Harbingers of the Distant Prince. She did not see the Distant Prince himself, which is good, because then she wouldn’t have been able to communicate with words, only gasps thick with blood. Fortunately, she was unscathed, and ate at the Panda Express in the Student Center with her son Josh, who, when asked how his classes were going, expressed that they were “fine.”

If the Distant Prince is back, then this is terrible news indeed. Because it can only mean we are once again perilously close to the Narrow Place, and the Crooked Path that leads to it. I do not want to walk the crooked path. And I do not want to pass through the Narrow Place. No. [scared breathing, then gathering himself and back in cheery professional mode]

Anyway, more soon on that, or never again maybe. Wouldn’t that be great? But probably more soon.

I received a strange phone call. Now, I receive strange phone calls as a matter of course. In the morning, I receive my breakfast strange phone call, which is usually some kind of chanting, although sometimes it is screams. Then around noon, I get my lunch strange phone call, which is my Aunt Trudy telling me about the family, except that I do not have an Aunt Trudy and everyone she tells me about is long dead. And finally in the evening I have my dinner strange phone call, which is from something called the IRS wanting to talk to me about something called a tax bill. I always just laugh and say nice try and hang up.

But this phone call did not come at any of the usual times. Instead it came in the middle of the night, and the voice on the other end was that of Kareem. I think it was the Kareem that claims our town isn’t real, not the Kareem that once interned at my station. There are two Kareems now, which is confusing. We used to have advice in this town about what to do with your double, but it seems no one follows good advice anymore. Kareem was babbling on, something about how he had reached out to an organization that would be very interested in Night Vale, and that we would not remain hidden in the desert for long.

Yeah, ok Kareem, sure. We’ll see who catches up with me first. Your mysterious organization, or whoever these IRS jokers are. Good luck to all bands.

So no one tell him, but I’ve been preparing a little surprise for my husband Carlos. I guess you could say it has been ten years in the making, since, and I can’t believe it, June 15th will be the ten year anniversary of Carlos arriving in town. I don’t know how that is even possible. Time flies. Ten years feels like only yesterday, but of course if you saw photos of yourself from then you’d think “oh how embarrassingly dated”. Ten years ago, we were all listening to the muttering voices coming from the shadowed alley downtown, and wearing the silver hats that the muttering voices told us to wear, and doing that strange shuffling dance the muttering voices commanded us to do. Ugh. 2012 fashions were the worst.

But now it is almost ten years later, and we have such a surprise for Carlos. But don’t tell him. But eeee! So excited.

This has been our most important headline.

Well, unfortunately there has been another sighting of the Distant Prince. This time it was Josh Crayton, on the way back to his apartment near campus, and feeling guilty that he once again chickened out of telling his mom that he’s considering dropping out of school to pursue acting full time. His theater professor had expressed that he had real talent, particularly because his shapeshifting nature allows him to fully inhabit any role he chooses, whether it is Abraham Lincoln, Mary Todd Lincoln, or a 300 foot tall redwood tree.

While going over this again and again in his head, he looked up and saw, with horror, the Crooked Path, and the Narrow Place beyond it. Although he did not see the Distant Prince with his eyes, he did detect him with his other senses. Josh could taste the Distant Prince in the back of his mouth, a bitter, putrid aftertaste, and he could hear the Distant Prince in his teeth, a whisper like radio waves from a hostile alien world, and he could smell the Distant Prince like sweet ash on the early afternoon air. He said he felt like he might throw up, and so transformed into a meandering brook full of fish and frogs, a form he finds soothing and that also physically cannot throw up.

Listeners, I myself once walked the Crooked Path, and I entered the Narrow Place. But I…I do not remember what it was like inside. Every time I try to remember, it is like my brain turns to ice. Some part of me does not want to remember. It was something about…it was…I wore a black coat and had never existed. But I don’t know what that means. I’m sorry, I need to talk about something else.

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Listeners, I….I don’t know how I got here. I was moments ago in the booth in my radio station, and now I am on the crooked path to the narrow place. My hands were on the worn wood studio table, and now my feet are on the bone dry dust. I once walked the crooked path, once lost myself in the Narrow Place. But I will not do it again. I will not. And yet. I can see the Narrow Place, and there is something coming out. Some grave error in nature’s pristine design. A horrible…what? I cannot imagine. But I must find out. A reporter must report. Even as my insides quake and my skin loosens. But I am, step by step, walking down the Crooked Path, to meet whatever it is that is arriving from wherever it is arriving from.

But first! An important correction.

In a previous broadcast, we told you about Hendrick Narrolsby, a pharmacist and hobbyist blues guitarist who has started an open mic night at the Pinkberry. Hendrick, originally from Tulsa, had moved to Night Vale when he heard a strange broadcast phasing in and out on the radio of his 1998 Chevy Cavalier. It was a voice he had never heard before, cutting in amongst the sound of Seven Nation Army playing on Z104.5. The voice on the radio was giving him news from a town that was unfamiliar, and the content of the news made him feel panicked and upset. His hands tapped the steering wheel, and he told himself that it was a normal thing to do, but he knew that his body needed, on some fundamental level, to move, to fulfill the chemical urge to flee.

When his panic attack was over, Hendrick found himself on a road he did not recognize, which, after a long day’s drive took him to a town he did not recognize. There, on a street called Bramble Court, he found a house he did recognize, as he had dreamed of it every night since he was five years old. It had a blue door and a white shingled roof. The door was unlocked, and, inside, the house was set up just for him. There was fresh food in the fridge, and the book he had been reading at his old home that morning was sitting dog eared on the nightstand. And from then on, Hendrick has been a valued member of our community

A small correction on that story. It turns out that the entire thing didn’t happen, that Hendrick doesn’t exist, and that I made it all up. We apologize for this error.

And now for a message about new Roaring Rapids brand shower heads.

We at Roaring Rapids are proud of our family of products. Our shower heads are made from the sturdiest materials available, and are designed to facilitate water onto your body at speeds that most shower companies would deem unsafe. And sure, it turned out that those water speeds are unsafe, and we’ve flayed most of our customers, enacting the slow process of water erosion on their flesh at rates unheard of in history. And as a result, sure, we are having to recall all of our shower heads and make this federally mandated message alerting you to that fact. And sure, all of us at Roaring Rapids are facing long prison sentences, except Jeremy, who fled the country and last we heard has started a cult-like agrarian compound in Chile. That all is true.

But still, we are proud of what we did. We made real scientific breakthroughs to get water pouring at rates far more than your home’s water pressure should allow. It was hard, but we did it. Even if a few people had to die. Even if every single one of our customers had to die. It was worth the achievement.

This is a complete recall of Roaring Rapids brand shower heads. If you still have your body intact, you should return the shower head to wherever you bought it. We remain defiant and proud.

Well, ok. It’s a good thing Carlos and I never opened our new shower head after Steve got it for us for Christmas. It’s not that we didn’t want to try it, but neither of us are particularly handy and replacing a shower head seemed like a lot. Anyway, lucky break for us I guess!

Listeners, I am walking the crooked path, toward the Narrow Place. I can hear the nauseating chuckles of Mangled Servants all around me. But for the sake of my town. For the sake of my community, I have no choice. I have to see what is emerging from the Narrow Place. The Throatless Gaggle scurry up the walls around me, and I avert my eyes, I have no wish to see. From far, far away, I can feel the Distant Prince’s gaze as he watches me approach. And…oh! Something is moving, deep in the depths of the Narrow Place. A figure, walking, no, lurching toward me. It’s emaciated and barely on its feet. And now it is here and it falls into my arms. The figure is wearing a long black coat, and a low black hat, and it is me. I have walked out of the Narrow Place and fallen into my own arms.

More soon, but first, let’s go to that weather.

[THE WEATHER: “Ultimatum” by Elle PF https://ellepfmusic.bandcamp.com/ ]

I followed myself home, this other me stumbling meekly through familiar streets. I asked “who are you, and how did you get here?” but I did not answer. I wore a black coat, and had never existed. The Distant Prince wears a golden coat and has always existed. Every block that we passed, there seemed to be less of me, the me in the black coat. I couldn’t quite say how, because it still looked exactly like me. But every step diminished me, and the coat hung looser and looser about my shoulders.

This was the me that had passed through the Narrow Place. I am the me that did not. A divergence resulting in two versions of myself. This much I understand. And now I have come back from whatever terrible nothing exists on the other side of the Narrow Place, but I did not come back whole. Whatever the Distant Prince keeps behind the Narrow Place has left me hollow and shambling. Less and less of me. This time quite literally. When I looked again, I did not have a nose. It is quite upsetting to see your own face but without a nose. Think about this now. Think about looking in the mirror and seeing your face, but the nose is gone. So you will understand why I vomited in the street. And this other me, he vomited too, for exactly the same amount of time, stopping precisely when I did.

I wore a black coat and had never existed.

By the time we got to the studio, I had only one eye, my chin was three inches shorter, and one leg had started to retract into my torso. I helped myself along, because he could barely walk. He did not thank me. I am not confident he was aware I was there. I helped him into his seat behind the microphone. He looked at the broadcast booth in wonder, like an exile allowed to return to his home after a lifetime of wandering. He licked his one remaining lip with the half of his tongue he had left. “Traffic,” he whispered, in a hoarse and horrible voice. “Community calendar”

And then, his eye became alert and he looked at me urgently. “Carlos?” he asked. “Carlos?” The effort of saying the word made his body shake. I told him: “Carlos is safe. He is with me.” And this other me nodded, his partial face showing profound relief. He leaned back into his chair, and kept leaning, and leaning, and leaning, until there was nothing left of him except his black coat, which smelled of cinder and sickly sweet candy.

I wore a black coat and had never existed. The Distant Prince wears a golden coat and has always existed.

I am sorry for what happened to this other me, but I am also so thankful that it was not me. I am not in the Narrow Place. I don’t think I am. I don’t think I’m in the Narrow Place.

Stay tuned next for the crooked path. Stay tuned next for the Whirligig Howlers and the Court Manglers and the Harbingers. Stay tuned next for the Narrow Place.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.