written by Calvin Kasulke, with Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor

It's 10 o'clock. Do you know what your children are? Welcome to Night Vale.

[Sleep-deprived, punchy] Welcome back, listeners. We're heading into hour 73 of the first annual Truck Touchers endurance contest, and, just, whew. You know what I mean?

Focus, Cecil. Ahem—forgive me, listeners. I've been broadcasting live from out here at the Car Lot for the past three days and I haven't slept much. Of course I've taken a few breaks to return home to see my family, and I've managed to catch a little shut-eye here and there, but mostly I've been at the Car Lot. And I think it's starting to catch up to me.

Oh, right, I should explain. If you're just tuning in, one of the many Troys Walsh who populate our fair city recently took over management of the Car Lot, which continues to offer gently used cars at affordable prices, with the reminder that words like “gently” and “affordable” are subjective and have no legal definition. Troy decided a contest would help gin up some more business, and the first annual Night Vale Truck Touchers competition was born.

The rules are simple. Each contestant must be standing with at least one hand placed on the truck at all times. Removing your hand from the truck or sitting down at any time disqualifies you from the contest. The last contestant touching the truck, wins. And that's all there is to it.

Every few hours the contestants get a 15 minute break to rest their feet, use the bathroom, or make offerings to any demons or unseelie with whom they may want to strike a quick Faustian bargain in order to win the truck.

And what a truck it is! Probably. I don't know, I'm not really a car guy—but I am sure the "lightly used 2005 Buick Anticipator" is a fine vehicle. It must be, for anyone to still be vying for it after 73 hours and counting.

Of the twenty people who placed a hand on the Buick Anticipator when the competition began, only four Truck Touchers remain. They are: Night Vale High School football coach Latrice Beaumont—go Scorpions!—Amber Akinye, an employee at the Diego and Diego and Diego and Diego and Diego funeral home, the University of What It Is scientist Dr. Blake Jones, and my beloved brother-in-law Steve Carlsberg, who is great. Hi Steve! Hang in there, buddy!

These four have endured more than three days of tedium and exhaustion, propelled only by their determination and clarity of purpose. They use their intermittent breaks to take all-too-brief naps, or to eat whatever food their friends and loved ones bring them. Some massage their swollen feet; the more prepared among them swap out their old socks for a fresh pair and steel themselves for more standing and more truck touching.

We're coming to the end of one of these breaks now, as our final four return to their places at the truck. Troy Walsh, who is also refereeing the tournament, signals for the contestants to once again place their hands on the Buick Anticipator in three, two—oh. Oh, no.

Listeners, Amber Akinye is down. She's clutching at her hand as though it's been badly burned. The other three are completely fine, but the instant Amber touched the truck she—I'm not sure.

Well, better luck next year, Amber! While she's being helped to her feet and off to the sidelines, let's take a look at today's top headline.

Cactuses are sentient now. Following last week's freak lightning storm, several dozen cacti have been blighted with the curse of consciousness and they are organizing about it. The cacti have unionized and they are demanding legs, legs, LEGS.

Their leader, the tallest newly-sentient Saguaro in the scrublands outside of town, has announced that until their demands are met the united cactuses will refuse to perform any of their vital functions, though they failed to elaborate on what any of those functions are.

The Night Vale Board of Labor responded in a statement saying they'd be happy to see the cacti's working conditions improved and to begin the process of, quote, "rustlin’ up some legs." Melanie Brewster, Board of Labor President, said in a press conference that “actually, I’ve kind of been hoping for a request like this. This is going to be fun” while holding a bone saw that was dripping blood.

The sun is starting to set behind the scrubland's parched horizon, listeners, and there are only three contestants still with us. Scorpions coach Latrice Beaumont, Dr. Blake Jones, and Steve Carlsberg, who I love, though that will in no way impact the objectivity of my reporting. (Go Steve!)

As for the contestants no longer competing for the top prize, let's recap what happened to them.

Several participants fainted the instant they made contact with the Anticipator, removing their hands as their unconscious forms crumpled to the ground—whereupon they were disqualified.

Trish Hidge appeared to get into a heated argument with the Anticipator's left side-view mirror around the five hour mark. Her emphatic gesticulations eventually resulted in her removing both of her hands from the truck, which immediately eliminated Trish from the contest.

Harrison Kip kicked off hour twenty-seven by uncontrollably humming, which escalated to speaking in tongues, and finally, screaming in a voice that was not his own. Incidentally, I apologize for the less-than-ideal sound quality of our broadcast during that time. Harrison walked out into the sand wastes during the contest's next bathroom break and did not return.

Larry Leroy was actually doing pretty well for quite some time! Heading into the second day he seemed like the man to beat, but Larry went home on night two because, he said, he "didn't want to miss [his] shows."

But enough about the losers. Three potential winners remain, and they sure are touching a truck. We'll hear much more from them after a brief traffic report.

The roads are congested. They are clogged not like a stuffy nose but like a blocked artery—things are moving along but just barely, and not for much longer. And there's you behind the wheel, jaw clenched, creeping forward an inch at a time.

How much longer will you last like this? How many more minutes of your life are you willing to forfeit staring into the sharp red glow of a stranger's tail lights?

You were never supposed to live like this—your ancestors never lived like this. Your ancestors were brave, proud, ferocious man-things, only recently bipedal, not entirely confident on two legs. Which is why they crouched down on all fours when they spotted the approaching neanderthals. It's why they hid among the thick foliage of the primordial forest, waiting for the rival species to come closer. Closer. Closer…

But they never came. The danger passed, as this traffic jam, too, will pass. As you will pass, and sooner than you think.

This has been traffic.

Earlier today—or was it yesterday? It's all kind of running together. Anyway, sometime in the recent past I asked each of the remaining contestants what winning the lightly used 2005 Buick Anticipator would mean for them. Why are they putting themselves through this trial of discomfort and drudgery?

Dr. Blake Jones told me that he initially wanted the truck so that he could more easily haul any of the scientific equipment that he might need into the field for research—but since seeing how the Anticipator appears to have affected some of the other contestants, he's now interested in studying the truck itself. Dr. Jones hastened to add that he only wants to study the truck, not explain it. Hmmm. I'm watching you, Jones.

Similarly, coach Latrice Beaumont explained to me that she needs the truck to help transport athletic equipment for the Night Vale Scorpions. Coach Beaumont did have a van until recently, but it was due for an inspection and she mistakenly dropped it off at the cursed mechanic's shop on Wormwood Avenue. You know, the one that only appears on a leap day when there's also a full moon? So she's got a while to wait before she can get her van back. Although I should note that they do excellent work if you’re patient enough.

While I was interviewing her, Coach Beaumont also mentioned that she was passing the time by listening to the beautiful music emitting from the Anticipator. I told her that I didn't hear any music but she insisted. Surely we were both hearing the lush, ethereal music coming from the truck? Again I explained that I wasn't hearing any music at all, but Coach Beaumont just shrugged and said "Your loss."

Moving on, our last remaining contestant is Steve Carlsberg. He has a new haircut, and it's really working for him. Steve said that he wants the Buick Anticipator because he thinks trucks are cool and also—here he apologized for cursing—"sick."

Steve has mostly been passing the time reading Naomi Novik's Temeraire novels [pronounced “Tem-uh-rare”], but he said he's been finding the shadowy figure lurking inside the Anticipator distracting. I looked through the passenger-side window but I could see no one in the truck, shadowy or otherwise. Even so, Steve said he was sure someone or something was moving inside the—sorry, one moment.

Apologies, listeners; Troy Walsh just walked over to my mobile broadcasting setup and he has asked me to clarify something. Troy wants me to assure everyone that what Steve Carlsberg is suggesting is impossible because, as he explained, Buick didn't include a shadowy figure with the Anticipator until the 2011 model.

Well I'm certainly glad that's resolved.

Or, um, or maybe not? Listeners, the truck is moving. Moments ago it was vibrating, which, you know, fine, normal behavior for a car when it gets bored, but now it's really shaking.

The Buick Anticipator is violently rocking itself from side to side. Steve, Dr. Jones and Coach Beaumont are still somehow maintaining contact with the thrashing Anticipator, but it does not look easy.

The truck seems to be picking up momentum now. It's heaving to the side, lifting its two left wheels up off the ground and then—look out, Steve!—and then slamming back down again. The competitors are still clinging to the truck, but now the Anticipator is swinging to the other side and—listeners, Dr. Jones has been thrown clear of the truck! Dr. Blake Jones has been disqualified!

The Anticipator has stopped its heaving. It is still once more. But while it was flailing I could've sworn I saw something inside the—but, you know, I'm probably just over-tired. Sleep deprivation can play tricks on the mind, and even though the sun has nearly set it's still pretty warm out here so that might be a factor, too. Could be any number of things, really.

More headline news, several unauthorized headstones have appeared on the grounds of Rattlesnake Rest cemetery. Prince of Sorrow Funeral Home director Annette Jacoby says she's certain no one has purchased the grave markers from her, and there are, to her knowledge, no bodies buried beneath them—yet. Which makes sense, because the new headstones are marked with the birth and death dates of still-living Night Vale citizens.

So if you want to know the exact day when you will permanently cease to be, head on down to Rattlesnake Rest and take a peek! But, Annette Jacoby warns, you do still have to buy those grave plots if you want to be buried there.

"Just because the headstone says when—and in some cases, how—you die, doesn't mean you can just have it," Jacoby said. She did, however, offer a discount to any Night Vale residents whose headstones have them marked for death before the end of the month. And that's pretty generous, because there are a lot of you.

Darkness has fallen over the Car Lot and the competition is not yet decided. Only Steve Carlsberg and Latrice Beaumont remain, palms affixed to the automotive object of their desire. I think it's fair to say that everyone, myself included, is exhausted.

Steve has mostly given up on reading, having now moved on to audiobooks. Every so often he speaks to an unseen figure inside the Buick, saying "stop that" or "come onnnn" to a presence visible to him alone. He sways on his feet a little.

Coach Beaumont, for her part, looks as desiccated as Steve does. You'd think she'd hydrate a little better, being an athletic trainer and all. Though she's obviously fatigued, Latrice seems totally blissed out, apparently still listening to the music she says is coming from the truck itself.

Now that we're down to the final two contestants I interviewed both of them—or at least I tried to. Before I could ask Steve my first question I caught a glimpse of the shadowy figure again and I kind of, like, bark-yelled?

Steve said he saw it too, but when I asked Latrice if she'd also seen the specter in the Anticipator she claimed that she hadn't seen any shadowy figures all day. And even if she had, she continued, and even if the shadowy figure was kind of hot—which it wasn't, because it isn't there—Latrice would be polite and just let the shadowy figure do its thing, instead of blabbing about it on the radio.

Hang on—Steve is yelling something. He's screaming, and—oh no. Steve Carlsberg has removed his hand from the truck. He's lost the contest, and I'm afraid he might be hurt. While I investigate, let's go to the weather.

[WEATHER]

Welcome back, listeners. The good news is that Steve Carlsberg is fine. He wasn't hurt; the Buick didn't do anything to him. When I ran over and asked him what had happened, he said that the shadowy figure winked at him.

Is that all, I asked? It just winked at you? And Steve said yes, protesting that winking is the creepiest thing anyone can do. And I can't say that I disagree with him.

But this does mean that Coach Latrice Beaumont is the victor of the first annual Truck Touchers competition, and winner of the lightly used 2005 Buick Anticipator. The final participants, and those few spectators still remaining, have gathered around the truck to watch Car Lot manager Troy Walsh present Coach Beaumont with the key. It looks like Latrice is going to take it for a test drive.

Huh. Latrice has opened up the drivers' side door and is now completely enveloped in shadow. I wonder if that comes standard. The entire Anticipator is shrouded in a dense haze, it's impossible to see Latrice or the truck or—or anything, now.

I'm not sure if the Car Lot's floodlights have gone out or if the fog has blanketed everything. Um. Oh, wait, it was the lights. They're back on now and the Anticipator is right there, and Latrice is sitting inside of it.

She's seated on the passenger side, though. The shadowy figure is in the driver's seat. I can definitely see him now and so, apparently, can everyone else. Steve is yelling something that might be "I told you so" or might be “please never wink at anyone ever” but it's impossible to hear him over the revving of the Anticipator's engine and—there it goes.

The truck, the object of this entire contest, is gone. It took off into the Sand Wastes, into the night. From my vantage into the passenger side window I could see Latrice screaming, but whether in terror or exultation I cannot say.

Well, the first annual Truck Touchers contest has been a huge success! Don't forget to come on down to the Car Lot for all of your automotive needs.

Stay tuned next for a long lingering after, the epilogue that is the rest of our lives.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.