A fool and his casket are easily parted. Welcome to Night Vale

This is an emergency. I don’t know how to say what I must say except to say it, so here I am saying: Dr. Lubelle of the University of What It Is has announced that she plans to study and explain the Glow Cloud.

The Glow Cloud is a Night Vale institution, one that first came to us as catastrophe over ten years ago, but has since found its place as a vital part of our community, becoming president of the School Board and a devoted parent to its child, who is now thankfully away at college and so is in no danger.

Night Vale, we must protect the Glow Cloud. Sure, it controls our thoughts and our bodies, flashes glowing colors in patterns that dry our mouths and heave our guts, and sure, it drops the dead bodies of animals everywhere as it passes. But the Glow Cloud is our friend, and Dr. Lubelle is our enemy.

The enemy of our friend is our enemy, especially when she was already our enemy and just stinks all around. Listeners, gather whatever is nearby that you can use in a fight, and join me in the streets. We will not let this happen. I will be right there with you, after I finish my radio show of course. I have to do my radio show. But you all should get out there now.

In other news, I finally heard from Jerrod [emphasis on 1st syllable] Bansky [Bansky NOT Banksy], who painted those murals all over town. The ones where the paint peeled away and underneath the paint was pulsing flesh, meat and muscle and juices and ooze. And now all the paint has fully fallen away, and the buildings are partly organic, like architectural cyborgs. And Jerrod disappeared quite suddenly soon after the murals were complete, along with most of his possessions.

Well, the good news is he says he’s fine. Apparently he’s too busy to talk himself, so he had the default text-to-speech voice on an Apple computer give me a call and phonetically read me something he had, presumably, personally written himself.

Here's what Jerrod had to say...

COMPUTER VOICE: Hello, Cecil. I am Jerrod, and I am off on a nice vacation. I will likely be on this nice vacation for the rest of my life, or maybe for the rest of eternity. There are birds where I am, and breezes, and a palm tree. There is no pain here. I have not experienced pain since leaving Night Vale. The nights are dark and cool and the days are bright and warm, and the swimming pool is delicious. Good day, Cecil. Do not look for me. You won't find me. I am on a nice vacation somewhere secret, and you'll never find me again.

CECIL: It was weird when he said the swimming pool was delicious, but maybe that’s just Jerrod being Jerrod. You know how Jerrod is.

Well, it sounds like...Jerrod is doing great. Meanwhile we’re stuck with these weird flesh murals. Maybe we should try painting over them, if that doesn’t, you know, anger them.

I’ve received a voicemail from Dr. Lubelle. For the sake of public knowledge, I am going to play the voicemail now. I haven’t listened to it yet, so just a warning that its contents may be upsetting.

JANET: Hi Cecil, heard your broadcast about our scientific efforts. Can’t say I appreciate the tone, but thanks for letting people know about our important work. You know, most media just isn’t covering science these days. Can you believe it? Shameful, really.

But anyway, we have indeed begun our studies on this so-called Glow Cloud. As always, we do not seek to harm anything. We only seek to find out everything there is to know about it, until there is not an ounce of poetry left. Poetry is a fancy word that means ignorance, and we simply do not stand for it. I won’t have anyone get in my way. Anyone who gets in my way, they might need to be scientifically explained as well. Yes, that would be just the ticket. A real specific and detailed explanation for anyone who dares to oppose me.

Because I’m a scientist, and despite harmful misinformation by certain other local scientists, this is what a scientist does.

CECIL: Horrifying. Please be safe out there, Night Vale. If a scientist looks like they might be trying to explain you, seek shelter immediately. Don’t panic. It won’t help and it will annoy everyone else.

And now, a message from our sponsors.

Today’s broadcast is brought to you by Applebee’s.

We have an offer. The offer is Plate Of Food. What do we want in return? Not Enough Money. Not enough money to sustainably grow the ingredients for this plate of food, ship those ingredients to your location, and pay workers fairly to process those ingredients into the Triple Queso Nacho Burger Salad with Optional Chili Crunch Topping. No, not nearly enough money to pay for all that.

How can we offer Plate Of Food for Not Enough Money? Don’t worry about it. Not your problem. Someone’s problem, for sure. Everyone’s problem, eventually. But for now, here, in this booth that smells like cleaner and burnt hair, on this table top that is a little bit tacky, under this light that is not flattering to your complexion? The How of our food is not your problem.

Applebee’s. Try not to think about a chicken that can be hatched, raised, fed, slaughtered, shipped, and prepared for the amount of money you are paying for it.

This has been a word from our sponsors.

And now for traffic.

Why does traffic even exist? I think it’s because the roads aren’t wide enough. Two lanes? Not enough lanes obviously. If we merely make the roads wider, then there will be less and less traffic until there is no traffic at all. This is basic logic, such as a child could do.

So let’s go up to four lanes. Hmm, better, but there’s still traffic. Let’s take it up to eight lanes. Now we’re really cooking. But the cars are still lining up and honking and getting caught in snarls and slow-downs just as much as they did with a two lane road. Ok, take it up to sixteen lanes. This road is great. It’s terrifying. All these cars, seething down this broad stretch of blacktop, it’s like an apocalyptic vision. If one of the apostles saw this, there would be a whole ‘nother book in the bible, I’ll tell you that. But it’s still not enough.

32 lanes. No! 64 lanes. 128 lanes. This is really getting good. The road is as wide as the world from horizon to horizon. The road curves at the edges where it meets the bend of the planet. And the cars keep coming and so do the traffic jams.

256 lanes. 512 lanes. Your entire journey can be from one side of the highway to the other, a constant series of putting on your left blinker and checking over your shoulder.

Soon every inch of this planet will be highway, lane after beautiful lane, and we will have conquered traffic forever at last. Then we will finally be done. Then we will finally have enough lanes.

Of course, after that we’ll need to talk about adding some parking lots.

This has been traffic.

Despite our best efforts, science is continuing at the University of What It Is. And not the good kind of science done by Carlos at his lab. I want to be clear on this. The science that Carlos does is that of beakers and scrawled numbers on chalkboards and those little antennae with lighting shooting between them and it makes that “zaaap zaaap” sound. That is the science of love and humanity, science that helps and heals. But the science of Dr. Lubelle is mere cold dissection. It is a rush to overturn every stone, no matter what delicate ecosystem might be living under that stone.

The science of Carlos respects the mysteries of Night Vale, but the science of Dr. Lubelle seeks to destroy them, one by one, with a weapon called explanation. Science is not neutral. It turns out that nothing is, I guess.

What can we do to stop those who use a good tool to ill ends? I don’t know. But someone needs to figure it out. And soon.

And now for the community calendar.

Tonight, there will be a round table discussion at the community center. No topic has been given, no organizers have been announced, and there was no specific time for the event to start. Word just went around town that we should show up at the community center tonight and start arguing with anyone we see. Like the old saying goes, be at war with your neighbors and at peace with your vices.

Thursday morning, there will be a sunrise. There are only around 360 of these rare astronomical events every year, and only so many years in your one life, so don’t miss it! Or, you know, sleep through it and let that unrepeatable, irreplaceable moment pass you by. Up to you.

Friday night, Temple Beth Lashon [lah-SHONE] will be holding a Shabbos walk along the Night Vale Waterfront and Harbor Recreation Area. There will be meditations, prayer, community, and of course, a number of exotic birds. You need at least ten exotic birds to have a Jewish service.

On Saturday, there will be a room in your house in which you urinate into clean water and then replace with more clean water every single time. Wild right? Well, it’s the way we do it and so it has to be the best way and don’t let anyone tell you a word different.

Sunday is the Flea Market down in the Old Alleyway out back of City Hall. Vendors from far off realms will gather with trinkets and baubles, yours for a price, although the price will not often be mere money. Buyers beware. There will also be donuts courtesy of the Night Vale Youth Bowling League.

On Monday we will be doing a repeat of February 7, 1994. It appears there were some errors on that day, and we will go through it as many times as necessary until we get it right at last.

And Tuesday it just says “The Day of Rendering” which could mean many things, most of them quite good I’m sure.

This has been the community calendar.

But quiet now! Quiet! The worst is upon us. Dr. Lubelle, that foul deceiver, has exited her garden of lies, which is a new nickname I have given to the University of What It Is. She is announcing that her study on the Glow Cloud has concluded, and she is ready to give the results. Ok, let’s all rush to try to stop her. While we do that, I’ll throw it to the weather.

[weather]

JANET: Hi everyone. Oh wow, so many excited faces. You’re all shouting. That’s great, I love the enthusiasm. You’re also throwing objects, and that is enthusiasm I am less interested in, but still, good energy.

Ok, so we have taken a look at this so-called Glow Cloud, and it appears that, well, it’s a cloud. It’s definitely a cloud, and like most clouds, light can shine through it. The water vapor diffuses that light, so maybe that’s where you’re getting the nice glow effect. Certainly pretty. Can’t say it’s not pretty. But I can say it’s nothing unusual. Pretty is as common as dirt and not of any serious scientific interest.

The dead animals falling from the sky, that was a unique wrinkle, and one I was excited to iron out, as it were. But it’s really quite simple. There is a known meteorological phenomenon in which objects, such as dead animals, are drawn into the air by dust devils or water spouts or what have you and then dropped back to the earth again. And that’s what happened here.

As far as all the chanting you people do in the presence of this cloud, our sociology team has determined this to be simply “collective hysteria,” and the recitations just another form of glossolalia, not dissimilar to “speaking in tongues.” There are a lot of communal and personal benefits to these practices, so good for you. But it’s not the cloud’s doing. It’s yours.

So that’s it. Nice cloud. Fully explained. On to the next thing. And the next after that. And the next after that. Until all of Night Vale is explained. Every last bit of it. See ya!

CECIL: Listeners, I am standing under the Glow Cloud. I am standing under a cloud that is glowing, at least. But there is no hum, no feeling of a great intangible trying to worm its way into my mind. There are no dead animals falling from the sky. And no faint, but pretty, smell of vanilla.

Dr Lubelle’s vile explanation has rendered the Glow Cloud inert. The fragile element of mystery that sustained it is gone. I see now that the glow is only the sun, filtering through this cloud, which is only a temporary arrangement of water. But speaking as a temporary arrangement of water myself, I grieve.

The Glow Cloud has been with us for a decade. Through the highs and the lows. Through the bad times and the good. Through every single “All Hail” torn unwilling from our ragged throats. I can still say the words. [in normal voice] All Hail the Glow Cloud. The Great Glow Cloud That Uses Our Will For Its Own Whims. That Rules Us Puny Beings. All Hail.

See? The words are still there, but there is no power behind them. They are just sentences I can say, the same way I can say “sure, I’d like a turkey sandwich” and “you know, I think maybe I don’t like the color orange”. That awesome, awful meaning, that greater purpose, has been stripped from us.

And oh, who will tell the Glow Cloud’s child? That poor child.

Dr. Lubelle has taken another of our citizens. We will not forget this. We will not forgive this. Night Vale is filled with rage, and we are, if we are honest with ourselves, a dangerous, dangerous town.

But that is for later. Now I honor the Glow Cloud. I honor, well, not my friend exactly. But a part of my life. A big part of my life for a long while now. I honor the Glow Cloud as it dissipates into the evening air, splitting into other clouds, and then into rain, a steady, pattering rhythm on our rooftops, making animals hide in their burrows, making cars slow down so as not to skid, making the trees shake their mighty branches slowly, as if to say “no, it cannot be, no”.

Stay tuned next for silence. Two solid weeks of silence followed by, improbably, noise.

All Hail, Night Vale. All Hail.