Welcome to Night Vale - 182 - It Sticks With You

Episode Date: February 15, 2021

A memorable trip into the woods Weather: “We Perform a Service Here” by Joseph Fink, https://josephfink.bandcamp.com/ Transcript available at http://welcometonightvale.com/transcripts Patreon is how we exist in this plague year! If you can, please help us keep making this show: http://patreon.com/welcometonightvale/ Our third novel, The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home, is out now: http://www.welcometonightvale.com/books/ Music: Disparition http://disparition.bandcamp.com Logo: Rob Wilson http://robwilsonwork.com Written by Joseph Fink & Jeffrey Cranor. Narrated by Cecil Baldwin. http://welcometonightvale.com Follow us on Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram. Check out our books, live shows, store, membership program, and official recap show. Produced by Night Vale Presents. http://nightvalepresents.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Howdy y'all. It is Jeffrey Craneer. I'm not sure which episode of Welcome to Nightville you're listening to, but I am speaking to you from April of 2026. And I'm here to tell you we're going to be in Europe. If you want to see Nightville live and you're going to be in Europe, come check us out at the end of May. We're going to be in Edinburgh on May the 27th. We will be in Manchester on the 28th, London on the 29th, and Amsterdam on May the 30th. Just go to Welcome to Nightville.com slash live to see the show dates and to get your tickets. This is. our newest nightville live show murder night in blood forest it is so much fun please come check it out also coming up this month here in april it is the return of alice isn't dead brand new episodes of our other crazy hit podcast this is written by joseph think produced uh and with music by disparition and starring josec and nicol so make sure you are still subscribed to alice isn't dead and go get those on april the 13th as new episodes come out finally speaking of other shows do you want to hear us talk about other things. We have three other really great chat shows. First of all, there's Good Morning Nightvale for all of your Nightvale needs. You can hear Hal, Meg, and Symphony talk about every single

episode in order of Welcome to Nightvale. Also, we have Random Horror Number Nine. That is me and Nightville star Cecil Baldwin talking about horror movies one at a time in a random order. And then Joseph and Meg do best, worst, which is a really fun podcast where they look at hit TV shows and they review the best rated on IMDB, the worst rated on IMDB, and if you're a Patreon member, they will review the middleest rated on IMDB. So check out all of those at Nightvillepresents.com or just wherever you get your podcast. And hey, thanks. Today is the third day of the rest of your life. Welcome to Night Vale. Hi, listeners. It's been a dull winter, and I haven't gotten out of the house much. My family and I have been nesting mostly, and that's nice.

Cooking dinner, catching up on all the popular shows like Lupin, blown away, and even old episodes of The Office. Oh, not the American one, but the original Luftnarp version where the main character is a one-eyed starling voiced by film legend Lee Marvin. It's much more cutting in its humor. My favorite episode is when the whole staff learns to summon the lost souls of the ancient ones, and the Starling sings a dirge about drowning in a lake, and then the corporate manager is interrogated by Interpol for successfully doing alchemy. But TV has gotten kind of old, and we got a touch of cabin fever. So we decided it was time to get out of the house and go for a hike.

On Saturday, we drove a few hours north to Redwood-Ramein State Park, and we brought our little Esteban with us because it is never too early to introduce children to nature. And it was a fun and spiritually rewarding trip. And there's nothing like the mighty heights of centuries old trees to make you feel small, like a baby, held close and tight, protected from the dangers in the malicious sky above. I feel so refreshed. I can't recommend the woods enough. What a rewarding time to spend with a family. It's a trip that will stay with me forever. More on my hike soon. But let's have a look now at traffic. At the intersection of High Street and McDowell sits a 2004 Honda CRV, silver with a broken taillight.

Inside the car is a man named Sergei. He's looking at the night sky. He does not see the light change from red to green, nor does he notice this process repeating. There was no one behind him to indicate his attention should be otherwise paid to the road. The intersection of High Street and McDowell is curiously empty, except for the man in his 2004 CRV. If anyone else were around and they were to look at the same night sky, they would see blackness and stars, the faint slit of a nearly new moon. They may see an airplane or the wisp of a cloud, yet Sergei sees something that anyone else would not. Sergei sees a triangle of bright orange lights.

They do not move, nor blink. They simply are an inscrutable pyramid perched in the firmament. Sergei wonders if they are extraterrestrial, or just a trick of the eye. The traffic signal changes from red back to green and the CRV does not move. No one else is around. He is scared. He is hopeful, too. Sergei hopes that he is to be abducted, saved even, taken away from his job and his wife and his dogs and his family,

taken away from his CRV with its broken taillight, taken away from High Street and McDowell. He doesn't know if the alien craft would imprison him, experiment on him, or even kill him. Everything that is unknown is hope. Sergei does not pray. He only thinks of the possibilities of. leaving his car, his body, his planet. And as the traffic signal changes, again, Sergei opens his car door and steps out, jacketless, into the brisk night air. A swirling breeze curls his hair. He stands in the center of the intersection at High Street to McDowell and waves. He waves to the

triumvirate of orange lights in the night sky, and he imagines someone or something waving back. has been traffic. More on our hike. I can't stop thinking about it. My husband, Carlos, as you may know, is a scientist, and he was truly in his element. He showed us all kinds of flora and fauna, telling us tons of interesting facts about everything that we encountered. We saw lots of dragonflies, some as large as my hand.

There were hawks galore, just the most hawks. Like, think of all the hawks you've ever. seen, now double that, then add nine, then divide by three. That is how many hawks we saw in just a single afternoon. The hawks circled above us, which caused the rabbits to hop and scamper in all directions. Our little three-year-old shouted bunnies, and he tried to pet them, but Carlos cautioned him that while most mammals look like they want hugs, almost none of them do. Esteban was disappointed that he could not pick up the rabbits, especially when one of Hawks did that very thing.

Carlos had explained the circle of life to our inconsolable son, which went over better than expected, especially because we found a little creek with some toads for Esteban to play with. I remember going to the woods as a young boy with my sister and my mother. We used to go about three or four times each year on a long hike. What I recall most vividly were the owls. Even in the bright of day they were so loud, so very, very much. very loud. I asked my mother why the owls were so noisy and she never answered me. Oh, once I even found a sleeping raccoon and a coyote was hunched over it playfully gnawing at its

open belly. Ah, you learned so much in the woods. I'll never forget those times. Last Saturday in the woods, I heard the owls again, their low hoots and growls, ever present. I had forgotten their sound, but it all came back to me. I asked Carlos why the owls were always making that noise. But he didn't seem to know why, or even understand what I was asking. Ah, it was a wonderful day. Watching Esteban and Carlos sitting on moss-covered rocks and pointing at fish and salamanders, I thought of what it must be like to have a dad.

And how I was so glad that, unlike me, Esteban has a loving father. In fact, he has two. Ah, that moment will stay with me forever. More in our trip soon. But now, financial news. Investors speculate on sadness as a commodity. Dreams unveiled their IPO. Sunshine is a cryptocurrency.

Look around you, investors say. Everything can be monetized. All of it is capital. All of it is fluctuating. Do you sometimes feel tired? Reap dividends on your emotions. There's no reason not to earn compound interest on feelings. Look at the S&P 500, investors say.

It is a list of 500 of the top intuitions being felt by human beings. Healthy skepticism is up two points. Indecision is up 1.5. And that sensation in your belly when you go down a hill too fast is up six. Futures trading on happiness is all the rage, according to the financial experts. Short sell your despair. Angst is trading at an all-time low, say financial planners. Past performance is not an indicator of future results, except when it comes to money.

Money is always increasing. It's just pouring from every orifice, says a man in a suit standing arms outstretched in a claw-foot tub, pennies falling from his eyes, nickels and quarters spewing from his contorted mouth, the rear of his slacks bulging with Sacajawea dollars. This has been financial news. And now back to my mini-vacation to the woods. I Uh

Well, let's see When was I there? I know I started this show Talking about a recent trip I took Was I with Carlos Or was it just me? Huh, I'd written down some notes But I thought

But my stenopad is completely Blank It was such a memorable excursion But for some reason I I lost my train of thought Oh, I do remember Owls I didn't see any

owls. I don't know that I've ever seen an owl in the woods, but I heard them. I remember the sounds of the owls quite clearly, the low drone of the relentless nightbird shaking the deep coils of my inner ear until I could not walk in a straight line, could barely stand up. I remember a man holding a boy's hand and telling him about a tree, and they look a lot alike, those two. Go into the tree. The man tells the boy and the boy does not want to. It's warm and quiet in there, the man says the boy. But the boy cannot hear him over the sound of the owls.

I can't shake these memories, but I can't express them either. In the meantime, here's a sports update. John Peters, you know, the farmer, plowed his fields of invisible corn this week. He tilled the soil and then covered it over in fresh sod and compacted dirt. He marked up the area with long chalk lines and built a fence at the far end. The cornfields are completely gone now. In their place is a baseball diamond. John said,

I was in my fields of invisible corn and I heard this voice. And the voice told me, if you build it, he will stop by for a visit. And I knew it was the voice of my narrate. John continued. Like the ancient gods, I only exist because people talk about me, believe in me, and if the narrator of my life should ever discontinue his old yarn about old John, well, I'd cease to exist. So I built it, like the man said, I built me a baseball diamond.

John thought the voice was suggesting that by building a baseball diamond, the ghost of John's father would come to the farm and play catch with John. But, as it turned out, the voice meant the tax-ball. collector. See, John's farm is not zoned for sports and recreation, so he got hit with a pretty hefty fine. John said, it wasn't my paw. That would have been nice. But Pat Lusk, the tax collector? He was real friendly. Older fella. We threw the ball around a few times. It felt great. Pat's going to come back. We got a standing date every Saturday now to play catch. John hopes he can start a professional team and join the major leagues. He said he's already sent letters to some scouts for the Padres, Diamondbacks,

Deathworms, and Dodgers. Good luck, John. Hope you win the pennant. This has been Sports. Now I remember. Oh, it's crystal clear now. I'm in the woods, listeners, at this exact moment. And there's the sound of the owls. Do you hear it?

Just one long, discordant groan? My ears hurt and my skin is flinching at the cold air. I feel the wind in my bones. There's a redwood in front of me. It is noon, but the woods are dark, save for a small ray of speckled light shining on the base of the tree. And there's a hole in the trunk. And it's barely wide enough to fit my shoulders.

But I want to enter the tree. But I'm also afraid. I cannot look inside it. Yes, I remember all of this because it's happening again at this moment. The woods stay with you for a lifetime. The memories are never fleeting. I look into the hole and I see nothing. I place my feet in the hole.

I slide my hips into the tight fissure. My chest, it is so cramped. I do not know if I'll be able to fit or free myself. Oh, it's so warm. Like the sun. Like the day. Like the weather. For ships with fresh recruits.

Crutes, plato of all those strangers' boots Hide out by the well pump where no one thinks to go Let the day pass so slow Sometimes no matter how hard you sprint You still don't make it to the car And the naval is just a scar Could travel for a thousand lifetimes You wouldn't reach the nearest star

And the navel is just a scar Been three months Since I furloughed on mainland I prefer my life within Stain the steel and a solid plan Perform a service here Without us it all disappear Got to keep my goals and hurt

My fierce ears inside my bones Like it was made of molten tar And the navel is just a scar. My dreams are merely bad ideas that I haven't yet let go too far and the navel is just a scar. Last night I thought the waves

would tear this whole platform in half. Started to pray to nothing in particular on our behalf. I think something hurt me or maybe I just echoed back. Turns out that I have what I thought I lack. Opened a door that all this time I thought was locked, blocked, sealed and barred And the navel is just a scar

And dodge every single blow that comes your way if you spar And the navel is just a scar If you stay still long enough Then that becomes who you are And the navel is just a scar Yes, the navel is just a scar It's just a scar. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting.

Your story could be next. If you've got the drive, they'll help you find your path to the Olympics. Let's see what you've got. Sign up for free at rbc trainingground.ca. Where was I? Just now. I do not know where I was. I'm in my studio, and there's a microphone in front of me, a blank notepad, and...

Huh. A micro-cissette player. Wow, is that... Yeah, it's the little recorder I had as a kid. I used this thing all the time, pretending to be a little radio host, narrating every part of my life. I haven't seen this in years. Did I bring it to work with me today?

No, I would have remembered that. Huh. Let's see what's on it. It's Cecil Gersman Palmer. March 18, 2019. I climbed inside a tree. It's dark, darker than anything I've ever experienced. I cannot find my way out.

I am afraid. And I am alone. Above me, I can hear the loud hum of owls like a diesel engine. And I am trapped. I see a light. And it's growing brighter. No. No.

Cecil Gersman Palmer, February 26, 2020. I crawled into a hole at the base of a tree. I was on a hike. I think. Gosh, it's so dark in here. I've never been in such darkness. I am alone, except for owls. I hear the gnashing gurgle of owls like a chainsaw on low speed, and there's...

Wait, there's a light. It's coming toward me. I cannot move. But I must... Cecil Gers from Palmer, February 15th, 2021. I am inside a tree that there was a hole, and for some reason I crawled inside it. I've never done anything that crazy before. Gosh, it's so dark, darker than anything I've ever seen.

And above me, I hear owls wailing like a pressurized steam valve on a radiator. None of this is familiar. Except that light. Light is filling my mind. I know that light. I know that light. Well, sorry about that. I thought I might get to hear some old recordings of me, but it was just a blank tape, listeners.

Oh well, probably for the best. If I ever found any old tapes of myself, I bet there'd be some really embarrassing stuff on there. Maybe this whole show has been nothing. Honestly, I don't remember any of the news from today. It's, I've just been in this job for a long time. Probably longer than I've been alive. I mean, you've been alive. I can't remember every detail of every show.

Something about owls, I think. We were talking about owls. and the weird sounds they make. Oh, that reminds me. You know when I was a kid? I used to go on these hikes in the woods, a couple hours outside of town at the Redwood Remains State Park. My mother would take me and my sister Abby.

Our mother wouldn't speak to us. She would just walk and walk, much faster than we could. And I think she wanted to lose us in the shadowy labyrinth of tall trees. But Abby and I made our own fun. We played hide and science. seek and try to catch toads and even had contests to see who could climb the highest. And we always found our mom.

She was at the same old tree, leaving flowers at the base of its giant trunk. And we would hike home. I don't remember who the flowers were for. Maybe she never said. They were good memories, those trips. I think I'd like to go back to those woods. Maybe I could even find that same tree where my mother left those flowers. I have no idea what I would gain from that.

I haven't been to the woods since I was very little. Maybe it's time to go back. Nature is a great escape. It'd be a fun trip for Carlos and Esteban too, the whole family. Memories to last a lifetime. Stay to next for Subliminal Advert. advertising played as a dull hiss under pop music. And as always, good night, Night Vale. Good night. Welcome to Nightvale as a production of Nightvale Presents. It is written by Joseph Fink and

Jeffrey Craneer and produced by Disparition. The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin. Original music by disparition. All of it can be found at disparition.bancamp.com. This episode's weather was, We provide a service here by Joseph Fink. Find it and more songs at josephink.bancamp.com. Comments, questions, email us at info at welcome to nightvail.com or follow us on Twitter at Nightvale Radio. Or try to identify which animals made which tracks in the snow. A fox maybe?

Check out Welcome to Nightvail.com for more info about our Patreon, where we just posted an exclusive full episode. That's right, an episode you can only hear on the Patreon. Today's proverb, laughter is the best medicine, except in cases where you're actually suffering from a medical condition or disease. For real, though, you need drugs for that. Hey, it's Jeffrey Craneer speaking to you from spring of 26, and did you know we are on tour in Europe?

Welcome to Nightville. We'll be live on stage in Edinburgh on May 27th, Manchester on May 28th, London on May 29th, and Amsterdam on May 3rd. 30th. This brand new live show is called Murder Night in Blood Forest, starring Cecil Baldwin, Symphony Sanders, me, and live original music by disparition. These tours are so much fun, and they're for the diehard fan and the Nightvale new kid alike. So bring your family, your partner, your co-workers, your cat, whatever. They don't got to know what Nightville is to like the show. Tickets to these shows are on sale now at welcome to nightvail.com slash live. Don't let time slip away. Get your tickets. Don't miss us when we're in your town because otherwise

We'll all be sad. Get your tickets to our Europe Live tour right now at welcome to nightvail.com slash live and hey, thanks.