Welcome to Night Vale - 196 - Silas the Thief, Part 2

Episode Date: October 15, 2021

The prisoner tries to reform. (Part 2 of 2) The voice of Silas is Jonathan Atkinson. Weather: “Go Along / Get Along” by Erin McKeown https://www.erinmckeown.com/ Transcript available at http://welcometonightvale.com/transcripts Patreon is how we exist! If you can, please help us keep making this show: http://patreon.com/welcometonightvale/ 2022 US TOUR DATES ANNOUNCED! March 27 - June 24, we’ll be all over America with “The Haunting of Night Vale” Tickets on sale now! http://welcometonightvale.com/live Get Joseph Fink’s new novel, THE HALLOWEEN MOON https://www.welcometonightvale.com/books#halloweenmoon 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

Hey, Nightville, it is Jeffrey Craneer speaking to you from April of 2026 with a couple of cool things coming up. First off, we're going to be in Europe touring our newest Nightville live show, Murder Night in Blood Forest. We're going to be in Edinburgh, UK, on May 27th. We'll be in Manchester on the 28th. We will be in London on May 29th, and we will be in Amsterdam on May the 30th. You can get tickets for these shows at Welcome to Nightville.com slash live, and hopefully we'll have more. shows coming up later this year. Who knows? Just get on our newsletter. Go to Welcome to Nightville.com. Sign up for our newsletter. We will send you emails twice a month to let you know

all of the news that you need to know about Welcome to Nightville. One of the big news things to tell you right now is that our other hit podcast, Alice Isn't Dead, is coming back on April the 13th, written by Joseph Fink, produced by Disparition and starring Jacica Nicole. More episodes of Alice Isn't Dead return on April the 13th. So make sure you are still subscribe to that podcast. Finally, do you want some cool nightbail merch? Go to welcome to nightville.com, click on store, and we have

all kinds of cool t-shirts, things for the summer, tank tops, beach towels, and if you like coffee mugs, if you want calendars, if you want backpacks, all kinds of cool stuff there. So check out Welcome to Nightville.com and click on store, click on live. If you want to see our live shows, we will see you in Europe.

And hey, thanks. Boo. He's not a real doctor. Don't let him near me. Don't let him... It hurts, doesn't it? You want to cut me open? Study me?

Heal me? Manipulate me? Well, I cut back, Doc. My claws are poison, Doc. Doc? More like Duck. Because you're a quack. If you could understand me,

You'd know that was hilarious. But you're too busy doubled over in pain. You'll need more than stitches. You might need a tetanus shot, especially if you let me at that neck of yours again. Cecil, why did you bring this guy in here? I'm sick. That's all.

It will pass. Or it won't. But if I'm going to die like this, floating four feet off the ground in a back, in the body of a mutant cat, then so be it. I've made whatever piece I can of that. But don't add the insult of allowing me to get prodded and groped by this D-minus med student. He's not even a real doctor.

He's a veterinarian. He's condescending, too. I'm tired of everyone trying to pat my head and my ass. You should put up signs, Cesar. soul. Whatever. You never listen. I talk and you get me food or wave a feather or hug me too hard. I might be trying to explain the difference between a merry Cassat and an Eva Gonzalez. Doesn't matter with you. You only hear mules and wines. You cajole me. Listen, I like the food. I love the cadnip. Thank you. Thank you a million times. Thank you. You're a benevolent guard in this prison.

But I only want you to listen to me. To hear what I'm saying, to hear what I want. Please. I'm not that old, but I am. I've been in this body for nine years. I think that's old for a cat, but I don't know. I never owned a cat. Sandrine owned a cat. Don't remember its name. It lived with us for probably a decade. I don't know. I think it died.

Or ran away. Maybe she kept it when she faked her death and left for Montauk. How long do cats live? Maybe ask your doctor friend. He probably doesn't know because he got his medical degree by passing a BuzzFeed quiz. Ask him anyway. Wait till he stops bleeding, though.

No one lives forever, duck. I'm living proof. I was 40 when she turned me into this. Should be nearing 50, but in cat years, what am I? 75? 90? Who knows? Even if I had lived out a full life as a human, it wouldn't have felt long enough.

Not to mention the 10 years of 10 years. mention the 10-year-long or longer decline in body function. The sore knees, the senility, the incontinence, the difficulty breathing, the irregular heartbeat, the cancer, the cancer treatments, even worse. Maybe in this form, that decline will be quicker. Maybe today is the day. You've never brought a vet to try to drug me before. I used to say, I don't fear death, but that was before I felt death enter me. Death isn't a reaper with a skull face and hooded cloak. No, death has no body.

It can't be seen. But it can be felt like a presence, like a ghost. Like a ghost, like a possessor. True horror lives in the dark places. The inscrutable shadows and black corners. You ever see a spider? Freaky. You ever turn your head and then when you look back,

the spider isn't there? Horror. I do fear death now, but I'm working on that. Here's where I've gotten. I think it's not fear anymore because fear is an emotion of non-understanding. I understand what death is, yet I still experience what feels like fear. Only, I don't think that it is. I think it's anger, disguised as fear.

Anger at Maino, at Sandrine for destroying what we have. I took care of her. I gave her a job, a home, the finest foods we traveled the world together. Have you ever parasailed Sri Lanka? Swam in an infinity pool overlooking Sydney Harbor? Touched the Moai of Easter Island with your own hands. Well, Sandrine has, because I took her there. And in the end, she gave it up.

She gave me up. Why? Because I didn't care about Louise Bouchoir. That's simply not true. I adore Louise Bouchoir. Well, I adore her work. She was... If I'm honest, I didn't know her well. Sant'ran was jealous.

Jealous of my position, of my talent. She tried to break me, reduce me, and I refused to kneel. So she resorted to turning me into this. She couldn't best me on her own so she had to use her witchery as a weapon. Still, there's something I don't understand. She didn't simply turn me into a cat. She could have made me her little furry domesticate truly toppled me. Instead, she put me in this body, far away, and gave me incredible powers.

My fur is mostly needle-sharp quills. My skin, hard and scaly, almost armor-like. My eyes, I think there are eight of them, allow me to see in a 360-degree clarity that nearly shatters my mind. I sometimes have wings or tentacles. How am I even a cat? Except I am.

I see my face here in the mirror, and I have pointy ears, and little white mitten feet, and a tail like an overused feather duster. Am I a cat just because I look like one? Because I say I am one? Am I confidently pretending that this is what I am? Like when I confidently pretended to be a museum docent, or a late-night security guard, or someone Sondren loved. Disguise, Cecil.

I'm a master at it, even when I'm not trying. For all of my powers, for all of my mutations, for all of my formidable appearance, though, I am stuck. Here, four feet in the air. I can't walk. I can't fly. I can't swim. I can't even speak. Not in a way anyone understands. I have incredible defenses, sharp quills and tough skin. Yet I am in a place no predator would ever hunt me. No prey would

ever appear. I'm a prisoner. I wait for you each day to feed me. Sometimes you pet me and talk to me. It's patronizing the way you do it, pushing your lip out and battling as if to a baby. or a cat. I'm neither. I'm Silas and I am alone. I mean, you are around. Sometimes the boys in sales stop by. Sometimes the management of this station comes in here. It's rare, but they do. They're patronizing in a different way. Unlike you and the sales staff and interns, Station management can hear me. Comprehend the words I say. They know my name.

They know my tragic story, and they laugh. They point and say, Tell the tale again, thief. And I do, and they laugh again. They tell me I deserve my fate giggling all the while. It sounds mean, and it is. But they talk to me like a man. They don't speak to me as if I were a child.

They respect me even if they mock me. And, of course, there are the kittens. Santrein wanted kids. I don't think I mentioned that. I don't like children. Didn't like children. Not then. I'm learning, though.

Isn't that important that I'm learning? Around 2002, she started talking about having children. She didn't bring it up once, but over and over again. She wanted to be a mother. I did not want to be a father. That's not the whole truth. It is a fact that I didn't want to raise kids, but more importantly, I didn't want her to raise kids.

You have to understand she was brilliant at her job. I'll admit, I could not have been successful without her. I needed her. needed her. Pregnancy and children would have ruined that. I know there are mothers all over the world who continued their careers, their crafts after giving birth. I'm not saying women can't, you know, but Sandrine wasn't all women.

She was Sandrine. She was my woman. And I would have lost respect for her, seeing her toddling about her home. Belly extended hand to her back under the appraisal. impressive thumb of some unformed blob in her body. No one should live that way. What? Is that a fact? Anissa says I'm being misogynist again.

No, honey, I'm being a narcissist. I just said that women can have babies and still be very successful. I love women. My problem with Sandhren was that she wanted something for herself that I did not want for me. I wanted to control her because I believe others are an extension of me. And sometimes narcissism expresses itself as sexism. Yes, and as transphobia too, you're right. You're right.

Anissa reminds me that not just women can have babies. People all along the gender spectrum have uteri. She's a smart kid. I don't know where she gets it. She gets it from her dad, right, Sunshine? She's pretending not to know me again. She's right, though. I'm a man, and I had babies.

I say babies, but they're kittens. Or not kittens anymore. They're all eight years old at this point. Isn't that strange to be only one year older than your own children? That's Anissa right there with a tortoise shell fur. And above her, near the drop ceiling, with the tortoise shell skin is Rafael. I believe he's the one you call mixtape.

I hated that name, but Rafael really likes it and now prefers it to his given name. And I have learned to respect that. And over by the window is Jeremiah, the one that your friend Larry Leroy comes to see every day. Larry, for some reason, calls Jeremiah Larry Leroy, but he also calls all of us that, so I guess, That's his bit? I like Larry, though.

He's respectful. He talks to us like old friends he once had. Or maybe it's like old friends he never had. I think he just needs people to talk to. He lives all the way out on the edge of town, making his diaramas and using his metal detector. He once found a submarine in the sand wastes. Has he told you that story, Cecil? you should go visit him more.

He needs company. Jeremiah has a great view of town from the window, so he tells us when something exciting is happening. There's a PA in the bathroom, too, so we can also hear your broadcasts. But you digress a lot. Sometimes a tad bit of exaggeration, too, if I'm being honest, and I am.

Raffat, uh, mixtape has learned to sing. He has a beautiful voice. He sings along to your weather reports every day. Mix tape really was a good name. All of this to say, I may be dying, and I'm okay with that. My fear is really anger. And my anger might really be guilt. Everything is a disguise.

I'm still angry at Saint-Train. But as all the kids tell me, I'm probably just angry at myself, only thinking I'm angry at her. I can't comprehend how I would possibly be so confused about my own feelings. That witch destroyed my life. And yes, I love my kids. I adore them, in fact. I take back every bad thing I ever said about children. They're wonderful, and I wouldn't give them up for anything.

But... My life was cut short by Saint-Tren. She was so petty, so self-obsessed. She essentially spit in my face. She spit in the face of everything I had ever achieved, everything I had ever given her. She spit in the... I'm starting to get it.

I spit in her face. Right. Point taken, Anissa. Jeremiah says we cannot forgive others until we forgive ourselves. And he's right. Theoretically, yes, I agree. But Cecil, if you could for once recognize me.

See me as not a cat. You can't possibly be capable of looking directly at this body, hearing the unholy sounds I make, witnessing my literal levitation and think, yes, this sure is a cat. Cecil, wake up, hear me. I want to forgive myself before I die. I do.

But I don't want to forgive her. Never. She lives in the woods east of town. Larry Leroy told me of a sorcerer who dwells among the trees, who gives them sentience, who casts spells of kindness, spells of entrapment. Larry, like you, exaggerates a lot, and I didn't think anything of this at first.

But then he said a name He said Mino Like Mino Toots are a maze Cecil Go find her

And bring her to me Oh I just want to see her pretty little face And Hey stop No Tell him to let go of my neck Cecil Tell the doctor to stop

He's poking me! He's struggling me! He's... Children, I love you. Will you... Miss me when I... Am. You brought me chicken and rice. Real chicken and rice. Not in a can. I don't know what to say.

Oh, I do. Once again, I say thank you. My last thought as I lost consciousness was not what happens when I die, but what happens to this body when I die? Does the beast you call Kashak just fall to the floor, the spell broken? Or does it disappear altogether? Do I even have a physical form at all? Am I a tangible illusion?

A disguise in the eyes? Or would this corpse continue to float at a fixed spot until it was? rotted away? Would my children have to live only feet from their dead father for the rest of their lives? Moved from my spot before. I have left this prison. I helped you once, a couple of times, maybe. Something with new owners? And once there was a demonic beagle? That sounds insane. Am I making that up? But why was I able to move? I'm always trying to run free, to get out of here, to get Sandrine. It's only when I want to that I cannot.

That's Sandrine's spell. She wanted me to go mad. She wanted me to feel trapped, to be saddled with children, to be under another's control, to feel alone even when I'm literally not. Literally never alone. That's not the whole truth, though. So is my mind. Every dead end disguised as a path.

And it is only when I accept this, when I stop being angry at the labyrinth, when I respect myself and my place that I can truly live. She did this to me, yes. But this is what I am now. Acceptance is all I can control. Listen to that. Anissa is purring.

I love her purr. She's so happy here, Cecil. Jeremiah and Mix Tate, too. I resented their contentment for years because I couldn't understand how they could like living in this smelly fluorescent cave. But they do. Jeremiah has gone from his spot.

look by the window. He went to go visit Larry Leroy. He can just do that. I thought it was because these children had special powers above mine, but they don't. I've left my locked position before. Remember? It was because you were in danger. Because my kids were in danger. I was able to move out of this prison because I was able to see beyond myself. I say all that. And I'm trying to move now, but cannot. So maybe that theory is totally wrong. Or maybe the doctor's drugs haven't worn off yet. What the hell did he do to me?

I do feel better. Broggy. But my guts don't hurt anymore. And my eyes aren't burning? Is the infection gone? Will I be able to move when I'm fully healed? I doubt it. I'm still thinking of her.

Of Saint-Dren. of Mino. And I'm angry. I'm very angry, Cecil. I'm trying not to be. It's hard to change. I'm learning, though. Isn't that important that I'm learning?

Thank you for the chicken and rice. It's bland, but I get what you're doing. You're taking care of me. You don't know who I am. Not at all. You think I'm a house cat. It's your problem. You only see what you really want to see.

Like a museum guard, you're easily fooled by disguise. Only, maybe it's the other way around. And I am a house cat. It's not a disguise at all. I'm simply what I am. Horrifying thought. And one I have to consider. I don't know if I'm ready to a...

admit that just yet. Welcome to Nightvale as a production of Nightvale Presents. It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Criner and produced by Disparition. The voice of Kashik was Jonathan Atkinson. Original music by Disparition. All of it can be found at disparition.bantamp.com. This episode's weather was Go Along Get Along by Erin McYone from her new album, Kiss Off Kiss. Find out more at Aaron McYone.com.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcome to nightvale.com or follow us on Twitter at Nightvale Radio or spill the beans. Then grab them up and clean them up. Check out Welcome to Nightvale.com for info about our live tour in 2022. We can't wait to see you all again. Today's proverb, ask your doctor about Up Dog. Hey, Jeffrey Kraner here to tell you about another show from me and my Nightvale co-creator Joseph Fink. It's called Unlicensed, and it's an L.A. Noir-style mystery set in the outskirts of present-day Los Angeles. Unlicensed follows two unlicensed private investigators who small jobs looking into insurance claims and missing property are only the tip of a conspiracy iceberg.

There are already two seasons of Unlicensed for you to listen to now, with Season 3 dropping on May 15th. Unlicensed is available exclusively through Audible, free if you already have that, subscription. And if you don't, Audible has a trial membership. And if I know you, and I do, you can binge all that mystery goodness in a short window. And if you like it, if you liked Unlicensed, please, please rate and review each season. Our ability to keep making this show is predicated on audience engagement. So go check out Unlicensed, available now only at audible.com.