Welcome to Night Vale - 290 - A Solution

Episode Date: June 15, 2026

What a situation we find ourselves in, as a community. Weather: "City of Industry" by Joseph Fink⁠⁠ The voice of Dana Cardinal is Jasika Nicole Original episode art by Jessica Hayworth Episode transcripts Register for Camp Night Vale March 2027 Pre-order THE NUDGE by Joseph Fink Listen to UNLICENSED⁠⁠ by Joseph Fink & Jeffrey Cranor. Only on Audible Welcome to Night Vale Roleplaying Game Subscribe to the Night Vale newsletter for news and stories Patreon is how we exist! Music: Disparition Logo: Rob Wilson Written by Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Cranor & Brie Williams Narrated by Cecil Baldwin Follow us on BlueSky, Facebook, TikTok, Tumblr, and Instagram A production of Night Vale Presents Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hello, Nightvale. It is me, Jeffrey Craneer, and I am here to tell you about Camp Nightvale. Yeah, we're planning a weekend-long writer's workshop March 5th through 7th, 2027 in Santa Fe, New Mexico. This workshop is for writers of all kinds who want to spend a weekend in the desert doing guided writing exercises, participating in group discussions and readings and other fun, artsy-wordy things that are yet to be announced. This workshop will be taught by me and my Nightville co-creator Joseph Fink and will be for a maximum of 20 in-person students. Registration opens June 16th for our paid Patreon members. There's a $50 off tuition for Weird Scout or hire members.

Registration opens to the general public on June the 18th. More info at welcome to nightvill.com slash camp, nightvail. See all in the desert. Also, make sure you pre-order The Nudge, a brand new horror novella by my Nightville co-creator, Joseph Fink. T. Kingfisher says the Nudge is a perfect little bite-sized horror. some of these scenes are going to live in my head for a long, long time. The print version of The Nudge will feature original illustrations by Jessica Hayworth,

and the audiobook format is read by Kevin R. Free and Cecil Baldwin. Pre-order The Nudge wherever you get your books. Finally, you should consider joining the Nightville Patreon. Like I said, you get early announcement on things like Camp Nightvale and live show tours. Plus, we have ongoing book clubs, monthly hangouts with me and Joseph, quarterly bonus episodes, at free feeds, and much, much more. Our Patreon is what keeps this podcast going. So consider a $5 or $10 a month membership and get so much more Nightvail in your life.

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Hi, everyone, it's Joseph Fink, co-writer of Welcome to Nightville and writer of Alice Isn't Dead. And today I'm here to talk about Woe Be Gone, a twisting, turning weekly horror science fiction podcast. Woe Be Gone follows Mike Walters, who discovers a mysterious and violent online game. What begins as an exploration of this alternate reality game with real-life consequences quickly becomes a search for the technology that makes it possible. Woe Begone is an exploration of the nature of power, the limitations of linear time, and what it means to be an individual. Each episode has a unique soundtrack composed by the talented creator and writer Dylan Griggs.

Listen to Woe Begone spelled Woe Period Begone, wherever you listen to podcasts. Or check out Woebegonpod.com for episodes and transcripts. Have fun and enjoy the episode. Let that be a lesson for you, specifically a piano lesson. Remember to do your scales every morning. Welcome to Night Vale. Listeners, what a situation we find ourselves in as a community. Who could have seen it coming? After a year of investigating the murders of Marcus Vanston and Jalen Rutherford, we had the solution. Jalen killed Marcus with the help of his ghost accomplice who locked the room from the inside, thus providing the locked room part of the locked room mystery.

As for Jalen, he was murdered by Harrison Kipp, and replaced by a double Jalen who is now in jail awaiting trial for his doubles crimes. So far, simple murder mystery stuff, like you'd read in any Nicholas Sparks novel. But then, Dana called me with a full. frankly confusing message. She told me that we got the murder all wrong, that she had discovered new information that turned everything on its head. I rushed down to the jail to meet her, but by the time I got there, she had vanished, and no one knew where she went. What if she was right? What if there was more to this murder than we understood? And what if she had been silenced so she couldn't tell us the truth of the situation.

Unfortunately, the Jalen who is in jail knows nothing, as he is from a different version of our universe, one where Marcus Vansden was still murdered, but in a normal way on the street, instead of in a weird way in a locked room. In the absence of Dana, I have no choice but to take the mantle of the investigation into my own hands. After all, I am a journalist.

and what is a journalist, but a detective with better fashion sense. Don't worry, Dana. I will not disappoint you. I will find out who the real murderer is and I will find where you have been taken. Or my name is not Cecil Palmer, which it is. This is Dana Cardinal, reporting. I know who is responsible for this murder, and I must confront them directly. I carefully search every inch of the floor. There must be something here, and sure enough, under a carpet in the corner, there's a trap door, painted a rich purple.

It is unlocked. It opens with a loud groan. Inside, there is a staircase. I take the staircase. The stairs start wooden and simple, stairs to any basement. And then I reach a marble stair. And from then on, the stairs become wide, decorated on the railings with gold, hung with ornate lamps. I keep going. 1,000 steps. 2,000. The stairs become simple again.

Clay. There is no light now. I pull out the flashlight I had thought to bring. I brought no weather supplies. I'm not sure supplies matter where I'm going. I continue to descend. If we were wrong about the conclusion, then we must start over from the beginning, because we have no idea where in the course of the investigation the mistake was made.

So, let's look at the evidence. The room was locked from the inside. Marcus Vansden was found dead, although no cause of death was ever deduced, and no one even knew it was possible to kill an angel. Now, the locked room element would seem to have been solved. Jalen Rutherford, the one from our world, worked closely with Marcus Vansden, and so had a key to the private library.

And he was colluding with Maisie Cross, a ghost from Pine Cliff, with a long record in extortion, blackmail, and poltergeisting. A simple plan, using Jalen's key, she locked the door from the inside, and then wafted ghostly through the walls. Job done. That makes two assumptions. The first is that the key Jalen possessed was used to lock the door, but looking at the crime scene photos and reports, I am seeing something startling that we all had missed.

The door to the room was locked on the inside. Yes, but not with the lock in the door. No. Instead, there was a small red padlock of a design that I have never seen before. In fact, it has no keyhole or combination wheel, no visible way of unlocking it at all. So there goes the key. And then there is the question of ghosts. Even if the key had been used, could Macy Cross have been the one? to use it? For that, I bring in an expert witness who is not a ghost, but shares much of

Maisie's physical properties. Deb, the sentient patch of Hayes. Hi, Yac Cecil. So yeah, so we creatures of non-corporial bodies do have a number of advantages over you disgusting meat sacks. One might even say we are vastly superior creatures. But in terms of physical interactions with the world, our fine motor skills are about the same as a cat's. We're pretty much limited to scratching on walls and knocking stuff over. It is of my opinion that a ghost could not hold the key, lock a door, or murder a billionaire angel. As much as being able to do those things would be cool as heck. So no, Macy Cross is innocent. Of murder.

She's still very guilty of extortion, blackmail, and many, many counts of poltergeisting. Thank you, Deb. And that's where we're left. Jalen and Macy could not have sealed the door from the inside, which means they could not have killed Marcus Vansden. The question remains, who did? The stairs end and I am in a small cave. Just tall enough for me to stand, just wide enough for me to walk.

Looking back, I cannot see the top of the stairs. But no matter, I am going forward for now. I walk along the dry, sandy floor of the cave. It turns and twists, but there is only ever one passage, and so I cannot get lost. It is the only consolation I have. have. Finally, I reached the end of the cave. There is a room that smells like cinnamon and a little bit like char, like many things have been burned in this room. The walls are covered in drawings. They are old, perhaps older than humanity, but preserved by this lightless, airless chamber.

They depict every possible manner of dying. And there are so many ways. They are illustrated with loving realism by a true talent. I feel dizzy looking at them. I want to flee. I will not flee. In the center of the room is an ancient stone well. I know that who I am searching for is at the bottom of the well.

I peer over the edge and see nothing in its darkness. My own flashlight only goes ten feet down. The air coming up from the well smells sweet, but not in a good way. It is the sweet of fermenting fruit, of things going a little too far. I did not bring any sort of ladder or rope, and so what else can I do? I swing one leg over and then the other. I climb into the well, my fingers gripping. painfully onto the rock.

Without any clear direction and with no new evidence, I must go to the only witness who saw the actual moment of murder. Dana's brother, Ethan Cardinal. I found him in Grove Park feeding the ducks. He didn't make eye contact with me, did not say hello. I'm sorry to do this, I told him. Then don't, he said. I have to know who killed Marcus Vansden, I said.

Ethan shrugged. God knows who killed him. Leave me alone. No, you know who killed him. Why won't you tell anyone? Ethan turned to me. His eyes were heavy, lidded, and red. Every time I try to sleep, I see the murder again.

I see it. Over and over, it is the worst thing I have ever seen that I ever could see. I wake up screaming, but I'm not even asleep. I just screaming. I scream and scream instead of sleeping. Ethan told me, maybe if you helped catch the person, you would feel better, I said. He shook his head.

But then he said, if you want to know who killed. Marcus Vanston, you need to start with the real question. I struggled to think what that could be. Why was he killed? I suggested. No. No, Ethan said. The why could not be more obvious. No, Cecil, you must consider how was Marcus Vanston killed? How do you kill an angel? figure that out and you'll have solved the murder. Then you'll know the same terrible truth that I do. Then you'll scream, scream and scream instead of sleeping. He turned away, stopped talking, and continued to feed the ducks.

The climb down the well is painful. My fingers slide on the rocks. My feet wedge awkwardly into cracks in the wall. My arms and legs are covered in friction burns. I clamp my teeth together. My jaw hurts. My whole body hurts. And then my feet find the bottom.

There is no water in this well. I don't think there ever was. It's not that kind of well. The bottom is flat cobblestones. I flick my flashlight around and find a small hole in the wall against the floor. I would be crazy to crawl through there. I guess I'm crazy. I crawl through.

Have you ever seen those caving videos where people are wedged sideways? Faces distorted by the rock around them? And you think, who would ever do that? Well, I envy those people for how roomy they. their caves are. I hold my breath because I am too big to bring air-filled lungs through this passage, and I pull myself frantically through the tiny crack. Fortunately, the passage is not long, and I emerge in my destination. I am on a dark planet, lit by no sun. There is a dark ocean near me, waves like canyons, the roar of water like a wounded animal. The shore is

scattered with rocks, gray and featureless. No sign of the well leading up, only a hole in one of the rocks from which I have just emerged. And hunched against one of the rocks is what I have been looking for. Here is the murderer of Marcus Vanston. Listeners, I have it. I have it. I figured out how an angel could be killed.

And Ethan is right. If this is how Marcus was killed, then there is literally only one culprit possible. I must get to the sheriff and have the double of Jalen freed right away. He is innocent. I'm heading to the jail now. Oh, but first, it's your daily weather report sponsored by Date Shakes. Date Shakes. What if a milkshake had some dried fruit in it for some reason?

Anyway, here's the weather. Walk down, lock, back down, As a burned out, O'Reep four. One of those media strategy people clicking through slides, scrolling spreadsheets. Yes? Good. This is for you. Because on Spotify, there's an audience that's different,

locked in, loyal, invested. They're called fans. Fans don't just listen to music. They feel seen by it, like it belongs to them. So when your brand shows up on Spotify, that's who you're talking to. And you're right next to artists like me, Lizzo. So, are you ready to talk to fans?

Spotify advertising. You're among fans. I walk hesitantly forward. The creature eyes me warily. It seems jittery, like it might bolt or attack at any moment. It is vaguely human-shaped, with dark, smooth skin,

large white eyes, no nose, A mouth that opens and shuts with little wet pops. Hello, my name is Dana Cardinal, I tell it. I reach a handout placatingly. I've come to see you about an angel formerly named Marcus Vansden. The wet little pops get louder and closer together. Its long limbs swing back and forth, and it starts toward me.

Listeners, I have retrieved Ethan Cardinal. witness to the crime and brought him to the sheriff, so that he can explain why Jalen must be freed. Because to be sure, it was not the original Jalen who did this crime. He could not have. There is nothing he could have done that would have killed an angel. You must tell the sheriff who killed Marcus Vansden, I said to Ethan. Ethan shook his head frantically and tried to wriggle out of my grasp, but I did not let him go. An innocent doubles life is at stake, I said. Ethan, who killed Marcus Vansden?

No, he muttered, I can't. No, it is impossible for me to say. The sheriff crossed their arms, bemused, not believing that there was anything to this. The first rule of being a cop is the case is solved as soon as I stopped thinking about it, and, baby, I never think about a case. Please, I said to Ethan, who killed Marcus Vansden?

And finally, through gritted teeth, Ethan managed. He looked up, met my eye. His eyes were bottomless. His eyes were windows to nowhere. God knows, he said. God knows who killed him. Then he started to scream it. His face was red and he was crying.

God knows. God knows who killed him. His voice gave out. Still, he gasped. The words barely audible. There is nothing I can do if it wants to hurt me. And so I stand my ground. It gets close to me so close that I can smell it.

And it smells like everything. It smells like every smell at once. I can smell an entire universe, and it's so overwhelming that I almost faint. But I hold myself on my feet through sheer stubbornness. It says, of course, it does not have our language. It has the language of everything. You are God, I say, it says. And one of your angels displeased you.

It swings its limbs furiously. And so you killed your angel, it agrees. It flops back to the rocket it had been leaning against. My heart is beating so fast it might burst. The sky is red now. So is the ocean. Murder isn't right, I say. It howls, spinning like a top,

its body contorting and shifting, held up by something not so physical. and rigid as bones. There is nothing I can do to hold you accountable, I tell it. But I needed to come, to look you in the face and tell you it was wrong. It shuffles back over to me. I close my eyes. I have no control over what will happen next. It started with a simple idea.

Marcus Vansden had gone all in on the God that had made him an angel, sending regular donations to Our Lady of Temporary Salvation. But, like any billionaire, he wanted to diversify his assets, and like any billionaire, he didn't really know anything about money or anything else in the world, and so he went to his assistant, Jalen, for advice. Jaylen's archaeology professor had been talking a lot about a new religion and so Jalen suggested it might be spiritually prudent to make a donation to Harrison Kipp's religion. Whatever it is. Of course we know much of what transpired from here. Harrison was only too happy to receive a donation but could not, for legal reasons, receive it directly.

So Jalen helpfully ran the donation through the Community College and then Then Jalen stole the donation. But this is where our understanding had gone wrong. The murder had nothing to do with the stolen money. Or with Harrison Kipp's anger at not receiving the promised donation. Instead, the issue was with the offering of the donation in the first place. Marcus Vanston, being an angel, existed by the grace of God.

And God was feeling threatened by the God of Harrison Kipp, who has been rapidly amassing followers, both willing and unwilling. Marcus was in his library, going through his private collections, such as his dead venomous snake menagerie and his collection of cool knots. Anytime Marcus read poetry or novels, he would circle his favorite words, and when he was done reading a book, he would write, it is finished, so he could remember which ones he had already read.

Marcus had just picked up his favorite book of dirty limericks, and that's when God burst in, demanding to know why Marcus, one of God's own angels, was giving donations to a rival God. There was a heated argument, and in that moment of furious passion, God did it. God revote its grace from the angel that was Marcus Vanston, and Marcus crumpled, dead to the floor. The only way to kill an angel is to remove its permission to exist. And the only one who can do that is God. Having committed the murder, God summoned a padlock onto the door to seal the room, and then vanished. The perfect crime. One might say, divinely perfect. I am climbing back up from that dark planet, lit by no sun. I am still alive. Somehow I escaped unclinced. Somehow I still have the bones and meat of my body, and the air and thought that keeps that body moving around.

I climb up through rock and long hallways and thousands of stairs. I walk until the library of Marcus Vanston comes into view. I step out of the trap door and carefully close it. God hadn't disappeared from the library like a magic trick. God has a trap door. In every room in the entire universe, God has a secret trap door. If you look carefully enough in any room, you will find it. But you should never look.

This was God's trap door in this room, and God had slipped back through it when the murder was done. I walked to the window and look outside. The sun is shining. I didn't know if I was going to see it again. It's so good, and the sky is so blue, and I start to cry. In my hands there is something warm, almost hot, almost too hot to touch, but I hold it carefully against my body,

because after all, God, at the bottom of the well, had given it to me. And so ends the mystery of Marcus Vansden, killed by his own God. Jalen Rutherford, killed by Harrison Kipp, in retribution for stealing the money meant for Kipp's religion. But speaking of, where is that money? There is no sign of it in Jalen's accounts or hidden on his property. Jalen's double does not know.

It is a small fortune lost to the wind. And what of Harrison's God who broke through the sky a little over a month ago? We have the answers we sought, and yet, still, so little is settled. Stay tuned next for the controversial new political chat show. Hey, no, you shut up, Bozo. And from one mystery solved to the next mystery beginning. Good night. Listeners, listeners, above me, in the studio above me, I see a figure with a flickering face,

like a TV screen that has gone out of whack. It is Harrison Kipp's God, who broke through our sky. Harrison's God is standing on the ceiling looking down at me with its flickering face. It is reaching for me. Oh, oh. Welcome to Nightvale as a production of Nightvale Presents. It is written by Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Kraner, and Bree Williams. Sound design and production by Dysperition.

The voice of Dana is Jessica Nicole. The voice of Deb is Meg Bashwinner. The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin. Original music by Dysperition. All of it can be found at Dysperition.net. This episode's weather is City of Industry. by Joseph Fink. Find out more at the link in our show notes. Comments, questions, email us at info at welcome to nightbale.com, or follow us on Blue Sky at Nightville Radio, or on Instagram, Tumblr,

and TikTok at Nightvale Official, or give in to your mildest impulses. But mainly, check out welcome to nightvail.com, where we have a twice-monthly mailing list that is the best way to keep up to date directly from us to you. No more social media. We're going back to emails. If you are able to, please support us on Patreon. It is our lifeline in a podcast business that goes up and down on the whims of the market. There are a bunch of fun bonuses in a good community, and we literally could not make this show without it. Today's proverb, wet your whistle. Really get your whistle wet. Dunk your whistle in there. Everyone loves a dripping wet whistle. Hey y'all, it's Kelly Clarkson with Wayfair. Ever order furniture online and wonder what if? Like,

what if it doesn't hold up? That sofa was four days old. You should have ordered from Wayfair. With Wayfair, there's no what if. Just style you love and quality you can trust. Visit Wayfair. Wayfair, every style, every home. Hi, we're Meg Bashmaner. And Joseph Fink. Of welcome to Night Vale. And on our new show, The Best Worst, we explore the Golden Age of Television. To do that, we're watching the IMDB viewer rated best and worst episodes of Classic TV shows. The episode of Star Trek, where Beverly Crusher has sex with a ghost, the episode of the X-Files, where Scully gets attacked by a vicious housecat. And also the really good episodes,

too. What can we learn from the best and worst of great television? Like, for example, is it really a bad episode, or do people just hate women? The best worst, available wherever you get your podcasts.