Welcome to Night Vale - 39 - The Woman from Italy (R)

Episode Date: January 1, 2017

A woman from Italy arrived in our town, and we're not quite sure what she wants or what she is doing to us with her presence. Plus, a local hardware store cracks down on the crowds of baristas outside their shop, an update on Khoshekh's kittens, and a look at traffic. Some additional material in this episode written by Glen David Gold. Weather: "White Limo" by The Felice Brothers. thefelicebrothers.com Music: Disparition, disparition.info. Logo: Rob Wilson, robwilsonwork.com. Produced by Night Vale Presents. Written by Joseph Fink & Jeffrey Cranor. Narrated by Cecil Baldwin. More Info: welcometonightvale.com, and follow @NightValeRadio on Twitter or Facebook.   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 nightbale 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.

Flying is actually the safest mode of transportation. The second safest is dreaming. The third safest is decomposing into rich earth and drifting away with the wind and rain. Welcome to Night Vale. Hello listeners. Welcome to this, another day.

Or you were already in this day. and my voice is now joining you. Perhaps you should be welcoming me. I'd like to take this moment to update you about the misbehaving child, Tamika Flynn. She has been witnessed with her army of missing children, sabotaging any business owned by StrexCorp, which is getting to be most of them at this point.

The White Sand Ice Cream Shop isn't. There are probably others. They should not be proud of this. Tamiko was last seen leading her army through the ralphs, shouting to all witnesses that, We are here. We are the beating heart. We are the breathing lungs.

We are the lips that chant. Before erecting a bloodstone circle in the produce section, in direct defiance of Strexcorp's recent ban on Bloodstone manufacture and use. This was wrong of her, and it is my duty to condemn her act of extreme civic pride and heroism, which is also wrong. Everything was incorrect and not allowed, and should not be celebrated or reported. on. Listen. Listening is dangerous. Talking more so. Things aren't looking so good for quiet existence either. In an unrelated report, yellow helicopters have continued to disappear

from their place in the sky, along with the pilots who were presumably inside. The helicopters are disappearing almost as fast as our beneficent sponsors, StrexCorp, can supply them. StrexCorp Management released a series of flares from the darkened horizon which spelled, In Morse Code. We love your enthusiasm for our products, but those helicopters are for your own good and productivity.

Please, stop taking them. Don't make us ask again, or we will have to do a number of unproductive things with your human form. Also, and I don't even know why I'm bringing this up, there was a new woman drinking coffee at the Moonlight All Night Diner this morning. She smiled twice and frowned once, and her fingers tapped out a rhythm. There was nothing unusual about the rhythm.

She ordered a second coffee. She... The woman from Italy is... is arriving today. Nothing can stop her from coming this way. She will not ear pleading. She cares not for succor. She is the woman from Italy bow low before her. All the children in town know to hide in their rooms. The adults have forgotten. They'll recall all too soon. Her hands are like storm clouds with lightning quick talons. All before is a murmur. All after is silence. And ate the last of her eggs. Nothing more to report on the woman at this time. I don't even know why

I reported what I just did. The vague yet menacing government agency would like to address the lights and sounds seen in the scrublands just off route 800. yesterday. Many townspeople reported seeing a great craft alight on the ground and disgorge spindly creatures of enormous size wavering up into the darkness, with limbs that's angle and attachment met none of the criteria of human biologic knowledge. The agency would like to inform you that what you mistook for the scrublands was actually your grandmother's house, that what you mistook for a great craft was your grandmother, with whom you have a tense but ultimately loving relationship. And what you mistook as enormous spindly creatures

were the words you and your grandmother exchanged, pleasantries, and reminiscence to avoid discussing all the hurt that lies behind you, and the ultimate ending to your shared past that is foreshadowed by her every forgetful moment, every tremble in her hand. There is no such thing as aliens, says the vague yet menacing government agency. Your grandmother is dying, and so are you. You have this in common. Celebrate it. A memo from the owner of the Ace Hardware on Fifth and Shea Street. They will no longer tolerate baristas lining up for day jobs in their parking lot. Every morning at dawn, dozens of baristas with newsboy caps, waxed mustaches, and knit ties, tuckers.

into button sweater vests, continue to crowd the parking lot, foreheads beaded with desperation, and hoping to be picked up to operate unlicensed espresso machines. This is scaring away the legitimate Ace Hardware customers, and the baristas will be required to return to their caves, just on the outskirts of town, near the sandwastes, in the Barista District. Oh, some great news to all of you out there who adopted kittens from Koshek, the cat floating in our station bathroom. Well, it's been several months, and the kittens have just been growing like you wouldn't believe.

They've molted twice, and some of them are already getting their grown-up kitty spine ridges. Which brings me to my grave warning. As we all know, the spine rink. Ridges of adult cats are highly poisonous. If you are coming to see a kitten that you have adopted, it is important that you check for the location and severity of the spine ridge before attempting any petting. Also, keep your hands away from their mouths.

A few of them have developed their venom sacks. We lost two cat adopters already this month, so let's just be careful, people. And let's take care of these cute little kitties. Who's my adorable little kitten with your adorable tendril hub? It's you. It's you. I'm not even sure why I bring this up, but the new woman is wandering down Main Street. Checking out the various knick-knack stores and antique shops and chanting dens and food wallows that have been springing up with all this new money flooded into night veil from one single,

uncomfortably efficient, source. She is window shopping, but hasn't found one she likes yet. Bay windows, stained glass, a car window taken from a 1983 Honda Odyssey, she bought none of them. She gnaws softly on the side of her thumb, she... The woman from Italy is with us this evening. We hide and we shudder, but there is no deceiving. She exhales must and steam, she poisons the air. Say you have a family, say it, she doesn't care. The woman from Italy delights in your pain.

She asks just one favor, but asks again and again. Do you think you could? No rush, just a moment. Give in screaming to eternally burning torment. Sang an impromptu song to the delight of everyone who heard her. No one heard her. And now, traffic. Think of a number. Any number.

That number is how many number. thousands of years old a certain rock is. That number is how many times someone has cried in their life. That number is the lucky number of an unlucky man who has yet to realize he is unlucky. Think of a number. No. Think of numbers. Picture all of these abstract representations of human thought, all of them forming an imagined pattern, as all patterns are imagined, and picture how those abstractions describe in specific ways, real moments that exist. Picture numbers.

There is a woman who lives at 531 Beachwood Street. Her phone number starts with a three and ends with a five. She smiled 18 times yesterday. She is currently thinking of three things she needs to do. There are actually four things she needs to do. She has forgotten one of them. She touches the doorknob two times before committing to its turn. She has two eyes.

She has two hands. She has two more chances to make her life. what she thinks it should be, but she doesn't know it yet. Think of a number. That's the one. That's the one that describes an infinity of disparate truths about our disparate universe. Also, the roads are looking clear. This has been traffic. And now a word from our sponsors.

Filler text to be replaced with actual material. Replace with copy before sending to radio station. Talking points go here. Something about coffee. Something about the bright start of a hypothetical day. Something about secret boxes locked in secret soundproof rooms. Maybe make it a song. Look into that.

Then, slogan goes here. Starbucks. Copy and paste slogan again here. Also, just reminding the future me that comes back to rewrite this, that I need to grab some milk. I think the one in the office fridge is starting to turn. As long as I'm reminding myself things, I'm a good person, worthy of love, both from myself and others. And writing press releases and ads like this is just the start of a great thing. writing career. You have a novel in you, kid. You have a novel in you. This has been a word from our sponsors. In economic news, the White Sand Ice Cream Shop has gone out of business and will never open again. The owners, Lucy and Hannah Gutierrez, have gone bankrupt. and, as is usual for bankruptcy cases, have had their lives confiscated by the nearest friendly large business, which in this case was Strexcorp. We were only too happy to help.

Strexcorp carved into a large slab, uncovered this morning out in the sand wastes, and dated to several thousand years ago by reputable science. scientists and experts. The carving continued. Lucy and Hannah are valuable members of this community, and now their value has been added to our value. We are even more valuable now. Everyone wins,

even if it seems like some of the everyone's are gone or absorbed or dead. This is just part of the natural process. of winning. Archaeologists were baffled when presented with the content of the carving and evidence of its age, saying that just moments ago they were working in a museum in Los Angeles, and they have no idea where they are or how they were so suddenly brought here. Let us go home, they said to the person presenting the carving, please, let us go home. In a story that will interest no one,

the new woman is sitting on a bench in Mission Grove Park, reading an old paperback copy of a book apparently called Bridge of Birds. Her hair flutters a bit in the breeze. She turns a page in the book. She crosses her legs as she leans back and relaxes into the story she is reading. She... The woman from Italy, oh, end of all things. She has seen the fall of Babylon.

She has drunk the blood of kings. Her robes are shadow. Her eyes are dusk. Her voice is amber and chalk dust and rust. The woman from Italy, has honed in on your scent. She seeks out your refuge. Oh yes, she knows where you went.

It's your skin that she wants, bound and browned into leather. But first, pre-decease, I give you the weather. Well, I'm in Penn Station, Welcome back, listeners. Usually, after the weather, I am here to tell you about how we have been saved

from some world-ending danger that for whatever reason has failed again to end our world. But today I have no such report because there is no such danger. Or there is an infinitude of such dangers. Rocks hurtling unseen from space? Gamma ray bursts, created by chance and utterly destroying by chance. Disease?

War? Hunger? Or the slow dissipation of it all? Not by the sudden, but by the gradual always. But now is not the time for such light-hearted, childish thoughts. Now is the time for me to talk. Let's see. What can I talk about?

Ah, well, that new woman, the one I have been for some reason reporting on, she is leaving town. She has bought a razor scooter from the pawn shop, and is using it to skim her way down the shoulder of Route 800. Destination and origin both unknown. But we know where she is now. Good for us. Any information is impressive in such an opaque world.

Cars honk and swerve. There are a few accidents. A man gets out of his car and looks at his bumper. fists on his hips, his mouth half open, saying, Well, what is this now? Well, what is this now? The woman does not seem to hear him or anything else. She is skimming slowly out of town. Her hand raises, it waves goodbye.

Her shoulders bounce slightly with the imperfections of the road. She turns to look back, and we all see. her face and we we the woman from Italy oh merciful goddess her victims are legion but this evening

they're not us we grab grateful breaths from the night shaded air baited breaths fearful breaths but breathe deep nothing there

the woman from Italy is gone but then not for always. She waits behind doors, and at the end of dark hallways. She follows no logic, exists solely for spite. But you are safe for now, dear listener. So good night, Night Vale. Good night. Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Commonplace Books.

It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Craneer. and produced by Joseph Fink. Some additional material in this episode was written by Glenn David Gold, who writes amazing books. Read them. The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin, original music by Dysperition. All of it can be found at dispersion.in.fo, or at disparition.com.

This episode's weather was Penn Station by the Felice Brothers. Find out more at the Felicebrothers.com. Comments, questions, email us at nightvail at commonplacebooks.com. or follow us on Twitter at Nightvale Radio. Check out Welcome to Nightvail.com for more information on this show, as well as all sorts of cool night veil stuff you can own. And while you're there, consider clicking the donate link. That'd be cool of you.

Today's proverb. Your Bitcoin address is your middle name, followed by the name of your first pet and the first street you lived on. 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

whose 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.