Welcome to Night Vale - 62 - Hatchets

Episode Date: February 15, 2015

Night Vale Daily Journal editor Leann Hart announces changes at the newspaper, while continuing a successful execution of her most controversial business plan. Plus, a station editorial, a look at local traffic, and a parade for a local sports hero. Weather: "Anarchy Date" by Queer Rocket (queerrocket.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. When you were little, you You've been braced in the course of recrace. Always in trying to negotiate, to exchange these cards of hockey, the bonhom,

these bracelets, even of the collation. You know that each thing has a good idea, even before to have seen. And from,

the things have not really changed. Negoti to T-D you can't to renewing with your instinct of

negotiation. With, without operation gratite, no amount of minimum and no free mensuel.

You're made for negotiate, and the appellate T-D is made to you aid. Telechate it right now.

Do it. We dare you. Go ahead. Dream. It'll be fine. We promise. Welcome to Night Vale. Leanne Hart, publishing editor of the Night Vale Daily Journal, announced today that for a limited time, the Daily Journal will print actual newspapers again. No longer will subscribers have only the imagination edition. edition of the Daily Paper, a compulsory and automatic $60 monthly charge to imagine whatever news you want. They will once again have the tyranny of a printed daily edition, where all of the stories are immovable declarations of recent history told by a biased and underpaid third party. It's an exciting time to work in print journalism." Hart shouted after a news blogger who was sprinting away from the hatchet-wielding veteran

of the printed word. Hart then hurled another hatchet at the terrified representative of the Daily Journal's digital competition. She hit her target just behind the knee, felling him as he made a sharp cry and a dull asphalt Fudd. Very exciting, Hart shouted. She added, These printed versions of the daily paper are collector's items.

We've deliberately inserted a bunch of errors into them because true collectors know that makes them worth a bunch more. Listeners, I for one think a resurgence in the newspaper industry would be great. This could mean even more jobs here in Nightvale. This will create lots of new jobs for Nightvale. Hart will certainly have said by this time tomorrow, lots of real, awesome jobs. I am sure she will have reiterated.

And now, a look at traffic. There's an accident at the corner of Hollow's Road and Great Hills. drive. It's a pretty bad accident. It is likely neither party saw an accident of this magnitude coming. Each driver stands, staring, dumbfounded at their two twisted cars, which look like one. One what? Not a car. A spiteful burning beast born of mundane hate. and arrogant industrial progress. The two drivers cannot comprehend what to do. They are still, mostly, fidgeting sometimes, thinking, not at all.

A neighbor who came out of her house upon hearing the hard smash of hard metal can't seem to process what is happening either. She's slowly leaning away as if wanting to leave, wanting to forget she ever witnessed this, but she cannot move. She cannot take that first step. Her eyes growing wide, wild, as her mouth opens slack at first,

and then slowly recoils into an unheard scream. The two drivers feel the neighbor there, but they do not turn. They do not ask for help or aid. Too scared to move, they stand and gaze into the crumpled slits along the sides of the pressed cars, that damnable block of,

of hot machinery and its black smoke swirls. And on the concrete there is glass. And above the glass are arms and hair and drying blood. And the drivers stare at their own wretched bodies inside the mangled contraptions, And they do not think about anything other than what they once were. They watched their bodies, hoping for a twitch, a breath, any kind of movement, hoping for another chance in life.

So it's backed up pretty bad near the best by. some alternate routes today. This has been traffic. You know me, listeners. I'm a pretty straight and narrow radio professional. I am all about objectivity and impartiality. But it's time for a Cecil Palmer editorial. Given the growing prevalence of the internet, not just on computers,

also phones and watches and owls and certain trees. Our private information is just out there, waiting to be taken and exploited by the wrong kinds of people. Of course, it's vitally important that vague yet menacing government agencies have access to our personal data, like income, dream journals, phone logs, embarrassing thoughts, and slash fiction archives. Ooh, also the police and the world government. Oh, and the mayor, and the faceless old woman who secretly lives in all of our homes.

Yes, those people should all have access to our private data. But now there are things called scripts and algorithms that can just scan our emails and our purchase history and all those photos of cats wearing baseball mitts we like to share with each other. And these scripts and algorithms are sometimes called bots. And these bots are large, cyborgs that break into our homes and look through our stuff and then feed these secrets to corporations and then these corporations make more bots and soon we will have to fight bot armies but with what knives and guns are completely internet based now they will turn against us

in that war. We are not safe from the impending bot wars. So, stop having personal data is what I'm trying to say. No more emails, no more job histories night veil, no more cat pictures or erotic fanfic, or text messages. I know. I know. difficult? On the one hand, we enjoy having personal information like careers and friends and hobbies.

On the other hand, we're talking about war. And on the third, 11-fingered hand, nothing is to say bots wouldn't be benevolent leaders, but I do not wish to find this out. I'm sure the naysayers will tell me that I'm overreacting. I am, but it's my opinion, okay? You don't get to tell me who's overreacting. You're underreacting, I'll say. Yeah, I'll totally say that. I'll say it right to their face.

And what? What's that? Oh. Oh, okay. Uh, listeners, intern Maureen just handed me a note explaining that the city council has just declared all information totally public. And that since no information is private anymore, the giant corporations and their bots cannot harm us by mining private data. The city will keep all our information

safely out in the open and available to anyone wearing sunglasses and a sidearm. Hey, thanks, Maureen. moments ago, the sheriff's secret police held a secret press conference reminding us that all murder is illegal. Also, attempted murder. Like, let's say you try to kill a person, but you don't actually succeed. A secret police spokesperson whispered from behind a concrete pillar in the underground garage of the disused East Night Vale Mall. Then that's still illegal, even if you didn't kill that person. But what if you just think about killing a person but don't actually do it?

Came one question from the batch of reporters who were also whispering and hiding. Well, that's not. Illegal then. The spokesperson whispered in reply, But I have it all planned out and everything. The reporter continued, I just haven't done it yet. Is that illegal?

Well, that's just mean and kind of weird, said the secret police spokesperson before walking out into the open and saying, Leanne, is that you? Um, no, no, no, no, no, came a comically deep voice that was obviously fake. Not me at all. I'm just an old bagel wrapper, someone left on the ground. I'm inanimate garbage. Leanne, we know it's you, said the spokesperson. Stop attacking bloggers with hatchets.

We found a dozen more wounded bloggers in Mission Grove Park this morning. They all had hatchets in their backs and were very upset. It's not nice, Leanne. It's also illegal, okay? I'm a bagel rapper, you jerk. Heart replied, still whispering and hiding. And now a word from our sponsor. You are thirsty.

Of course you are. We are all metaphorically thirsty for better things, but you are literally thirsty, literally thirsty for anything. You can feel your dry lips, swollen and sticking together. their crusted gray edges adorning the pink pain beneath. You lick your lips, feeling better for a moment, but actually worsening the problem. It's hot, right? Pretty hot and dry, actually.

Are those flies? Yes, those are flies. Are those birds? Vultures? Yes. Actual vultures, in your home, how did these soaring scavengers get in my home? You think? Perhaps you could use some cool, pure, natural, and refreshing Fiji water.

Yes. Fiji water sounds so nice, doesn't it? But Fiji Water is not who is sponsoring this show. Fiji Water doesn't even know about this show. Who is sponsoring this show? We cannot tell you. We're not allowed. Fiji Water is completely unaware of you too.

So sorry. This will not end quickly. very, very sorry. This has been a word from our sponsor. This afternoon, Night Vale High School and the armed militia that make up our committee for civic pride are holding a ticker tape parade for local sports hero Michael Sandero, who began the first Night Vale High athlete to play in a college football national title game. Unfortunately, Sandero's team, the University of Michigan Wolverines, lost to copies of themselves in the title game.

But Sandero did win the Heisman Trophy for the nation's best college football player and did his hometown proud. Intern Maureen, who I sent to report on the parade, Oh, is texting me that there's a problem. I'm getting word that Leanne Hart has interrupted the festivities with an announcement. Oh, wow. According to Maureen's flurry of texts, Hart is claiming that Michigan did not play itself for the title. As proof of her claim, Hart passed out copies of a news article from the Michigan Daily,

from January 13, stating that at the end of the season, Michigan lost more games than they won, and that their quarterback's name is Devin Gardner? Not Michael Sandero. On the front page of that issue of the Daily is a headline strongly indicating that people at the University of Michigan can remember most things correctly. Pretty much no major memory problems here, the headline reads.

She also claims that a school called Ohio State won the national title over a school called Oregon. Maureen confirmed that while Ohio is in fact a U.S. state, Michigan and Oregon are neither states nor cities anyone seems to heard of before. We are still trying to figure out their languages of origin. Maureen is texting me that Hart is now shouting blogger over and over. Maureen is texting me that heart is hurling hatchets now. Maureen is texting me that everyone looks pretty scared. Maureen just texted me, I'm hit.

Let me respond really quick. is that slang for something Maureen? Okay, she texted back, I'm hit, she got me, I'm bleeding. I don't understand young people and their weird text speak at all. Who even knows what she's trying to say? Well, whatever.

While I text Maureen back with a quick grammar lesson, Let me take you to the weather Stay to alone. There'll be quiet a sight. Big Town stand still. But we'll make sure it keeps on turn. I'm sure not because you're so cute. We show them want to make sure it keeps on true.

Prada 2 is the movie event 20 years in the making. Honestly, can't with the secrets anymore, so I think we just should tell her. Will you two please spit it out already? This Friday, be the first to experience it only in theaters. In light of the recent scandal, I'm sure to restore your credibility. Oh, because we're a team now? That's a nice story. The Devil Wares Prada, too, in Theat's Friday.

Listeners, I have just learned that Maureen was struck with a hatchet thrown by Leanne Hart. So then, to the family of intern Maureen, she was a good intern, intern, a value. in turn, brave, right up until the end. Sadly, she is with us no more. She will be missed. For the hatchet attack on Maureen, as well as several other attacks at today's parade, and more than five dozen similar hatchet-based assaults in the past several weeks,

The sheriff's secret police arrested Leanne Hart. We told you it was illegal to kill people, Leanne. The sheriff himself said from his hover office in the clouds, and also to try to kill people. But they were news bloggers, Hart replied, I can't stay in business and create jobs if newsbloggers. bloggers are putting me out of business and destroying those jobs.

And the sheriff agreed, saying it's the secret police's job to protect business interests, as well as citizen interests. The city council also agreed. So did the vague at menacing government agency, nodding quietly from inside their long black sedans with tinted windows. while snapping photos of everything they saw. The mayor did not agree. Mayor Dana Cardinal went against the city council and said that she, for one, did not think people or businesses

should be allowed to use physical violence against their competition or anyone for that matter. The city council bristled. and then they all squawked and flew away. It is unclear whether or not news bloggers agree, as many of them have gone silent on this issue, replacing their investigative reports and think pieces with pictures of cats wearing baseball gloves,

and top-rated recipes for invisible pie. The sheriff then announced that all charges against Hart would be dropped, except for the assault on intern Maureen. Maureen, after all, was not a news blogger, but a radio intern who posed no direct threat to Hart's newspaper, the sheriff said, and I agreed. The sheriff then played the entirety of Domenico Ghali's Sonata Kinta on his gold cello. But she looked like a...

a blogger, Hart insisted. She was typing into her phone. All those bloggers do that. Bloggers love typing on their phones. But she worked in radio, Leanne, the sheriff said, as he ended a series of lelting high notes with a single discordant bass tone. He closed his eyes and shook his head. I'm sorry, that is attempted murder. You have to go to jail now. Oh, but I didn't attempt to kill her. You said murder and attempted murder were illegal. Murder wasn't my intent, Leanne said. Then what was your intent? The sheriff asked. Oh, just throwing a hatchet at her. Nothing more? nothing less. Hart said, I meant nothing by it. She added, brushing her hands together and then holding them out, empty and clean. Her open palms signified case closed, and the sheriff,

held to the higher law of gestures, had no choice but to acquiesce. So, Hart was set free, turned back into the world to print more news to keep the industry alive. Before she left, she paused and said, I think something's wrong in Michigan. And listeners, that's how she said it. I don't know why. It's very clear how it's actually pronounced if you see it written out. And she held up her copy of the Michigan

Daily from January 13 with an article that said, Michigan Sandero lose close one to themselves, and the front page of the Michigan Daily now showed a bold headline, We have forgotten so many things. And in several blank columns with no story, merely pictures of normal things like shoes and birds and ghosts, all captioned with a series, with a series of frantic question marks.

I guess I was wrong earlier. I don't know. Weird, right? Hart said with a shrug. That is crazy weird. The sheriff agreed, finishing out the sonata before disappearing in a soft breeze. I agree. said a nearby news blogger who was coughing up blood and clutching tightly to the hatchet lodged in her abdomen.

I can't wait to blog about it. The blogger said through gritted teeth. Leanne tightened her grip on the hatchet in her left hand, raising it slightly. There was a tense pause that was eventually broke. by a light smirk from Leanne Hart. Then the two of them laughed and laughed. They are both still laughing now. Because of the hatchet attack she survived today,

intern Maureen has resigned from radio, as I clearly and without any other possible interpretation explained earlier. Oh, she wasn't hurt that badly, but Maureen went on and on about radio being a dangerous job and totally not worth the constant risk of death. I told her she makes it harder than it needs to be. She rolled her eyes and packed up her desk. I miss her already. She had a good sense of humor. Stay tuned to next for something clawing.

at your window. It will also be sniffing, sniffing and clawing at your window. Occasionally it will wail. Occasionally you will hear nothing. So, to recap, sniffing and clawing at your window over and over with the occasional piercing wail and then long silences. All that next. And as always, good night. Night Vale, good night. Welcome to Night Vale is a production of commonplace books. It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Criner and produced by Joseph Fink. The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

Original music by Dysperition. All of it can be found at disparition.info. Or at disparition.bancamp.com. This episode's weather was Anarchy Date by Queer Rocket. Find out more at Queerrocket.com. questions, email us at Nightvale at commonplacebooks dot com or follow us on Twitter

at Nightveil Radio. Check out Welcome to Nightvale.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. Ask your doctor just who he thinks he

is. Say it just like that. Say, who do you think you are? See if he starts crying. I know I would. 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 three 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 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.