Welcome to Night Vale - The Summer of Night Vale Presents, Part 2

Episode Date: July 13, 2018

This is the Summer of Night Vale Presents, a celebration and sampling of some of the shows across our network. This week, we hear from two of our newest fiction shows, Pounded In The Butt By My Own Podcast and It Makes A Sound. Plus, an update on Within the Wires Season 3. Within the Wires returns on September 4. Each season tells a new story in the same world, using a single set of found audio. Season One is a prison break / romance told entirely through relaxation tapes. Season Two is the mystery of a missing woman told through a decade’s worth of museum audio guides. Season Three, coming this September, is a political thriller told through dictaphone recordings to a secretary. Pounded In The Butt By My Own Podcast is our collaboration with celebrated author Chuck Tingle. Chuck’s short stories have entertained and aroused readers across the world, and we are excited to bring his stories to life with performances by celebrity guests like Cecil Baldwin, Mara Wilson, and Becca Blackwell. Whether you’re new to the Tingleverse or have lived there for years, this is the podcast about love that you never knew you needed. It Makes A Sound is the story of a woman named Deirdre who finds a cassette tape from 1992 in her attic. What follows is a surprising story about family, memory, and music that goes places that you don’t expect. Join her quest to make Rosemary Hills come back to life with the sound of music. Find out more about these shows, and all of the shows on our network, by visiting 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 during 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. It's something else here now. something new. From, exclusively on Paramount Plus, it's the series Stephen King calls scary as hell.

Everything here is impossible, but it's also real. Sci-fi vision calls it the best show streaming right now. We're running out of time and we still don't know

the rules. Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home. From binge all episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Hi, Jeffrey Kramer.

here in your mind. Welcome back to the Summer of Nightville Presents, a celebration and sampling of some podcasts. We loved so much we made a podcast network. Before we get started, you should know that some of the material in this particular episode is not for kids. This week will be listening to Pounded in the But by my own podcast, and it makes a sound two totally different and unique fiction podcasts. But I also wanted to tell you about my other podcasts, the one that is not welcome to Nightvale. It is called Within the Wires.

Each season, my co-writer Janina Matheson and I tell a story entirely from a single set of found audio. In season one, we had a prison break slash romance told entirely through relaxation tapes. Season two, the mystery of a missing woman told through a decade's worth of museum audio guides. and season three coming this September will be a political thriller told through dictaphone recordings to a secretary. Here's a short clip from season two featuring the inimitable Rima Teweata. Painting 101, Still Life with Tomato Plant and Sword, by Claudia Artiano, Oil on Campus, 1962. It is one of her most discussed and debated works, and is one of the collection of paintings that shifted her career from success.

artist to celebrity, as much a celebrity as a painter can be, while still alive, of course. The painting sold at Sotheby's in 1969 for nearly one million pounds, and is on loan to this exhibit. Many critics admire the gentle and crafty hand at work here. Notice the thin strokes of orange and pink, creating the sunny glare on the tomato. Atiano nearly exposes the texture of the canvas with such thin passes. of the brush. It looks almost like watercolours, rather than oil, and it is shallower than the rest of her painting.

Lean closely to the left side to see this remarkable detail. What is exposed? What is vulnerable? You'll notice that the titular sword is not visible here. but just past the trellis and the tomato plant you can see a nearly empty garden. The grass is mangy and uneven. But what appears as a large blotch of unusable dirt is actually a mound. The sword of this work's title has been buried in the garden.

This painting premiered at the Berkshire Museum where Atiana was living at the time as a resident artist in the former United States. Atiano's home now is in Cornwall. It's a large house somewhere along the road to disrepair. Sitting alone, on an island, some distance from the mainland. My first few visits to Cornwall, Claudia and I had tea at a cafe called Joyers, named for Charmagna's sword.

We were served sandwiches and scones, and in the back there was a small garden, with sparse grass and a small insipid vegetable plot. The tomato plant was the only thing that grew well there, but often the squirrel stole them just as they reached maturity. The owner of Joy is, a petite-figured man named Jennifer, who wore square-rimmed glasses and wool leggings, hung his handmade replica of the eponymous sword

just above the doorway to the garden area in the back. He had used a wood base and aluminium veneer, It was pulled slightly from the sheath, which was emblazoned with large jewels, that hardly seemed real at all, but were stunning and smart in their own right. In this painting, look closely at the upturned soil in the garden. Imagine Charmagna's sword. Imagine it now very possibly beautiful in Artiano's rendition. How will you be remembered?

Atiano does not expect viewers to know about the now defunct Joyers' Café in Cornwall in Western Europe, but she suddenly expects viewers to understand it if the title says there is a sword in the painting, then there is our sword in the painting, and it is your job to find it. The garden that joyous and even the sword to which it refers were clear influences on Atiano's seminal masterpiece. And the longer I have looked at this painting, the more I wonder if the sword is buried in the ground, an on-the-line tribute to our post-reckoning International Order of Peace, or perhaps, Knowing Artino's wry sense of humour and love of subtle symbolic critiques,

perhaps the sword has been dug up. Look closely. Of the bound could suggest a burial of weaponry, but in the oblong black patch toward the top, I see the suggestion of a hole rather than a heap. The sword is, and Atiano does not know where it is. Perhaps the viewer themselves holds it. Do you?

Do you hold the sword? Painting 102, Marketplace, Summer Afternoon, 1965. A painting of a crowded food market. Notice the almost boneless limbs on the merchants. The apple cart vendor in the lower right has an arced elbow that never quite reaches a point. Her knees are nearly S-shaped. You can see the ocean of the ocean. over the tents in the background.

Many books refer to this scene as St. Ives. This is likely Plymouth. I recognise that view from my brief time living near there. But perhaps I'm wrong. This is why we make art. To help us remember more beautifully.

Not more clearly. Painting 103. Stapler, 1968. It is a painting of a black swing-line stapler on a black background. The audacity of this painting irritated many older artists, as it looks like a poorly lit photo and an office supply catalogue. Look closely at the black of the stapler and the black of the background.

Is all darkness the same? How absent is light? In the absence of light, Atieno on the surface is displaying her technical skills. It is photographic quality in every way. It looks like almost an advertisement here on the Ulster Museum wall. Perhaps Sartyano is making a commentary on the commentary of the pop art movement. But most likely she's simply showing off her technique. She was quite prolific in her art,

and they're all good works, as you can see here in Belfast. But in her mind, mastery of form was mastery of art. But in my mind, An artist can always do more. In Cornwall, there were cliffs overlooking the sea. At high tide, I would take off my clothes and dive the ten metres drop. I encouraged Claudia to dive with me, but she couldn't do it. These beautiful cliffs, along an endless, cool sea.

A scene she could paint and did, but not one she could truly explore. For fear of what? not heights. She did not flinch at bending over the ledge. Not water either. She swam regularly when she could walk down to the shore. I always wanted her to jump, to plunge,

to risk pain or embarrassment, to feel bodily the glory of this rare nature, to paint something truly epic, busy, tall, complex, masterful. To make more astonishing what was already astonishing, to free fall into the vastness that contains both wilderness and tranquility. But when eyes were on Claudia, she demurred. She believed in frightful conspiracies and intimidated power brokers of the new society. But when the world looked at her for commentary,

she sometimes just wanted to paint staplers. There has been so much talk about Atiana, recently so much speculation. People say she's disappeared. This seems ridiculous to me. Artists are reclusive sometimes. We need to be. The world is our inspiration, sure, but also our most dangerous distraction. It is more likely her so-called disappearance is not a disappearance at all, but an absence, a hiatus, a time spent away from the pressures of celebrity, to rethink her artistry. Look closely at the swingline logo in the painting. What does it mean to be convinced to buy something? To listen to the full season, go to Within TheWires.com

or search for the show in your favorite podcast app. Now, let us talk about Pounded in the But by my own podcast, our new fiction podcast by Dr. Chuck Tingle. If you've been on the internet before, you've probably heard of Chuck Tingle, his stories like, I'm gay for my living billionaire jet plane, and seduced by Dr. Bigfoot attorney at large, and this American butt, hosted by Ira As, have entertained and aroused readers across the world.

Pounded in the butt by my own podcast features celebrity guests, performing these amazing tinglers, and is hosted by Chuck Tingle himself. This is truly the podcast about love that you never knew you needed. But you did. In this excerpt, we're going to hear my brother, my brother, and me's Justin McElroy read from, slammed in the butt by my handsome laundry detergent pod. The TV's on this, not much talk. Greetings, Buccaroos.

This is Dr. Chuck Tingle, world's greatest author. As man named of Chuck, I get to talking on love all the dang time. But maybe it would be nice to spend a moment in half, or maybe two moments and a half talking on what the heck it means for love to be real. Well, now I'll tell you this way. Did you know that every time you trot to the store, just minding your own dang business, you have made a whole new universe. This is because there is a version of time where you trot to the store and one where you stay home.

But there are all kinds of ways to trot to the store. One way would be a modern trot, maybe two steps forward and then clap and then a playful nod. And then slide to the left and then bow and repeat until you get to the store. Or you could do a traditional trot. Like, classic wave, three steps forward, clap one time for every way you are thankful, and then one step back and then repeat. Point is you are making a lot of dang choices, all the time in each choice is creating its own timeline. Whoa, bud.

There are timelines where eyes are illegal. There are timelines where oceans are named after famous butts. There is even a timeline where a man named him of Channing Tatum is not the world's most handsome actor. He is the world's most handsome male man. There are so many different layers of reality. They all have different rules that all change like a game of baseball with a bud who is not very good and he says he gets another swing. Yeah, right, buddy. You only get three and then you got to get out of here.

So what the heck happens to you on these other timelines? Is this really you over in another world? Only a little bit, but don't be scared. That's just your reverse twin. Sometimes they are nice, but sometimes they come here and try steal your bones. In recent time, I have learned I have a reverse twin name of Justin McElroy. And so far, he has not tried to steal my bones.

I am still worried. I will admit I have locked my windows up tight. I don't want any reverse twin sneaking in and turning me into a boneless man. But it is important to understand your reverse twin. and learn that they can be very kind. So this episode is part of reverse twin friendship program, and that is very important. I hope most buckaroos can reach out to their reverse twins in this way and say, Hey, I heard you sound like me, buddy.

Maybe let's read books together and get hard in a normal way. Now please enjoy my reverse twin from a distant reality name of Justin McGilroy, reading, slammed in the butt by my handsome laundry detergent pod. Hello, my name is Justin McElroy. I'll be reading today's selection, slammed in the butt by my handsome laundry detergent pod to my wife, Sydney, who's here. Say hello, Sydney. Hi. Hi.

She has not heard this book before, nor have I. So I just wanted to share it with her, because that's what married couples do, is what I read. This is slammed in the butt by my husband. my handsome laundry detergent pod by Chuck Tingle. If there's one thing that I can't stand, it's being late. And when you're sitting behind the wheel of a car as fast as this one, you've really got no excuse. I'm flying through the beautiful Arizona desert, the open roads sprawling out before me as far as the eye can see, and yet I don't have any time to appreciate this gorgeous landscape for myself.

Normally, this little stretch of highway would be covered in exotic cars on their way to the big show. and if I would have made this drive a little earlier in the day, that would have been the case. Unfortunately, I got caught up in Los Angeles and ended up stuck behind a four-lane pile-up, sitting for hours while the police cleared a path. By the time I finally got out of there, I knew that I'd probably not make it to the show before check-in time, but I still have to try. Plenty of people would see me hauling through the desert like this and say that it's not worth it. Complain the danger of my incredible speed is way too high when compared to the brief enjoyment I'll get from showing off

my ride to other auto fans. While I completely understand this complaint with the logical side of my brain, the emotional side thinks otherwise. These people have never experienced the thrill of having their hard work and sweat put on display. The hood popped open while men and women stroll by to gaze lovingly inside. The folks who come to these auto shows know their stuff. While the parts I've chosen may seem average to some random citizen pulled off the street, a real car lover will know just how much care I've put into my selections. I'm not some loser either, which I imagine is the first thing one might think when they realize just how much time I put into my car. This is an extension of lacking self-esteem. This is an artistic expression of myself. My car is my canvas, and right now that

canvas is pushing 100 miles per hour. This is already pretty intense stuff. Obviously, my ride can go much faster than this if I want it to. But the fact that the auto show has rolled into town for the weekend means the highway patrol is out in full force. Sure, I'd still get a ticket for going 100, but I can only imagine what they do to me if I stacked another

80 miles of an hour on top of that. Still, the clock is ticking. I pushed my foot down onto the gas pedal even farther, barely crossing over the threshold into triple digits, as I

scan the horizon for any sign of life. Eventually, I spot the bright, shiny glint of various parked autos coming into view, cresting over the horizon like the parking lot of my dreams. I slowed down a bit and then glanced at the dashboard clock, breathing a sigh of relief as I realized that I've made it on time for check-in. Of course, the desert is so vast out here that takes forever to actually arrive, even though I've already seen my destination. Once I get there, I pull my car up to the check-in booth and climb out, strolling confidently over to the car show officials. Hey, I say, offering my hand for a firm handshake.

I'm Greg Henderson. I'm just checking my car in for the show. My registration number is 64, 72, zero. I kind of gave myself kind of a burly. I feel like Greg Henderson's kind of a burly, dude. Into cars, yeah. The man standing before me. me with a clipboard in his hand doesn't meet my gaze as I speak to him. Instead, staring past me

with an expression of confused disappointment, I finally turn around to see what's so interesting. And then I swiftly realized that my vehicle is currently far from show condition. Oh, God, I blurt. Seeing now the once beautiful cherry red finish has been covered and caked with mud. The entire thing is splattered from top to bottom, thanks to my excessive speeding, with dirt and dust creeping into every nook and cranny of the once beautifully immaculate vehicle. Well, I'll check you in because you've got all your paperwork here and you made the cutoff time. The man with a clipboard announces, but you're going to want to get that thing washed off before the show starts in two hours. I nod frantically, thank you. I'll get this cleaned up right away.

The man with the clipboard nods towards a nearby hose. Pull up over there and give yourself a washdown. Without another word, I climb back into my car. and drive it over the water station. By now, everyone else has spruced up their eyes, and the section is completely empty, but it quickly becomes apparent that most of the supplies have been thoroughly raided.

Uh, excuse me, where's the soap? I call out to a woman strolling by. She shrugs and shakes her head, clearly confused by my question. I realize now that I'll have little to work with, but I'm committed to scrubbing as long as it takes. I turn on the faucet and start to spray down my vehicle, but to my horror, the dirt and mud

only seems to cake on even more. Instead of running down the side of my car and dripping onto the ground, these minerals swirled together in a mess of brown and tan, only adding to the state of disorder. Hey! Someone calls out behind me,

causing me to turn off the faucet and spin around. It's weird he didn't know who it was with such a distinctive voice. It's very clearly the same old man. The man with the clipboard is standing with a look of great concern on this face. He motions for me to approach, and I do as instructed, walking up close as the man lowers his voice. I'm not supposed to help out anyone here because the show is technically a competition, but you seem like a good guy, he offers. You're not going to get your car

clean here, but if you hit up the road in the hills a bit, you'll find a secret car wash. Honestly, it's the best in the state. You've got two hours before the show starts, so that's plenty of time. A secret car wash, Sydney. The best in the state? The best in the state. The best secret car wash in the state. I stare back at the man with a clipboard in complete shock, blown away by his kindness.

Thank you so much, I gush. And then hurry over to my car and jump in. I start the thing up and take off where the man had motioned for, a single lane road that winds up the nearby hills. It's been 20 minutes or so, and still no sign at this mysterious car wash. I don't want to allow the creeping dread into my mind, but with every passing moment, I begin to wonder even more

if this whole thing has been some kind of elaborate prank, a way to punish the late guy, and teach him a lesson about car show etiquette. It's so important. Suddenly, however, my prayers are answered as my vehicle rounds a sharp corner to reveal a small, inconspicuous car wash. I pull in and slow down to a crawl, scanning the building for any signs of life.

I rolled down my window. Hello? I call out. Is anyone here? I need an emergency wash. No response. I pull around at the back of the structure and find an entrance for the wash, but it appears the thing just isn't even turned on. Just my luck. Hey there!

A voice suddenly rings out. From out of nowhere comes a strangely dressed man wrapped from head to toe in a long, dark coat that cannot possibly be comfortable in this desert heat. Atop his head is a wide-brimmed hat that covers most of his face, which is even further obscured by a pair of dark sunglasses. I heard you know how to get things clean, I tell the strange man. The figure nods. I sure do. You down at the car show today? I nod.

Well then, the man continues. Let's get you sparkling, shall we? The figure saunteres over to the side of the car wash structure and flips a few switches causing the old building to immediately come roaring to life. Suddenly, there are all kinds of mops rolling and suds pumping. churning beautifully together as they beck in my car forward. Should I just pull in? I question.

The mysterious man nods. Just drive on through, and I'll give you a hand wash for details on the other end. Thank you so much, my gosh. How much do I owe you? The figure stands in silence for a moment as if mulling something over. Finally, he speaks. For you? Free, he tells me.

Oh, no, I offer shaking my head and protein. I can't. I don't get a lot of visitors. Tindu's the cloak figure. It's just nice to have some company. That's even more reason to pay you, I counter. You've got to keep this place open. You're a lifesaver.

I take a wad of cash out of my wallet and thrust it towards the man who pushes it away. No, thank you. He refuses. I finally give up and offer a final lot of acceptance before slowly pulling up to the edge of the car wash. I carefully drive up onto the conveyor belt, and before I know it, my car is being hosed down

by a variety key, by a variety of powerful cleaning chemicals. By the time I roll out on the other side, it's looking absolutely incredible. I pull over and climb out of my car, checking for myself. Wow, you don't mess around here. I gosh, this looks amazing.

You ain't seen nothing yet, the mysterious figure tells me. Immediately, the cloak man kneels down next to the wheels and begins to scrub away at the hubcaps with his hands. I look on in shock as he works, not only impressed by his diligence, but confused by the feeling, fact that it appears this man is using no soap other than the chemicals that appear to be emanating

from within his hands. Come to think of it, the hands themselves are rather strange, not the shade of any earthly skin tones, but bright white with swirls of red and blue. The figure notices me looking and suddenly pulls his hands back into his coat, clearly frightened. Oh, no, I blurt. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare. I'll finish. The mysterious figure announces, standing up again and stepping back. Obviously, he's not being completely forthcoming at the moment. After all, only one of the four hubcaps has been scrubbed down. It's okay, I tell him.

Whatever secret you're hiding, I don't care. I can see the man's body language soften a bit, even under all those clothing layers. Your passion is incredible. I continue. I can tell that you love to clean, and I admire that. I don't know much about you, but I do know your talent is very, very, very, impressive. You don't have to hide from me. Slowly, carefully, the mysterious figure begins to slip out of his clothes to reveal his muscular body. I recognize him immediately a massive, sentient pot

of laundry detergent in the swirling primary colors of blue and red. That must feel a lot better than wearing a huge coat in the hot sun, I laughed. The living laundry pod shakes his the living laundry pod shakes head. It says shakes head, but I'm sure that's not right. The living laundry pod shakes his head from side to side, chuckling along with me. You have no idea. What are you hiding from?

I continue. You're an incredible cleaner. You should be working at some big city car wash, not out here in the middle of nowhere. Hell, why stop at cars? You were made for laundry. Why not open a laundromat? The detergent pod takes a deep breath.

and lets it out slowly. You have no idea, do you? No idea about what? A question, utterly confused. My people, laundry pods. The sentient cleaning tool says, we're in great danger. People have been eating us left and right.

There's not many left. What? I blurt. Eating you? The laundry pod nods. Seriously? I continue, struggling to wrap my head around this. Why?

The laundry pod shrugs. I don't know. I wish I could make sense of it, but I can't. Anyway, since all that started, I was forced to go into hiding. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with sorrow, anger, and frustration on behalf of this beautiful red and blue pod. He was made to be a cleaner, and now he's being forced into a world gone mad. His entire life, entire purpose has been turned upside down. At the same time, I can't help but be impressed by his commitment to his craft.

In the face of all this adversity, the detergent pod is still out here doing what he loves and doing it well. To be honest, it's actually quite attractive. I won't tell anyone you're up here, I sure him. And I'm certainly not going to eat you. What's your name? Dine Ulbara, the detergent pot offers for sure. It's nice to meet you. I'm Greg, I inform him.

The sentient cleaning tool quickly gets back to work on the next hubcap, crouching down in front of it and rubbing his hands vigorously across the shiny metallic surface. The longer I watch him work, the more turned on again. I'm completely intoxicated by Tyne's toned body, the way that his muscles ripple with every little movement. When the detergent pod finally finishes, he walks over to me, flashing a boyish smile. I'll finish, he says.

Thank you, I reply, staring intently into times deep blue eyes. Suddenly the cleaning tools expression changes. Up until this point, I wasn't entirely sure if the tension I'd be feeling between us was one-sided, but somehow this exchange makes it perfectly clear that the feeling is mutual. And that's where we're going to end that clip. To listen to the whole episode and many more steamy and erotic tales, including stories read by Cecil Baldwin, Symphony Sanders, and Mara Wilson, check out Pounded in the But By My Own Podcast.com

or search for the show in your favorite podcast app. Next, we're going to hear from It Makes a Sound, a surprising and funny fiction podcast that debuted on our network last fall. It Makes a Sound is about a woman named Deirdre who finds a cassette tape from 1992 in her attic. It's also a story about memory and her memory. family and music, and it truly goes places that you wouldn't expect. You think you know the direction this podcast is going, but you don't. I won't tell you much more. Instead, let's jump into

the middle of the story and listen to episode five titled Press Play. When a tree falls in a forest and no one's around to hear it, it makes a sound. Ladies and gentlemen of Rosemary Hills, Today is a really big day. This is your show. I mean, this is my show. I am your host, Deirdre Gardner, and this is my show. It makes a sound. Hello.

Just weeks ago, a cassette tape was recovered from a dusty attic in a suburban townhouse. A tape that contains the first public concert of our hometown genius, Wim Faro's. And today, at long last, we have located a boombox from which we can play that tape. I'm shaking. Is everybody shaking with excitement? For the music. Yes, Mom, that's right. We are here for the music. And that's why, listeners, we are all here together. For this very special event, I have assembled a studio audience here in the attic,

a lucky chosen few here to witness firsthand the playing of the tape. Mom is here. I don't know about that. Say hello, Mom. Hello, Mom. And my mother is right. This is a boombox, and it has a cassette tape player. Hallelujah.

I risked my life for this. Oh, and also we have Cody Elwood, son of Trisha Elwood, who is 10. It's hyphenated. I'm sorry, it's hyphenated. Cody came home with me because Trisha was suddenly called into work. I wanted to be with my boombox. And I'd like to introduce to you, Rod Reader. Oh, um...

Mom's new part-time nurse, who has just started work this week, and how lucky for him that he is present with us today, of all days. We welcome, Rod. You like Rod? Oh, yes. Now he and I were in the rainbow with the pigeon coop, you see. That's right. Um, you can say hello, Rod. Hello. That's a hoarflower for rose Mary.

Today, the code is cracked. The gates open, and that which was foretold will be told. And we are ready to make Rosemary Hills listen again. Today, live, in real time, we will insert the cassette tape into the cassette tape player. Today, we will press play. And sounds will be made on It Makes a Sound. I'm your host, Deirdre Gardner, and this is the moment we've been waiting for. It seems very special, very symbolic, that this little audience gathered here around the boombox.

Can we, let's gather around the boombox, please. Yeah, can you get mom, Rod? We all represent different shades of listener who need Wimferos' music in their lives. Cody, the youth of our Rosemary Hills. Cody told me today, at his home, during the last episode, just about an hour ago, that he didn't like music. I know. But I think that's going to change today.

The day the music lived. Cody, could you just stand more across from mom there? A little more to your left. No, the other left. There you go. Yeah, that's right. And Rod. Rod.

Rod. Rod, stand here. Rod, a non-native, a newcomer to Rosemary Hills, who didn't feel the reverberations of Wimferos in 1992, but now has the chance to encounter the artist who made this particular place to live special among all the places to live. and mom, who struggles to remember, but was there, was somehow imprinted.

Printed me. And is here now. And that's something. So, listener, I ask you, are you a Cody, a Rod, a mom? Me. We all need the music. Why do you need the music? Why do you need the music?

Okay. I think we're ready. Steady-prety. The cassette tape containing the concert known to us colloquially as the attic tape because of its discovery in the attic, known at a time as the Elwood commencement because the concert was recorded at Trisha Elwood's eighth-grade graduation party, has been inserted into the boom box. It's already plugged in, thankfully. The first song that we will hear on the tape, as we know, of course, from episode three, is I Am a Moment. Ladies and gentlemen, coming to you from a townhouse on the edge of Rosemary Hills Golf Course community.

Rosemary remembers and roo. Oh, yes, yes, yes, mom. Rosemary wants to remember. And we stand here on the precipice of a musical renaissance. We stand. We look into the precipice. We press play. Without further ado.

Oh, God. I don't have my glasses. This is the play button, right? Yes. Are you sure that is? Can I press it? No, you can't. I'm sorry, not you can't.

Please, it's my boon box. And now, at last, Wimferos is back in Rosemary Hills. Oh my God, oh my God. Oh, no. Shreddy. No. That's not selfish.

Oh, my God. Looks cool, like lots of eels swimming on top of each other. The tape is ruined. Look at it. That is the only copy. No, no. The Boombox did not eat my tape. No, no. How is this happening? How is this happening?

There could be several reasons. The tape maybe had a foreign substance on the ribbon that made it stick to the capstan and pinch roller. Pinch. It could be the drive hub too, but it's probably the pinch roller. It's lost. Pinch. It's all lost. It's lost.

Nothing worse. I can't do this. I can't stand. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. No to you. It's okay, Mom. I'm sorry. It's me. It's me. Deirdre, it's okay.

You stay. You have... You're okay, Mrs. Gardner. Sorry, Deirdre, let me... I get her. I get her. I'm getting out of here! Mrs. Gardner, do you want some toast? No, no, no! Nani! You're okay. You're safe? Let's have some toast. You like toast, right? We like toast.

Come with me? It's okay. We're fine. Go toasts the nice man. I'll go and you are rue. I like making cinnamon, raven toast. It makes you feel better. Careful and serious. And rue to you, and rue, and rue.

I'm not a lady. We lost him. We lost him. I'm the only one who knows. Listeners. Oh, listeners, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Rosemary Hills. It's gone.

I can't even. I can't even. I can't even play a cassette tape, and everything's lost. Again, there's nothing, there's no sound, there's no sound. Trees just fall, you know? Wimferos is a tree that fell into nothing. I'm a tree that falls, and nobody cares. Mom doesn't even remember that she's a tree. It's pointless. Do you know how lonely? Your mother doesn't know you. We are the whole. Just noises in the attic. Nobody's listening to you. This, nobody, hears you, dear, dra, duh.

You live in a vacuum. Mom's right. We are, we are the 16th hole. Somehow that's right. It's raining really hard. Oh, Cody. I forgot you were here. Dear Dra, I'm sorry.

Thanks. Boomboxes suck. Yeah. They really suck. Yeah. I really wanted to hear William Ferros. Me too.

We come bearing toast. Tadda. Sorry. Hi. We made some toast if you'd like it. We're feeling better now, right, Mrs. Gee? Yes. And I'm sorry, I brought my banjo up here to the attic.

Is that okay? I like to keep my banjo in the car when I'm with patience. Music can help. It's calming. It's like my emergency banjo. I thought Mrs. Gardner might like it. Are you in a band? No.

Rod, I think it's best if we call it a day. I'll pay you for the whole shift. Cody, you should go home. I need to curl up somewhere. I am a moment. Calde-sac. Mom, give me the tape case, okay? Dee-Di writes this here.

D-da-dum. That's right. That's my handwriting. Star 69. Sad but not depressed. The clap are old people. Yeah. Youth grows. Oh. Yes, Mom. Magic eye. Ghost dear. She doesn't usually read. Her brain scrambles. Are those the songs that Wim Faris played at the concert?

Yeah. The first concert was here in Rosemary Hills. It was here on the golf course at the clubhouse. Wow. Right across from my house. Sad but not depressed. Sounds like a good song for right now. Apropos, as they say. Do you remember it, Deirdre? Oh, I don't know. I don't want to talk about it. It's filthy birds.

Oh, I think the power is going out. Oh my God, no. Shit, it's out. Mom, is mom sitting down? Yep, she's here next to me. I'm right here, Mrs. Gets, okay. Cody, I'm not scared. Cody, I'm right here. God got you. Can you feel me? Yeah, yeah, here I am. It's all good. Emergency banjo. Okay, thanks. Is there a flashlight?

Okay, yeah, hold on. Um, it's over. Ow! Are you okay? Yeah. Uh, it's right here. It's so dark. I got it, I got it, I got it.

Okay, Cody, hold this flashlight, okay? Yeah. There you go. Mm-hmm. Can you shine it over here? There's some ancient candles, I know, somewhere. Oh. Ancient.

Here there. Okay. All right, everybody. Can I have some cinnamon raisin toast? Yeah, of course. Go for us. Thanks. Okay.

Makes me feel better. You okay, Mom? All good. She fell asleep. She's fast at that. It's funny. At the concert, too, I remember the lights were turned off. When he got to that song, there must have been time for Trisha's cake.

What kind of cake was it? I don't remember. Oh. You know, I do remember. It was chocolate, ice cream cake from Dairy Queen. Cool. With those crunchy things, Those are good.

And Wim was lit only by glowsticks. It was so awesome, I thought. I don't know where the glow sticks came from. He didn't have glow sticks up until that moment. Yeah, Tricia would probably say there weren't any glow sticks. Do you remember any of the tune? Yeah, of course. He had his guitar, the acoustic guitar.

It was kind of perky at the day. I was like, bum. Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum. I wrote some of the lyrics in my diary, I think. I mean, it's not going to be right on the banjo. It was much more epic. There was percussion, everything. Oh, cool.

How did he play percussion at the same time as his guitar? I don't know, I don't know, but there was definitely percussion. Can you guys feel around for a velveteen diary? It should be right around here like maybe behind you. Hey, Cody, do you play drums? No. You play any of me? video games.

Aha, here it is. Cody, can you shine a light right here? Mm-hmm. Thank you. Okay, where is it? It's definitely from this song. I remember. Here, here it is.

See, I wrote, I wrote WF. 92, right next to it. I don't mind the money. I don't mind the golf. But the fence around my favorite place just kind of piss me off. Hmm. I'm not depressed. I'm just shit.

No, that's not right. I'm just, I'm not depressed. I have it. I remember. It was different. It was like, um, I'm not depressed. Yeah, I'm not depressed. Wait, I'm not depressed.

Yeah, no, that sounds like that Dave Matthews band. No, no, no, no. It was whims. No, I'm not depressed. No. No, no, no. It's okay. No, it's okay.

That's not right, though. That's what they do. It's funny. No, that's not what I'm meant to say. You know, we substitute one thing. That can't be. Maybe the chorus sounded kind of close. Wait, I know more of it.

There was a part about the highway. It was like, driving over. Oh, my God, that is. It's your right. That's not right. Well, go back to the chorus part. kind of first sounded like you were going up in a different way and then... What do you mean?

Like... Do you know. You just that. And then you went down... Is it maybe more like... I'm just sad. Yeah, like a... I'm not depressed.

Just sad. Sad. I'm not depressed. Just sad. Just sad. And then, yeah. And then... I'm not depressed.

I'm just I'm not depressed I think that is right I'm not depressed I'm not depressed I'm just sad Two blocks away My favorite place to stay

In 20 acre wood My imagination played I was just a child When I watched it fall away Pull those to the ground Yeah, my forest overpaved. Years of memories, climbing in the trees, flattened by remorse, the polish of the course.

That's it, Mom. That's exactly it. I'm not depressed. I'm just sad. I'm not depressed. I'm just sad. I'm not depressed. I'm just sad.

I'm not depressed. depressed, tongue just said. Gave in a prescription, parents gave me pills, follow up on Tuesday with Dr. Sattero. Acting like the courses, closely manicured, putting something polished over something natural. I don't mind the money, I don't mind the doll, but the fence around my favorite place just kind of pissed me on. I'm not depressed, I'm just sad, I'm not depressed. I'm good at the drums. The lights are back.

Whoa. Oh, Mom. You remembered Wimferos' song. I saw that strange boy digging all day today with a shovel, digging next to his trolls. Who did he bury down there, do you think? Hello, Deedra, my girl. Hi, Mom.

You can find more episodes of It Makes a Sound at It Makes a Sound.com. Listen to the entire nine-episode season today and check out their Patreon to support the production of a full-length album based on the songs from the show. Tune in next week for Part 3 of The Summer of Nightville Presents featuring a trucker searching across America for the wife she had long assumed was dead and a man trying to plan the perfect dreamy brunch. Find out more about Nightville Presents and all of our shows at nightvalepresents.com.

And hey, thanks. Are you squeamish about horror movies but kind of want to know what happens? Or are you a horror lover who likes thoughtful conversation about your favorite genre? Join me, Jeffrey Kramer, and my friend from Welcome to Nightville, Cecil Baldwin, for our weekly podcast, Random Number Generator Horror Podcast Number 9, where we watch and discuss horror movies in a random order. Find, here's the short version, Random Horror Nine, wherever you get your podcasts.

Boo.