The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I've got miles to go before I sleep.
And as I pass, hungry trees weep.
It's been too long since they've had the satisfaction of curling their roots around an unsuspecting, sleeping human body, consuming their warm flesh to leave only a bleached white skeleton tangled within the curling wood, a bony hand ever reaching for redemption...
And miles to go before I sleep.
Welcome to Night Vale.
Stars. The ancients believed that birds pecked holes to heaven. We now know, through science, that they are gigantic, flaming spheres of burning gases such as helium and hydrogen, which were set ablaze from the breaths of ancient space dragons.
If you're keen on astronomy, please go check out the new gem of our town, the Galaxy Snail! Having slowly advanced from Pi Street to the Whispering Forest, families by the dozen have been flocking to observe our town's very own Galactic Gastropod!
We must request you take no pictures with flash.
Strange white lights have temporarily flashed in the sky simultaneously, the only thing we have ever seen brighten the dark null of the void. We figure this Milky Way Mollusk might actually..be...our universe.
And there is already a hairline crack in its starry shell.
Our days are numbered.
How much longer?
How much longer before the delicate fabric of our universe shatters into nothingness?
Before we become nothingness, nothing but a dark void ourselves?
In other news, the snail loves being tickled! His left eyestalk seems to be especially ticklish! Watch him blush, giggle, and turn a lovely shade of pink.
Fun for the whole family!
This just in. Intern Charlie has just slid me a slip of paper, and on it I see a detailed sketch of Princess Leia making out with that actress from "Tomb Raider". I do not see what this has to do with the news, exactly, but I suppose I must report whatever is given-
Oh.
What's that, Charlie?
She is now blushing profusely and indicating with desperate hand motions for me to flip it over. Yes, Charlie, I will flip it over.
No harm done here, the only ones to see this are you and me. Even though I have just broadcast a detailed description of the artwork to our listeners.
Sorry about that.
Now I see written words. "Those guys from a few weeks ago are back." Just one second as I clean my glasses, listeners, I'm not sure if I'm reading this next part right.
Let's see here. "They heard your broadcast. They did not-" the 'not' is underlined several times- "appreciate the nicknames you gave them or that you told much of their personal lives to numerous people. They said they want to 'find you and make you pay.' "
This is not good news, listeners. I make enough income in this job to pay for rent and necessities, but I have been saving up for a vacation to the Palm Oasis with Carlos for some time now, and I'm hoping this payment that Ken-Doll-Man and Tall-Man-With-Lady-Hair are asking for isn't too pricey...
More on this, as it develops.
Now, a word from our sponsors.
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In related news, our annual Festival For Oral Health will be in one week in the town square. Mr. Oral cannot be happier that the whole town is so concerned about his recent case of pneumonia.
Listeners.
There are three people who have currently entered the booth with a strange sound, like a mix between the whump of a rug being shaken out and a rush of wind. The Mysterious Bow-Legged Man is now striding towards me with quite a threatening expression on his face and he is attempting to take the mi-
"To all the freaks 'n geeks that listen to this stupid channel, I don't have a 'thing' for Cas, got it? We ain't gettin' married any goddamn time soon, so get your heads out of your asses and get on with your lives! I ain't about any of this 'Destiel' bullshit that seems to be all that anybody's talking about these days, I'll come to every single one of you sorry sons a' bitches homes and hunt you down if I hear that word ever again, dammit! I'll punch you so hard you'll be shittin' teeth for a week!"
"...Wow, Dean. Anything these you want to add, Mr. "Of course I'll be professional"?"
"Shuddup, Sammy. AND MY LEGS AIN'T EVEN THAT BOWED, GOD DAMMIT. IT'S THE DAMN JEANS I WEAR."
"I can assure you that fabric does not have the ability to optically deceive to that degree, Dean."
"CasIswearToGod-"
"Dean?! What the hell did you do to the guy? You...dammit, you broke his glasses! C'mon, you've said what you had to say, now let's get out of here."
"Dean, please don't take the name of my Father in vain by swearing on him."
"Fine! Last thing! I'm not gay! NOT. GAY. Kiss my ass, Night Vale!"
...
...
...
wssshhhhh
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
mmmmmmmm
...
...
...
...
augw
...
...unph
...
Hewo, Listenbers. I seeb to have possibly bromken by nobe, as dere is a great flub of blub in my nostrilbs currently.
By glasses also appear to habe brokem.
If he is currentbly listenbling, sweet Carlos please bring be by glasses repair kit. I canbt read the news withobt my glasses.
So.
Now ba weathber.
...
Hello, Listeners! My sweet, sweet Carlos has, much like a superhero to the rescue, brought me various medical supplies and now my nose is clean as a whistle! He'd make a very great doctor if he wasn't already a superb off-the-charts amazing and awe-inspiring incredible scientist!
I was not trying to make you blush. I was simply stating the facts. This is a station for the news, remember? You can be so forgetful sometimes. That's why you have me.
Oh, I'll take those. Thank you.
Carlos has just handed me my glasses, repaired with simple tape but the professionals couldn't have done a better job, if I say so myself.
No, I am not being sarcastic! I suppose you are a man of science, that is why you get confused. No worries, Carlos! None at all!
The strangers who so brutally attacked my poor listener's ears with voices that are in no way smooth or sonorous have been reported to be making a B-line for Dessert Bluffs, muttering about opposites and how Little Boy Joseph been housing countless nasty demons for a while now.
Oh, well! Desert Bluffs can deal with these people who not only disrespect Night Vale cuisine but also interrupt our most treasured radio station! The nerve of MBLM and Jolly Green! Not to mention that imposter of an angel!
Carlos now is indicating to my list of announcements that I was supposed to get to today, but unfortunately, my time has almost run out for the news programme today. I suppose I could get as much as I can done before our two minutes is up, so...
Mr. Harris, who owns the local frozen yogurt shop, Frostyland, has reported than one of the machines, the one on the leftmost side, has started to turn itself on and began spurting a blackish, tar-like substance instead of the delicious Mango Tango it is usually meant to-
No, Carlos, I didn't think I look very sexy with a bloody lip and bruised bridge of my nose. I'm only a radio show host, dear, not some kind of solider!
So, as Mr. Harris inspected the tub above the machine that usually holds the liquid form of Mango Tango, he was surprised to find only an empty, void of black-
Carlos, now is not the time for- mpfm!
...
-kissing.
Well, seeing as I only have thirty seconds of airtime-
(mwa)
I suppose I can say-
(mmhaha stop it!)
Goodnight, Night Vale!
Goodnight!
Dean turned down the radio with a flick of his wrist, he knew he should be frowning but he wasn't. Maybe he had overreacted by punching that man in the face that hard. But he had to defend his honor, his manliness, you know? But he felt kind of bad after he'd seen how sweet the man's boyfriend had been to come tend to him. And that song the station had played wasn't half bad.
"I enjoyed the song as well, Dean." Cas spoke up in his usual emotionless manner, looking out the window as the dark desert sands and the occasional dry bush rolled by, Sam's gigantic body stretched out as he slumbered soundly in the back.
"Dammit, Cas, stay out of my head!" Dean frowned, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, staring out at the empty road ahead as they traveled to the next town to deal with that creepy little kid and his collection of demons.
"I apologize." The angel answered, his voice steady and not phased by Dean's acid tone. "I do not want to make you uncomfortable. It's just something angels do subconsciously. I can't help it."
Dean puffed out a breath of air, and tried to find something on the radio but all that was coming up was static now.
"You were lying when you stole the microphone from that man with the white hair and the purple glasses. Because you were scared." Cas graveled, turning his head from the window to look at Dean, the shadow his nose cast was sharp and his eyes all squinty, but his blue eyes looked even more inhuman in the clean light of the desert moon.
Dean paused. He cleared his throat. His finger tapped nervously along the black leather of his steering wheel. He knew he couldn't lie to Castiel. "...Yeah." He coughed.
Dean leaned to the side and he and Cas met in the middle, giving each other a short smooch.
"We still don't tell Sam." Dean cleared his throat and kept looking out at the dark desert road. "Not yet."
"Okay." The angel replied gruffly.
Somehow, their hands found each other in the dark and held on as the car rumbled down the stretch of slightly sandy road.
It was a good night.