Howdy Night Vale, it is me Jeffrey Craner and I'm here to tell you about Camp...
We're doing a weekend long riders workshop in Santa Fe, New Mexico, on March 5th through
the 7th, 2027.
“This workshop is for riders of all kinds who want to spend a weekend in the desert with me and”
my Night Vale co-creator Josephine doing guided riding exercises, participating in group discussions and readings and some other fun activities that are yet to be announced. So by the way, this thing is only open to a maximum of 20 in-person students. Registration opens June 16th for paid Patreon members and if you are a weird scout or higher level Patreon member, you get $50 off your tuition.
Registration is going to open to the general public on June 18th. Get more info at welcome to nightvill.com/campnight Vale, see y'all in the desert. Also, speaking of my Night Vale co-writer, Josephine wrote a horror novella called The Nudge is coming in September and I want you, I need you to pre-order it now. The print version of The Nudge will feature terrifying illustrations by Jessica Hayworth
in the tradition of the infamous illustrations and stories to tell in the dark. And the audiobook, that version will be read by Kevin R. Free and Cecil Baldwin, so choose what level of terror you're up for.
Finally, there is some amazing summer nightvill merch in our store, welcome to nightvill.com
click on store, you get peach towels, water bottles, tank tops, dog collars, plus all the classic merchy things you love, like shirts, hoodies, posters and even blankets. That's welcome to nightvill.com, click on store and hey, thanks. Mani, chip, finance, you're looking for something. Mega, but that's still being completed.
No, just a few photos of the low-stoe building are very good. It's very good. It's very good. Hold your money, with what do you mean?
And, over 17,000 coffee for every brand.
Aléba premium coffee is already at the end of the year. And there's the Cube of Capsule Machine in your Chibofiale and on Chibode E. 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 Kip, 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 Spark's novel.
But then, Dana called me with a 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.
“But 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 jailin who is in jail knows nothing, as he is from a different version of our universe. One where Marcus Vanston 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 go 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 trapped 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 do 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. This 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 Vance then 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 Vanceden, and so had a key to the private library. And he was colluding with Mazie 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. But, 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.
Now, instead, there was a small red padlock of a design that I have never seen before.
In fact, it has no keyhole or a combination wheel, no visible way of unlocking it at all. So, there goes the key, and then there is the question of ghosts.
“And if the key had been used, could Mazie 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 Mazie's physical properties. Deb, the sentient patch of haze. Hi, I see so, so yes, so, we creatures of non-corporial bodies do have a number of advantages over you disgusting meat sex.
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 it can. We're pretty much limited to scratching on walls and neck and 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 to say.
So no, Mazie 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 Amazie could not have sealed the door from the inside, which means they could not
“have killed Marcus Vensen, the question remains, who did?”
This 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.
Finally I reach 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 10 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 Vanston, 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, litted, 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. 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 rumi 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 jail and freed right away, he is innocent, and head into 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 [Music] [Music] The options, pass the point of our return, let me be honest, it be nice to be honest, soon enough we will all have a turn
[Music] Burn down still remaining, for God's in banana cup,
“that's what the margin say, when we're still listening,”
oh go on, I can't go, I'll go on, I can't go, [Music] [Music]
Shoppapoteek is said, choose algae and halo filling, here if you're all at th...
you come through the allergy time, as new customers spend 10% on 35 euros, with the code,
“night scene, to us an ira set, and for shoppapoteek ibrontaladen on direct i-n-losen, good sign”
bidding on shoppinosapoteek a.com/goodshiner, I walk hesitantly forward, the creature eyes me wearily, it seems jittery, like it might bolt to 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 play catingly,
I've come to see you about an angel formerly named Marcus Vanston, the wet little pops get louder and closer together, it's long limb 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 Vanston, I said to Ethan, Ethan shook his head frantically and tried to wriggle out of my grasp, but I did not let him go,
“and innocent doubles life is at stake, I said, Ethan, who killed Marcus Vanston?”
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 Vanston,
and finally, through gritted teeth, Ethan managed, God knows, he looked up, met my eye, his eyes were bottomless, his eyes were windows to know where, 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, God knows, God knows, 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 smells spinning like a top, it's body controlling 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,
I need 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 Venston 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,
Jalen'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 Kips 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 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 Kips anger at not receiving
the promised donation, instead the issue was with the offering of the donation in the first place,
Marcus Venston being an angel existed by the grace of God and God was feeling threatened by the God of Harrison Kip, 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 menashry 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 lyrics and that's when God burst in, demanding to know why Marcus won 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 revoked 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, "Devindly, 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 had 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 looked outside. The sun is shining. I didn't know if I was going to
See it again.
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 vanston, 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.
Ah, well, stay to 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. Now, listeners, oh no, listeners, buff 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, oh.
“Welcome to Night Vale as a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Joseph”
Pink, Jeffrey Craneer, and Bree Williams. Sound design and production by disparition. The voice of Dana is just seeking a cold. The voice of Deb is Meg Bashwinner. The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin, original music by disparition. All of it can be found at disparition.net. This episode's weather is City of Industry by Joseph Pink. Find out more at the link in our show notes. Comments, questions, email us at [email protected]
or follow us on blue sky at Night Vale Radio or on Instagram, Tumblr, and TikTok at Night Vale official. Or give in to your mildest impulses. But mainly, check out welcome to Night Vale.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 and a good community and we literally could not make the show without it. Today's proverb, "What your whistle? Really get your whistle at. Dunk your whistle in there. Everyone loves a dripping wet whistle."
[Music] Hi, we're Meg Bashmaner. And Joseph Pink. 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 house cat. 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 about episode or do people just hate women? The best worst. Available wherever you get your podcasts.
