Fox & Dana Visit Night Vale
Aliens walk among us. And by among us, I mean inside of our houses, possibly in our dusty, cold, shadowy attics.
Good evening, Night Vale. Has everyone received the latest tri-weekly memo from the Sheriff’s Secret Police? It arrived the way all memos do, appearing between the slices of sandwich bread inside our breadboxes and accompanied by the smell of burnt hair and the sound of screaming mice. It said that two agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation have rented rooms in a motel just outside our little town. As no federal officials have ever visited Night Vale, at least, not since 1958, which we all agree is the year that never ever happened, city authorities are both bemused and wary of these two FBI agents. They have assured us that monitoring of the potential interlopers has already commenced. Special four-way mirrors and mechanical surveillance bedbugs have already been deployed. Incidentally, today’s memo tastes especially good with apple-pumpkin butter!
More news on the FBI agents who are now heading towards Night Vale: the Sheriff’s secret police have verified the two agents’ identities with an unspecified FBI branch’s Christmas Party photo album that fell through the mysterious ultraviolet wormhole which hung menacingly over City Hall forty-eight years ago. Photos have been posted on the break room refrigerator if anyone wishes to see how the agents appear.
One of them, Agent Dana Scully, MD, has hair a shade brighter than Old Woman Josie’s pet iguana. You know, the one that looks like a ginger-colored cat, but is definitely an iguana. It’s quite lovely hair, but is of course nothing compared to Carlos’s lustrous golden coiffure.
Oh! Carlos! I wonder how he feels about these strange government pawns! Surely he would have some fascinating and intelligent opinion, and he would say it in that fascinating and intelligent voice of his. Carlos, Carlos...
Ahem. Sorry, listeners. I was... uh... distracted by... something... anyway... the other FBI agent, the one with the sandy brown hair and the laughing, yet eerily piercing eyes, calls himself Fox Mulder. An analysis by the angels that live with Old Woman Josie and her cat-iguana tells me that Agent Mulder is half-human and half-extraterrestrial. They believe that the human half hails from somewhere near Portland, Oregon. Or Portland, Maine. The angels are unsure.
It would seem that one of Agents Mulder and Scully’s main veins of investigation is to collect recorded accounts of the reported nightmare all citizens share on the twelfth night of each month––the nightmare in which a duo of strangers comes to your door wanting to hear about your dreams. Fortunately, Night Vale High School quarterback Michael Sandero, hiding under his front porch and amplifying his voice with a rusty tin can, managed to evade the agents’ questions by mentioning the city beneath Lane 5 of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Fun Complex.
And now, Traffic.
The Night Vale Department of Transportation warns any and all travelers to venture out on the roads only in case of emergency, or if you kind of feel like it. Drivers are reminded that any attempt to play chicken with the hooded figures is discouraged. Also, Chinese Firedrills are hereby banned after last week’s series of related dismemberments.
Update: It appears that Agents Mulder and Scully have taken Michael Sandero’s bait and are looking into his claims of a city beneath the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Fun Complex. Teddy Williams reports that they emerged after a five-minute descent, gasping and saying that they were lost underground for days and carrying a lasting aura of repressed sexual tension. He also mentioned that they came out drenched in the usual ectoplasm with a look in their faces that Teddy could only describe as a potentially irreversible loss of innocence. Teddy supposed that though the investigators had most likely meant to probe into the miniature city below the pin retrieval system of Lane 5, they probably got mixed up and descended into the bowels of Lane 15 instead. This is troubling because there is no Lane 15 at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Fun Complex, and never has been.
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Well, listeners, Agents Scully and Mulder declined an interview, saying that they “had business elsewhere” and wanted to “get the hell out of this place anyway.” Too bad. I was going to take them up to my attic to meet my friend q’Jwiipfffrs, an extraterrestrial from the planet Venus. I thought Agent Scully would be interested due to the alien tracking system so obviously buried in her neck, but if that’s how they feel then that’s that! q’Jwiipfffrs and I will just have to have another Scrabble night alone. In fact, he’s probably waiting for me now––it’s almost time for me to close up and go home, almost time for me to feed the hovering cat and his kittens in the radio station’s men’s room and almost time for me to turn off this microphone.
Good night, Night Vale. Good night.