//------------------------------// // Bake Sale // Story: Welcome to Night Vale // by Journeyman //------------------------------// Bake Sale The sound of silence means you are alone... but better turn around and check just in case. Welcome to Night Vale. Hello, dear listeners. Fillies and colts of every age, that day is finally upon us! Printed Celestia, that banner of Princess Celestia given life and forgotten by the cold uncaring hand that created her, has just received enough funding by the City Council for her pride and joy: a bake sale. I do just love going to such places for just a little slice of home cooking. The sights, the smells, the people; there’s nothing quite like the feeling of community such a thing brings. Printed Celestia is currently gathering enough contacts and resources for the event set to occur later tonight. Stay tuned for more information as it develops. Over the weekend, an unknown but still nefarious government agency announced that they have recently purchased ownership of the Night Vale Weather Team. This came as a shock to the Night Vale secret police who have retained ownership of the weather team since time immemorial. As you may know, the Agency has been trapped in Night Vale ever since the great war, a far cry from the secret police’s own considerable years of service. Tensions are high and are expected to come to a boiling point during the playoffs where their own respective hoofball teams fight to see who is greatest. I have been asked to remind all citizens that concessions have been raised by five bits across the board in anticipation of a game surely to go down in Night Vale history. Expect T-shirt launchers during half time along with caltrops and tear gas. Where has the Pegasi Emporium gone? Longtime retailer of all pegasi goods and services for all of your everyday needs, Paracelsus’ Pegasi Emporium, has stocked wing trimers, gloss, elemental gear for those longer flights, explosive munitions for aerial raids, and calcium supplementals for lightened bone density. It’s just not there anymore and all that’s left in its place is a sign that says: Sorry about that. Be back soon. Won’t borrow this building for long. Here’s something for the trouble. Left around the sign were several blue carnations circling several heavy, black gemstones reported to be wet and cold to the touch. Upon picking them up, Paracelsus was reportedly frozen in place moaning, “Not again... Please, not again.” It is unknown if the Emporium has vanished in the past and has gone unnoticed by the many surveillance devices, or if the gemstones were forcibly recalling memories best left lying forgotten. So... apologies to my winged listeners, but it appears Night Vale is currently out of stock of some essentials. More on this story as I am made aware of it. [A page flips] Huh... okay. And now a word from our sponsors. We know how much trouble it must be for young idealists trying to start their own businesses. Even after appropriate sacrifices at the Children Muesum’s Bloodstone Altar, there is still no telling if the hired help will be enough to compete with today’s conglomerates. That is why we at Night Vale’s Free Clinic have developed an experimental procedure to accelerate employee complacency, efficiency, and unequivocal obedience. In a series of three simple and yet extraordinarily excruciating procedures, a single brain parasite is inserted onto the spine. With this little guy your employees may be reduced to dry, empty husks but look at your figures soar as productivity is increased a hundredfold. Head on down to the clinic today! Just... bring a couple extra ponies along. We still have a few kinks to work out. My, my, is our little town bustling now or what! We’ve been getting a fair few guests over the past couple months and now another has been spotted beyond the shadowy figures atop the Black Plateau. He is a young, gentlemanly stallion with eyes sharp and movements quick. The blood of a soldier sings in his veins as he hunts the expansive desert for reasons unknown. With him are several small humming machines and a radio receiver. Are you listening to my broadcast, outsider? I do hope so. Be it a spark of hubris or something else, I can’t help but feel a strange thrill as my voice is heard by more and more individuals. It brings me closer to my audience. You, my friends and comrades in this small town. But what is this stranger here for? Only time will tell, if time is real at all. The bake sale is ready and now in full swing in the empty parking lot outside the BLOOD Hotel. Printed Celestia has gathered all of the town’s culinary talents, some of them including Honey Darling, Swee’Pea, Springheel of the Flaming Dragon restaurant, that hooded shadowy figure that steals children, and a traveling band of gypsies. An auction for pies, cakes, and other baked goods will occur exactly two hours from now. I’ve even acquired some reports that a few griffons wielding their masterwork steel are stepping up for a chance to prove their worth to the town. And I must say that is indeed an excellent idea. Aerobic and anaerobic individuals alike, this is a wonderful chance to get your name out there or sample today’s cooking selection. The sun has actually begun to set for once and the night sky’s been bleeding a wonderful crimson across the west horizon. The cool desert air, normally a freezing chill, is just enough to warrant heavier dress for the dying light. I couldn’t hope to have a better setting for our town’s charity bake sale. However I am getting reports of minor tremors coming from deep beneath Night Vale with the epicenter very close to the bake sale. Now any responsible citizen would have checked the City Council’s earthquake schedule ahead of time for such an important event like this, but this very night was the only night that all of today’s cooking talent had off for such an event. Just mind your steps, Night Vale. I still encourage you to go to the bake sale, but as always, safety first. At least the illusion of safety, for we are all never truly safe. This week’s reading program, as have all other reading programs before it, has been cancelled due to lack of funds and librarian maulings. Just to clarify, the librarians are the ones doing the maulings. No individual, pony or otherwise, has dared entered the Night Vale Municipal Library to challenge a librarian to hoof-to-amorphous-limb combat and come out with their viscera not decorating the buttresses. The City Council issued the following statement from their book-proof conference room via a blind, mute filly tapping on the glass with Morse Code: “Like, who reads books anyway? We’ve got the sky, the air, and we heard there’s some kind of food thing going on right about now. Books? Books are heavy, give paper cuts, and contain way, way too many things for everyone to remember.” Remember, children, knowledge can be painful. While what you don’t know can still flay you where you stand, at least you are not violating books’ privacy if you just leave them alone. The Night Vale chapter of the Colt Scouts, the most active opponents to the ruling, refused to comment on the matter. Speaking of the children, controversy is back in the headlines as the PTA clashes with the School Board. Once again the issue of live fire exercises has been raised. The School Board sadly noted that they hoped their previous peace offerings were enough to settle any bad blood between the two organizations. While the two loaded weapons and called in secret favors, the deciding vote came from neither side. Knick Knack, a sixth grader and member of the Night Vale Colt Scouts, proclaimed that he and all other students had more right than any other to decide the fate of the live fire exercises, as they impacted the students more than it would any adult. As a brief editorial, I agree with young Knick Knack’s assessment. Too often we get caught up with the adult matters of life and ignore the consequences that such actions will have on the younger generations. The students’ opinions should weigh in on matters that affect them, guardians or not. “We are here! We are alive! We have survived the cold, uncaring universe with the rest of the world and are thusly given the right to have the respect of our elders and the extremes of berserker violence,” he declared, an impressive feat when there was a bandolier of ammunition in his mouth. “We must prepare to confront the everyday bothers and inconveniences of life.” Although attacks from rogue killbots at the school have increased by five percent since last year, the PTA continued to oppose the live fire exercises, only to relent once the smell of fresh pecan pie and soft serve ice cream swept into the room on an errant wind. After much negotiation, the Night Vale Colt Scouts were allowed to both continue their exercises and retain point on the assault stemming from the science lab. All parties soon dismissed to attend the bake sale. Tis the season and Pumpkin Jack has finally opened up his pumpkin patch to sell this year’s crop to the masses. When questioned by reporters why it was opened at all, Pumpkin Jack stated that the pumpkins have had their fill of the local wildlife and the occasional transient and would be dormant for another year. After a sacrifice of several photographers just to be sure, the gathered press each took home their own pumpkins for Nightmare Night and for some fresh pumpkin pie baking. Since I am still here in the booth, somepony please save me one of those little baby pumpkins. I can’t help it; they are just so cute! Oh... Oh dear... Listeners, I have just been given a report by one of the station interns. Do not go to the bake sale. Stay in your homes and lock your doors. If you have ears, cover them. If you have eyes, blind them. Stay inside and wait for the danger to pass. The rumbling was in fact not rumbling at all, but the marching steps of an invasion. The bake sale is currently under attack by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of ravenous insects from deep within the earth. I do not know if they were roused by the revelry or the alarming scent of freshly-baked goods. They may even simply be mimicking our own past as bloodthirsty conquerors. I do not know for sure. Some creatures are scuttling into town, and there are no secret police or government agents here to help us on this day, for they are all gathered at the stadium. I can already hear the violence and the screams as ponies, griffons, zebras, buffalo, and so many more fight for their very lives. Their blind eyes thrive in the coming night. They smell our fear as they come from deep within their hives. What was that noise? ...Listeners, I hear something outside. As in, something crawling on the radio tower exterior. Right on the other side of the recording booth wall. I am not sure what it is. I hear something like a slow heartbeat accompanied by some unearthly clicking. I am currently reaching for my keys in hopes I might be able to reach the station bunker in time. And now I bring you to what I hope is not the last time, listeners: the weather. Stalwart protectors. Since before recorded memory and even memory itself, our town has been protected by the powers that be. The secret police and the agency have shielded us from horrors such as learning and the creatures infesting our lives. But since both parties were at the stadium, new protectors had to rise in this time of crisis. Night Vale’s own chapter of the Colt Scouts, taking advantage of their battle-hardened veterans’ training and leadership, defended the bake sale at no small cost to baked goods, limbs... and their very lives. While Night Vale’s ancient protectors were still settling the score at the hoofball stadium, these brave brave souls fought valiantly with no small measure of courage. All I could do was just sit back and report. Stuck here in this little recording booth atop the radio station, here I sat ever watchful, and yet so very impotent. Colts became stallions this night, and all we could do was watch as they protected us from the horrors of this world. Scouts Diamond King and Knick Knack, along with Scoutmaster Rufus, were spirited away into the insect undercity as they repelled the insectoid invasion. Three individuals have displayed courage and bravery far exceeding their station, and it is this news broadcaster’s hope that... one day... Night Vale may repay them for their sacrifice. To Diamond King, Knick Knack, and Rufus, I—no—we honor your sacrifice and pray in our bloodstone circles that you may be returned to us. The remaining scouts have been awarded their Advanced Siege Warfare badge. By their efforts, the bake sale was a resounding success. When the powers that be were not there to protect their way of life, they stepped up to the challenge. Parents wept and embraced their children for their bravery, when they themselves hide under hidden things and ran faster than slow things. On this day, remember the sacrifice of the brave few for the many. Remember them. Stay tuned for the sound of remembrance. Of hope. Of fear. Of acceptance. Good night, Night Vale. Good Night... The voice of Night Vale was myself, Journeyman This story was also written and produced by Journeyman. Welcome to Night Vale is a production by Commonplace Books. Music was provided by Disparition. All of it can be downloaded for free at Disparition.info. This episode’s weather was The Walls Are Moving by Carbon Maestro. It can be found at thecarbonmaestro.bandcamp.com. Today’s proverb: The early bird gets the worm. The second bird isn’t eaten by the worm.