Author's Note
Those of you who are not avid fans of Welcome to Night Vale will be completely mystified by this story. It might cause you to become listless and confused. You may even experience an existential crisis, and the link to the Weather will probably exacerbate that.
I apologize in advance.
Part 1
There's a tiny patch of dry skin on your wrist. It's been there for quite a while, but it doesn't seem to be getting any larger. Sometimes, late at night, it says things. Terrible, hurtful things.
Welcome to Night Vale.
Listeners, I would like to ask for a moment of silence for those poor, doomed people who failed to sample the macaroni salad at the StrexCorp company barbecue this last Saturday. Also, I would like to urge anyone who finds pieces of those people in their closets, car trunks, or lunch bags to contact...
Just a moment! I've just been handed an important message from the Sheriff's Secret Police: "At three-thirty this afternoon, in the vacant lot behind the Ralph's, a purple, winged, unicorn pony did not appear next to the biohazard dumpster, and she most definitely did not look around at our beautiful town in disgust and say, 'At least, I'm not a half-bald ape, this time.'"
The Sheriff's Secret Police would like to remind you that having hallucinations of this sort are illegal and punishable... hmn... I'm sorry, dear listeners, but I've turned the paper over, and that's all it says, "punishable."
Well! I'm certainly glad that I haven't been having any hallucinations of that sort! A purple unicorn pony with wings? Kind of creepy, if you ask me!
Oh, wait! I've just been handed another note from the Sheriff's Secret Police. It says that it might have been a lavender or mulberry colored pony that did not appear behind the Ralph's. There is also a repeat of the word, "punishable," in large letters, and in red ink.
At least I think it's ink.
Let’s go now to Traffic.
Somewhere in the desert, there is a single, bare footprint. The wind scours it. The rare, August monsoon rain falls heavily, filling it. The sun burns down upon it. Ants cross it in their millions, going... where? No one knows.
This has been Traffic.
Listeners, I bring you an urgent press release from the City Council. A Level Orange Fear Alert has been issued! "The City Council advises all Night Vale citizens to remember that life is pain, and that any attempt to enjoy one's own existence is futile and counter-productive." The Alert further recommends that anyone hearing cheerful music or the singing of uplifting lyrics from apparently nowhere, should resist all temptation to join in. "Your very souls may be at risk!" the Alert concludes, in a very spooky font.
In insistently unrelated news, StrexCorp would like to remind the citizens of Night Vale, that risking company property is not allowed under the Terms of Agreement implicitly agreed to by all users of StrexCorp products. All users.
All.
Users.
Aaaaaaaaaaaall.
Listeners, Trish Hidge, who works for Mayor Pamela Winchell, just dropped by the station to give me a clarification on the powers possessed by the Night Vale Mayor and, by extension, herself. She said that although the Mayor can turn into a horse, it is a full-grown one of a pleasing, but entirely normal color. Neither the Mayor nor she can become adorable little ponies, and wings and unicorn horns seem to be totally beyond their abilities. She says she knows this because she has tried. Oh, how she has tried! Trish then broke down and began to sob, uncontrollably. Intern Eric volunteered to see her safely back to the Mayor's office.
That's odd. I thought our new intern's name was Anhotep. Oh well.
Teddy Williams, at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex is offering a two-for-one special this week. Rent one bowling shoe at twice the normal cost and a second shoe will appear, by your bedside, later that evening, long after it could be of any use.
Now it's time for the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.
Children, today I'd like to tell you about the dangers of ponies.
Ponies are deceptive. Ponies are evil. They lure you in with their bright and cheerful faces and then they fill your mind with lies. They deny the utter hopelessness of existence. They make it seem as if relationships are not based solely on the fear of being alone in a heartless, uncaring universe. They deny the possibility that your dearest loved one might be a parasitic insect in disguise.
Oh, wait.
No, they don't do that last one. But they do all that other stuff.
This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.
The Night Vale Community Calendar for... oh! Wait! Dear listeners, is that who I think it is? There, outside my booth, stands the figure of a young girl with dark hair and dark eyes... oh... so, so dark! Around her neck hangs a desiccated head... yes! It must be Tamika Flynn, heroine of the Summer Reading Program disaster!
She hooks one finger into the eye socket of the head and then begins to write on the glass with the pale goo now coating her finger. "Where is the librarian?" she writes.
Listeners, I've just realized that to make her message legible to me, Tamika has had to write it backwards from her viewpoint! She's quite the talented little girl, isn't she?
And such neat penmanship, too!
Oh, my! Tamika is now pounding on the glass and pointing her dripping index finger at her message with a terrible intensity.
I try to convey to her, with a series of grimaces and body postures, that I am unable to answer her question. I have only glimpsed a librarian once in my life, and that was at a distance, and long, long ago. So very long ago.
Tamika frowns and returns her finger to the skull's eye socket. She raises her finger to the glass, again.... Oh! But this time, she isn't writing anything. She seems to be drawing something.
A simple circle.
Another.
Now, a few curves.
Are those legs? Four of them?
Eyes! Yes, that must be a head.
Wait.
That is a horn.
And wings.
Oh, dear listeners, I do not like where this is going!
This... this is... punishable!
Before any further horrors assail my eyes, and your ears, dear listeners, I bring you...
The Weather
