If you can dream it, you can wake up in a cold sweat screaming about it. Welcome to Night Vale.

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Night Vale, today is the birthday of Leonard Burton. Many of you are too young to remember Leonard. He was my mentor, my friend, and my predecessor at this radio station. I watched him die nearly 40 years ago right outside this very radio station on Mesa Boulevard, when a cargo truck ran him over.

The sight was grisly and upsetting, but it is that sound, that horrible snap, I will never forget. Dozens of witnesses gathered around to help, but it was too late. I crouched over Leonard's body, lying to him that he would be okay, attempting to coax from him some hint of life. But there was no final word to hear, not even a final breath. I noted there were tears on his cheeks, as a host of angels behind me moaned softly while touching fingers above a flaming trash can.

Leonard was a dutiful journalist, a true servant of his town. He loved Boston Cream Pies and paintings of snakes. If he had lived, he would have been 117 years young today.

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Listeners thank you for all your kind emails. A few weeks ago I was a tad too revealing about my personal life, and I mentioned, in passing, that I am a perennial bachelor. It's true. I've never had a long-term serious relationship, but honestly it's fine. I get out. I see people. You do not need to try to set me up on blind dates with friends, relatives, and ancestral ghosts. Thank you, I'm doing okay.

In fact, I had a date recently. His name is Carlos. He says he is a scientist. Well, we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives. He has perfect hair, a perfect lab coat, and teeth like a military cemetery. The date started well. We went to dinner at Big Rico's Pizza. He had originally suggested Gino’s Italian Dining Experience and Grill and Bar, the fanciest restaurant in town, but since it was a first date, I suggested something more casual.

That was when things started to go wrong. Before we had even placed our orders, Carlos already seemed disappointed, which, in turn, disappointed me.

Then there was dinner. I was trying to tell Carlos about my job here at the station, about my family and interests, and he was like "I know. I know. Cecil. We're in love. You and I are in love. You just don't remember it."

And I told him: "You're cute, but this is our first date. Let’s take it slow." And then he looked sad, and I quickly finished my pizza, and we left.

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An update on the Blood Space War. A few weeks ago, the Polonian forces who oppose us seemed all but defeated, their remaining ships cornered on a tiny moon in the far reaches of the Crab Nebula. Yet our attempts to finally destroy the enemy failed, and the Polonians escaped and regrouped. We're getting word that The General has agreed to step down from her post, and new leadership will replace her.

Some of you may remember the story of Eunomia, the teenager who left our Earth 200 years ago to join in the Blood Space war. She was a dreamer, a scientist, who was recruited for her sharp mind, and later groomed as a master strategist for the Wolfgang, our allies in this unending war.

The Wolfgang were able to use wormholes to travel great distances in mere moments, and Eunomia eventually discovered that they could use these same portals to travel in time. After a brutal loss in the Battle of Gamma Draconis, Eunomia, then a Captain, ordered her decimated platoon back in time to the beginning of the battle. With a greater understanding of their initial failures, she was able to better fight the battle again. Still, she lost, only to return back through time to re-engage with the enemy. Over and over again, she re-fought the battle until she won.

Dozens of battles like this one led to her promotion to General of the Earth-Wolfgang alliance. But after our most recent failure in the Crab Nebula, there is concern that she has lost her effectiveness.

An emissary from the Blood Space War has returned to Night Vale. They are waddling through town in their oversized space suit, no doubt here to deliver us more terrible news from the front.

Perhaps there will be no peace in our lifetimes. More on this story as it develops.

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Our town is returning to normal, or so I have been told. Community College student and Blood Space War Protest organizer Basimah (bah-SEE-mah) Bishara (BIH-shar-ah) said her mother exists once again. Basimah claims that, a few weeks ago, her mother suddenly did not exist, thus making Basimah not exist, but as of this week, they do exist. Basimah blames the time traveling actions of our General for changing the landscape of everyone’s existence.

I can't wrap my head around this, listeners. I do not remember Basimah ever not existing. Or that she was gone and returned. So it's hard for me to believe this story. I took inventory of my own life and everything is as it always has been for me.

I work at a radio station and own a 14-speed bike. I have a one-bedroom apartment with a soaking tub, walk-in closet, carpet shredder, knife compiler, and a full-length mirror in the hallway. (It's an antique my mother handed down to me; she knows I love mirrors).

I don't have any siblings, but my mother is still alive and I talk to her regularly. We get along great. I called her to make sure everything is as she always remembered it. And she said "What? I don't know. Sure. What a dumb question." She's always been witty like that. All is stasis. Nothing has been taken from my life.

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The Intergalactic Military Headquarters reported all-time high profits this month. They have built a stealth bomber entirely out of rare 1913 Liberty Head Nickels, each valued at around $5 million.

Senior Strategic Advisor Jameson Archibald admitted their financial success was not attributable to the new smart phone app he developed.

"Naw," Archibald said, sitting astride a white tiger, "that app was super glitchy. But my dad's crazy rich and knows a bunch of people in the Pentagon, so we're good."

Archibald then took a massive hit off a vape pen.

"This is my new thing," Archibald said. "Steam pens. No nicotine or THC, only pure water vapor. Did you know water is good for you? Like, it gives you life, man. If we're going to vape anything, we should be vaping vapor. What if that's what vape means? Vapor. If it doesn't, it should."

This has been your financial report.

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Sad news, Night Vale. John Peters (you know, the farmer?) reported that his brother James is returning to service in the Blood Space War. James has been promoted to General to replace the retiring Eunomia.

"Dang, Jim's such a good brother," John said from the middle of his field of invisible corn. "I really liked havin' him home. I'm gonna miss him, but I guess the universe needs him more than I do."

John then uprooted an invisible cornstalk and hugged it tightly while humming the classic church hymn "Party in the USA."

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Okay, this is getting annoying.

So the guy I was telling you about earlier, Carlos, has been texting me this whole show, saying he wants to see me again. [reading] Something something my timeline is still wrong.... I should have a sister named Abby… here’s a photo her with some kid… my mother died.... I supposedly am afraid of mirrors.... He and I are actually married?

This is ridiculous. I...

Okay. Now he’s texting me a picture of a dog. "Our little puppy, Aubergine" it says. In the picture Carlos is holding the dog. I...

Weird. I just had a strange feeling. What's that term? Jamais Vu, I think. Where you remember something that never happened.

Outside my window I see the emissary, their oblong mirrored face pressed against the glass, each hand raised to their head, to block out glare from the sun.

I am waving to the emissary now. "Hello emissary." I said, just now.

"What is that French term for remembering something you've never actually experienced?" I said even louder, wondering if the emissary can hear me through the window and that thick helmet.

"Also, is Aubergine a good name for a dog? I think it is?" I called once more, just to start a decent conversation, because I was getting creeped out by the sight of a silent astronaut peering at me through my window.

I can see myself in their reflective face. I... I do not like this. I do not like this at all. Please go. Please leave. I cannot. I...

I am covering this window with a sheet. I do not like this mirror. I do not like it one bit. No.

Let’s go to the weather

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WEATHER: “Sad But Not Depressed” from the podcast It Makes a Sound

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I will tell you about the emissary in a moment. But first I must tell you that Carlos called me. Here's his voicemail:

CARLOS: [note to Dylan: in this episode Cecil does not remember who Carlos is, because of some time travel stuff; But Carlos remembers everything.]

Cecil, I am calling for personal reasons. I'm calling to tell you that I love you. That I have loved you almost since the first day I met you, nearly 7 years ago. I did not know anyone in Night Vale, and you were the first person to take an interest in my studies. It's not easy feeling alone, but within a year, I wasn't. I was with you.

And now we are married, at least in my timeline. We have been married. We have a beautiful puppy named Aubergine, a house, a relationship. You have a sister and brother-in-law and a niece who is a talented athlete and enormously kind young woman. We have… [he almost mentions their son but then] you’re going to play this on the air aren’t you? Of course you are. Never mind. Anyway, somehow, you don't know any of this. I've been working nights and days trying to repair this break in continuity. I haven't slept much, because I cannot sleep until we're back in the same timeline.

But I cannot find anything that will fix this. I do not know what else to do, other than to say "Trust me." I will start over. I will go to Rico's on another first date. I will pretend to hear about your life for the first time. I will tell you all about mine for the thousandth time. It won't be the same for me, but it will still be you. And that’s all that matters. You. You're the one.

This must sound crazy. You barely know me. I'm coming off desperate, but it's because I am. Please call me.

CECIL: And I did call him back. And I said, "I love you too, babe. I love your beard. I love our dog. I love…[he remembers to not mention their son on air]...I love our life together."

Minutes before that, I did not feel that way. I did not know know about my life with Carlos, because it had never happened in my history. It was in those minutes, though, that the emissary spoke to me.

The emissary entered my studio and removed her helmet. Underneath was the face of an old woman. It was the face of Eunomia, the young girl who disappeared from Night Vale on her 17th birthday 200 years ago. Eunomia told me she had resigned her post as general. She was the most successful leader in the Blood Space War, but tampering with timelines had caused life in the universe to nearly cease to exist.

Eunomia knew she would have to undo what she had undone so many times over, even though it would put peace out of her reach. She is doing that, and she is taking responsibility by visiting every single person affected by her actions. She is telling them what she has taken from them, and what she will now give back. It will take her a long, long time to do this. It will take her the rest of her life.

In my case, she told me I had a sister, Abby; a brother-in-law, Steve; a niece, Janice. I did not know those names. She told me about my husband Carlos. I knew that name, but did not feel love for it.

She took my hand and told me to look at the moon. There was a thick wedge missing from it. I had never noticed that the moon was broken. Eunomia said: "I will leave now, and I will undo what has been done. And your life will return to how it was."

I asked: "But I have a life now."

And she said: "But what of the lives of others? You are all connected. If I do not fix yours, how many others will never have back what the War has taken?"

"And what about you?" I said. "Will you return to your teenage life on the farm?"

"No," she said. "I cannot go back to that age. But I will go back to that time and place. I only wish to see my family one more time."

"And what about the war?" I said.

"There will always be a war, because there will always be a lust for a war," she said. "I am sorry, Cecil. I have to go."

She pointed to the moon once again and it was whole, unbroken. I tried to squeeze her hand, but it was gone. There was only me in my studio.

On a late summer afternoon in 1816, an astronaut appeared in the center of Night Vale. Ninety six years later a dog park would be established on that exact spot. The astronaut walked silently through the dusty streets.

Bowlegged and slow, the emissary walked toward the outskirts of town. It took hours, and nearly the entire city followed her, past a lot that would eventually belong to Old Woman Josie, past the homestead of Eugene Leroy, until she reached the Peters farm, and there she stopped.

There was a greenish aura about the astronaut as she turned to face the gathered mob. The astronaut put her gloved hands to her neck and unlatched the helmet. There was a loud hiss and a pop, and she lifted the mask

The crowd approached tentatively, and as the helmet came fully off, the townsfolk cried out. The face of the visitor was nearly skeletal, a rotted corpse. Long white hair peeling down the back of the skull. An incomplete set of elongated teeth visible with no lips to hide them. Startled eyes ever-staring with no lids to express anything else. And what was left of the skin had shriveled and yellowed.

The crowd had begun to step backward, but one woman stepped forward. A tired and pale woman, the woman whose farm it was, approached the decomposing astronaut and said "Eunomia."

The General opened her mouth slowly and spoke in a hoarse cough. "Mother," she said. Eunomia's young mother touched her elderly daughter's face. Eunomia broke into dust, and the empty space suit collapsed to the ground, leaving behind the faint shape of the woman’s dissipating daughter.

In a cornfield, on the outskirts of town, the General's ashes scattered across a golden lake of ripened corn, in the very place where her military successor, James Peters (you know? the General?) would be born 150 years later.

The memories of what Eunomia said to me, the memories of my life without my family, are fading quickly. Night Vale returns to normal, whatever that means. I told Carlos I was so sorry for causing him such pain. I cannot ever know how difficult that must have been. He only tilted his head and said: "Already forgotten." I wasn't sure if he was being literal.

Stay tuned next for the unceremonious continuation of all that is real.

Good night Night Vale. Good night.

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PROVERB: I'm gonna take my horse to the old town road and then we’re going to go grab drinks and dinner. Maybe watch a movie. Girls’ night!