LEONARD: Hello. Leonard Burton. Hi. Again. I’m still dead and yet speaking to you from somewhere you cannot comprehend. I have drawn a map though. With what hands?, you ask. That’s so three-dimensional of you.

I’m joking. But there are quite a lot of dimensions to keep track of. Ergo: I have drawn a map.

I like maps. Always have. Probably always will. Time doesn’t really exist here. Or maybe it exists so much that I can no longer perceive it. One fish asks the other: “What is water?” Then the other fish slowly backs away, maintaining careful eye contact.

My map isn’t about the physical shape of the universe, none of that gravity and timespace hullaballoo. No, I have drawn a path through which all events (possible, inevitable, and historical) converge. It’s remarkable what a tiny little sketch it truly is. I’ll show it to you.

Look at that. The size of a napkin really. I know you can’t see it because this is going out over your radio signals. But if you’re anything like me, you can see it. You can see everything that has ever happened and will ever happen. Or could happen.

It’s not pleasant. I’m sure you wish I would tell you a certain future for yourself, your nationstate, your planet, but I cannot. A lot of clutter in this vast knowledge of mine. I’m sure I couldn’t make sense of it for you. I can tell you about the present, though.

Your regular host, Cecil Palmer, is off once again. Still missing. I see him on vacation. I see him dead on a train track. I see him tied up in an attic in Jersey City. I see him elected to the state Senate. I see every single possibility, however improbable. What is to be done?

Nothing. And Everything. Here, now, is Cecil, then. A classic episode from the vault. This originally aired June 13, 1999. Roll the tape.

###

CECIL: Talk to the hand. It’s lonely and needs company. Welcome to Night Vale.

Our top story today, Night Vale: I am only seconds away from winning my auction bid. Click refresh annnnd. YES! I am now the proud owner of Bear-zebub, a cute little plush bear with horns and cloven hooves and little pentacles for eyes. That’s right, I won an auction from the comfort of my own radio studio.

How is that possible, Cecil? Well, listeners, it’s possible because of the ‘Net. Yes I’ve been cybering constantly on the Internet. Maybe some of you have only dipped a toe into the shallow end of the World Wide Web, but there’s so much more to it than emailing chain letters and helping foreign princes get their fortunes back. Yes I’m on a website right now called eBay. If you’d like to see it for yourself, just log-on to cyberspace using your modem. You’ll need a service provider. I myself am a big fan of America Online. I get so excited when I enter the virtual space and I hear that famous phrase “There’s some mail for you.”

Then open up a web browser and type in “H-T-T-P colon backslash backslash W-W-W dot eBAY dot com backslash” People are selling some amazing things on there, like comic books, collectibles, potential evidence in an extortion trial, and gently used Dijon mustard.

I’m currently tracking down Beanie Babies. They’re getting pretty valuable, and since past performance is the only indicator we have for future results, I’m fairly certain these are a surefire investment. I got Bear-zebub for 225 dollars, which is 150 dollars over the current listed value, but can you imagine what this cute little guy will be worth, in, say, 2019?

I have dozens of Beanies already. Skull-amander, Knife Child, Princess Diana, Hello Kitty (the special English Patient edition), and Pig Carcass are my most valuable. While money is a big part of this hobby, I also really love these little guys. They walk around the house chattering to each other and me in a cute squeaky language I don’t understand. They dance when I play music, sometimes pushing their bodies together in ways that make me uncomfortable. They’re like cats but they never have to pee or poop, and they’re not poisonous to the touch.

So check out that awesome new page on the web I told you about. Maybe you can outbid me.

Not.

###

Let’s have a look at the community calendar.

This afternoon, Reverend Robert MacLane of the Eighth Baptist Church of Night Vale will be hosting a Stop the Youth march through downtown to protest everything that the youth are doing. Reverend MacLane said he wishes to end dancing, drinking, cursing, studying for tests, playing games on Sega Dreamcast, talking, dressing weird, and dressing normal in order to quote “psych out” older generations.

This march is open to all ages, and Rev. MacLane added he’s very hopeful to attract younger people to the event as youth attendance has been in a pretty steep downward slide at the church.

Friday night, get your pacifiers, glowsticks, and herbal ecstasy ready, because there will be a rave in the Warehouse district, featuring Night Vale’s own DJ Witch Mommy, who will bring 2 turntables and a magic wand to pump up the jam. You’ve not heard beats this good since a few weeks before you were born. Doors open at 9pm. Rave ends Monday at sunrise.

Saturday is taking a sabbatical, starting this week. So the rare eighth day of the week, Minervaday, will be filling in. Minervaday is a creative and playful day, though prone to organized warfare. Still, it hopes to live up to the very high expectations Saturday has set as America’s favorite day of the week. Saturday will return in the new year.

On Sunday, you need to call your parents, Dave. You haven’t talked to them since your birthday, and you owe them at least a thank you for the dead mouse they sent you. I know you found it disturbing, but remember, that’s just how cats show their love.

This has been the community calendar.

###

COMPUTER: [off-mic] There’s some mail for you. [note to jon: i was thinking this could be your voice a la the kleenex ad]

CECIL: Listeners you know what’s exciting? Getting an email! These days, my physical mailbox is only junk mail: like coupons and scam letters and and those form letters that say stuff like “Cecil, This is your mother. I never died. Everything you know about me is a lie. Please respond, I need your help. You are my only son.” Junk like that..

But email. That’s where the excitement is. I can’t ever imagine getting tired of waiting for an email to come in. Like this one I just received from a dear friend who writes:

“Cecil, I don’t think those are authenticated Beanie Babies you’ve been buying. The real ones don’t move around and chatter. They’re just plush animals. I’m worried about your safety. Have any of the creatures you bought tried to attack you? Are they plotting against you? Please write me back or tell me the answers on the radio.”

Signed: Middle-Aged Woman Josie

Well, Josie, that’s a concerning email you sent. I’ve not been asking for any kind of certificates to verify authenticity. Perhaps I should. I’d hate to think I’ve been spending all that money toward retirement on possessed dolls. Though, I think those carry some value of their own.

And to answer your question, I’ve felt no threat from any of my sentient plushies. I feel like we’ve bonded quite a bit. Like I said, they love to dance when I play music, so I try to play some tunes for them every night. They’re really adorable.

COMPUTER: There’s some mail for you.

CECIL: Oh! Josie wrote back. She says: “I hacked into your eBay account to see where you got them from. (You really need a better password than “ScienceSchmience,” by the way.) It looks like the seller of these fake Beanies is a single person right here in Night Vale. I’m going to investigate. More soon.”

Signed: Josie.

Well, science IS silly. I’m not sure why I should change my password just because you disagree.

Listeners, while we wait to hear back, let’s get an update on our missing persons story.

###

Sheriff Dan said Reverend Robert McLane of the Eighth Baptist Church of Night Vale is a person of interest in the ongoing investigation into several missing youth in Night Vale. The Sheriff said that Rev. MacLane is buggin’ with his perpetual vilification of the youth in Night Vale and that he should chillax.

(Fun fact listeners! Did you know that the popular slang “chillax” is a portmanteau of “chinchilla laxative,” which is a special medical treatment to help calm your digestive system. It’s not an attractive or pain-free process (for you or the chinchilla) but it does help you loosen up and unwind.)

The Sheriff and his Secret Police also learned that Eighth Baptist is neither affiliated with nor recognized by the Baptist World Alliance, due to the fact that they don't adhere to any Christian tenet.

Sheriff Dan said: “Anyone who has weird beliefs or doesn’t fit in should be harassed and investigated, because they’re probably doing something wrong, That’s called the fourth amendment, baby!”

Sheriff Dan added: “Soooooo, if anyone knows the whereabouts of Reverend MacLane, or where he lives, or even where his church is, that’d be great. We can’t find our phone book right now.”

Let me email the Sheriff to tell him about the march planned in downtown today.

COMPUTER: There’s some mail for you.

CECIL: Oh! It’s Josie again. She figured out that the person who's been selling these false collectibles is none other than DJ Witch Mommy. According to Josie, DJ Witch Mommy's popularity is due to her fly beats and dope jams, but also because it’s rumored that she uses magic to put her audience in a trance. Everyone who hears her smokin’ tunes can’t help but to bust a move.

Josie writes: “I thought maybe the DJ’s spell had an effect on these Beanies, so I drove to the warehouse district and found where she hosts her raves.

"Using my folding desktop computer and portable generator-powered modem, I hacked into the mainframe of some military communications satellites so that I could email you. Cecil, I'm in her warehouse now," Josie's email continues. "I'm opening a door to a storage room, and oh my god, Cecil, there are dozens of those Beanie Babies in here. They look like they're sleeping. Cecil this is it. DJ Witch Mommy is turning rave-lovers into… Wait. Get away from me! Stop! No! Cecil help! Help m---!”

And then Josie’s email just cuts off.

Sheriff Dan, if you’re listening, go find Middle-Aged Woman Josie in the Warehouse District and save her from that wiccan turntablist!

Listeners, if you're listening, go find out about the weather.

### WEATHER ###

DJ Witch Mommy found Josie snooping around her warehouse and confronted her. Josie exclaimed: “You’ll never get away with this, DJ Witch Mommy!”

“First off, DJ Witch Mommy is a stage name. Off the dance floor I go by Sheryl Moreno,” Sheryl Moreno explained to Josie. “My ‘magic wand’ is a rain stick with glow-in-the-dark paint and a Ring Pop taped to the end. There’s no wizardry here.”

“But you play music that puts people in a trance.”

Sheryl smiled and said, “Thank you? I mean I’m good at being a DJ. Kids love to let themselves go at a club. The drugs they take probably help that too.”

"But what about these plush toys that can talk and dance and move?" Josie asked. "How is that possible?"

Before Sheryl could answer, the door to the warehouse burst open, and Sheriff Dan and his Secret Police burst in.

“You’re under arrest for…” the Sheriff exclaimed before trailing off. He saw the two women conversing amicably.

“…. Uh-um-well-uh," he stumbled before finally asking Sheryl: "Did you attack this lady or what?”

“It’s all a misunderstanding,” Sheryl explained.

Josie was about to agree with Sheryl and be done with the whole thing when an officer looked into the side room.

“Sheriff! You gotta see this,” the officer said.

Sheryl shouted: “No! Leave them alone!”

And by “them,” Sheryl meant the dozens of sentient Beanie Babies that came walking out into the warehouse, chattering in a cute little squeaky language no one could understand.

Sheriff Dan squealed in fright and skittered back against the wall, screaming “get them away! Get them away!” But the little plush creatures showed no aggression. They only wanted to dance with each other, pressing their bodies together in ways that made everyone else uncomfortable. Still the toys were clearly not a threat.

Sheryl told Josie that these possessed Beanies kept showing up to every single dance party she threw. And then they just kept coming here even when there wasn't a rave. They were happiest when they could be where the dancing happened.

At first Sheryl just wanted to move them on to happy homes so she started selling them off as collectibles, assuming that people who spent big money would protect these little critters from all harm

But then Sheryl began to question why they existed at all. There were all these missing young people. Sheryl heard it on the news. Plus, fewer and fewer human attendees at her raves, and more and more dancing beanies. And then she put it together.

"I don't have solid proof yet," Sheryl said. "But I think Reverend MacLane has something to do with it."

As she said this laughter came from the front of the warehouse. It was Reverend Robert MacLane and his Eighth Baptist protesters carrying anti-Youth signs and flaming torches.

MacLane laughed haughtily again, like a villain in the final act of a James Bond film and said “You don’t know the half of it, child. See, we at the Eighth Baptist Church have been developing a machine that will turn young people into fully formed adults. We dream of a future with no children, no teens, not one single person with the wretched behaviors of someone under the age of 30!”

He laughed again and said: “Sadly, the machine’s not perfect yet, and our human subjects are, well… less than human now. We can't thank you enough, DJ, for being our honey pot to catch these vermin.”

“Murderer!” Sheryl cried.

“Calm down, girl,” the reverend growled. “Only the bodies were destroyed. We stored their souls for safe keeping. You're not the only one with magical powers around here."

"Y'all," Sheryl pleaded, "I'm not actually a witch. It's just a stage name."

Reverend MacLane continued: "And they're in a place you’ll never find them. Hahahahaha!”

“They're in your Beanie Baby collection,” Josie said.

“How do you know that?” the reverend snapped.

Sheryl jumped in and said: “Because they escaped and ran to me! You never counted on the power of dance, Reverend! And now you’re going to jail”

Reverend MacLane smiled and said: “Who’s gonna believe some warehouse witch over a man of the cloth, huh?

“Hey Sheriff,” Sheryl added smugly, “You catch all of that? Reverend MacLane here just confessed to some pretty awful crimes.”

Reverend Robert MacLane had not noticed the Sheriff and his Secret Police standing against the far wall of the warehouse. MacLane’s face flushed and his jaw stiffened.

Sheriff Dan looked up and said, “Oh dang. No, we were talking about the Knicks’ chances against the Spurs this week. Sorry, Reverend, can you repeat what you said?”

Reverend MacLane replied, “Oh it’s such a long story. I’d hate to bore you.”

“No worries,” said the Sheriff, and he and his men left the warehouse.

Reverend MacLane turned on Josie and Sheryl. “Where are my Beanie Babies?” he growled, threateningly.

“Right there,” Sheryl said.

MacLane turned around expecting to see his congregation standing behind him. But they weren’t there. The congregation had been knocked unconscious and piled in the store room. Standing behind MacLane now were dozens of tiny, but quite powerful plush toys… holding the church-members' torches.

“Squikka squakka” is what it sounded like the creatures said as they chased Reverend MacLane into the storage room, locking the door behind him. They let out a little "wheee" in celebration and then started grinding up against each other. (It's really weird to watch.)

Josie tells me the folks from Eighth Baptist have now been apprehended. I had my sentient Beanie Babies delivered to Sheryl Moreno, and thanks to her diligent efforts, all of the soul-stuffed toys have been re-united with their families. Sheryl even built them a special dance platform at her raves, because people kept stepping on them.

I told Josie that this was all quite an adventure for her, and she said, “Cecil, this whole case aged me more than I want to admit!”

And I said, “looks like I’m gonna have to start calling you ‘Old Woman Josie’ from now on!” We both laughed and time stood still, like a freeze frame at the end of a TV show.

Stay tuned next for a catchy theme song and a credits scroll.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

###

PROVERB: You’ll understand when you’re younger.