An excerpt from the audiobook of the second Welcome to Night Vale novel, IT DEVOURS!, narrated by Cecil Baldwin. Coming Oct 17, 2017.
IT DEVOURS! is available now for presale (signed first editions available): welcometonightvale.com, click on books.
"Ghost Stories" now available on iTunes and Bandcamp https://nightvale.bandcamp.com/album/ghost-stories-live
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Music: Disparition, disparition.info.
Logo: Rob Wilson, robwilsonwork.com.
Produced by Night Vale Presents. Written by Joseph Fink & Jeffrey Cranor. Narrated by Cecil Baldwin. More Info: welcometonightvale.com, and follow @NightValeRadio on Twitter or Facebook.
This is an unofficial transcript meant for reference. Accuracy is not guaranteed.
Hello from the night fell hiatus in which we still release stuff. Today we have something very special for you, this October toper seventeenth, we are so excited to be releasing. The second welcome to night fell novel entitled it devours. This is an entire
early stand alone book. So you don't need to have read the first one or be caught up in the pot cast to enjoy it. It is a page turning
they are full of romance and questions about the coexistence of science, religion and
pre orders are available now, including a limited number of signed additions and trade secret. Pre orders really help authors
If you're planning on getting this book, please consider pre ordering it now just like last time. There will also
be a fool audio book narrated by Seesaw Baldwin himself, and today we present an excerpt from that audio book and now from it devours one.
Not everyone believes in mountains, yet there they are in plain sight.
Scientists insist rather half heartedly that mountains are the bulging results of tectonic shifts along massive rocky plates. Mountains,
Philip, naturally, over the course of many millennia scientists say under their breaths most.
People believe that mountains aren't there at all, even when mountains are visible, as they often are.
Non believers will explain that our minds
Eight sensory illusions to help explain what we cannot understand, like the shapes of gods and monsters in the stars or messages in tea leaves or government codes in cloud path,
earns mountains real or not ring
This desert, like the rim of an empty dinner plate scattered, sparsely along the flat middle,
Our small towns, with names like Red, Mesa, pine, cliff and right in the center night veil above night veil.
Or helicopters protecting citizens from themselves and others above the helicopters are stars which are completely meaningless.
About the stars is the void which is completely meaningful. Through this crowded sky, mysterious lights often pass. These are just alien spacecraft,
or the oars left by, inter dimensional travellers, but these simple
explanations are boring, the people of night veil often come up with
labyrinth stories to explain the lights to themselves. The sky. Once
the certain rock but millennia
of erosion transform the rock to dust, the sky,
not understanding steel signals for its friend who abandoned it. The rock never knew about the sky,
the rock only loved the wind that was slowly eroding it so
times. It's ok, to find something beautiful. Without correctly understanding it.
In the center of night veil, like in many cities, is its downtown with the EU.
She will things: downtown has City hall, community,
radio station, who did figures alive,
hurry a shimmering, vortex, blocked off with yellow police tape, dangerous
gray, dogs and propaganda loudspeakers on every corner beyond downtown is old town
night veil, a residential and shopping area planned and developed during the booming economy of the early nineteenth thirties. After the war, the neighbourhood fell into disrepair, but
recent years it has seen a regeneration of homeowners, neighbourhood shops, tall metal, trees and predatory cats beyond old town night veil on the sand, wastes
shore exactly. What do you think they are and beyond the sand? Wastes are the scrub lands which are sort of what you think they are.
And beyond the scrub lands is the used car lot and
old woman, Josie S House and finally, out on the edge of town, the House of Larry Leroy.
Larry had lived by himself for as long as he could remember, he owned a phone which was broken and a car which sat Willis, atop four blocks of concrete out back here
under the car he had an underground shed full of canned goods and bottled water and a years worth of pork sausage preserved in animal fat. He used to have a shotgun, but he traded it for the car without we,
hills figuring. A car without wheels was safer than a shotgun. Despite
the friendly reminders from the night Veil chapter of the National Rifle Association guns, don't kill people gun
so the new kale guns are
healthy, is all get out. Larry never felt safe. Around guns
When he was in his early twenties, Larry's father took him hunting. He didn't like his father. He didn't hate him either.
Once when Larry reached into the back of his dad's pick up to grab the shot gun, a scorpion rest
on the barrel, headstone Larry's hand. He had distrusted guns ever since these
is Larry actually liked scorpions. After all, they squirrels, which he really hated. He rarely
paid much attention to the illogical way which the human mind develop certain phobias this evening,
He bent over the shoe box on his desk. He was carefully pasting. A tiny brown mustache he'd made from a sliver of tree bark to a tie
W e b to boys is face. He still needed to build these
arm mounted Laser Canada. Boys was known for Larry
what sounded like the small clause of squirrels running around in his basement, and he hoped the scorpions were hungry. He turned his attention to his miniature version of the five had a dragon named Rachel Mcdaniel that two boys, often road when speaking debate,
spoke from a place of moral and physical authority to be intellectuals and politicians who stood in the way of equal rights for black Americans. He also spoke from the back of a flying dragon
Larry was building a dire Rama. Celebrating the boys is famous defeat of the german army in nineteen fifteen depicting him
Rachel in their library, high fighting above a copy of the declaration of Surrender, Larry adored this war hero and great orator of civil rights. He enshrined two boys in fine detail.
Ill in the Cardboard Shoebox Larry's family never cared much for history, often telling him. History didn't exist because it was no longer happening. The moment anything occurred, they would say every night at dinner. It was gone relegated to the fiction of memory. They would say that with their heads bowed and then they would begin eating. Perhaps he had
in a rebellious youth, or perhaps he just wanted to explore the often wondrous, often tragic, myth of human history, Larry adored his heroes, w e b to boys, Helen Keller, Red Fox, Luis Valdez Tony Morrison. He believe
if it was his responsibility to help carry on their legacy by enshrining their great stories in deeds so that they still felt present in the present history is real, regardless of truth. Larry often said not with words, but with his actions, tiny clothing, facial hair paint.
Set models, most pieces, no bigger than any one of Larry's fingers. They took a steady, I a steady hand. Unlike most men, he had grown more steady as he aged more dexterous in his lack of speed,
He expertly placed the boys, his moustache, below the great intellectuals knows and set the tweezers down to begin working on the dire Romas library backdrop,
Larry heard a worrying hum. He felt it. Throughout his body there were undulations in the waves of the noise, smooth
ups and downs, easily lulling the subconscious mind of a man hard at work, the troughs and
arrests of sounds accelerated.
Soon going from steady all to a bumpy roar. The metal plates and cops in his hand, built kitchen were the first to start rattling, followed by the creaking of the roof against the metal trusses. He glanced at the earthquake calendar tact to his wall agents from a vague, yet men
sing. Government agency delivered these calendars each month sliding Manila Envelope under the door in the middle of the night. According to the calendar, there was no earthquake scheduled for today. He looked down at W e b D boys and Rachel Mc Daniels in their vast
academic library, a drop of Larry, sweat the size,
glued spines. His head landed on sweat back even the paint and knocking off the freshly glued spines Larry wiped his brow. He didn't sweat, often even in the desert heat. It's a dry heat people from the desert, often say to others trying to disguise the fact that from kidding themselves, but the heat today was unusual. He felt it not from the air
but from below his boots and not the heat of the sun, but of friction. The sand underneath his plywood floor burned like two worlds, rubbing together.
Sleeveless brown undershirt was drenched dark down its sides. He heard the crash of metal plates and cups,
going out of the door. This cabinets, the ground his house
His whole self shook. It was not the soft
wobbling slide of a government run earthquake. This felt like being punched from below the desert, was being poor
did by a giant subterranean fist. Ass, he stood and staff.
Into the living room. There was another hard thump and shake of his house. Larry tripped forward face first into the frame around his open front door. He wasn't afraid, but
for his day aromas. He knew one day. There would be an end to all of this and long,
before that there would be an end to Larry. He was not so arrogant as to refer to his own death as the end, just one of billions of ends before the end. Death is only the end. If you assume the story is about you, he knew one day he would be found deceased.
Please home out on the edge of town. He was unbarred by this. He may not have had children, but the legacy provided by children is limited. Few people know the details of their family past their great grandparents and many people dont even
number that generation two generations of memory is all that children provide, and then everyone is forgotten, but
he would leave behind stacks of writing, die aromas and patchwork quilt. He had a hand made history, his attempt to offer immortality to his heroes and perhaps extend his
own story is well instead of a brief obituary in the night veiled Daily Journal, he wanted his death to
the story of the discovery of his great collection. The work of his then finished life.
He had already written letters for Sarah Sultan. President of the night veiled community college instruct
to donate his die Ramos to the schools, art Department, Leonhard, editor of the Daily Journal and Cecil polymer host of the community radio station and arbitrary. He had written for himself
and also ones for Liane Aunt, Cecil and Michel win owner of dark our records, who would no doubt be pleased to inherit Larry's vast collection of poker music written performed, an recorded himself using
Concertina and Micro. Cosette. Recorder, Michel loathe any music popular enough to have been heard by more than her and the dark, Allison
so Larry's tunes would be welcome. According to his will, the letters were to be
livered and his belongings distributed accordingly, his artistic and
academic endeavours were his children, a legacy
I would hope fully last for much longer than two forgetful human generations. He
feel the bruise beginning to form on his cheek from where he ran into the door frame. He turned back into the house. The pounding from below was bringing down his kitchen and living room.
He watched as the walls and ceiling collapsed and twisted into dust and scrap pages of his books and personal writing scattered up toward the helicopters
stars above and fluttered lazily in the wind, like on motivated pigeons, lurching foe
arm straight out using the walls for balance. He rounded the corner back into his art studio, his the boys.
Daniels die, Rama was slightly damaged, but recoverable. He picked it up. The
all of other directives was still there decades of meticulous work and loving craftsmanship. His pride and prejudice dire Rama, which had been his fur
still showed the inconsistency of a neo fight, but also the bravery of a young artist.
Elizabeth Bennet sword was soaked with blood. Larry had used his own
and for her eyes he had used polished onyx from where were you
stood in the room, Bennet appeared,
staring you down with a passion and vengeful miss this dangerous literary village was known for he set the table
his box down on the work table and walked toward his
all of directives. The long plexiglas windows were secured and locked over the displays the thumping floor, jostled him violently. He
a debate on each shelf, seeing there were safe but needing to touch them all to believe it crack
the floorboard below Larry split. He lost his balance but regained it.
It's the support column next to the shelves. Another loud dump and half the work table buckled into a single growing in the floor
He saw the boys as box sliding down toward the opening. He jumped. He rarely jumped or did anything quickly, but now he did both. He grabbed the box, then,
having with his right foot onto the sinking table, he pushed off hurling him
of uncontrolled into the far wall but managed
to cradle the dire Rama of his favorite orator securely to his chest. It was signed
for a long moment just Larry breathing. He heard a drop of sweat tap the floor below him. The earth was hot. His feet were beginning to cramp his
and was light. He took the boys outside and set the box gently on the ground safely away from the shaking building,
He grabbed his wheelbarrow out of the ditch and raced back into the collapsing house. He tossed any important documents he could find
along with his letters to the people of night, fail into the wheelbarrow. He grabbed the poems and plays he had written. He rushed back
to his studio, his arm straining wheelbarrow already half full. He said
This dialogue is carefully atop one another in the wheelbarrow his life's work, a delicate pyramid of paint, plastic and paper
He heard the ceiling Creek he placed Jane
since masterpiece, on top of the others in the wheelbarrow, as he did allowed pop and a harsh crunch
his ears were ringing immediately. He fell, or rather
slid to his knees the floor buckled. The empty shelves collapsed,
glanced down into the hole he saw dirt and wood and plexiglas falling falling
hitting nothing in there
whole. He saw a deep endless, nothing. The floor tore away.
The wood bending down into the whole below he struggled to keep his boots grip on the steeply angled floor
he gave the wheelbarrow a strong push, knowing if he didn't make it had at least give the dire Romas a fighting chance. The cart lurched a couple of feet and
began rolling back toward him. The pyramid,
If his life's work quivered on the verge
you have tumbling. His boots were sliding
Larry gave one more great shove with his calves. His knees unbent his body thrust. Aport, he pushed up the sloping floor.
Straining but eventually gaining traction and then momentum. He rolled his cart off the top edge of the pit leaping
from a ramp into the living room away from the growing whole. Behind him he turned the corner and ran out the front door as daylight dwindled slow
the across the desert, Larry emerged onto the patio out toward the sunset away
the collapsing home and toward a collapsing earth. The frontline mere
apple dirt and leafless. Shrubs was gone. Everything up to the ditch was an empty pit. The earth before him was completely gone and with it w e b d boys and.
Rachel Miss Daniels, Larry, barely had time to process what had happened when there came one more thump, he didn't know it yet, but it would be the last and the most terrible
the front few steps gave way to an implosion of sand, his palms burned as the wood
and those of the wheelbarrow were wrenched from his hands Elizabeth. Then it's
eyes flashed and angry oranges. She fell along with the other, enshrined heroes into oblivion. He watched everything that proved he ever had existed, fall into the nothing below.
Behind him. He heard the remainder of his house collapse into the pit as well. He stood on
patch of wood in an open door frame, is surrounded by a growing gaping, nothing he stared at the earth
dropping a way around him. He stared at
the stars and the void which were falling upward away from him
as the ground under his feet, dropped away ass. He started his fall toward the deep nothing below Larry did
to believe what he was saying. Of course, he didn't believe mountains were real either, yet there they were in plain sight, if only for a few seconds more hello again, that was an excerpt from the novel it devours, which is out on October, seventeenth and is available for pre order. Right now,
Regular welcome tonight feel episodes resume on August. First, plus, we have a very exciting new show that is joining the night fell, presents family around that same time, so keep an eye out for that. Thanks for listening have a good summer or winter. If you're in that part of the world.
Transcript generated on 2020-02-15.