Гуру Песенwntv - 40 - The Deft Bowman | Текст песни
Welcome to Night Vale.
In response to our town’s steadily-declining tourism industry, the Night Vale Tourism Board addressed our town’s complete lack of appealing destinations – like uncensored art museums, hotels with door locks, and snake-free restaurants. NVTB Executive Director Madeline LeFleur said some travelers think they need to “see things, like monuments, or the majesty of nature, or spectacular musicals, or eat regional/cultural foods in order to have a good time on vacation. But they don’t!”
“You don’t need attractions to have a good time!” she added. “Just use your imagination! In fact, come to Night Vale, where ‘we will show you fun in a handful of dust,’ as the new NVTB slogan says!”
LeFleur then became transfixed by the midday sun. “There it is again!” she whispered to a confused crowd. “It’s beautiful! So beautiful! Why do you think it keeps circling back like that?”
Good news, listeners! The telephone service has finally fixed the telephone booth behind the Taco Bell! The telephone that was always ringing and never had a dial tone? You know the one. When you picked it up it clicked, and hissed, and sometimes played notes that seemed to come from a music box. You did not recognize the tune, but…it was familiar, as if from another time and place.
Since no one uses telephone booths anymore, I’m not entirely sure why they did this, but the telephone booth is working!
The telephone service dispatched a crew of men who would not be missed. They wore wooden suits, climbed up the nearby pole, and clattered around like so many bamboo wind chimes filled with hamburger. After several hours, they climbed down, furtively smoking cigarettes, and departed in their unmarked black van, removing the OUT OF ORDER sign from the booth shortly before leaving.
Some say they’ve seen strangers of varying heights and aura magnitudes speaking into the telephone in a hushed tone, in words that might have been Russian, staring at the horizon with cold determination. And as the strangers all departed quickly, all in separate pedicabs, witnesses reported a detached human hand crawling up the inside of the booth.
Was this lone visitor to the phone booth the young Megan Wallaby? Megan was born as a detached hand of an adult man, so…it seems like this was probably she who slowly, but desperately, picked up the telephone as the sun began to set. We may never know for certain, but at least we know the telephone you’ll never bother to use is working again.
Ah! Speaking of telecommunication, listeners, I’ve been receiving some odd text messages. My phone claims they are from former intern Dana, who was trapped in the Forbidden Dog Park several months ago and is now traversing an unknown plane of space and/or time.
Here are some recent texts from her:
Found a mountain. Mountain’s not real? Huh!
Log those!
Dang it, lighthouse!
Sorry, stupid autocorrect.
There’s a lighthouse up on the mountain, and atop the lighthouse a blinking red light.
And then no more texts. And it’s been several days. I tried texting back but my touch screen just displayed a photograph of my face that began to slowly rot, the eyes deepening until they were sunken holes, long white hair growing rapidly, insects crawling from my slackened, decayed maw, and then the words “UNDELIVERED TEXT” in all caps below it.
I decided…maybe this conversation was one not meant to be.
More good news, listeners! A submarine has arrived from Nulogorsk, a tiny fishing village in Russia. Nulogorsk was a long-time sister city of Night Vale. We shared pen pal letters and gifts for many years. But, beginning in 1983, Nulogorsk stopped changing the dates on their letters. By 1997, it became apparent that Nulogorsk would ne
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