Holidays in Night Vale [Welcome to Night Vale]

Chapter Three

Cecil's POV

The phone clicks and goes dead. I'm nervous for Carlos - we aren't equipped for snow. He's a scientist, so he'll probably be fine.

I pace the room I'm in, carefully examining all of our decorations. Carlos and I both incorporated our traditions.

Carlos helped me put some skulls, bones, and viscera around the studio. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, but he helped me with a smile. Then he showed me how to get all of the spiders out of mistletoe. A bit odd, but it puts us at ease. He also brought in a pine tree and put little knicknacks and ornaments on it. I helped a bit, placing small bones and a teeth necklace that Old Woman Josie gave to me onto the tree excitedly.

The studio is cheery and festive, looking much brighter than it usually does. Carlos brings this out in me - he makes me brighter, happier, and I love it. I don't know if I've changed him, but either way, I'm grateful.

There's an eerie quiet in the station, and ever second that elapses brings about another weight, a pressured feeling upon me. Carlos should've been back by now. He's usually quick - I guess that the snow has slowed him down. It still puts me in a state of unease.

As I'm waiting, I head into the station that I usually broadcast from, straightening my skulls and mugs on the desk. Post-It notes line the table, some with writing depicting what to say on my next show. Others have little notes from Carlos scribbled on them - what to buy, little encouragements, and a few odd words for himself. A couple notes were blank or possibly written in invisible ink.

Some are written in actual pen or pencil, but only during the select times when they are allowed. Others are written in many different liquids, sometimes using our fingernails or toenails to write them out. Some look like they're written just in paint or regular ink, some in drinks or blood.

I read over the notes, smiling to myself, especially at Carlos's scribbly, drawling handwriting. I can hear his voice in the short notes, creamy and warm in my ear. Thinking about this worries about me and I put down the note in my hand shakily.

The station's phone rings now, and I run to it, expecting it to be Carlos. I pick it up and am greeted with heavy, deep breathing - the City Council.

"Hello?" I state, trying to stabilize my voice. It still comes out in a shaky whisper, quiet. I clear my throat and demand, "Who is there?" It's still quiet, but louder and less trembly.

The breathing stops for a second, followed by a long screech, and I pull the receiver away from my ear while it goes on. I hear it stop and place the cold plastic back on my face, listening intently.

The single screech can only mean one thing - there's been an accident somewhere. I wonder where, wishing I could report on it. I don't have any information, however, and the radio signal is probably down. I pick up a Post-it note that's presumably blank, hoping that it didn't have any invisible ink on it, and write down "Accident during snowstorm" quickly. The dial tone reverberates in my ear and I know the Council has hung up.

I wonder who might've been in an accident. I hope it wasn't too destructive, too violent - the residents will never learn to appreciate snow. Snow is a rarity in Night Vale, and having it can be a treat or a curse. I desperately want it to be a treat this time around, so if the Council ever decides to do it again, the citizens may be excited instead of scared.

Windows frosted slightly, I peer out at the white blanket now settling on the soft sand of the desert we call home. What a different experience, something that I will cherish, but I only regret not being prepared. Carlos is so excited to research and study this phenomenon, like it's completely preposterous. Where he's from, maybe deserts never get snow. This is rare indeed, but it's probably happened before.

Then I feel a pang in my chest - Carlos. What if it was him in the accident? I doubt it. My mind is playing tricks on me.

Carlos is smart. He uses his brain. But he was so excited to see the snow, so excited to have something new to study. It could've been--

I stop myself from thinking these terrible thoughts. An accident is bad enough. Maybe I should go investigate - I might be able to help the citizen who got into a tragic situation.

I grab my scarf - the purple one with the eyes all over it that match my tattoos - and pull on my jacket. It's not very big, but I grab a blanket and wrap it around me. Then I open the door to the station, a large gust of wind storming in. I shut the door behind me and start to walk, looking down at the precise footprints that my shoes make in the snow. It is already deep, maybe an inch or two, and it doesn't show any signs of stopping any time soon.

I have to go help. Now.