Joseph Fink - Welcome to Night Vale

It sat on a stretch of the 101 freeway between a town called Greenfield and a state wildlife area. This stretch of the 101 was not interesting to anyone. Citizens of King City would dispute this, because they had been born there, or had fallen in love or had gone south of the law or gone above expectations, had lived full lives along that stretch of freeway. But for most anyone else driving past on their way north or south it was nothing and then a town and then not a whole lot more.

The mayor of that town was a young, energetic man, with a wife and a daughter and a house. There were people he loved and things he owned. There were also people he did not love and things he did not own. He lived a full life.

Not long after he was elected, a new man arrived in town. People arrived in town all the time. It wasn’t that distant from other places, and it was along a major thoroughfare. There was a Taco Bell where people could pee. There was a gas station where people could pee. There were all sorts of things. The mayor was proud of his town.

But the stranger wasn’t passing through. He was coming to live. He said he came from a town, not that far away, or possibly quite far away. He wasn’t sure.

“Distance is confusing,” the stranger would tell people, anyone who would listen. “So is time.”

He would shake his head and invite them to join him in considering the folly of space and time.

This was not why he was noticed.

Why he was noticed was that he was very helpful. As it turned out, he was that rare combination of nice and competent. There didn’t seem to be a lot he couldn’t do.

Car troubles? Sure, I know a thing or two about engines. Nothing much, but I can take a look. And the car would be running in no time.

Bill troubles? Actually, I know a bit about the law on that stuff. Let me just talk to them for a second, see if there’s anything I can work out. And the bill collectors would never call again.

Broken heart? Buddy, you don’t know how much experience I have in that area. Let me buy you a drink and we’ll talk about it. And while alcohol never fixed the problem, it certainly made the person feel better for the time that the conversation lasted.

Everyone in town grew to like him very much.

“That Troy,” said Ynez, an older retired woman who worked weeknights at the music shop. “He is a helpful one, though, isn’t he?”

“Sure is,” said the mayor. He was wearing a tan jacket. The mayor sometimes wore a tan jacket, but often did not.

Then the trouble started.

It began with Troy being helpful. He was carrying groceries for an old man who possibly could have carried the groceries himself, but it had been a long day, and he was tired, and if Troy wanted to carry them then he would let Troy do that.

As they walked out through the parking lot, the old man and Troy passed another Troy who was jump-starting a worried teenager’s car. The teenager hadn’t been allowed to take the car, and now she couldn’t get it to start, and she was worried about her parents coming home to both her and the car missing.

“They’re going to call the cops,” she was saying, aloud but to herself. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

Troy had hooked the cables to his battery and was in the process of hooking up the other side to her car when Troy walked by with the old man and his groceries.

“Hello,” said Troy.

“Oh, hi there,” said the other Troy.

The old man and the teenager gaped at the Troys and at each other. Troy kept carrying the groceries and hooking up the jumper cables. He turned and looked back at the old man, who had stopped walking.

“What’s wrong?” Troy asked.

And with that, Troy started to multiply. First a little, and then more than a little. He was everywhere. He was competent, and friendly, and helpful, and there were so many of him.

The citizens of King City had no idea what to do. They looked to their mayor for guidance. Their mayor had no idea what to do.

He put on his tan jacket, because it happened to be chilly that day, and he went to visit Troy. Or one of the Troys. The one he thought was the original, although it was difficult to tell at that point.

Troy smiled when he opened his door.

“Oh hey,” Troy said, lounging back in toward his living room. “Come on in, man. Do you want something to drink? Water? A beer?”

“No, that’s okay,” said the mayor. “Listen, Troy, I have some questions.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Troy, where did you come from, exactly?”

Troy frowned.

“Place called Night Vale. Great town. Grew up there. Never actually lived anywhere else. But got a lot of heartbreak back there. Lot of bummer life decisions. King City is nice. Plus I feel like I’m doing real good here. Hey, speaking of which, anything you need to get done? I’m feeling productive today.”

“No, Troy. Thank you.” The mayor sat uncomfortably in a comfortable chair. “Troy, there are more of you.”

“Yeah,” said Troy.

“There are lots of yous. There are multiple Troys.”

“Well, sure,” said Troy. “I think we’re all being pretty helpful though, right? Listen, if any of them aren’t helpful, you come talk to me. I’ll set myself right.”

“Helpfulness is not the problem, Troy. The problem is that people do not multiply. There is never suddenly more of a person.”

“Of course there is. Look at me.” He frowned again. “I dunno. Where I’m from, you just kind of roll with things. I guess I assumed this place would be like that too.”

“We like you, Troy,” said the mayor in the tan jacket. “But we’re confused.”

“Oh, hey, I like you all too.” Troy got up. The mayor got up too. “This is a great town you have, and I’m going to keep doing my best to make it better.” He started to guide the mayor out the door. “Thanks so much for coming by. Feel free to come by anytime if you have something needs doing or if you just want to talk. I love talking.”

The mayor left the house, feeling uneasy and like he had not accomplished anything at all.

The Troys continued to multiply. Soon there were entire neighborhoods full of them, smiling and waving and offering to help each other out.

The other people in King City changed too. They became forgetful. They found they were talking less to people that did not live in King City. They would get calls from their mother, telling them that they hadn’t called her in so long, and they would realize that until the moment she called, they had forgotten that they had a mother.

It wasn’t just their memory. There was something happening physically. They were finding it harder and harder to leave town. They would try to do just a quick twenty-minute drive out of city limits and find that all the roads led back to town, that the sky for a moment looked like video static or maybe just a lot of stars, more stars than anyone had ever seen, but either is strange in the middle of the day, right? The 101, so closely tied to the life of the town, became impossible to reach. There didn’t seem to be any entrances, and no matter where they drove, it didn’t seem to get any closer. Soon they couldn’t even hear it, as close as it was. Silence descended on their town.

And the Troys continued to multiply. The mayor tried to warn the town about Troy, but no one could hold that thought in their minds long enough to do anything about it.

“We need a mayor,” they would say. “A mayor would be able to lead, would know what to do,” and then they would discover that they had a mayor but had forgotten about him. And then they would forget that they had discovered that.

The man who happened to be mayor the day that Troy came to town felt these changes too. He went home less and less. Sometimes he would forget where his home was, and even when he did go home, his wife and daughter and he would all stare at each other with wide, blank eyes, unsure of who any of them were, terrified of the strangers in their home.