Chapter Text
For all intensive purposes, Mike was going to Florida. He had all of his things packed up in his terrible, old car, and he had enough money saved up from his years of responsible money management. Getting out of Derry was like a breath of fresh air. Scratch that, it was like jumping into cold, perfect water, with friends all surrounding you. Oh, not a very good metaphor, was it?
Mike felt pretty good, intensive purposes aside (go away, intensive purposes, you are not welcomed here). He knew he was lucky to be on this Earth today, unlike two of his best friends. He knew he was probably better off than Richie, that poor son of a bitch. Mike couldn't imagine what he would do if he had lost someone as important as Eddie was to Richie. Intensive purposes now returning, Mike couldn't say that he had loved someone that much before.
His road trip to “Florida” was filled with thoughts like that. He was mourning over the loss of his friends, and mourning over their sadness and grief. He was mourning over Bill, and his charming and flirty tones over the phone, even though it was evident that he still had a wife. But most of all, he was mourning over the past. The past where Stan and Eddie were just kids, the past where they were still alive.
And all of a sudden, and somehow over the span of what could be one thousand years, Mike was not on his way to Florida. Instead, he was in a desert, and the radio he had once been listening to was buzzing with static that he did not like at all. Most people didn't like static noises, though, so Mike was not special there.
Mike lived in Derry for all of his life, so static was something that didn’t spook him (if clowns could move through static, that would be a different story). If he hadn’t lived in Derry, though, he would probably be sobbing in fear for an unknown reason. After all, one might not hear the words that are being spoken, but that does not mean that terror can’t travel through radio waves.
As he drove on that barren stretch of road, the feeling of unease and excitement grew in him. Mike had not yet noticed the sudden change in location, from green grass to desert. How could he? Could he notice through his eyes? No, of course not. It would be stupid to look through your “eyes”.
Tired of the silence, the “eyes”, and the growing feeling of unease and excitement, Mike messed with the dials on his radio, hoping for a song that could drown out everything in his brain.
He did not find that. Instead, he found a man. He found a man speaking. He found a man reporting. So Mike listened.
“ As he drove on that barren stretch of road, the feeling of unease and excitement grew in him. Mike had not yet noticed the sudden change in location, from green grass to desert. How could he? Could he notice through his eyes? No, of course not. It would be stupid to look through your ‘eyes’.”
Mike chuckled to himself. Another weird broadcast from a weird small town he would be passing through on his way to Florida, the sunshine state, where he was definitely driving towards at this very moment.
“Do not trust your eyes, listeners. They show you things that you don’t want to see. They show you existence. They show you pain. They show you...sight.”
Mike had to admit that this was getting a bit too weird for his taste. He moved his hand over the dial, but it did not touch. Something was stopping him. Like an invisible hand holding his own, telling him not to change the radio frequency.
“That has been a word from our sponsor, Optical Nerve. Continuing where we left off, a broadcast you most definitely heard, the Library is hiring a Librarian.”
Mike couldn’t help but feel intrigued. This deep voiced fellow on the radio seemed like he was trustworthy and kind. It seemed like he could lead Mike into certain death and void, yet he’d still be okay with this.
“Not like those awful creatures who haunt the Library, but an actual Librarian. I hadn’t even heard of a Librarian until a few days ago, when Carlos, my wonderful, heroic, scientist boyfriend trapped in the desert otherworld told me about it for the first time ever!”
There were many things that Mike didn’t fully understand from what had just been said, but he felt that if he continued to listen, he’d get an answer.
“ We were having our nightly call, and I said, ‘Carlos, the Library is hiring Librarians. What is your scientific take on that?’ Carlos was less than pleased, as everyone should be, until I read aloud what the ad specifically said. Then, he sounded relieved. ‘Cecil,’ He said. He said it like, ‘Cecil’. No, not like, ‘Cecil’ , ‘Cecil’. Yes, like that. He said, ‘Cecil, they are asking for a normal, non threatening human or nonhuman to help out with organizing the library. Honey, this is good news! This means that the Library could be an actual Library!’ I, for one, was just excited to tell you this, listeners. I have yet to discover what an actual Library is, but I bet it is magnificent. Still I wonder, which is something I do often, who exactly will fill in this role? Will it perhaps be one of the many Night Vale citizens who live in this wonderful town, or an interloper who has just come from a far and terrible place. I have no idea, but now, I will take you to The Weather.”
Mike listened to the music, The Weather, and in the distance, he saw a terrifying radio tower, and an equally terrifying water tower. He saw homes and buildings, he saw schools and houses that may or may not exist. He saw a large wall surrounding a bad park, and a large, glowing cloud (all hail). He felt the lingering effects of time from the sand strewn about from his fast car, and he felt...he felt something he never should have felt again.
He felt the pull of another creature. The reality changing properties of a creature he thought he had killed. With the news about the Library, and Mike now suddenly noticing that he was not on his way to Florida anymore, he decided to do what he did best. He decided to stick around and figure this out.
As The Weather played softly on the radio, Mike turned down a road that led to the town. And somewhere, in a recording booth, or in an old woman’s home, or in the hovering offices of the Sheriff's Secret Police, people smiled a smile that could have been good, bad, or both.
Welcome to Night Vale, Mike. Welcome to Night Vale.