Welcome to Night Vale by Joseph Fink

want you to take care of your migraines.”
    Diane had never had migraines and wasn’t sure what Catharine was talking about. She thought that perhaps it was a different day than she thought it was, or that Catharine was not her boss but another person wearing a mask. Nothing seemed right.
    â€œI will. I’ll take care of . . . them. And I’ll talk to Dawn.”
    â€œWonderful.” Catharine turned her chair back toward Diane again. “And, Diane.”
    Diane, standing to leave, paused.
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œNo. Thank you, Catharine. Thanks for the . . . thanks for being patient. I was confused.”
    â€œYou are welcome.” Catharine’s fingers were together again, fitting neatly into the cleared triangle of her desk.
    The tarantula had reached the armrest and was just dragging its brown bulk onto the desk. It pulled itself next to a photo of a young Catharine and a younger boy.
    â€œCatharine, can I ask an unrelated question?”
    â€œAny time, Diane.”
    â€œWhat is her name?” Diane asked, pointing to the spider.
    â€œWhose name?”
    â€œOr his. I apologize. I shouldn’t assume gender.”
    â€œAh. Of course. This is a he,” Catharine said with a rigid smile, reaching her hand out in the direction of the tarantula. The tarantula stopped. It seemed to stare at Catharine’s hand. Or it could have just sensed motion above it and frozen.
    Tarantulas are simple creatures, Diane thought, not knowing where the thought came from.
    Catharine’s hand wrapped around the side of the picture of her and the boy. The tarantula brushed one leg against Catharine’s middle finger. She felt it but did not know what the feeling was and thus, like most things she does not understand, she ignored it.
    â€œThis is a photo of me with my son, Kim.”
    It took Diane a moment to connect her mental narrative with the visible reality. But when she processed that Catharine was talking about the photo of the boy and not the tarantula, she understood clearly.
    â€œI understand clearly,” Diane said.
    â€œWhat a weird response.”
    â€œHe’s beautiful, I meant. I meant you are both beautiful in that photo.”
    â€œWe were younger in that photo. There are other photos where we are older.”
    â€œTime.” Diane guffawed.
    Catharine reciprocated. “Right? What is time even?”
    Catharine took her hand away from the photo frame. The tarantula set its foot back on the desk. Diane completed her movement to stand up.
    â€œGo talk to Dawn.”
    â€œI will.”
    Catharine turned back to her computer knowing she had reports to write.
    Diane left Catharine’s office knowing she needed to talk to Dawn.
    The tarantula stared at the ceiling not knowing at all what a ceiling is.

THE VOICE OF NIGHT VALE
    CECIL: . . . which implied a lot while saying little. Indeed the same could be said for the rest of the planets in the solar system. None of them commented.
    Our town is once again facing a serious tarantula problem. The Night Vale Unified School District indicated that fewer than one in five tarantulas graduate from high school. Indeed, most spiders never even enroll in public education, choosing to instead spin webs and eat smaller insects.
    Tarantulas are simple creatures, thought PTA Treasurer Diane Crayton today, without ever voicing that sentence aloud to anyone, according to several reliable and invasive spy satellites that were scanning her brain at the time.
    We reached out to the tarantula community for a response to Diane’s privately held opinion, and were immediately crawled upon by several of them. I think they are gone, but I am feeling a vague tickling on my back that I am afraid to investigate.
    Maybe I’m developing migraines. I should ask Carlos about that.
    Listeners, the Sheriff’s Secret Police are out in large numbers tonight in Night Vale. They are not looking for a killer or a missing person.