Episode 1.10: Perchance to Dream
Written & Produced by Rae Lundberg
Content Warnings (Click to expand)
Insomnia, illness, discussion of substance abuse, loud noises
NICHOLAS: (as the intro plays) At the edge of Gilt City, long-dead stars flicker in the black like lightning bugs, and all await the arrival of the Night Post. [A FAUCET RUNS. VAL SPLASHES WATER ON HER FACE.] VAL: Is this what I look like? Like a haunted doll with acne scars and a rat’s nest for hair. This is why I don’t go out in daylight. [PHONE RINGS NEARBY.] VAL: (sigh) What’s this now? [RING INTERRUPTED AS VAL ANSWERS.] VAL: Yeah? ... Oh, Milo, hey. ... Kind of terrible, how about you? … No, me either. Not since-- … In that truck? I doubt it. … Yeah, would you? She usually parks at that abandoned skating rink near the station. … Mm-hm. See you soon. … All right, soon-ish. [A CLICK, VAL SETS THE PHONE DOWN.] VAL: Who knows how long that’ll be. (shuffling papers) Guess I haven’t looked at my own mail in a while. Didn’t I just pay these bills last month? And this...isn’t mine. It’s not getting fixed tonight, at any rate, so I might as well. [VAL TEARS OPEN THE ENVELOPE AND REMOVES THE LETTER.] VAL: (reading) Dear Ms. Morstan, Thank you for the lovely chat at my shop yesterday. I do hope you’ve had some rest since then. After thinking on it last night, I felt I should write to advise you about the herbal remedy you purchased. I tried to be clear about the potential side effects when we spoke, but you were understandably a little distracted, and I find an overabundance of caution is preferable in these matters. Firstly, always brew it in milk, not water. Milk is necessary as a binding agent, and this root can be very unpredictable when unbound. You may add a bit of honey for taste, if you wish, but not too much--some of the beekeepers around here have unusual practices, to say the least, and I can’t account for how that might affect the tincture. Secondly, and I can’t overstate the importance, do not exceed the proper dose--grind two stems only and brew immediately, just like I showed you. Valerian root, as you’re likely aware, has been used as a sleep aid for centuries, but many herbalists in the local tradition cultivate it for other purposes. Healers of the Skelter know it as “the memory root” or “the lifeline.” As the valerian plant stretches its roots into the soil, it absorbs whatever it can find there--not just water and nutrients, but the history of that soil, the very memories of the land. I’m not sure whether this curious property is unique to the valerian of this area; in fact, I have my doubts whether the plant is native to the Skelter’s ecosystem at all. Some researchers theorize that the once-toxic marshes, now largely replaced by porous but highly-metallic soil, may have something to do with it...but I’m getting away from my point. [A MELODIC, WONDERING SYNTH TUNE PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND.] The point is that this “recall” ability of the valerian root is demonstrable and powerful. Valerian cultivated in a time of war or strife blooms crimson red, instead of the usual pale pink. If the herbalist who tended it has died, the empathetic plant won’t bloom at all. Local tradition holds that consuming the root allows access to its absorbed memories through dreams or visions. Healers often sing to their plants, or bury mementoes in the soil to enhance the soothing effects. For some, the plant itself becomes a kind of heirloom, a way of passing on cherished stories or cultural history to the next generation. Using the valerian this way requires a much higher dose, often the entire root structure of the plant, but it’s obviously not an exact science. As with any herbal remedy, there can be some variation in how it affects different people. This is why I caution you again not to exceed the dose. If two stems fails to relieve your insomnia, you may be tempted to try more, but you must remember my instructions. If you don’t find the tincture effective, come back to my shop, and I’ll recommend you something else, free of charge. I know it’s not a quick trip to the edge of town, but it will be far preferable to experimenting with a finicky plant and potentially giving yourself an overdose. For clarification, the valerian plants I sell in my shop are not specifically cultivated for lucid dreaming (though I do sometimes take commissions for such plants). But you understand that memory isn’t something I can breed out of the valerian. If you take enough to enter the root’s dreams, there’s no telling what combination of my memories and the Skelter’s you may encounter. I’d like to think my plants don’t have anything too damning to say about me, but the land itself is another story. Many stories, in fact. [SINISTER, LOW-FREQUENCY AMBIENT SOUNDS RISE IN THE BACKGROUND.] In many ways, this past year has been a hard one for the Skelter. The flood season exacerbated the already notorious sinkholes to alarming proportions, and industrial development at the city’s edge seems to have had about the same effect as kicking a hornet’s nest. Just last week, where builders were laying pavement for a new distribution facility, they had to stop work because something bubbled up from the wet cement. It was shaped like a man, and took nearly an hour to pull itself free. Trapped in place as the cement hardened, it screamed until the workers shattered it with sledgehammers. Imagine finally falling asleep, only to dream that. This note got a bit longer than I intended, but there’s no need to reply if all’s well and the valerian root is working as expected. You seem like a sweet person, Ms. Morstan. I hope things get easier for you soon. If I could offer one more piece of advice-- [VAL IS INTERRUPTED BY A KNOCK AT THE DOOR.] VAL: Yeah, hang on. [THE DOOR OPENS WITH AN EXTENDED SQUEAK.] VAL: You weren’t kidding. You look like you just crawled out of whatever's below hell. MILO: Thanks. You look like a composted scarecrow. VAL: (snaps fingers) That's it. It was on the tip of my tongue earlier. CLEMENTINE: You only meant Milo, right? VAL: (laughing) Oh, Clementine, you're… just come inside, both of you. Can't have the neighbors thinking I'm holding some kind of zombie support group here. Wait till the landlord hears that one. [VAL CLOSES THE DOOR AFTER THEM] CLEMENTINE: Oh, Val, it's… VAL: All right, hold your praise. I know it's not the Gilt Penthouse. [PLASTIC CLATTERING AS SOMETHING IS DISTURBED. MILO MAKES A NOISE OF SURPRISE.] MILO: Apparently not. Did these used to be blinds? VAL: I’ve...been meaning to get to that. Just, uh, take a seat anywhere. Except that chair in the corner. It’s seen better days. MILO: (sitting, tired sigh) Why did you have to live on the fourth floor? I barely have the energy to take the elevator, if there’d been one. VAL: Yeah. Imagine what they charge for rent on the first floor. CLEMENTINE: Numbers...are a little fuzzy right now. But I know I’d give anything for a good day’s sleep. VAL: With you there. What are we up to, six days? MILO: A hundred and sixty hours--almost a week. I...think. Don’t quote me--my brain is liquefied. Last night, I was trying to cook something, and it took me half an hour to realize the stove wasn’t on. CLEMENTINE: On the way here, he almost ran into a fire hydrant because he couldn’t tell the sidewalk from the road. MILO: Don’t tell her that! CLEMENTINE: No judgment. We’re all messed up. Every time I lie down, I feel like I can hear the blood rushing through my body, and it freaks me out. VAL: That sounds pretty normal. MILO: Your turn, Val. VAL: All right. Day before last, I drank a bunch of nighttime cough syrup, threw up, forgot about it, and ended up stepping in my own puddle. MILO: Ugh. Nevermind. This is over. CLEMENTINE: This is miserable. There has to be something we can do. VAL: Have you tried drinking yourself into a blackout? CLEMENTINE: Um...no. VAL: Don’t. It doesn’t work. MILO: This started as soon as we went on strike. Did the postmaster do something to us? VAL: I think the two events are a little more...directly related than that. MILO: Related how? CLEMENTINE: This is what Nicholas was trying to tell us. Did you know this would happen? VAL: No! Yes and no. Kind of. CLEMENTINE: Val! How could you? VAL: I didn’t know anything for sure. Just that something similar happened to me when I was first consigned to the Night Post, and tried to run away. MILO: You had debilitating insomnia? VAL: I got really sick. Constant aches, chills, sometimes hallucinations. After a couple weeks, I lost my hearing. I couldn’t eat, my hair was falling out...it was like my whole body was failing. CLEMENTINE: But you clearly recovered. VAL: Because Nick came and got me. Helped me run my route the first time. Bastard. MILO: Sounds like you held out for a long time. VAL: I was nineteen, and I was sick to death of people deciding my life for me. You know, my parents signed me over to the Post as punishment. When I told them my new name, they got on board pretty quick, and they accepted me as their daughter...but once I crossed their precious tradition--I wasn’t their child at all anymore. CLEMENTINE: That seems...overly harsh. What did you do? VAL: It doesn’t matter. The Skelter makes and enforces its own rules, you know that. MILO: That doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell us this before. CLEMENTINE: We could have used the warning, at least. VAL: You’re right. I’m sorry. I...honestly didn’t think Nick would let it get this far. I was sure that the second he heard “strike,” he would spill what he knows about Ashley. Unless he really doesn’t know anything. CLEMENTINE: So if we don’t deliver the mail, we suffer. Is the Post part of what we are now? Is this like, a response, like getting dizzy when you don’t eat? VAL: Maybe. Except--hunger isn’t a punishment, is it? Depends on which way you look at it, I guess. MILO: But how is that even possible? Someone decided I have to do my husband’s job, and if I don’t, I’ll never sleep again? CLEMENTINE: Maybe our families unknowingly gave the Post some power over us when they signed us on. VAL: Unknowing, my ass. Everyone knows the Night Post doesn’t recruit--they conscript. MILO: And no one questions it. What gives them the right? CLEMENTINE: Like Val says: tradition. Gilt City officially oversees the Night Post and runs the stations, but it’s just a convenient organization for a much older profession. As long as anyone can remember, it’s always been like this for messengers. MILO: So if the postmaster answers to the Governor’s Office, or whoever, then...what’s above them? Are you telling me there’s some ancient order of mailmen, stretching back through the ages, that somehow binds its members to service without their knowledge? VAL: Those are the questions you’re not supposed to ask. I doubt even Nicholas knows anything about it. CLEMENTINE: It’s easy to keep things hidden when no one wants to talk. The people of the Skelter and the city have one thing in common: they don’t want to know anything about the Post. We’re supposed to keep our heads down, stay out of sight, and be gone by morning. MILO: And if we don’t-- VAL: Swift retribution. [THEY ARE SILENT, SAVE FOR A FEW WEARY BREATHS, AS THEY THINK ON THIS.] MILO: I keep getting calls from Nicholas about coming back, but he’s got nothing else to say. We’re no closer to learning anything about Ashley than we were before, and I’m so tired I feel like I’m falling every time I turn my head. What’s our move here? VAL: Well, you figure there are only a few ways this can end. We either give in, manage to sleep somehow, or...die slowly of exhaustion, I imagine. CLEMENTINE: There’s been no mail out of 103 for almost a week. We must have someone’s attention by now. This can’t all be for nothing. VAL: Can’t it? CLEMENTINE: No! Maybe I have to accept being powerless, but I can’t accept that one of us is just gone, and no one cares. MILO: I know you care, Clementine. It helps. CLEMENTINE: It doesn’t feel like enough. It-- (sigh) VAL: You know, Clementine...if you want, you can go lie down in the bedroom. Even if you can’t fall asleep, it might do you good to have some rest, somewhere more comfortable than the back of a mail van. Everything’s clean, I promise. CLEMENTINE: Yeah, I...I think I’ll do that. Thanks. [CLEMENTINE LEAVES, SHUTTING THE BEDROOM DOOR BEHIND HER.] MILO: (wistful) My bed at home feels so big and empty without Ashley. I’ve been sleeping on the couch. Well, until now. VAL: I get it. (deep breath) Look, Milo, I wanted to apologize for the way I acted when we first met. I was pretty insensitive to what you’re going through, and I said some things that were...callous, at least. I’d say it’s just my way, but it’s not a good way to be. MILO: You definitely didn’t make it easy to trust you. VAL: There’s never been a lot of trust to be had at the Post. And now I’m thinking, maybe that’s wrong. Maybe distancing ourselves is what got us here. MILO: Here, as in…? VAL: I don’t know. I’m probably just talking sleep-deprived nonsense. MILO: I understand, I think. And...I accept your apology. When we find Ashley, you can get to know him better. VAL: Yeah, I hope so. MILO: I just want-- [MILO IS CUT OFF BY THE SOUND OF SOMETHING SHATTERING IN THE BEDROOM. CLEMENTINE CALLS OUT.] VAL: Clementine? [VAL SHOVES OPEN THE DOOR.] MILO: What happened in here? CLEMENTINE: There was--there was--uh, I saw someone by the window. VAL: Um...you mean this fan? CLEMENTINE: I swear, I saw a person. Or...I thought I did. Ugh, my head is killing me. MILO: So that crash we heard…? CLEMENTINE: I...panicked and threw a lamp at it. Sorry. VAL: Don’t worry about it. The lamp was crap, anyway. [BEDCLOTHES RUSTLE AS VAL SITS BESIDE CLEMENTINE.] VAL: Are you all right? I mean, I guess I know the answer, but-- CLEMENTINE: I could have sworn I heard my name, like someone was whispering in my ear. MILO: After this long without sleep, we’re bound to start seeing things. CLEMENTINE: Yeah, I guess. I...just can’t believe how real it seemed. MILO: We can’t go on like this. (sigh) We have to go back. CLEMENTINE: But--what about Ashley? VAL: Are you sure? MILO: Look, I appreciate what you two have done, but this isn’t working, and it’s not worth it. We’ll have to find some other way to get the information we need. VAL: It’s half-six now. (grim) Plenty of time to make our shifts. CLEMENTINE: So, what, we just get back to work like nothing’s happened? MILO: I don’t think we have much choice. VAL: God, I’m tired of hearing that. MILO: And I’m tired of saying it. VAL: Won’t Nick be pleased to see us. MILO: Come on, Clementine. I’ll drive you. CLEMENTINE: As long as you can stay on the road. [THEY HEAD BACK TOWARD THE DOOR, WHICH OPENS WITH ITS CHARACTERISTIC SCREECH.] MILO: I’ll try not to run into any mysterious figures. VAL: I guess I’ll catch you both on the other side. Good hunting, sweet dreams, all that. [VAL SHUTS AND LOCKS THE APARTMENT DOOR BEHIND THEM. SHE TAKES A DEEP BREATH AND LETS IT OUT SLOWLY.] VAL: I guess I have a minute to--oh. That’s right, I never finished this. (unfolding letter, reading) If I could offer one more piece of advice: If after all this, sleep absolutely refuses to come, don’t force it. Sometimes the dreams waiting for you are darker and more dangerous than the long and lonely night. Sincerely yours, J. R. Noon, Noon & Night Natural Remedies VAL: Hmph. Right. [VAL TOSSES THE LETTER BACK ONTO THE PILE.] NICHOLAS: (as the outro plays) Thank you for joining us on tonight’s route. You can find the couriers of Station 103 at nightpostpod.com, or on Twitter @nightpostpod. If you’re satisfied with your postal service, please rate and review us. Send a letter to your most tolerable customer, and tell them about The Night Post. Promo for Station Arcadia: ELI ESDI: The Station Arcadia podcast tells stories from a dystopian world where dieselpunk, steampunk, cyberpunk and solarpunk societies all exist side by side. These diverse stories are told through a radio station on a shifting island, and given voice by the Station's Host - Kassandra. KASS: Did that man just try to offer jerky as a consolation prize for someone’s daughter? ELI: Woven through each stand-alone story are threads that come together to tell the story of a revolution, and hope in the face of a dying world. MEMORIE: I understand enough. The revolution still has hope and I want to help. ELI: Breaks in the narration bring us on-site to each society, where we hear four unique and powerful stories. [ALICE GRUNTS] TEDDY: Stop squirming! ALICE: I can lift myself through the window let me just-! [DULL THUD FROM BEHIND A WALL.] ALICE: (Muffled:) Ow. ELI: Station Arcadia broadcasts Fridays at 9 am Pacific Time. Transcripts and additional information are available at stationarcadia.com. Remember listeners; Stay Safe, Stay Moving, and Stick Close. You’ve been listening to Station Arcadia, the promo.