Episode 2.01: May This Letter Find You Well
Written by Tyler Anderson, Elizabeth R. C. Lundberg, and Rae Lundberg
Produced by Tyler Anderson
Content Warnings (Click to expand)
Injury, grief, death
NICHOLAS: (as the intro plays) At the edge of Gilt City, pigeons take flight once more, and all await the arrival of the Night Post. [A SLOW, NOSTALGIC PIANO TUNE, ACCOMPANIED BY STRINGS, PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND AS CLEMENTINE SPEAKS.] CLEMENTINE: Dear Milo, I’m sorry to hear about Agi. I know you were close. There isn’t anything I can write that will make losing someone you care about easier, but please, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I mean it--I’d be happy to try to make a casserole if you want one. People love to make you casseroles when you’re grieving. We could go out for drinks instead, if that would help. I’m sorry about Ashley, too. After all that time trying to find him, you’re not any closer than when he first disappeared. I can’t imagine how that must feel. I don’t know where we would find this kind of information, but maybe there’s some way to bring him back, or at least try to contact him. There are many things about the Skelter’s forces that we don’t understand, and they might allow for more malleability than you’d expect. Have you heard from him? He could be trying to contact you, even if it’s in a way you might not expect. It’s hard to understand why our loved ones make the choices they do, but wherever Ashley is, I’m sure he misses you, and I hope you’ll be together again someday. Maybe it's silly to hope for a better ending, but you both deserve one. Since 103’s out of operation, I’ve been working out of Station 17. It’s one of the busiest stations I’ve ever seen. And you can imagine the drive from my place. I don’t think I’ve even met all of the other pigeons yet, because there are so many assigned here. There are dozens more stops on my route, and it’s impossible to make deliveries without feeling watched. Do folks wait up for their pigeons, or am I just being paranoid? It’s not like I haven’t run into plenty of trouble on my old route, but there’s something about staring up at towering buildings full of dark glass, punctuated by blocks of orange that means someone is still awake. I almost prefer being chased by hounds and dodging buckshot. What else is new with me? Well, I’ve met someone. We haven’t been seeing each other very long, but I like her a lot. Her name’s Wilhelmina, and she works in the personnel department out of Gilt Tower. She’s worked there for almost her entire time with the Post, and it’s strange how little she knows about what it’s like to be on route, but if I had to sit still and do all the paperwork Will does, my brain would probably liquify out of boredom. We met on accident. I was wandering around Gilt Tower on an errand for the Postmaster. I couldn’t find the right office, and she stopped to help me find my way, saying it was obvious that I was a lost pigeon. She’s not a woman who smiles easily, but when she does it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. She wears the most beautiful tailored blazers and skirts, and she’s taller than me in her heels. I’ll spare you the details about her hair and the perfume she wears, but Will’s the kind of person it’s hard not to be impressed by. I was sure we’d never see each other again, even if we do both work for the Post, but she stopped me before I left the building to give me her number. I don’t know anyone else who even owns a mobile phone, and I didn’t have it in me to tell her that I don’t have a home line. We’ve been spending most of my time off together, at her place in the city, and after everything that’s happened, I’m happy to have something in my life that’s refreshingly normal. It’s nice to have a reminder that there’s more to life than working at the Post, even if it doesn’t always seem like it. It’s hard for me to adjust to change, and I miss 103, you, and Val. There’s something comforting about the way Nicholas fusses around the station, and it’s just not the same here. You haven’t heard from Val, have you? I’ve written a handful of letters, but I haven’t received a response. We all know how easy it is for an envelope to be misplaced. I tried to call once or twice from the pay phone at the gas station closest to my place, but she didn’t pick up. Maybe she wasn’t at home, or her phone’s broken, or she was asleep. I am trying not to worry too much, but let me know if you’ve had better luck trying to get ahold of her. I’ll let you go. It’s about time to leave for work, and I don’t like to be late. I hope we can get together soon, and please, if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to let me know. You know where to find me. Sincerely, Clementine [THE MUSIC CHANGES TO A SOMBER, MELANCHOLY VIOLIN, BACKED BY PIANO.] MILO: To Clementine and Val, Thank you. I’ve had a lot of time to think the past few months and those are the two words I keep coming back to. When Ashley went missing, the bit of normalcy we’d built together went with him. Getting conscripted into the Post was nothing less than a nightmare--and it felt like I’d lost Agi too. Then…I did. You both made existing at Station 103 bearable in a way I didn’t think I would ever be able to appreciate. But I do. I’m weirdly thankful for the quiet moments I’ve had to process what happened ever since they stuck me here at Station 50. There’s not a lot to do at a station that only delivers specially-designated packages. Well, sometimes they’re packages. More than once I’ve had to deliver live animals: poisonous snakes, suspiciously wolf-like dogs, and a variety of now-feral pets. Last week there was a bulging envelope that I swear would move if I wasn’t actively holding it. But--more often than I’d like--I’m sitting at my desk in silence…thinking. (sigh) Agi’s dead. Her family had a small funeral that I wasn’t invited to. No coverage in the papers, though I’m not really surprised. I made my way past what’s left of the bookstore once; it’s still quarantined off. I’m shocked it hasn’t been ripped down already. Who knows, maybe her relatives are still fighting over whatever money she left behind? That little old woman would’ve done just about anything for me, and look what she got for it. And I’m not beating myself up over it, don’t worry. I know that there’s nothing I could’ve done differently, but that doesn’t make this bitter black hole in my chest any less painful. Agi didn’t deserve to die because of whatever we’ve been drug into…that’s all I can say about it. She deserved more, and now she’s gone. Then there’s Ashley. I could hear him, smell him, touch him! After everything we went through to find him, and it still wasn’t enough. He was there, and then he wasn’t. Is he dead? I don’t know. I’d say that willingly becoming an incorporeal entity to combat some vague supernatural threat doesn’t classify as “living.” The three of us put ourselves in danger over and over, and we have absolutely nothing to show for it. And I know I’ve said it before, but for that I’m sorry. There’s not a lot more I can say about him that won’t kill me inside. I won’t give up on Ashley, but I have to know more before I put any of us in greater danger. Sorry, I’m not telling you both anything you don’t already know. But back to why I’m writing to you both in the first place. Clementine: Thank you for reaching out. I wanted to write to you both sooner, but for once I found it hard to say anything. It wasn’t fair of Val and I to force you into being our mediator. I let my frustration and pain turn me into somebody bitter, and that’s not who I am or who I want to be. But I’m glad you’ve found somebody you can confide in. Wilhelmina sounds very no-nonsense, so I’ll try to be on better behavior when we meet. If she works in Gilt Tower, I can only imagine the things she’s seen and heard. Seems that no matter how much any of us want to be free of the Post, we find new ways to be drawn even closer. I’ll be taking you up on those offers of a casserole and drinks soon, Clementine. And to Val: Everyone needs that someone that isn’t afraid to knock some fucking sense into you when you need it (figuratively and literally), and I couldn’t have asked for a friend that is more capable of that than you. I won’t wax poetic about how lost our little group would’ve been without you. Just know that my being suspicious and hostile towards you was not your fault, and I apologize. Clementine mentioned that she hasn’t talked to you since you were rescued from whatever it was that happened at 103. I won’t take it personally that I haven’t heard from you either. I just hope that when our Station is rebuilt, you’ll give me a chance to prove how much I appreciate you and everything you’ve done for Ashley and I. I honestly don’t know what else to say. Just please stay safe. Your friend, Milo [CLEMENTINE’S LETTER THEME RETURNS.] CLEMENTINE: Dear Val, You’ll never guess where I am right now--Vermilion Fields. Remember when they were building it and I said it was the ugliest building on the skyline? It’s even tackier on the inside! There is a fountain in the lobby with a large-mouth fish garbling all over the place. There are chandeliers everywhere (a ridiculous amount of chandeliers!) and red carpet with gold florals. The apartments are huge, and they have private balconies with flowering ivy. I’m here, because--well, I met someone. I’ve wanted to let you know. I figured you would want to since we’re friends. You told me to get back out there, and I guess I did! We haven’t been going out for very long, but I came over to visit Will after my route and she insisted I stay and sleep here. Will works for the Post, but at Gilt Tower. She’s basically never had to run her own route before. Isn’t that wild? Her family has money and influence, which I guess is why she has such a comfortable position at the Post. She treats working for the Night Post like an inconvenience. Apparently a bit of family drama left her with the short end of the stick, and her parents pay for the place at Vermillion Fields to ease her burden. We’d all like working for the Post more if we could come home to big, circular bathtubs and four poster beds. I can’t imagine what Will will say when she sees my place. It looks like a shed compared to Vermilion Fields. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk so much about my new girlfriend or her fancy apartment. I thought you’d get a kick out of the stationery, though. If it smells strange, that isn’t me; the whole building smells like a citrus nightmare. It’s enough to trigger a migraine as soon as you step inside. You’ve been busy with recovering, and we’ve all been trying to get used to new stations. We survived these harrowing events, but I’m still trying to understand them. What are we supposed to do now that we know someone wants us dead? I haven’t really spoken to anyone about what happened, but who would understand besides you and Milo? I am trying not to worry too much, but last night I had a dream about you. It probably doesn’t mean anything, but I wanted to make sure that you’re okay. How’s your leg? They aren’t running you too ragged, are they? You haven’t been dragged off by a mysterious organization or mauled to death by some sour-toothed Skelter beast, have you? Save me the trouble of breaking into your apartment to check on you, and write me back. There’s always a glass of Dandelion Meadows waiting here for you if you need one. Always, Clementine [THE MUSIC CHANGES TO A RELAXED, WESTERN-STYLE GUITAR AND HARMONICA TUNE.] VAL: To 103’s plucky pigeons, How’s life? Are you getting a good day’s sleep, chasing your shots with water, that sort of thing? Sorry, I know. It’s just been a while since I’ve written a letter. It’s time-consuming, and not very secure… so I’ve heard, anyway. I guess the real reason I don’t write is it requires getting way too involved with my own thoughts, you know? You have to get intimate with all that stuff bumping around inside your brain, and then commit to it long enough to put it on paper. My head isn’t a place where I like to spend too much time, if I can help it. Aside from the huge chunk of concrete that fell on my leg, that was the worst part about being trapped underground when the station collapsed--or tumbled into a frankly absurd sinkhole, I guess would be more accurate. (The papers called it a “unique geologic event,” but I think we all know by this point that it wasn’t so unique. Just bigger than what we’ve seen before now.) Two days is a long time to be alone, stuck in one spot, in the dark, with only your own stupid thoughts. Making up dirty songs and trying to name the finalists of every season of Gilt City Gladiator in chronological order can only distract you from the pins and needles in your leg for so long. I won’t lie, things got dark there for a minute. I started thinking about my parents, which--blame the dehydration and poor circulation, because that is a rabbit hole that I definitely try to avoid. A building-swallowing sinkhole, really. When rocks started shifting and falling again, I was convinced the whole place was gonna go the rest of the way--just plummet through the earth’s crust until we hit magma or something. (I’m not a geologist, okay? I just deliver mail.) But it was actually the fire department digging me out. As they were lifting the concrete off of me, I remember thinking, does this kind of shit happen to y’all too? I’m getting in the swing of things at Station 89. I’m the senior courier there, too. 89 has more pigeons, but they’re all pretty green, not yet embittered by the Post life. They don’t have the permanent dark circles under their eyes yet. It’s a little weird to see a station where the pigeons are all young--I mean, 103 is like that too, but only since old Keys passed. Maybe there’s some restructuring going on, or maybe Station 89 is just a temporary assignment for most couriers. I’m honestly not sure how old the postmaster is. Ze stays shut up in zir office most of the time, and always wears these big, dark sunglasses. I get the feeling that ze’s new to 89 as well; ze keeps forgetting where the coffee filters go. The coffee’s better here. Somehow it doesn’t have that perpetual layer of sludge at the bottom of the carafe, which I’m sure I would really appreciate if my taste buds hadn’t been ruined years ago. We stand around drinking it in silence like strangers in a hospital canteen. Just like me and Nick and Keys used to. That’s not to say the other pigeons never talk to me. Since I’ve been on desk duty, I’m there when they get back in the mornings, a little less anxious and reserved than before their shifts. I’ve heard all about Bradley’s pet chameleons (troublesome), Marina’s wedding plans (on hold), and Angel’s criminal record (extensive, and impressive). Not one of them has asked about my crutches or my injury, not even the postmaster when ze assigned my temporary desk duty. It’s nice not to have to explain myself over and over, or receive their awkward sympathy, but it’s a little strange. Like they’d all agreed beforehand not to notice. I’m off the crutches, by the way. In just a couple weeks I’ll be out on my new haunt. The surgeon said the limp could be permanent, but it won’t stop me from getting around. And I’m lucky I was on the clock when I almost got killed, otherwise the medical bills would have finished the job. I go to PT once a week. My therapist is cute, so that’s a plus. Would it be weird if I asked them out? I don’t know why I’m asking you that. I haven’t been my usual confident self since everything kind of blew up in my face. Leg. Whatever. I’m sure you’re familiar with the feeling. So I hope you can understand why I’m not coming back to 103. I wish the best for you both, but I don’t want any part of whatever this mess is between the Post and that whacko woman in the governor’s office. I kept my head down and did my job pretty much without incident for years, but as soon as I started poking around and got wrapped up in Ashley’s disappearance, it all went to hell. Now my leg is so stiff when I wake up that it takes me ten minutes to get out of bed. Once my transfer request goes through, I’ll be a permanent member of Station 89. If what the Urban Strategist said is true, maybe having a route a little further into the city will mean encountering fewer “aberrations.” At the least, it means less walking, like the doctor recommended, and 89 is even a little closer to my apartment. Obviously I don’t have a lot of agency when it comes to my job, but I can do this. It feels like a step. Just don’t mention any of this to Nick, okay? He’ll find out from the official notice of transfer. You two should consider doing the same, and transferring to your new stations. I don’t know what the city’s game is with destroying 103 and then rebuilding it, but it seems safer not to stick around. I mean, if one of the most powerful people in the city was trying to kill us, why are we all still here? And what’s coming to us next? There are just a lot of questions floating around that I don’t think I want the answers to. You’re not too devastated, right? We can still be friends even if we don’t work together. You know where I live, and I’m always available to meet for cheap beer or greasy diner food. We could even keep up this whole pen pal thing--you know, if you want to. I think I like reading letters that are actually addressed to me. It’s time to do my stretches, so I’ll wrap this up. Write back quicker than I did, and stay safe out there. Mostly sincerely, Val P.S. Bradley wants me to adopt one of his chameleons, but I’m not sure if I should. Rudyard is apparently the nervous type, and needs a climate-controlled terrarium. What kind of lizard is named Rudyard? What if we don’t get along? [SOFT, ECHOEY TONES SLOWLY BUILD IN THE BACKGROUND.] NICHOLAS: To the Couriers of Station 103: First off, I would like to apologize on behalf of the Night Post for the disruption in our routines over the past few months. Though the abrupt demise of Station 103 left us all quite shaken, I have been told by the Postmaster at Station 89 that Valencia has mostly recovered from the incident. I am thankful that fatal injuries were avoided. We wish you all the best, Valencia. I have also been informed that progress on the new facility for Station 103 is coming along quite well, and it should be reinstated into active duty within the next 30 days. The safety of all Night Post employees has been at the forefront of concern for upper management. Construction of our new facility only began after rigorous inspections of the newly-stabilized property were completed. Any concerns regarding the construction process or future safety precautions may be directed either to me or Human Resources out of our Gilt Tower headquarters. It is vital that I address the structural changes with the Post itself. Per the Governor’s recent public address, Gilt City will soon undergo a historic expansion effort; ergo, our service area will increase. For the sorting and service staff at Station 103, this will translate into overtime opportunities and an influx of additional staff members. Couriers will likely see their routes extended, though voluntary transferees from other stations and future conscriptions may offset the need for these measures. Leadership at Station 103 (i.e. myself) will not change. There is potential for a junior management position to become available should the need arise. I will provide further updates on this as they become available. Please be aware that there will be an increased presence of upper management at Station 103 for the foreseeable future. We--alongside several other stations--service the area most commonly known as the Skelter. The increasing frequency of incidents involving couriers has not gone unacknowledged. There may be instances where upper management will request to accompany a courier on their route to make sure all regulations are being followed. This is to ensure we are all performing our duties as carefully and efficiently as possible. Lastly, I understand that there has been increased tensions between the Night Post and the general public. Should you be approached en route or while identifiable as a Night Post employee and feel that you are in danger, do not interact. There may be situations where you are followed, harassed, or are being generally inhibited from completing your assigned duties. If this occurs, de-escalation by couriers or staff should not be attempted--seek shelter or contact the authorities. Be sure to inform me as well, so I can put the incident on record as quickly as possible. Change is inevitable. However, that fact does not mitigate the stress and uncertainty that it can bring. As Postmaster of Station 103, I will continue to be an advocate for the physical, mental, and emotional wellbeing of us all. Should you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach me at my temporary location: Gilt Tower. I look forward to seeing you all again very soon. Respectfully yours, Nicholas Best 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 tackiest acquaintance, and tell them about The Night Post. Promo for The Heart of Ether: [THERE ARE SOME SHUFFLING NOISES AS AGENT JUNE SITS DOWN.] AGENT JUNE: (he huffs a long sigh) Alrighty, then. Just have to wait until Agent May gets back. That shouldn’t be too hard, right? [A SHORT PAUSE, BEFORE AGENT JUNE GROANS LOUDLY.] AGENT JUNE: It’s so boring here. There’s gotta be something for me to do, right? Let me just… [AGENT JUNE IS HEARD GOING THROUGH PAPERS AND MESSING AROUND ON THE COMPUTER, BEFORE STOPPING.] AGENT JUNE: Huh. This wasn’t here before. [HE CLICKS, AND THERE’S A BEEP AS THE RECORDING STARTS. WE HEAR IRENE GRAY GOING THROUGH PAPERS. THERE’S WIND WHISTLING, AND THE CREAKING OF HER ATTIC.] IRENE: (to herself) I think I’ve seen this code before. I’ll have to give it to Phoebe. She might be able to…I don’t know. [A BEAT. IRENE SIGHS.] I know there’s something wrong with this town, Rose. Of course I do. Not just the people, but, well…(slowly) some days, I step outside, and it feels like there’s something lurking right beneath my feet. As if the ground is just waiting for the opportunity to swallow me whole. Though, can I be honest? I think that same thing is what’s keeping me here. Maybe-- (she thinks, then) Maybe it’s because I know how much you’d love it. Even with its weird quirks. [A BEAT AS SHE PURSES HER LIPS.] Rose, I— [EERIE MUSIC BEGINS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND AS IRENE PICKS UP A PHOTOGRAPH.] IRENE: [SHE SUDDENLY STOPS, THEN, HER TONE SHIFTING TO FEAR] Wait, there’s…It’s a photograph of--god, I don’t know what. It looks like it should be a person, but-- [AS SHE TALKS, WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS OUTSIDE OF THE RECORDING.] AGENT MAY: (overlapping the recording) June, hey, turn that off! AGENT JUNE: Alright, alright, jeez! Sorry! [THERE’S A CLICK, AND THE RECORDING OF IRENE STOPS. A PAUSE AS AGENT JUNE THINKS.] AGENT JUNE: Whatever that was sounds like it could be important, though, right? I mean, it wasn’t there before. AGENT MAY: We can worry about that later. We have a job to do. AGENT JUNE: (mocking, to himself) “Oh, we have a job to do.” (to Agent May) Yeah, alright. Fine. Let’s go. [PHONE BEEP.] AUTOMATED VOICE: The Heart of Ether is a mystery and horror podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. Stop by the quaint forest town of Daughtler, Washington every other Friday, wherever you get your podcasts. Stay safe out there. [MUSIC FADES OUT.]