Episode 2.03: Spectral Junction

NICHOLAS: (as the intro plays) At the edge of Gilt City, hooves ring like thunder on roads older than time, and all await the arrival of the Night Post. [A GENTLE KNOCK, AND A DOOR OPENS.] NICHOLAS: Can I help you, Clementine? CLEMENTINE: Yes. I still need to ask you about my replacement truck. Is there a form I need to fill out? NICHOLAS: About that... CLEMENTINE: That doesn’t sound promising. NICHOLAS: There aren’t any replacement vehicles available. I filed the request, but...it was rejected. These budget cuts are having some unfortunate consequences, but the Night Post has a long history of coming up with creative solutions to problems, and we’ve already come up with a few options for couriers in need of transportation. CLEMENTINE: I’m worried that you said transportation and not...vehicles? I didn’t even realize that the Night Post could be subject to budget cuts. Aren’t we kind of our own thing? NICHOLAS: Mmm...yes and no. We’re partially funded by Gilt City like any other government service, but the Night Post has resources of its own as well. CLEMENTINE: But those resources don’t include money for new trucks? NICHOLAS: For the time being, no. As always, our postal customers come first. We must continue to provide a reliable service to those who depend on us. CLEMENTINE: I doubt I’ll be more effective on foot. I don’t know the exact mileage of my route, but it’s more than I can walk in one night. NICHOLAS: Obviously. (shuffling papers) In the city, several pigeons are already efficiently utilizing motorized scooters on their routes. We have several options available, though a scooter’s unlikely to stand up to the wear and tear of the roads on the outskirts of the Skelter. If you’re feeling daring and adventurous, we have a few models of motorcycles you could choose from. They’re faster, and-- CLEMENTINE: Incredibly likely to flip the second I hit one of the hundreds of potholes on my route. NICHOLAS: I understand it isn’t an ideal situation, but please--try to be flexible and adapt in this trying time. CLEMENTINE: (sigh) Is there an option least likely to leave me helpless on the side of the road in the middle of the night? NICHOLAS: I thought you might prefer an old-fashioned solution. Skelter couriers used horses for years on their routes, and a friend of the Night Post has generously offered up their stable for our use. CLEMENTINE: A horse? NICHOLAS: A horse is less likely to catch fire. CLEMENTINE: That fire wasn’t my fault. NICHOLAS: Of course it wasn’t. It was a bit of misfortune that resulted in loss of postal property, and luckily it only resulted in loss of postal property, and not postal personnel. CLEMENTINE: If that’s your way of telling me that you’re glad I’m okay, thanks. But between Milo, Val, and me, I think the attempt on my life was the least traumatic. NICHOLAS: That’s the positivity we love to see from our pigeons. Shall I give you the information about the stable? I’m sure our connection there will be more than happy to help you find a good fit. CLEMENTINE: How am I supposed to afford to keep a horse? Where would I even put one? NICHOLAS: Oh, don’t worry about all that. It’s all included in this packet. You’ll be able to return your horse to the stables at the end of your shift, and they’ll take care of the rest. It’s a great system to prevent the use of Night Post property for non-related purposes. CLEMENTINE: Is that a subtle dig, Mr. Best? NICHOLAS: Absolutely not, only a reminder about the tightening of expectations on our trusted couriers. Is that all, Clementine? CLEMENTINE: I guess so. I’ll try to catch a ride to “Cackling Fields” before it’s too late. NICHOLAS: Excellent. Good luck with your new four legged companion, and stay safe on your route tonight. [THE SCRATCHING OF A PENCIL ON PAPER.] CLEMENTINE: (reading) Dear Will, How are you, sweetheart? I'm sorry I haven’t been able to visit for the last few days, and I know it isn’t convenient to see someone who doesn’t own a home phone. I don’t mind walking to the payphone, but it’s not the best for spontaneous communication, and by the time you’re home from work, it’s almost time for me to leave. I’m an expert in letters, and I thought you might enjoy an old-fashioned love note. We’ll have to spend some time together soon. I can’t wait to see you. Being back at Station 103 is great, but it’s been hectic. I wasn’t assigned a new truck like I expected. I know we aren’t supposed to use the trucks for personal use anymore, but I’ve always depended on my truck. Now my transportation situation is kind of a nightmare. Do you know anything about cars? Maybe we could go to Oily Oli’s Motor Mall. I see their advertisements all the time: “Our prices are so low, they make my husband cry.” Why is he Oily Oli, though? Is it like, engine oil, or a skin condition? I hope you like cowgirls, because I’m delivering mail on horseback. Daffodil and I make a good team, at least so far. She’s not easily spooked, which is a plus, and we’ve made decent time on the road. I don’t have a lot of experiences with horses, but riding a horse is like riding a bike, right? Except I wasn’t taught to ride a bike by an old married couple who run a pigeon-friendly horse stable. They were both kind and patient with me. I’m glad I’m a quick learner, and I’m hoping I won’t be saddle sore for too long. [NIGHTTIME SOUNDS OF FROGS AND CRICKETS IN THE BACKGROUND.] Riding through the Skelter at night on horseback feels like...following in the footsteps of the first pigeons, but I can only imagine what it must’ve been like for them. When Gilt City wasn’t the glittering light it is now, were people more fond of their couriers? Did they pass like quiet rain through the night, leaving only the faintest traces of their existence in their wake? Did they have to worry about waking the wrong resident, or being hollered at from front porches? It’s strange moving through the darkness without the lights of the truck to lead the way. The only sounds are hoofprints and the moaning wind. It’s lonely, but on clear nights, all the stars are so bright overhead it makes me want to cry. You wouldn’t want to ride with me one night, would you? I don’t know if you would like it, but it’d be nice to have company, and maybe you’d think it was interesting to see what a pigeon’s life is like firsthand. Being on route isn’t glamorous, but it’s seldom boring. We could ride off on horseback, like we were escaping into the sunset as the film credits roll. I might look like one of those action movie heroes if I got a fringed vest and a wide-brimmed hat, but I don’t think I’d survive Val’s teasing for dressing like that. [A STRANGE, TONAL WIND RISES ABOVE THE ANIMAL NOISES.] I met someone--or maybe I should say something on the road last night. They startled me half to death. I might’ve fallen off Daffodil’s back if I wasn’t holding on for dear life, because the Stranger’s horse scared her. (horse snorting) I’ll call it a horse, because that’s what it resembled the most. (hooves on dirt) A hoofed beast with exposed portions of muscle and bone, stretching through dark patches of skin. It stunk of upturned earth and decay, but its rider didn’t seem bothered by the smell. The rider’s face was hidden by a wide-brimmed hat, and their voice carried a casual amusement when they spoke. [THE TWANG OF A GUITAR, AND THE HORSE SNORTS AGAIN.] THE STRANGER: Fancy meeting a pigeon on the road like this. CLEMENTINE: (reading) I stroked Daffodil’s neck and tried to keep us both calm. If she bucked me off and ran, I wouldn’t be able to finish my route, and it would take me forever to walk back. It seems a bit silly to worry about things like that when faced with a mysterious stranger, but I don’t want to be the first pigeon at the station to receive a reprimand under all these new policies. I tried to smile in greeting to the shadowy rider, but visibility was poor and they probably couldn’t see my expression. I patted my mailbag, as if the Stranger hadn’t already identified me as a courier. CLEMENTINE: Can I help you? Are you expecting a delivery? THE STRANGER: I don’t reckon anybody’s writing to the likes of me. CLEMENTINE: (reading) I checked my bags just in case, because I wasn’t sure what the stranger wanted from me. Their steed blocked the clearest path ahead. I wouldn’t be able to pass them without steering Daffodil into the thorny underbrush that lined the narrow road. While I struggled to read envelopes in the darkness, the rider waited and watched. THE STRANGER: I may be able to help a courier out on their way, if you’re interested in what an old traveler has to say. CLEMENTINE: (reading) Their voice was kind, honey-warm like jars of sun tea lined up in the kitchen window. THE STRANGER: Your parents were pigeons, ain’t that right? Both gone too soon. Tragedy seems to follow you folks around. CLEMENTINE: I’m not sure what you mean. CLEMENTINE: (reading) I didn’t ask how they knew about me and my family. Somehow I expected they knew more than they said. THE STRANGER: Momma left you young, the last in a line of unlucky daughters. And your daddy didn’t last long enough to save you from spending most of your life in that uniform. CLEMENTINE: Did you know my parents? CLEMENTINE: (reading) It might’ve been best not to ask. I don’t know if I wanted the answer. THE STRANGER: By reputation only. You know how word travels in these parts. CLEMENTINE: (reading) The stranger’s shoulders raised, as casual as if we’d met in the farmer’s market instead of on a gloomy path in the middle of the night. THE STRANGER: Did you know your parents, Miss Clementine? CLEMENTINE: (reading) I should’ve been more concerned about how the rider knew so much, but strange encounters aren’t uncommon in the Skelter. I’ve run into plenty of people who remember my father. A spectral cowperson isn’t the most frightening interaction I’ve had on route. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry, but I was. I didn’t want to be rude, but I wished they’d get on with it. CLEMENTINE: Not as well as I would like, but there isn’t anything I can do to change that now. CLEMENTINE: (reading) The brim of their hat lowered, as if genuinely acknowledging the loss. THE STRANGER: Do you ever have strange dreams, Clementine? CLEMENTINE: Doesn’t everyone? CLEMENTINE: (reading) If I’m honest, my dreams are more frightening than the ghastly horse or its rider who knows too much. I try to ignore them, because they’re only dreams. Everyone’s dreams are nonsensical, impossible to parse series of images. But, I don’t like to talk about them. It sounds silly, doesn’t it? But it’s difficult to dismiss how these images can make me feel. I get so worked up over a dream, I can’t stop worrying about the events repeating in reality, and I feel like I have to do something...but you can’t stop a dream. You can only wake up and try to forget. [THE CRICKETS FADE AWAY, REPLACED BY THE STRANGE WIND.] THE STRANGER: I suppose so, if you’re someone who dreams. But I suspect you’ve realized already that those ain’t ordinary dreams. CLEMENTINE: (reading) (steady thump of a hoof) The rider’s beast stomped one hoof like a metronome, kicking up dirt from the road. They looked up at me; a dark glint shone in their eyes. What were they trying to tell me? Why bother talking to me at all? Usually these Skelter beings have some sort of alternative motive when interacting with humans, and this stranger didn’t seem remarkably dangerous. I didn’t have anything to offer or bargain with, unless they wanted my mailbags, but I wouldn’t be able to give up those without getting in major trouble with Postmaster Best. CLEMENTINE: If they aren’t ordinary dreams, what are they? THE STRANGER: Messages, omens, words of advice--you can call them whatever you like. It’s up to you to learn how to listen. CLEMENTINE: Why are you telling me this? THE STRANGER: It ain’t a crime to help folks out when they need a hand. Your connection to this place is stronger than you realize. Maybe you got someone watching out for you. CLEMENTINE: And that’s you? CLEMENTINE: (reading) If the Stranger was trying to be helpful, they weren’t excelling at it. The Stranger laughed, and the sound made me shiver. THE STRANGER: Naw, I stay busy looking after yours truly, but there’s something about pigeons I like. You’re feisty, resilient, always look like you’re in a hurry to get somewhere even when you’re in danger. CLEMENTINE: Thank you? THE STRANGER: For what? CLEMENTINE: (reading) The Stranger dug their heel into the side of their beast, and it reared dramatically on its back legs, like the pair was posing for a pulp novel cover. [A HORSE WHINNIES, LONG AND LOUD.] THE STRANGER: I hope you’re luckier than your daddy was, Miss Clementine. [HOOVES GALLOPING AWAY OVER DIRT, AND THE SPAGHETTI WESTERN GUITAR AGAIN, LONGER THIS TIME.] CLEMENTINE: (reading) Before I could ask them what the hell that was supposed to mean, the horse and rider were gone. They disappeared in an obscure mass of dust and hoofbeats, and I was alone again. How’s that for an ominous encounter? I wanted to tell someone, besides Postmaster Best and whoever’s reading our nightly reports. I left a lot of details out of my report anyway, because I don’t want anyone to think I’m crazy or possessed or something. You don’t think I’m crazy, do you? If this letter makes me sound insane, please ignore it. Sincerely yours, Clementine. [THE SCRATCHING OF CLEMENTINE’S PENCIL. A DOOR OPENS.] CLEMENTINE: Will, I didn’t expect to see you here! It’s so early. Aren’t you tired? WILL: Of course. I wanted to give you a ride home before I’m due at Gilt Tower, and I brought you something to eat, because I didn’t want you to forget before you went to bed. Are you ready to go? CLEMENTINE: Uh, one second. Let me turn in this paperwork for Postmaster Best, and I’ll be done for the night. You’re so sweet to come and see me. I didn’t expect you, and I can’t imagine how I look. WILL: No offense, sweetheart, but I’d be more worried about how you smell. CLEMENTINE: Oh, ugh, sorry about that. Horseback riding is a lot sweatier than driving around in the truck. WILL: So, uh...this is your brand new station? They didn’t bother with all the features we have in Gilt Tower. It’s kind of a miracle you maintain your efficiency requirements under these conditions. CLEMENTINE: I’m not surprised. Sometimes I think that they forget these stations on the outskirts of the city even exist, but we have a new coffee machine and it’s so much nicer. It doesn’t even burn your fingers when you try to-- [THE DOOR OPENS AGAIN, AND VAL AND MILO ENTER.] VAL: It wasn’t that bad. I mean, what did you expect out of a free ticket to the water park? MILO: It was that bad. I’m okay with awful, nasty things, but all those slugs...eugh. VAL: You like snails, don’t you? Slugs are just...naked snails. Or unhoused snails? MILO: They were pulsing, and oozing, and--oh. (teasing) Clementine, do you have introductions to make? CLEMENTINE: I’m glad we caught you two! Will, these are my friends, Milo and Val. WILL: It’s a pleasure. Clementine is fond of you both. She speaks of you constantly. Seems like you’re quite the trio of troublemakers at your station. VAL: Well, we try. MILO: If you think she talks about us a lot, you should hear how she talks about you. I’m surprised we didn’t recognize you on sight by the enchanting eyes and radiant skin. CLEMENTINE: Th-that’s not--I don’t think I ever said-- VAL: I’m surprised to see you here. Clem told us that you work in Gilt Tower? It sounds like a pretty cushy position. Did Clem promise you could play pigeon for one night? Why bother slumming it in a place like this? CLEMENTINE: Val, don’t be like that. WILL: I don’t take it personally. It makes sense that you would be protective of one another after all you’ve gone through, and my position at the Post is more comfortable than trekking through the countryside all night. MILO: I wouldn’t complain about a desk job. You don’t wanna see the calluses on these puppies. CLEMENTINE: I have something that’ll help with that! It’s an unusual smell, but it really works. VAL: Gross. We were going to the Broken Antler for breakfast, if you want to come along. WILL: Perhaps another time. I’m in a hurry, and wouldn’t want to rush you to enjoy your meal. Clementine, you’re welcome to go with them if you prefer. CLEMENTINE: I... MILO: Okay, Val, let’s not force her to come up with an excuse. These ladies are just trying to get some grown-up girl bonding time, not the best pancakes on this side of the Skelter. Don’t bail on us next time, Clementine, or our waiter’s going to forget your order. 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 a hardy stablehand, and tell them about The Night Post.

Episode 2.03: Spectral Junction

Written by Elizabeth R.C. Lundberg

Produced by Rae Lundberg

Special Guest Performances:

Lynn Anderson as Will

Content Warnings (Click to expand)