Episode 3.04: Ghosts, Ghouls, and Girls Who Are Out of Your League
Written by Elizabeth R.C. Lundberg
Produced by Rae Lundberg
Special Guest Performances:
Lynn Anderson as Will
Content Warnings (Click to expand)
discussion of death, grief, impersonation, vivid dreams
NICHOLAS: (as the intro plays) At the edge of Gilt City, the buried past sprouts and blooms again, and all await the arrival of the Night Post. [THE CLAMOR OF A BAKERY: OVERLAPPING VOICES, PLATES AND CUTLERY CLATTERING, AN ESPRESSO MACHINE HISSING. INSTRUMENTAL JAZZ PLAYS FAINTLY.] WILL: Oh! Um, I-I didn’t expect to see you here. CLEMENTINE: We used to come here all the time. WILL: I’m glad to see you, but, uh, you could’ve given me a bit of warning before showing up unannounced. CLEMENTINE: I didn’t want to make a big fuss. I only want a few minutes of your time. WILL: Despite how ominous that sounds, I’m happy we’re on speaking terms. Do you want something to drink? CLEMENTINE: No, thanks. I wasn’t sure when you’d come by–I’ve been here for a while. I probably shouldn’t have any more coffee if I’m going to sleep today. WILL: Have you eaten? Are you sure I can’t get you anything? CLEMENTINE: Yes, I’m sure. Let’s sit down somewhere quieter. [BACKGROUND NOISES GROW QUIETER, AND THE MUSIC GROWS LOUDER.] WILL: You look so serious. What’s on your mind? CLEMENTINE: I’ve been thinking about our last conversation, and I think we should be friends. WILL: (amused) This is starting to sound suspiciously like a second breakup. CLEMENTINE: I promise it isn’t. I’m sorry. I should’ve waited until I had more rest to tackle this conversation, but I wanted to talk to you before I lost my courage. We didn’t get a fair shot for obvious reasons. There were too many factors working against us. WILL: I mean, dating after Night Post conscription isn’t easy. CLEMENTINE: You can say that again. We both had our reasons for rushing into the relationship. I feel like if we are ever gonna have a chance to work as a couple, we need a stronger foundation. WILL: Surely, you are not suggesting couple’s therapy. My parents have been to half the city’s practitioners, and I’m reasonably sure they’re all hacks. CLEMENTINE: I don’t think that’s necessary. You already know that I still have some romantic feelings for you, but I feel like we should pursue a friendship first. Having a strong friendship creates a stable base for romance. Our lives are chaotic and strange enough without adding a bunch of personal drama on top of it, so I do understand if you’d rather cut your losses and move on. WILL: Clementine, you always surprise me. CLEMENTINE: Is that a good thing or a bad thing? WILL: For better or worse, you’re kinder than most, and that’s refreshing. Of course we should be friends. CLEMENTINE: Are you disappointed? WILL: No, no, not at all. This is a way better outcome than I anticipated. I’m surprised you want to spend more time together, because after we last spoke it seemed like you’d made up your mind, and you’d decided that we shouldn’t see each other at all, and…I really do like you. I need more people like you in my life. CLEMENTINE: More traumatized pigeons? WILL: As long as they’re as thoughtful and genuine as you are. CLEMENTINE: Well, some would say naive, foolish, an easy mark– WILL: Don’t say that. Your honest heart is an asset. CLEMENTINE: Why do I feel like you’re preparing me for bad news? WILL: I’m not, but I want to be delicate. You’ve been more understanding than I've deserved, and honestly, I don’t know that if our situations were reversed, if I’d be seated where you are right now. I do think we should be friends, but I don’t want to wait around for an intimate relationship to form over time. It isn’t fair to either of us to put the rest of our potential relationships on hold for each other. CLEMENTINE: You want to just be friends. WILL: For now, while we’re getting to know each other, why not keep our options open? You don’t want to be trapped while waiting on me, do you? CLEMENTINE: I…I don’t feel trapped. It would be good for me to take things slow. WILL: I want you to have the time that you need. We don’t have to rush anything. It would be wonderful if things work out for us down the line, but we should still be able to see other people. CLEMENTINE: You don’t seem very optimistic about a potential future together. WILL: Listen, I’m a realist. We aren’t the only two women in Gilt City. You might do better than me. CLEMENTINE: You don’t have to be self-deprecating on my account. We both know you’re quite a catch. WILL: (slight laugh) I’m not sure that anyone on this side of the Skelter or the other can compare to you. Do you remember my friend Verity? CLEMENTINE: Of course, they’re kind of unforgettable. WILL: Well, they tried to get me out of my post-break-up emotional sludge by setting me up on a blind date. Maybe your friends have someone in mind for you, too? CLEMENTINE: I doubt it. There’s been a lot going on. Sometimes, it feels a bit silly to worry about romance and relationships when we’re walking these haunts that feel like they’re getting more and more dangerous every night. WILL: What do you mean by “more dangerous”? Did something happen? CLEMENTINE: If you don’t know by now, you should be reading more Nightly Incident Reports. I don't think there’s a pigeon in the city who wouldn’t tell you that the things that go bump in the night aren’t a little more active than usual. WILL: You need to be careful out there. CLEMENTINE: I’m as careful as I can be. WILL: That’s good. Try and stay careful. I don’t know how many pigeon-facing reports I’ve read lately, but I’ve been working my way through some of the information we uncovered. Admittedly, I haven’t made much progress when it comes to translating the language from the previous city. CLEMENTINE: We haven’t had any luck either. We’re pigeons, not linguistic experts. WILL: You’ve got an expert closer than you might think, you know. Postmasters know the old language. CLEMENTINE: No-fucking-way– WILL: Now, I’m not sure how they learned it or where they get their dead language lessons or whatever, but I’m reasonably sure that every Postmaster in the city knows how. CLEMENTINE: Thank you, Will. That information is actually really helpful! WILL: I know, I am amazing. I’ll keep trying to keep learning more, and I’ll let you know if I can figure out anything more useful. CLEMENTINE: I’d appreciate that. WILL: Of course, what are friends in bureaucratic positions for? (pause) Hey, um–Clem? Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna pass out. CLEMENTINE: Oh. Oh, yeah, I’m-I’m fine. A bit tired, that’s all. WILL: Do you want me to call a car for you? You should go home and get some sleep. CLEMENTINE: I should. WILL: And I might be meeting someone here, in a little bit. CLEMENTINE: Wait, you don’t love being caught with an ex before you meet someone new for coffee? I get the message. I’m out of here. CLEMENTINE: (writing) To whom it may concern– I don’t know who to address these letters to anymore. I used to write to Maggie, and then to Will, and now I’m not sure who would listen to these ramblings. I could talk to Val or Milo, of course, but Milo is preoccupied with Ashley’s return. I don’t want to interrupt their precious time together. And Val doesn’t seem to have much patience left over for me. That’s understandable, considering everything we’ve been through recently. I’m not sure I have a lot of patience left over for myself. I’m…exhausted. More so than usual. I haven’t been sleeping well. Even with the curtains drawn, the bedroom is too bright. Milo teases me for calling it a bedroom. He says it’s “an alcove with a curtain.” After hanging a sheet above the window frame, the light’s softer, but still irritating. Would I have this much trouble sleeping at night? Being nocturnal hasn’t affected my sleep before. The disturbance is probably from the dreams. Dreams are usually strange, and boring to everyone besides the dreamer. That’s another good reason not to bother anyone with them. I’ve always had vivid dreams. and the details linger with me when I wake. But these dreams are…disturbing. The chaotic strings of images without context were impossible to make sense of. Sometimes I would sit down and try to write down the details, but my notes ended up reading like gibberish. [IN THE BACKGROUND, THE SHIFTING, FLASHING SOUNDS ASSOCIATED WITH CLEMENTINE’S VISIONS. THEN, FALLING ROCKS, BREAKING GLASS, THE SOUNDS OF MASSIVE DESTRUCTION.] The same images repeated nightly, and eventually I started to recognize the patterns and familiar landmarks. Sickly yellow skies streaked with smoke and charcoal gray clouds. Tension in the air like the moment before a tornado touches earth. I watched Gilt Tower crumble into the streets in a storm of concrete dust and carnage. The extravagant shops on Snowhare Boulevard shattered like a cupboard of broken china, scraps of fluttering fabric and flashes of glistening glass littered the ground. Pavement peeled away from the earth. Wind whipped around debris like confetti. I…I don’t like to think about the screaming, twisted faces trying to escape the city. [AS SHE FINISHES SPEAKING, A HUGE EXPLOSION AND RUSH OF FLAME DROWN OUT EVERYTHING ELSE.] I’m not sure how to retell all of the destruction I’ve seen in these dreams. I want to forget about them, leave them in my unconscious where they belong, but I have this nagging feeling these aren’t normal dreams. Why would these dreams repeat themselves with the same intensity, if not to communicate something? I’m worried these visions are coming from–wow, this feels ridiculous to write down–the Other. We need a better name for whatever exists beyond the veil of our reality. Maybe Ashley knows more, and when he’s feeling better, he can tell us the secrets to all of the mysteries we’ve encountered. Then, we can forget all about our treacherous, entangled fates and go to the lake together. We could plan a picnic. Being cursed and controlled can start to feel–taxing. No wonder Will accepted the Strategist's bargain. We’re all looking for a way out, even if we don’t believe one exists. Oh, and if the distressing nightmares weren’t enough to cope with, I saw my mother. You might think that I wouldn’t recognize her after all these years, especially since I don’t have any real memories of her. The few precious stories my father shared with me, images hazy enough to be inventions of my own imagination, and a handful of photographs lost in the house fire–that’s all I ever had of her. I’ve always wondered what parts of her she managed to share with me before her death. Do I have her eyes? Did she also have strange, haunting dreams that might be vaguely prophetic? How many failed relationships did she go through before meeting my father? I have more questions than answers when it comes to my mother, but I’ve gotten used to not having answers. Having a mysterious, dead mother gave me an air of mystique. At least, that’s what I used to tell myself. I recognized her immediately. Instead of catching a glimpse of her between the trees, off the road, her face obscured by shadow and mist, I felt like I was running to her across a crowded store after we’d been briefly separated. Familiar perfume, the hum of a lullaby, the inviting curve of her lips. I clambered off Daffodil’s back so I could run to her on foot. (footsteps in grass) Even when my boots were slogging through the moist grass, I didn’t pause. Yes, I know that Skelter spirits can take deceiving shapes. Some of them sense what forms their targets will respond to, and transform as easily as exhaling. The year after his death, I saw my father a half-dozen times on my route. None of those masquerading spirits convinced me to stop my truck or crack a window, but this was the first night I’ve ever seen my mother. My mother is beautiful, more lovely than I could’ve imagined through the veil of time and loss. If you subtracted all of my awkwardness, odd angles, and pesky flaws, and poured in a generous amount of effortless grace and serenity–you can imagine what she might look like. Her hair, braided like mine, but lighter. The strands of her plait were smooth, not wind-whipped and frizzy, and interwoven with tiny purple flowers. [A SOFT, TONAL WIND RISES. CLEMENTINE RUNS THROUGH THE GRASS.] As I trampled through the grass and approached the treeline, I realized my mistake. How could I have allowed a spirit to isolate me, draw me away from my only form of transportation? Daffodil nibbled on dewy grass by the side of the road. If something spooked her, would she leave me behind? [IN THE BACKGROUND, A SLOW, EERIE PIANO TUNE.] I paused a few feet away from my mother, close enough that I could see the imperfections in her form. The glistening skin that looked almost transparent under the moonlight. Her willowy limbs, which hung limply as if she were a doll suspended by an invisible child’s hand, lifted off the ground to mimic a life-like posture. A faint light seemed to radiate somewhere within. My mother smiled without parting her lips. Her fingers curled up to summon me closer, but I stood still. We were so close, separated only by a few feet of wild undergrowth. Wind whipped around us, but my mother wasn’t affected by the elements. “Don’t you want to embrace your mother, Pigeon Clementine?” The illusion shattered slightly. Whatever I imagined my mother’s voice to be like, it wasn’t the peculiar sound escaping the spirit’s pale lips. “Why are you my mother?” Did I want the answer? Was this another spirit who’d made a deal with my father? If the spirit meant me harm, then why play games first? “That is a rude question. Who raised you?” However I imagined my mother to be, interacting with this playful spirit wasn’t living up to my childish expectations. Continuing this conversation would be a huge waste of my time. [THE MUSIC ENDS, REPLACED BY STEADY WIND AND NIGHTTIME INSECTS.] When my route was finished, I wouldn’t want to admit to stopping to entertain this nonsense. I shook my head, imagining Val’s teasing or Milo’s concern. (imitating Milo) Between the two of us, me walking into the Birdwatchers’ mansion or you running into the woods to chase after a spirit that looks like your dead momma, I’m surprised we aren’t dead yet. “I don’t understand why you chose that form, but you aren’t convincing up close.” “Come closer, Daughter, and see how convincing I can be.” My mother summoned me again with the curl of delicate fingers. I stood my ground and fought the instinct to look over my shoulder at Daffodil. “You have my attention, but I don’t have the time or patience for a pointless conversation. What do you want from me?” I crossed my arms and tried to ground myself, as if the spirit would read my confidence as threatening. “Something isn’t right. Don’t you feel it, my darling?” [THE WIND PICKS UP. FOLIAGE RUSTLES NEARBY, AND A WOLF HOWLS MOURNFULLY.] Something told me that my mother was correct. I wouldn’t be standing along the edge of the woods looking at her if everything was as it should be. I spent so much time alone in the Skelter as a child, running along and playing as instructed by my exhausted father, who was trying to get a full day’s rest. I’ve always felt a connection to the Skelter. Now, that connection feels less spiritual and more literal. “Shall I walk you back to your transport, Daughter Clementine? It is dangerous to be alone.” (footsteps, grass rustling) My mother kept close to my side as we walked across the field together, her dangling feet cutting through the underbrush like a breeze. I worried the spirit’s presence would spook Daffodil, but I started to relax in its company. While it wasn’t a convincing copy of the dead woman who birthed me, I don’t think the spirit meant me harm. “Is it dangerous for you?” My mother turned her head from side to side in an odd way, as if trying to mimic a human expression she’d never witnessed. “Something changed. Now, we can return with ease. Some prefer the freedom to travel as they desire; others are being forced here against their will.” I resolved not to ask questions, even as they piled up on my tongue. As curious as I was, I didn’t want to aggravate my mother. “Your kind is interfering. They will bring about their own destruction.” My mother issued the critique assuming I knew what she was talking about. My mother’s ominous warnings weren’t helpful, but at least she wasn’t trying to stop me from returning to my route. “Can you imagine our worlds intertwined? No, I suppose you couldn’t. Humans have limited imaginations.” The spirit paused when I approached Daff. “You travel like the pigeons I remember.” “Do you have budget-cuts in the spirit realm?” I patted an overburdened canvas bag. “I am sad for you, Daughter Clementine, but I can’t say why.” My mother touched her eyes as if summoning tears that would never come. “Perhaps there is nothing to be done. What is inevitable will come to pass.” “I don’t suppose you can extrapolate? It would be a lot easier if you could tell me all of your little spirit-secrets, instead of being weird and vague.” My mother lifted her palms towards the sky. “If I knew how to explain, I would. You don’t have to blame yourself for the actions of other humans, even when those actions will ruin us all.” “I don’t blame myself, but I want to help. If I can stop something bad from happening, I want to, but I don’t understand what you’re referring to.” Empty palms held still, my mother nodded. “You must go on now, and I will do the same, if I can.” The spirit watched me climb into the saddle with a tight-lipped smile cut across her face. “Your mother knows you are a good girl, darling pigeon.” I wanted to raise my voice, to demand useful information, to curse the spirit for stealing my mother’s face, but I was frustrated with more than this misplaced spirit. I gave a half-hearted little wave. “Ride well, little bird.” My mother waved back at me, and I steered Daffodil onto the trail. Feeling a bit dizzy and more than foolish, I regretted leaving the path to chase an unhelpful vision. (night sounds fade) But, can you blame me? Maybe I’m too tired to make decent decisions, and that cradling connection I’ve felt to the magic of my home is more of a curse. (writing) Sincerely, Clementine. [CLEMENTINE IS MURMURING IN HER SLEEP, DISTRESSED. THE DOOR OPENS AND VAL ENTERS.] VAL: Rough night, huh? These incident reports are ridiculous. Why does the Post suddenly care about what specific weird shit we encounter? [IMPLEMENTS CLATTER AS VAL STARTS A POT OF COFFEE. THE STEAM HISSES OUT, AND VAL SWEARS.] VAL: Coffee’s on. Look sharp, Clem. (pause) Oh, shit, she’s out. Hmm. What are you working on, Ms. Keys? (paper rustles) Another one of your sappy letters, eh? You could always drink about it instead, like the rest of us. CLEMENTINE: (asleep) No, no, don’t go that way. Don’t go that way, it’s-it’s a dead–it’s a dead end– VAL: Alright, early bird, let’s get you up and out of here. (nudging her) Clem, wake up. CLEMENTINE: (asleep) L-Listen, listen to me! We can’t stay here, it’s too dangerous! VAL: (shaking her) C’mon, Clementine, you are having a bad dream and it’s time to get up. CLEMENTINE: Stop, stop! Come back here! You’re all going to die! VAL: Clementine! [VAL SHAKES CLEM RIGHT OUT OF THE CHAIR, AND SHE FALLS TO THE FLOOR WITH A STARTLED YELP.] CLEMENTINE: Ow! What’s going on? Did you…push me on the floor? VAL: That was an accident. You were drooling all over your paperwork. Postmaster Best won’t be pleased. CLEMENTINE: I wasn’t drooling. VAL: What’s the matter, Clem? You look like you’ve seen a ghostie, a ghoul, or a girl that’s out of your league. CLEMENTINE: How many reports do you have to fill out? I don’t want to take all morning. VAL: You’re the only one who fills out all that stuff religiously. I think Milo keeps a bunch of completed ones in his desk, and the only thing he changes is the date. CLEMENTINE: That’s smart. VAL: Personally, I prefer blowing mine off entirely. What’s Nick gonna do about it? Gently reprimand me? I’ve got plenty of time to hear about your haunt, if you want to talk about it. CLEMENTINE: (deep breath) It’s not just the haunt. I’ve been having these bad dreams. I think they’re connected to the changes that we’ve been experiencing, and I’m worried about what they might mean. VAL: Normally, I’d tell you to worry less and distract yourself more, but there’s plenty of good reasons to be worried. CLEMENTINE: If these dreams are supposed to be some kind of message or warning, they aren’t very helpful. Feels like every night I watch Gilt City crumble into ashes, but what am I supposed to do about it? VAL: There isn’t anything you can do. Let’s say you are having visions of our untimely destruction. That doesn’t mean you’re the sole person responsible for stopping that future. No one has the power to do that alone. CLEMENTINE: I feel so helpless. What could be the point of showing me the same visions over and over again? How am I ever supposed to rest when every time I close my eyes– VAL: (groan) Shit, you know I’m not the best at being comforting. CLEMENTINE: It’s okay. I appreciate you waking me up. Now, maybe I’ll have the chance to finish this paperwork and go home before time for my next route. VAL: Forget your paperwork; you need your rest. What’s so important that you actually need to report it? CLEMENTINE: I saw my mother on my haunt, well, not my actual mother–just a spirit pretending. The encounter was strange, but I can’t stop thinking about it. VAL: You don’t have to uncover the meaning behind these things. Sometimes fucked-up shit happens, and we have to live with it without understanding it. CLEMENTINE: But aren’t you tired of all the mysteries? We can’t ignore what we’ve learned about the Post and how it affects us, but knowing doesn’t make any of this any easier. How are we supposed to– VAL: (softly) Clementine. CLEMENTINE: What? VAL: I promise, we’re-we’re gonna be okay. CLEMENTINE: Weren’t you the one saying we were doomed, just the other day? VAL: Sometimes, we have to make promises to the people we care about even if we can’t keep them in the end. (with a put-on cowboy accent) You know Val Torres is always true to her word. I’m the sunset at your back, Miss Clementine. CLEMENTINE: (laughing) Why, thank you, partner. VAL: Look, do you…want to stay over at my place? I can’t stop the creepy dreams from coming back, but I can come up with creative ways to wake you up. CLEMENTINE: Oh, like gently coaxing me awake with a hot blueberry muffin and delicious coffee? VAL: Mm. Pushing you on the floor worked well enough the first time. CLEMENTINE: (exhale) I do like the idea of not being alone with my subconscious. I don’t know that I trust you not to wake me up with some horrible combination of shaving cream, permanent marker, and ice water. VAL: Uh, yeah, it’s a sleepover, dummy. CLEMENTINE: I bet your hijinks are super popular with all the other ladies you invite over. VAL: (cowboy voice) If I didn’t know any better, you’re sounding a little jealous, Miss Keys. CLEMENTINE: (also like a cowboy) And what if I was? I’m off limits, because dating other pigeons is weird and bleak, remember? VAL: You are the one with the freaky nightmarish visions. CLEMENTINE: Whatever, I’m sure some women find prophetic visions very hot. VAL: But I’ll never tell. C’mon, let’s get out of here. CLEMENTINE: Yeehaw. NICHOLAS: (as the outro plays) Thank you for joining us on tonight’s route. If you’d like to support Station 103, consider joining our Patreon for weekly bonus stories and early episode access. Or check out our Redbubble and Ko-Fi shops for Night Post merch and digital story collections. Send a letter to a motherly figure, and tell them about The Night Post. Promo for Nowhere, On Air: JESS: Hey there, folks. Your host and pal Jess here. If you’re hearing this, that means you’ve found our frequency. Or maybe, it’s found you. 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