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“Listeners, I’m sure you were wondering how my ‘totally platonic date’ with Carlos went last night. You know I’m not one to get personal on the radio, but it was actually really productive! We met up, he brought his cousin Jon- oh listeners, Jon is just the CUTEST little Avatar of the Beholding I have EVER seen! It appears that the Fear Gods have returned to Night Vale- or at least, they are testing the waters. Let’s give Jon and his patron a warm welcome by telling him all of our most traumatizing experiences so that they can remain properly fed and don’t take our Statements by force!
Now, onto the weather.”
When Carlos first heard that Jon needed to eat people’s fear and trauma in order to remain healthy, his first thought was ‘that’s currently scientifically unexplainable’, quickly followed by ‘I have to make this scientifically explainable’ and ‘the implications of this FOR SCIENCE are incredible!!’
He couldn’t wait to tell his fellow scientists about it.
“So he really can just sustain himself through people’s fear?” One of his scientists, one who was not short but not tall with hair that stopped itself from passing her ears, asked, fascinated. “That’s incredible. How does that work- does he get all the nutrients he needs from one type of fear, or does he need to have a balanced diet of different fears? Could he survive off arachnophobia alone, or does he need nyctophobia or acrophobia too??”
From where he sat nearby at his recently-claimed desk, Jon’s nose scrunched up. “I wouldn’t want to only eat arachnophobia,” He declared, momentarily leaving behind his progress on his current project: drawing a bunch of hyperrealistic eyes.
“Why?” The scientist of a relatively average height with hair that was very short and definitely not long asked. It was not an accusatory question, but rather a genuinely curious one.
“It would be boring,” Jon emphasized. “I don’t want to eat the same thing every day.”
She nodded. “Ah, yes, that makes sense. I wouldn’t want to eat the same thing every day either.” She paused. “...do different fears taste the same? What do they taste like?”
“Carlos- sweet, wonderful, perfect Carlos, the scientist who stole my heart- would like everyone to know that, due to an overwhelming amount of support, there is now a sign-up for delivering Statements to Jon, Avatar of the Beholding. The sign up can be found on the interior of your fridge’s door upon your second time opening the fridge in hopes that there will be more food inside despite not going shopping since the last time you looked five minutes ago, and it asks for you to include what type of Fear you felt so that Jon can receive a properly-balanced diet.”
Carlos sighed, though at this point, he should have expected this outcome. “The Sheriff’s Secret Police’s cameras and microphones caught nothing,” He informed, trying to keep his disappointment out of his voice.
“I told you,” Jon rolled his eyes- at the moment, he had a lot of them, more than a human did, but it wasn’t like he was human anyways- but he was not as annoyed as he pretended to be, a soft hum echoing from him. His last meal was speaking with one of the scientists, recounting how giving the Statement made them feel.
“Doesn’t mean I couldn’t try.” He already knew that the Sheriff’s Secret Police were struggling to record the Beholding’s powers. It was how he got their latest, state-of-the-art cameras in the first place: it appeared on his desk with a note begging him to figure out how to get the cameras to work during Statements. Plus, the cloaked agent pretending to be part of the wall was pretty hard to miss. “...I still don’t understand how this interferes with technology…”
“Cecil could help.”
Carlos nearly dropped the devices from his hands. “I- no, I’m not going to ask Cecil.”
Jon’s head tilted, and- with his voice crackling with static- he asked, “Why not?”
“I don’t want to get close when I don’t know what his intentions are,” The words slipped out without his permission, as if pulled from his throat like a handkerchief rope being torn from the mouth of a clown. “He- hey! Jon! We’ve talked about this!” With all the sternness of someone suddenly forced to care for a child, he recited, “You don’t compel me without my permission!”
Jon didn’t say anything, but his small smile reeked of mischief.
“Honestly…” Carlos grumbled, scrambling to find somewhere to record his most recent experience with the compulsion. It was never quite the same; the pull became stronger over time, but also hurt less, as his body became familiar with the truth forcing its way out of his chest.
“Listeners, have you noticed the uptick of eyes around town? The paper ones, that seem to follow your every move from your peripheral vision but when you look at them directly they are just sketches on paper? No, they’re not a recent surveillance attempt by the Sheriff’s Secret Police- rather, I have been informed that they are an art project from local eight-year-old Avatar of the Eye, Jon! Next time you see one of these eyes, make sure to speak to it and comment on how great the craftsmanship must be- Jon will hear you and I bet it will make his day!”
Jon kicked his legs back and forth, his eyes glowing as he recounted the most recent Statement given to him. The Sheriff’s Secret Police agent assigned to handle the interrogation listened, nodding xyr head at the appropriate parts.
“-Statement Ends,” Jon concluded, feeling more tired than when he started but also fulfilled, like when you take part in something you enjoy despite knowing the taxing toll it holds on your soul- like cross-stitching, or exercise.
“...thank you for your cooperation,” The Sheriff’s Secret Police agent said, voice monotone and robotic, hiding any emotions that xe may or may not be capable of feeling, if xe was even a species that processed emotion at all. “Have a lollipop.”
The lollipop, bright red and in the shape of an anatomically-correct heart, tasted of blood. With the lollipop stick poking out of his mouth, Jon hopped down from the seat and waved ‘bye!’ to the agent. They would be seeing each other again tomorrow morning, after breakfast, then again after lunch, and again after dinner, before doing the entire thing again the next day.
What a good kid, the Sheriff’s Secret Police agent no doubt thought, as xe had thought every other day they had been ordered to record the Statements. In a way, it was redundant, as they already had agents in the room while the Statements were being recorded, but this helped ensure that the Beholding was truly in their favor.
Even the Sheriff had a healthy amount of respect for the Fear Gods, after all.
“Secrets are burdens on the ones who hold them. Fortunately, the Sheriff’s Secret Police can help you carry this weight. Remember to speak loudly and clearly into the cameras in your home, or the various eyes hidden around Night Vale. Someone will hear you, I promise.
Welcome To Night Vale.”