You visit the dog park. There are dogs in the dog park. There are people in the dog park. There are children playing in the dog park. The dog park is perfectly safe.
There is a mountain on the edge of town. When you ask about it, people are happy to tell you all about it. “It’s definitely real,” they say, nodding to the red light that blinks atop it, “You know how mountains are formed, right?”
Your friend becomes an intern at the community radio station. One day, they are sent on some task or another. They return unscathed, unharmed. They are an intern. Nothing bad has ever happened to a Night Vale Community Radio intern.
The forest whispers, but only in the language of leaves. It is perfectly pleasant.
The waves lap against the pier at the Waterfront. It’s a nice place, you think, watching as people walk about with their ice creams and popsicles. It makes sense that a waterfront has water.
At the radio station, they tell horror stories of Station Management. Of how they are never satisfied with their coffee, of how they never return pens you let them borrow. Your friend lost a red biro to them once. No one likes station management.
The shape in Grove Park is odd. Very odd. Almost unsettlingly odd. It’s probably modern art.
Hooded figured loiter on the street corner, their faces shadowed, their features hidden. You wonder how people could possibly wear hoodies in this weather.
You have to return a book to the library, but you’re not quite sure what the proceedure is. When you get there, you approach a librarian at the desk. They are more than happy to help you, and you leave with two new borrowed books, and a shiny new library card. Everyone likes the librarians.
That was quite possibly the creepiest thing I’ve ever read.
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