beacon hills community radio

Curl up under your bed. Pretend to be a monster. Welcome to Beacon Hills. Stay tuned for local updates on our small little town. Radio for the community, by the community, broadcast right here in Beacon Hills, where the trees have us completely surrounded. It is too late to run. a teen wolf / welcome to night vale crossover run by puddled ASK

[beaconhillsradio]

[Transcript J]

And now listeners, the news.

The Sheriff's Police here in Beacon Hills are recruiting. The gory deaths a month ago of half the police department (the one most people admit exists, at least) have left a bit of a gap. How--and why--this event occurred is still a mystery.

Could it have been the result of a bloody coup d'etat within the Sheriff's Overt Police? Or possibly the work of the Secret Police, of whom no one will speak or even gesticulate in a meaningful manner about. We just don't know.

A missive has appeared on my desk -- it appears to be written in charcoal. It reads: 'A giant hydrophobic murder lizard did it', which is just a little lacking in the detail that makes a good news story, but there you have it. Let us not question what the Sheriff's Overt Police had done to earn this reptile's ire, nor how it became so very large, but instead lock our doors and windows against it, and shiver in our beds. Maybe invest in a moat.

If you are interested in a career in law enforcement, please report to intern Stiles for screening.

[beaconhillsradio]

[transcript d]

Apparently, intern Phil has taken a sabbatical to reconsider his future in radio.

We here at the station wish intern Phil all the very best and hope that whatever he is looking for in life finds him first. His coffee will be missed: Station Management has gotten very particular about their order and more than one employee here at Beacon Hills Community Radio has tragically been eaten as a result.

It takes a certain athletic flexibility to launch the cup accurately while simultaneously running away, but intern Stiles seems to have the trick of it now. He's sorry to hear that Greenberg got sick and all, he's the new replacement, um, intern... guy. Sent by the company? Y'know, that company. With the interns. The intern, um, company. Yeeaaah. Anyway, have you seen Danny around anywhere? Nice guy, dimples, he used to host this radio show?

Listeners, I'd like to take a moment to thank The Intern Company for their sponsorship of our little station; your interns are - as always - invaluable, and infinitely replaceable.

The Intern Company: for when you can't pay them to do it.

[beaconhillsradio]

[3.5]

I cannot believe my eyes listeners, an astonishing thing has happened! Back-lit by the emergency lights, and the remaining small fires, a figure has emerged from the darkness.

I must amend my previous report: Intern Phil is not--I REPEAT: NOT--dead! He does look a little beaky though, said Mrs Bilges from the dance studio across the hall, who has quite kindly lent us her fire extinguisher. Not peaky dear, beaky, doesn't that look like a beak?

I wasn't going to comment really, as it looked like intern Phil has been trying to grow a beak for some time and it was quite patchy there for a while, which would be rude to point out, but I must say that the beak is coming in quite handsomely now.

[beaconhillsradio]

[Transcript 3]

Station Management is also participating in the Night Vale Cross-Cultural Program, listeners--at least, I think it is Station Management down the hall. I admit it is hard to tell, having never gazed upon the countenance of Station Management itself, but something in how the lights dim and flicker with the strange harmonics of the roaring could make me very nearly believe I am back in the halls of my very own radio station in Night Vale.

I mention this because intern Phil, who I have inherited along with the Beacon Hills station, has been looking pale and overwrought for the last few days. And not moments ago, overcome by some sort of diligent fervor while delivering coffee and muttering the Intern's Pledge in a determined voice ("Not photocopiers, nor lack of pay, nor shouting, nor getting lost on my first day, shall keep me from my appointed duties") intern Phil has just opened Station Management's door.

Ladies. Gentlemen. Never have I seen such a demonstration of bravery and conscientiousness in an intern... and I still have not, because I am now hiding behind a pot plant and averting my eyes.

From those of us here at the station, we send our condolences to the Greenberg family, and pray to unnamed gods that we will be passed over by the inexorable rage of Station Management.

[beaconhillsradio]

[Transcript 0]:

Hello..? Hello. Um.

I don't know where I am. Listeners, I--

Ahem.

Listeners, if you are out there, my name is Cecil and I do not think I am in Night Vale any more. I seem to be in a radio station? But when I look out of the window there is no familiar view. No sand wastes. No helicopters. No Big Rico's pizza.

There is an awful lot of trees out there.

How I came to be here, I do not know. Every time I touch the desk my bones start humming at concert pitch so I'm pretty sure it wasn't by bloodstone circle, which is definitely nearer F sharp.

Well. While I must admit I would have liked to pack a toothbrush, being selected for the Night Vale Cross-Cultural Program is as mysterious as it is competitive. So dear listeners, this is Cecil; reporting that I am very excited to be here with you, wherever it is that 'here' is, representing Night Vale for an as yet undetermined length of time. I'm not too worried though, as I have it on very good scientific authority that time isn't actually real.

Oh, hey! I've found a note.

It says;

Welcome to Beacon Hills.