The changes begin to occur slowly, so slowly no one ever realizes.
(They never notice how one blinks too slow, or one begins to get lankier and lankier.)
Soon enough however, they are forced to face what they have become.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
This is a story about you, dear listeners.
This is a story of something soon to occur.
It begins, as many things do, with little fanfare.
There are no 'big crossover' fanfictions that draw your attention, or little moving pictures that make you either laugh or cringe.
(The quotes come later, after...Oh, I'm once more getting ahead of myself.
There is simply a person,who happens to discover something by accident.
That person happens to comment to their close associate about this neat thing they found and,curious, the associate looks into it as well.
Slowly this new phenomenon begins to seep through the cracks, and eventually one day it happens.
Someone that you follow because they're witty or intriguing or simply post neat things happens to reblog a quote, a picture, a gif, something that in turn makes you curious.
Somehow you resist the urge to check the tags for it, because who knows what spoilers may lurk?
(An untimely spoiler ruins the experience, in your opinion.)
Instead, with hesitant fingers to ensure you type the correct spelling to search for it, you carefuly begin to look for this phenomenon.
Eventually you find it, and perhaps you struggle with applying for an Apple account in order to download it, or perhaps it plays in your media player and you simply click save as in order to have it on your device.
You listen to the first installment,and perhaps laughing so hard you can barely breath you rush to tell one of the people sharing your genetic coding a hilarious line.
Perhaps you listen in silence, and it ends with you mentally shrugging and saying 'It's alright, I guess'.
Yet there is a craving, a rather unexpected one at that, to listen to the second installment.
Eventually, without any hesitation or forewarning, you find yourself on the tenth installment, the fourteenth, the twentieth.
You begin to sigh alongside the voice, gush about the scientist with the perfect hair as well, and hopefully you shake your fist at the name of the mortal enemy.
Somehow, surprisingly enough, you have become invested.
You begin to follow the tag, reblog anything relating to it that crosses your dash.
You have been absorbed into this growing phenomenon, and do not wish to abandon it.
Eventually, a friend you told about it begins to listen as well.
You begin to draw art, or make a craft, or even write to help expand the knowledge of this fascinating thing.
By doing so, you unintentionally...oh no, I'm getting ahead of myself again.
But we all have difficult habits practically impossible to break, right?
Besides, I don't want to spoil the surprise just yet.
Soon enough, the vague shapes out of the corner of your eyes have become opaque and smoke-like.
The odd noises heard on and off without warning sound more like static, or mysterious words in an old forgotten language.
As the days pass the opaque shapes steadily darken, and you can begin to make out folds in fabric.
You pass by a dog park on the way somewhere, the dog park you've never entered even if you happen to own one, and the grass is surprisingly green despite the rest of the grass in the area being crispy from the recent drought.
There is absolutely no one within however, and you frown slightly in thought.
'That's odd...'somewhere in your brain you whisper, and perhaps the voice is your own.
Perhaps it is my voice you hear, but how can you be so sure the voice is even me?
By the time you reach your destination however, the oddness has faded from your memory.
By the time you return, it is as if the observation had never been made.
Reports of missing animals go up in your area, as do reports of missing people here and there (maybe three at the most, assumed to have just left for greener pastures however) but not enough to warrant any big alerts or town meetings.
For some reason, the weather begins to take a turn towards storm clouds and overcast days,despite you living in a desert area during the hottest time of the year no less.
But it also happens to be monsoon season so you simply shrug, remember to take a water bottle with you, and take advantage of the slightly cooler temperature to actually walk outside.
Of course, that is when things begin to get a bit...weird, even after all the things you have come to accept as relatively understandable.
Everything on your dash now contains some sort of reference to your now favored thing, and you follow it and all related tags religously.
The few times you dare to go outside, you seem to be the sole being and the only thing on your mobile device are the recordings that have begun to be the only things to help you get to sleep.
(The steady voice which has only changed intonation once, the caramel tones of the scientist, the amazing weather.)
The clouds too have begun to change slightly in color.
No one notices considering it an odd shade of gray mingling with blue, but the true name of the color would be gray with a large splash of violet.
This night you fall asleep at your computer,dark shadow shapes having become solid, whispers and radio static are intermixed with a smooth monotone, and the clouds even against the backdrop of the void are stark royal purple.
You do not notice the first or the third thing however, holed up safely within your dwelling.
Things shift around you, the true beleivers.
They mold everything into new shapes, and out of gratitude allow you to live.
You brought them here, shaped them from raw firament and beleif.
If they destroy you, the dreamers,then they will have never been here at all.
The world shifts in a state of flux, history being rewritten and surroundings rearranged.
Next you awake, there is nothing wrong.
You yawn, and scratch the back of your head.
(You might grope for your glasses or rub your eyes instead after awakening, but who am I to say what you do?)
The doorbell rings, and with minor grumbling you somehow manage to stumble in the vague direction of the door.
As you grew older you had been told to always look through the peep hole, but you could honestly care less right now.
As far as you remember it isn't the Taurus' crime day so you should be safe.
You can't be killed without direct orders from the City Council, and you aren't under the employ of Station Management.
A hooded figure makes a gesture after you open the door, and with bleary eyes you hold up a single finger in the universal meaning of'please give me a second'before closing the door.
You walk to the kitchen avoiding the green tiles (because you can't step on green tiles on a Friday, obviously) and open the refigerator, avoiding the sentient cheese and purple slime giving you a nasty look.
You grasp a glass bottle of red liquid (trust me, those still with morals and an unstable stomach shouldn't know what's in it) and begin to pad back to the front door.
You hand it over to the hooded figure who may either be male or female or just raw void material filled into a cloak, and quickly you avert your eyes as they look up.
No one knows what lurks under there, and you most certaintly arent interested in finding out.
Closing the door as the hooded figure goes wherever a hooded figure goes after receiving the Council mandated weekly donation of the mysterious red liquid, you head back to bed after looking under the bed to make sure that the shadow beasts are still there.
They make sure that the annoying pixies don't try to nest inside again, and all you have to do is go to the blood circle out back with an offering of fish twice monthly.
You go back to sleep, safe and content with the knowledge that everything is within it's place.
('Who are you,'everyone else had whispered in the begining, seeing nothing but a simple fandom who had suddenly entered the big leagues.
'Where did you come from,'they ask,even as our tentacles begin to curl around their ankles, as various poisons and bacteria begin to infect them.
'We were always here,'We reply,'We have always been.'
And against their will,against the laws which dictate everything, (which have been shifted to adjust accordibgly thankfully or else we'd never get anything done) they smile.
We smile back even as we consume, devour all those who have become oh so weak after so long.)
Aren't you proud of what you've done, dear listeners?
You beleived in Night Vale.
You began to incorporate Night Vale into reality.
And then Night Vale was willing to beleive in you.
Night Vale was willing to adopt you as their child.
This has been a story about you, dear listeners, and how you changed the world.
This is how Night Vale came to be.
Now, dear listeners, I beleive it is time to say goodnight.
(AN: Inspired by these two posts.
