1.05 - Auction
Hello, listeners. It is midnight in Mercy Mountain once again, and I, Julian Glass, am here to quell your nocturnal souls.
[intro]
Tonight, there is an auction being held by the United Mine Workers of America to fundraise for the spirits of the miners who died and are trapped underground. The spirits will put the money toward furnishing the mine shafts, so they have places to sit down and stream Severance.
Let’s take a look at what’s up for auction. Item one: a carving knife found at the bottom of the New River. Almost certainly never used in a crime and then discarded. Item two: an oblong disk with intricate carvings on one side. Oh, here’s a photo!
I took Ancient Symbology in college, so I think I can read the carvings. Let’s see. “Any person who…gazes upon these markings…shall be doomed…to never be able to look at their reflection again...without…seeing themselves being consumed, literally and figuratively…by their plush animals.” And that is followed by a recipe for the best rye bread you’ve ever eaten. Neat.
Item three: a levitating bread making machine. Item four: a copy of yesterday’s newspaper. Item five: a box of angry hornets. [mutters] Hm. Looking down the list… [normal voice] Oh, this one looks interesting. Item thirteen: a haunted record player. Though I don’t own any records. Perhaps Cara Pinkerton will be interested in that.
Let’s set that aside for the moment, listeners, for an editorial. Look, I know everyone is racing to try the trendiest new diet. Everyone wants to get thin, and get there quickly. We are a society that values starvation. Because listeners, diets are starvation. You deprive your body of some essential nutrient to force it to utilize your fat reserves. But have you considered, being chubby is fine? Being soft is good for cuddles? That weight is not indicative of value, or even of health, and that health is not indicative of one’s inherent value either? Instead of the diet bandwagon, I think we should all jump on the bandwagon celebrating chocolate-dipped pretzels. And no, this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I left my chocolate-dipped pretzels unattended in the break room and they “ran away,” concerned for my health…[whispers furiously] I know you took them, Marie.
[normal voice] The auction seems to be going well, listeners. The people there are all lively and respectful. Only a dozen or so have set up a barricade at the back of the room, surrounding all the items up for auction, angry that the auctioneer is speaking Finnish, and wanting to make the auction quote-unquote “fair” for those who cannot follow the proceedings. These decent folks have guns. Lots of guns. Including item forty-five, a cursed gun that shoots knives. They haven’t done much yet, besides firing warning shots over the heads of anyone still trying to bid and who must understand Finnish.
That’s honestly too bad, listeners. I really had my eye on item thirty-three, a gently used quesadilla maker that may or may not be sentient.
Time for tonight’s Fun Fact. [darkly] Oblivion is out there. Waiting. Waiting to consume. It has already consumed so much, but its hunger can never be sated. It is starving… [cheerily] for cereal! Just like you! Oblivion wants the delicious tastes of Raisin Bran, and Apple Jacks, and Frosted Flakes. Oblivion is out there. Waiting. This Fun Fact has been brought to you by Kellogg’s.
[normal voice] Let’s take a look around town. Fenna van der Berg, journalist for the Daily Dispatch, is watching a documentary on a new species of nudibranch. The most intriguing characteristic of this new species is that they all have human faces.
The Congregation of Maitrenu sings a hymn. It is called “End of an Era.” Yes, that “End of an Era,” the one by The Strumbellas. The song was written and performed just for worshipping Maitrenu.
In the campground of Abscess Springs State Park, Penelope Dunlap and a group of friends play charades around the campfire. Their barely suppressed laughter flows out of them, half-endearing, half-annoying to those nearby trying to sleep.
Elderly Juniper Solo has begun communing with the shadows. The ones lurking beneath the surface of the New River, that are probably not fish, and that begin to reach up when you are not looking.
At the Diner on the Summit, a child—one of the rambunctious Smiths—colors on a menu as she sings a song about her current state of bliss.
Back to the auction. Three dozen people have been injured. None were hurt by the many guns present—guns are of no threat to any of us, of course—but when one of the men behind the barricade tried pulling out an electric kettle from the teetering stack of auction items, the tower came tumbling down on top of them all.
The situation was exacerbated by a swarm of construction workers literally crawling out of the woodwork, coming to feast on the weak and injured.
Eventually someone unleashed the box of angry hornets, which drove the construction workers away from their victims. Though, the hornets also drove out everyone else, because they started attacking indiscriminately.
Local sharpshooter Syd Jones took out the slingshot ze bought at the auction tonight and shot down the hornets one by one, saving the rest of the town from being swarmed.
The construction workers were driven back into the woodwork by the haunted record player, as it suddenly began to play Olivia Rodrigo.
Well, that was certainly eventful, listeners. I’m glad I wasn’t there for the action, and that Syd was there to save us all. Thank Syd next time you see zem, listeners.
[interlude]
Let us take one last look at the night before moving on.
The bobbing lights in the mountains are tonight bobbing with a little extra enthusiasm, a little joie do vivre.
Somewhere in your house, a drawer opens. The plush gibbon your grandfather hid in the drawer for you to find crawls out in search of a spot where you might actually find it.
Deep in the woods, a deer comes across a pile of flannel shirts. As though believing it to be a salt lick, the deer runs its tongue along a sleeve, slowly at first, then again with more eagerness.
Stay tuned for me chugging a glass of water, sighing loudly and contentedly, and then running away with a joyous whoop. Have a wonderful rest of your night, Mercy Mountain.
