feel the breeze.

CHARLOTTE:

Hello Violet Beach! Charlotte Cranor-Liu here to keep informing the general public–or, the not-general not-public–about how terrible everything is!

So! Let’s talk.

I’m Char, I’m sixteen, junior at the Corielli Academy For Creative Youths, and your new best friend. Unless, like, we’ve already met, in which case, you already know what I think of you.

So. Where to start? Cuz I got stories. Uh. At fight call today, I hit Andrew Meyer for real, which was pretty satisfying. Cuz he’s the worst? AJ high-fived me afterward, and actually told me where he worked? Which was super satisfying, cuz I got kicked out of the Starbucks for fighting in the alley by it? In fairness, the guy stole tips, it was–it was morally an obligation. But the assistant manager was like, “oh, but now he’ll sue us, and why did you claim to be an employee,” which, like, has she never heard of getting into character to add more feeling to a situation? He would be more likely to give it back if he thought he was stealing my money? Just—whatever. I needed a new coffee-source and now I have one.

But, anyway, AJ took me to the Bean Zone today, which, cool, I didn’t know they were even open. Neither did anyone else, though, I don’t think because it was empty. Which might also be because their coffee is kind of the worst? Still.

I kept AJ busy, though. He used his employee discount, so, I only paid, like, ten bucks total for my thirteen drinks. So. After I was properly caffeinated and his two-hour shift ended, which, I didn’t even know they did those, we started biking to his place, and he–he fell. And I got nervous, and I grabbed his arm to help him up once I was sure he was okay, and when I made contact, the–

Well, Teresa talked about this last time, but the sky went that gross purple color. And I assumed tehat–I assumed that the glow was because of us touching, so I let go, and then–I couldn’t.

And then the breeze that’s always there happened again. And we were back on the road, on our bikes, and we were pedalling. Like nothing happened.

And he said, like, uh, “Nice grip,” or something, and I nodded, because my grip’s pretty nice, and we were just, in, like, a really weirdass situation, so.

Anywho. So we went back to my place and my sister was all like, oh, wow, who’s this, your–censored rude term that disrespects AJ, who is, like, maybe my only friend–and so I yelled at her?

I mean. He’s not my only friend. I–he is.

Why can’t I say that I have other friends? Like–I’m trying to lie, right now.

Um. Okay. Cool. So.

We’ll get to that later.

But, anyway, I did scream at her, yes. Cuz she was an ass. As per ush.

So. Anyway. AJ and I went up to my room and started watching a bootleg of—y’know? If this, like, truth serum thing going on’s a thing, I’m not gonna try to name the show. Cuz it’s embarrassing. I wanted to—no. Okay.

Can’t lie! That’s—

Ugh! That’s so stupid!

Um. What else? I think I saw a ghost during photography today, but that’s just how the woods are sometimes. AJ and I broke into some asshole’s beach house back there for this week’s project, because last year the guy who owns it was a creep to me. But I think that maybe his house is haunted? Cuz there was this, like, weird mist in the living room right by the TV.

But again, that’s just how the woods are. I think. That’s not really my zone. But, of all places in this town to already be haunted? That’s, like, top thirteen spots, natch.

Also: Gregory And Janet Wilson Who Live In The Beach House Development In The Woods From May To September Every Year But Who Live In Virginia Otherwise left three spare keys under the lion statuette in their uglyass overgrown garden. So, there. Make of that what you will.

But. It’s a supernatural occurrence, or whatever you wanna call it, so I should put it on here. The ghost sighting. Not his key location. That’s–that’s just a thing that I know. Obvi.

The mist was, like–it was kind of all-consuming? Like, in that way that people are always all-consumed by beauty, but not really, because I was also having heart palpitations. Or something. Not really sure what heart palpitations are, but, uh. I was overwhelmed by the beauty but also? Very, very afraid of it. I felt like I was frozen in place, like I was being swallowed by it–

And then AJ said, “Are you okay?” and I snapped out of it. I asked him if he saw it, and he nodded, was like, “uh yeah, but, like, we could agree before entering that the woods are super haunted,” and I agreed, but, like, he didn’t seem to get the vibes that I did. Swear to god, I heard horror movie music behind me.

Uh. The Corielli board is meeting tonight, and I’m supposed to talk about the theater program, just–I don’t like talking in front of the PTA, because I don’t know any of their kids, like, logically, I should know their kids. There are maybe 200 people in the high school, and I know most of them. I know all of their faces.

But the Corielli board’s faces don’t look like anybody. Like, literally. I’ve talked at Corielli board meetings, like, seven times, and I cannot tell you what a single parent looks like.

Which might be supernatural happenings also? Nice.

[faux-excited]

Mystery! Intrigue! Cool!

[a pause, a sigh]

At least this truth-curse-or-whatever-the-hell-it-is has room for jokes. That’s, like, legitimately cool.

Um. So, I have to talk to the board tonight, and I think that’ll be—that—shit. Shit, it’s in ten minutes.

I’ll record more later.

[static, and a click. CHARLOTTE is out of breath.]

Okay, I’m back. I’m—holy shit.

So, I think the truth curse is off, but—like, obvi, I’m not gonna—I can promise that I’m not exaggerating.

So, the board. The board.

So, I think I said that they might be paranormal activity? They super are. I’m usually late, when I go to meetings? But I was on-time, and, uh, I was supposed to stay in the auditorium, but I went backstage to check on the set, but. Whatever. I was backstage. And so were they.

The board, I mean.

And they were—they were silent, in a circle, staring at each other. All of them. No one said anything, for a minute—like, I started timing a few seconds in, and it was at least seventy-seven seconds.

And one of them looked up, and just—feedback and sirens came pouring out of his mouth, like during an emergency when you’re watching TV or—

And he looked at me, blinked, and said, “Miss Cranor-Liu, you made it!” and he pushed through the circle, and nobody moved, just—and he grabbed my shoulders, and I wanted to—I wanted to hit him, to—

He just said, “The meeting’s cancelled, dear, didn’t you hear?”

I tried to take in his face, just cuz, and—nothing stood out to me.

And I tried to pull away, to hit him, to—to, like, kick him in his balls, or whatever, and my body just—it froze. And then there was that stupid purple again, and—

And I was outside. And I checked my email, and I didn’t get a cancellation notice, so—uh.

Something’s happening at Corielli. And, uh, I think—four or five of us went to Corielli, like, Teresa and Elaine def didn’t, and Benji, like—I’ve seen him on campus before, like, when I was in middle school, but also, I’m pretty sure he’s omnipresent, so. Who knows, with him. But the majority of us involved went to Corielli, so—like. That’s relevant, I think? Put it on your conspiracy board, next to the seven photos of Avril Lavigne and her dopplegangers. Use green yarn, for, like—for my sake. S’a good color for conspiracy theory boards that you never see anywhere.

I watch a lot of conspiracy theory videos, just to—to laugh at that. Also, they’re so consistent to me? So they’re very relaxing. Good to fall asleep to. Like, some folks need white noise or ASMR or whatever, but a good ol’ Andy Kaufman death hoax ten hour loop, y’know? Or, like, a Sondheim is multiple people one. It exists. You have to look hard for it, but, like, it almost convinced me that there are eighteen of him, so it’s worth it. I watched a seven-part documentary on the moon-landing thing when I was a kid, and that thing just, like—it got me so interested. I’m not crazy or anything. But this is ringing major documentary alarm bells. Maybe I can hit up some clickbait site and they can send folks over here to wrap a nice bow on this whole weird situation.

[beat]

Nobody’s gonna listen to this, like—and AJ’s the only person who’ll care, so, like, might as well talk on here.

Mae Babson the new transfer student is hot as hell. Like—I try not to have crushes, because they’re dumb, and they keep my eyes off the prize, which is to say, y’know. College. My art.

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that feelings are pointless and that we’d be way better off without them, y’know? Especially when those feelings are for really dreamy girls who manage to look, like, at least 70 percent like she’s into girls, even though this is Corielli, so, like, she could be the straightest girl on earth, and also she’s weirdly nice, like—nicer than most people. And it’s kind of annoying how nice she is, like, she—she’s nice to everybody. Even to people who don’t deserve it.

But. Anyways. She’s super hot and I’m kinda sorta in love with her. Whatever. Rant over. I’ll edit that out.

So. Ghosts and mystery and intrigue. Woo.

Y’know, maybe Mae’s caught up in this mystery, actually, cuz—well, she only showed up after all that happened. Maybe she’s, like—maybe she’s a ghost. That’s the nightmare, honestly, being in love with a ghost. Like, second only to her being straight? Worst case scenario.

I could write a solid one act about being in love with a ghost and, like, protag comes to accept that she’s dead and is willing to make this work, but ghost girl’s like, “Oh, too bad, don’t like girls. Sorry, honey!” And that’s the plot twist. Sad ending. A tragicomedy for everyone.

But. Incorporeal Girlfriend and playwriting dreams aside, it is weird that she showed up, cuz—we never get new juniors, especially not midyear? So. It’s not entirely out there that she’s involved. Put her pic up next to the X-Files poster, connect ‘em with red yarn. For love symbolism.

Also, she’s like, otherworldly-ly attractive, so. That contributes to Benji’s alien theory. Also, Benji? I don’t care about your alien theory. Or that you wrote your thesis on aliens. Or that you—

Ugh. Just. The email thread is very long and you aren’t Agent David Duchovny On The X-Files I Don’t Know The Character Name But Oh Boy Do I Know Who David Duchovny Is. Also, use the goddamn group chat? Some of us don’t ever check our emails. And I know you’re gonna call me blasphemous or something for not knowing the X-Files guy’s name, which, yeah, I did that on purpose.

So, um, I was helping out the lighting designer—Ollie, the other day, because if the show looks like shit it’s my fault somehow, and they kept asking me about purple lights. I forgot about this, like—

Wait.

God, I can’t stop thinking about the board, actually. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I’m—I’m pretty self-aware, I would have said something. I’m me, for God’s sake, I would’ve said something half-charming and half-assholey, and then I would’ve been kicked out, and I would’ve, uh, maybe tried to pick a physical fight, and then—yeah. You know the deal. I told the Starbucks story earlier. I think—I think they somehow stopped me from saying anything, like—just like that force wouldn’t let me lie or let go of AJ’s hand or fight back—there’s always an inability to do something.

I swear, if this interferes with the show, I’ll fight God. Or whatever force is out there, like—I will press legal charges against fate or destiny or the passage of time or aliens or whatever the fuck. And also punch it.

The lighting designer stuff—that’s just me being paranoid, but the—the board, that’s real, and I’m scared as hell. I’m gonna—I’m gonna maybe do some recon, re: that, get those costume slash makeup design elective credits I’ve been trying for. I haven’t taken the class, because it’s seniors only and also because Ms. Dunkers hates me because her nephew accused me of selling him fake Rent tickets, which, I didn’t know they were fake, so, he can’t blame me, so she won’t let me in her classes anymore. She has explicitly told admin that “Miss Cranor-Liu is not to enroll in any of my electives no matter how much she complains to you.” So I asked admin, like, can I just do a bunch of independent studies, and I think they’re afraid of me? So they said yes.

Anyway.

I’m gonna sneak in on next week’s board meeting as an interested potential transfer student. Need an alias, and you know that it will be Faith Deathstrike. Which is an unfortunate last name, but a badass codename.

So. Uh. I’m signing off. Come to the show, week of February twentieth at the Corelli auditorium, and watch me get possessed by an actual ghost during my solo, or whatever. And if I get ritually sacrificed at the board meeting, now you know what led up to my disappearance! This is basically Serial, now, but in real time, right?

TERESA:

Okay, so–it’s recording. Cool .

Um. It’s Wednesday. It’s been nine days since–eight days, maybe? –well, if you’re listening, at this point, you know what it was–Benji says we’re gonna publish this, but, like, no. That’s–that’s ridiculous. This is for science.

Or our memoirs. Whatever.

We’ve–the seven of us have decided to keep a log. Of what’s been going on.

Um. So. Cool. Name and deets, just in case some more weird memory shit goes down–My name’s Teresa. I’m eighteen. I’m an Aries, I like bowling and shitty pop music, and only mostly ironically. That enough fluff? I’m a freshman at, ah, Lands College, here in town, and. Studying journalism, with a minor in women’s studies, uh–anything else–I feel like this would be a better story if I start showing, rather than telling.

Or, like. Telling stories rather than just reading out my dating profile. Because that’s lame.

My dating profile’s actually–it’s a lot more detailed than that. I’m on, like, seven different sites, and every profile is. Very Different.

(text notification sound)

Anj, stop–stop listening in! You–you–dude, take a nap.

So. Anyway. Here’s what we know.

(long beat)

That was good, right? A good joke? That’s something. Um. Cuz we don’t know very much at all. There’s something there, I swear, like, I rehearsed that bit in the bathroom mirror this morning, and I was thinking, no, I won’t pull that, but–

But. Back to the point.

Y’know how, in movies, people are always like, “Nobody knows except for us?”

That’s so exclusive. So presumptuous. We don’t know if people are lying. We haven’t spoken to every person on the planet–we haven’t even spoken to anyone outside of Maryland. Outside of town. Like. We’ve watched news, but God knows, some of those conspiracies about hypnosis through CNN are real, or whatever. Y’know? Like–those conspiracies are almost exclusively believed in by, like, flat-earthing racists, so, like, they’re probably, definitely super wrong, but–I was making a joke and I’m overthinking it now. Cool.

Anyway. We don’t know who knows. Maybe someone in, like, Caracas, knows? Maybe someone in–you get my point–knows.

Or maybe we’re being Truman Showed. Wouldn’t be the worst theory to have come out of this.

I would–well, I’d hate it, but one time, back in middle school, the public library did these–these movie nights for teenagers, right? And, so, uh, a bunch of us were there, and I was sitting with Angie, cuz she was–she was the only person I knew there, of course, and she was sitting with these kids, like–uh, from the hippie school she had taken in, and–one of them was AJ, I know, and one was Charlotte. but the others, I don’t see anymore.

But anyway, she was, like, starry-eyed at the idea of her life being a TV show without her knowing. At the idea of unintentional stardoms. So maybe she’ll get a kick out of that theory.

Here’s something: I was working on my campaign notes earlier, cuz the group’s meeting tomorrow, should meet tomorrow  and I didn’t really–I didn’t like a few of the potentials, so, whatever. Irrelevant.

I checked the time, and–well. It was twelve oh one. And two minutes later, it was still twelve oh one. And now, it’s still twelve oh one.

I thought maybe my laptop was being bad again? But it said the same on my phone, and on the wall clock.

The app says time is passing. It’s been longer than fifty-nine seconds.

It’s still twelve oh one, though, is the thing. Which isn’t great, all things considered.

But, we’ll catch up on that later.

Here’s the big thing. I went back to the beach last night to see if I could recreate what happened alone, and, uh–at least. I think I did. I don’t remember going, but, uh, Angie says I did, and AJ said that when he was closing at work, he saw me walking towards it. But I didn’t–I didn’t go.

There are sixty-nine–which, yeah, nice, that’s the sex number, whatever–sticky notes on the bathroom mirror, and, like–I can make out letters on some of them them? Individual letters? But not words. And I know that they’re making words, and I know that it’s my handwriting, but my brain just–it goes somewhere else.

And other ones, that I can read, they have dumb stuff. One of them’s just a doodle of David Hyde Pierce with a caption that just says “HELL YEAH. LOOK AT THE MOON WEDNESDAY.”

It’s, like–in fairness to me, or the person I assume to be me, it’s a fairly good David Hyde Pierce. And there’s–there’s a new moon tonight, so–well.

Whatever.

It’s still twelve oh–oop. Nevermind. Twelve oh two now. Nice.

Benji wants me to take off work until this whole thing’s sorted out. Says he’ll still pay me, but, like–being yelled at by awful dudes about trivia that nobody knows is kind of the only constant in my life right now? So I said no. Obviously. Like. It sucks, but it makes me feel normal. Like the beach out by Angie’s place did, before–

Well. Maybe some recollection would be nice, I guess. Just so, like, Danny and company–like, if we end up showing them. Cuz I’m better at sticking to the facts than, say, Robin or Charlotte. So. Yeah.

So. Uh.

Most folks know that she transferred in after a semester at–well, I’m not allowed to say the name of the school in front of her, anymore, and she’s, like, giving me death-eyes out of the bedroom door. But. A certain Ivy League school. This is relevant–

Okay, maybe not, but it’s a nice set up to our establishing shot, which is, of course, her New Year’s party, nine days ago. At her parents’ place. Or, eight days ago, at her parents’ place, I guess. She told us on New Year’s Eve that she was starting at Lands on the fourth, and I offered her a stay in my dorm, cuz I had a single, and, uh, it sucked? But. Whatever.

So I said, “You know, I have a single.” And she said–wait, lemme find my journal–yes, I do write down conversations, Angie.

Alright. She said, “Oh, really, is it on–Bandcamp, Soundcloud, iTunes, MySpace? I didn’t know you–” And I said, “I meant dorm room, dude, you mentioned–MySpace?”

She said, “I still use it.” I laughed, “Of course you do.”

But, anyway. We agreed to live together, but. It was one AM. Robin Cabell dropped by with her new fiancee, said hi, and–well, like, our babysitter’s getting married, to, like, this gorgeous girl from DC, and the high school kids from the hippie school were there, and Benji was there, cuz he’s everywhere, and–

As folks left–Angie started playing Wonderwall around 3AM, so, uh, a little bit before then–it ended up just being the seven of us. Her parents are out of town–as always. Well, not always. But frequently.

They’re mad about–Blarvardgate.

I–I didn’t say it! I said something mildly close alluding to it. Stop texting me!

But. It was just the seven of us there, Angie still playing some terrible 90s song, and–Benji says, “I brought fireworks. Forgot about that til now.” Elaine, uh, Robin’s new fiancee, asked, “They legal?”

Benji said, “It’s New Year’s Day and I’m a–a bit of a town celebrity,” he said, because his podcast gets, like, seventeen downloads per episode.

“You are?” asked Elaine.

He got really proud, real fast, and he said, “Yes, absolutely, and also, I’m at some rich people’s house and it’s New Year’s Day, so, like. We’ll be fine.”

Which, fair.

And that’s about when things blew up?

Ironically, not literally, cuz he went to his truck, and brought out the fireworks, and he was–well. It was New Year’s, he wasn’t sober, so, he tripped, and those things went flying, landing in the water. It was a bad fall, he hit his head on a rock. And Charlotte was laughing, and she was wading right where the waves were breaking, and she fell backwards, so–AJ panicked, and he jumped in after her, cuz she wasn’t coming up.

And AJ came up, holding Char so she could stand, and she was coughing up water, looked like she was about to pass out. I was checking out Benji’s wound, even though, I’m, like,–blood? Not my thing, ever, at all, it’s–it’s weird and red, and Angie was getting up to check on me, and Rob and her fiancee were trying to help out the kids, and–

And the sky went bright purple.

Not, like, when it’s a sunset, and the sky’s kinda magenta? And that’s blending into the night-sky color, but–

Like, highest saturation on photoshop, highest brightness, makes-you-almost vomit cuz your eyes are burning, that bright purple.

And my skin, it felt like it was burning. I smelled salt, felt a breeze, and I tried to close my eyes, to breathe out, but I couldn’t.

And then there was nothing.

And then I woke up on the beach. I could smell salt, I was totally clear-headed–and Benji’s cut? It was gone.

My watch said it was around 4AM. My phone was dead, but–it was the first, still. The sun was rising, in–in normal sky colors.

And I woke up second. Elaine was already up.

She asked me if I saw it too.

I said I that did.

Neither of us needed to clarify what. But we did. Obviously. Because “it” could be, like, anything, like–could be that new reality show that everyone’s super into where eliminations are decided by arm wrestles–it’s, like–it’s got compelling storylines, I swear.

My phone died, Angie, so if you’re trying to communicate, I can’t help you.

Oh! Time’s passing normally now. That’s nice. That’s good.

The plan was to recount the past week’s events, as well as their psychological effect on us. That’s what we agreed on.

So. Time stopped for a little while today. That was weird. That’s important.

I guess–I’m first, so I should talk about my other big experience too.

I was the fourth of us to see something, after it all? It was the third. After work, I was walkin’ to Ramon’s? And as I passed the custard stand, I saw this woman.

She was shorter than me, uh, long sundress on that was way too summery for this weather, but she didn’t seem cold. I offered her my hoodie, cuz I at least had long sleeves, but she didn’t answer. Dark hair, big sunglasses. I’d wager maybe thirty.

She took off her sunglasses, yeah? And the sky flashed purple–the same purple, the same burning feeling all over me–

And then the same nothingness, same smell of salt, same breeze, but–

I was still standing. And we were in this space, this–this purple nothingness, no ground, no sky, no nothing, that’s a double negative, you get what I mean, and–I was still standing–more floating, which was–not as pleasant as you’d expect? But not unpleasant, either. And this woman, she looked at me,  dead in the eyes, and–

And she said–

(beat, uncomfortable)

What did she say?

(laughs)

It’s–it’s in my head, like. Tip of my tongue. I wrote it down, but it’s–it’s another individual letters making out a word I know but can’t–type situation.

But whatever.

What I’m most concerned about is my going to the beach. About the sticky notes. Like, that’s some sci-fi bullshit. Or some horror bullshit. Either or. Probably both.

Again, Truman Showed. Viable theory, here.

Or it has something to do with the Groundhog Day thing. Maybe.

I think what bothers me about this is how easy I’m accepting all this–that, like, I’m fairly sure all this is real. I know it’s–it’s weird. I know that this is sci-fi-esque, but, like–I never saw myself as a protagonist, or–any kind of tagonist, I guess, in those stories. But this–now, I think that I am.

So. Cool.

But why do I think that’s cool? I’m the–I’m the socially-stilted nerdy girl who either dies second or gets really good at guns, and I’m very afraid of guns.

So, therefore? I’m dying second.

Or, or or or, I’m Lois Lane. Charming and tough young journalist, swept off her feet by a charming stranger. Hopefully not a Superman, though, cuz–he’s not my thing. But. Yeah. I can deal with Lois.

I feel like I should know what happens next. Me or Benji, we gotta, we’re the ones who know genre like the backs of our hands. That’s why we’re friends, but–

This isn’t supposed to happen here. Like, I grew up here, and I’m–I wasn’t planning to stay here forever, obviously, but–This town, VB, it’s–it’s comforting in its boringness. Sure, it’s not– the people here are always cycling in-and-out, cuz tourism and school, and all that, but–Violet Beach is a normal-ass town. We don’t have ghost stories, we don’t have cryptids, we–we don’t have lore, or whatever. I don’t think there’s ever been a murder here, for God’s sake.

Okay, well–the hippie school’s headmaster, uh, the rebrander guy, Andrew Corielli, or–his son’s the mayor, right?–Shot that grocer, like, in the sixties. But everyone was a serial killer back then, if I can trust every true crime show ever.

But–my point is. What’s going on is not what happens in this town. What’s going on is what goes on in, like, Roswell, or–or Twin Peaks, or something.

I’m–I don’t have much else to say. That’s a conclusion if there ever was one. So. Uh.

hey! i (bee) will be at podcon both days! if you wanna find me, here’s the schedule i’m rolling w/ for now--i’m super down to hang or talk or record if you want to! i’ll be in downtown seattle all day on the 21st as well. i will have some podcon exclusive merch, both for violet beach and my other podcast, for teenage girls.

i realized last week that, oh yeah, the one year anniversary of violet beach was coming up, and i thought, well, i oughta put something together. and, being myself, i put it off until now, a day after the anniversary.

so. last august, i sat down and decided to turn a pet project of mine into a podcast. i wrote the scripts, spread a casting call around social media, and i made it fucking happen. i’m pretty proud of that, to be honest. i wasn’t in a great place mentally, but making violet beach season one and seeing people love it made me feel like i was worth something. and it’s unhealthy to base self-worth upon the validation of others, sure, but it felt good. it felt right.

an aside: the first podcast i ever listened to was--like many--welcome to night vale, which took off in terms of popularity as it turned a year old. and on its second anniversary, i remember staying up all night waiting for the year’s last episode to drop. i remember the way that moment felt in such depth, with adrenaline in my bloodstream and a lighter spirit than i have now. i felt weepy in the best way, soft in the kindest way. i was thirteen.

i am eighteen, now. i have changed. the feelings i had that night are hard to duplicate because of those changes.

violet beach is not welcome to night vale, i won’t bloviate. but i hope that i’ve made some of you feel that same way, light-spirited, excited, soft. you deserve it. we all deserve it.

i started the season four outline this morning at four am, because i was restless. i have a college essay and a half left to write before my self-imposed season four pre-prod starting point, but i’ve never been a patient person, or a person who follows their own rules.

this last year and one day has kept me light. soft, excited, weepy. i hope that you’ll stick with me through these last seven episodes.

i love you.