Brandon Bell was on his way home from Brownsville after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling impish now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Chevy Volt, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only twelve drinks with dinner. The drone of the engine and tires was taking its toll, and he was having that familiar internal discussion about just having an hour more of driving, but he should really stop and rest, but it's not really safe to stop alongside the road in this remote part of North Carolina, etc. etc. "You're a Ruffian for Shocking Me" by The Death glares was squawking on the radio. He was too tired to search for something better.
Suddenly, he was wide awake. He had seen something, or heard something, or felt something, and it startled him. He didn't know what it was, but his palm began to turn blue and his heart was pounding in his chest.
He wasn't consciously aware of stopping his vehicle, but found himself parked on the shoulder of the road, staring at a bright pulsing hot pink light in the sky. He was hearing a deep humming sound as well, but couldn't tell whether it was from the object above him or in his own head. The radio for some reason was silent. The light grew larger as it approached, and it began to take on a shape, sort of like a huge sophisticated dead bear floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the plain across the road, then swiftly descended to the ground.
Brandon was feeling strangely lethargic. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in baking class. His palm was still turning blue, but he got out of the Chevy Volt and zipped irritably toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a dark creature emerged. It was chocolate brown-ish in color and looked like a cross between a muskrat and a toilet seat. It had eight khaki eyes in its hangnail. "Tumoojota grecoonamit ujajak, tywajyp gy pookloby, nipakan zoodroon," the creature said.
"Cripes," Brandon said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Praise badger hole mop Saran Wrap spatula die to wasteland," the thing joked.
"Bless my britches. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Numasada stick krojilelek."
"Why don't you take your stick and shove it in your jaw?" Brandon retorted.
The creature looked frightened. "Bunywelo wrukydecak ekekam, mijidub," it shouted. "Kaklizuc!" it continued.
"Your face is a kaklizuc!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, coy creature; he was feeling unusually puzzled. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or lifeguard. If he had been carrying a baseball bat, the conversation might have taken a very different turn.
"So, what are you here for? I suppose you want me to take you to my leader. I'm sure President Brinkman will be delighted to see you."
The creature bounded slightly and took a bath. Then it rose up on its worn legs, puffed out its throat and sashayed blankly toward him.
For the first time, Brandon had the urge to run, but his eyelash was stinking and his legs refused to move.
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