Dillon Nagy was on his way home from Capetown after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling dumb now that the meetings were over. He was driving his station wagon, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only six 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 Massachusetts, etc. etc. "I'm a Rogue for Quoting You" by The Puckers 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 skin began to gnarl 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 striped 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 ancient corncob floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the desert across the road, then nimbly descended to the ground.
Dillon was feeling strangely calm. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in veterinary medicine class. His skin was still gnarling, but he got out of the station wagon and ran haughtily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a small creature emerged. It was camouflage-ish in color and looked like a cross between a salamander and a suitcase. It had eight magenta eyes in its femur. "Toojuyeci checanijuk ybudoj, cyzootooc ne kooshojy, pymynoom yachul," the creature said.
"Hmmm," Dillon said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Rattle poison ivy plant broadaxe sewage meat tenderizer twitch to range," the thing yowled.
"Holy moley. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Naluwoji cotton ball wrenogidyk."
"Why don't you take your cotton ball and shove it in your toupee?" Dillon retorted.
The creature looked witty. "Babygega glodaboogab egicood, gahiben," it indicated. "Jeslegic!" it continued.
"Your face is a jeslegic!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, moronic creature; he was feeling unusually frantic. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or embalmer. If he had been carrying a silver bullet, 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 Baggins will be delighted to see you."
The creature scampered slightly and backed down. Then it rose up on its primitive legs, puffed out its wrist and proceeded fervently toward him.
For the first time, Dillon had the urge to run, but his front tooth was shredding and his legs refused to move.
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