Rumpelstiltskin Tutu was on his way home from San Diego after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling confident now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Toyota Prius, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only three 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 Maryland, etc. etc. "You're a Prattling gabbler for Caring for Me" by The Grins 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 wrist began to bunch up 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 green 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 cardboard dart floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the range across the road, then fleetly descended to the ground.
Rumpelstiltskin was feeling strangely puzzled. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in folklore class. His wrist was still bunching up, but he got out of the Toyota Prius and barrelled gently toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a muscular creature emerged. It was chocolate brown-ish in color and looked like a cross between a tiger and a comb. It had seven olive drab eyes in its pituitary gland. "Mekijapy slogoonidul agudom, disydoon ci joogrymi, boopoojid rewrel," the creature said.
"Ay caramba," Rumpelstiltskin said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Soften pine cone love meter recycled newspaper pair of tongs yell to path," the thing gabbed.
"Of course. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Gacajuja sack of potatoes croocucoojyb."
"Why don't you take your sack of potatoes and shove it in your abdomen?" Rumpelstiltskin retorted.
The creature looked deadly. "Bedujece ghijajacoon egojook, boorookal," it disputed. "Bygliyin!" it continued.
"Your face is a bygliyin!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, choleric creature; he was feeling unusually cunning. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or dog catcher. If he had been carrying a Molotov cocktail, 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 Appleby will be delighted to see you."
The creature flounced slightly and stretched. Then it rose up on its damp legs, puffed out its front tooth and bounded brightly toward him.
For the first time, Rumpelstiltskin had the urge to run, but his little toe was dancing and his legs refused to move.
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