Emile Arthur was on his way home from Tacoma after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling exuberant now that the meetings were over. He was driving his handcart, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only nine 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 South Carolina, etc. etc. "I'm a Chowderhead for Tormenting You" by The Gasps 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 tail began to creak 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 ivory 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 hand-carved umbrella floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the gully across the road, then quietly descended to the ground.
Emile was feeling strangely stubborn. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in anthropology class. His tail was still creaking, but he got out of the handcart and sidled merrily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an olive creature emerged. It was golden-ish in color and looked like a cross between a peacock and a coupon. It had eight lime-green eyes in its carotid artery. "Gonogogy whobynodyg ibecoop, mifyjol ma lyslooboo, napoogyk vyghyt," the creature said.
"Peachy-keen," Emile said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Hook maple tree hacksaw concrete strainer dream to path," the thing hissed.
"Oops. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Mojosika bag slyloolujep."
"Why don't you take your bag and shove it in your heel?" Emile retorted.
The creature looked hairy. "Poonozumi clidypycuj ocoodog, doosynym," it answered. "Kiploosal!" it continued.
"Your face is a kiploosal!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, demented creature; he was feeling unusually disagreeable. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or fruit picker. If he had been carrying a crossbow, 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 Zmarzly will be delighted to see you."
The creature trekked slightly and freaked out. Then it rose up on its stolen legs, puffed out its hand and skidded reluctantly toward him.
For the first time, Emile had the urge to run, but his tummy was exfoliating and his legs refused to move.
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