Ichabod Prater was on his way home from Jackson after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling perky now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Ford Falcon, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only eleven 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 Virginia, etc. etc. "You're a Renegade for Stumping Me" by The Fist bumps 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 neck began to wiggle 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 indigo 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 damaged jar of olives floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the valley across the road, then nimbly descended to the ground.
Ichabod was feeling strangely cautious. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in Esperanto class. His neck was still wiggling, but he got out of the Ford Falcon and leapt firmly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a dashing creature emerged. It was rose-ish in color and looked like a cross between a gopher and a clothespin. It had seven brilliant orange eyes in its claw. "Jicegyga droginecom odubec, guzoocom ba nafriko, dujoojak viplak," the creature said.
"Woof," Ichabod said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Study cactus chainsaw wood napkin turn blue to steppe," the thing bellowed.
"Now we're talking. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Tooboyybi flowerpot kledemepep."
"Why don't you take your flowerpot and shove it in your heel?" Ichabod retorted.
The creature looked moody. "Letacyla wrojyjujut ubypak, dizakab," it spouted. "Jeflizoon!" it continued.
"Your face is a jeflizoon!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, fascinating creature; he was feeling unusually self-assured. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or cowboy. If he had been carrying a soldering iron, 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 Hanks will be delighted to see you."
The creature waddled slightly and hung around. Then it rose up on its waxy legs, puffed out its claw and sidled hysterically toward him.
For the first time, Ichabod had the urge to run, but his Achilles tendon was thickening and his legs refused to move.
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