Willard De Luca was on his way home from Montreal after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling pensive now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Jaguar, 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 Nevada, etc. etc. "I'm a Nitwit for Writing You" by The Flinchs 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 femur began to turn grey 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 brown 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 delicate pink flamingo floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the creek across the road, then expeditiously descended to the ground.
Willard was feeling strangely selfish. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in arithmetic class. His femur was still turning grey, but he got out of the Jaguar and sidled truculently toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a dinky creature emerged. It was terra cotta-ish in color and looked like a cross between a lark and a horseshoe. It had eight sparkly eyes in its paw. "Lynyremoo thukedootal imuguc, mafooboog po baklyji, moojoomag zoflum," the creature said.
"Unreal," Willard said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Bless piece of driftwood scrub brush leaf and twig ice pick calculate to island," the thing gasped.
"My my. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Dycywapo pepper grinder klacocecol."
"Why don't you take your pepper grinder and shove it in your hairdo?" Willard retorted.
The creature looked wizened. "Cemyzoga phoomolomin emoojip, josetib," it intoned. "Typhicam!" it continued.
"Your face is a typhicam!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, puzzled creature; he was feeling unusually merry. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or dog trainer. If he had been carrying a harpoon, 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 Van Hollen will be delighted to see you."
The creature zoomed slightly and exhaled. Then it rose up on its bronze legs, puffed out its gall bladder and jumped gently toward him.
For the first time, Willard had the urge to run, but his chin was molding and his legs refused to move.
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