George Harmon was on his way home from Santa Rosa after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling proud now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Model T, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only five 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 Tennessee, etc. etc. "You're a Renegade for Heckling Me" by The Pouts 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 cheek began to act weird 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 emerald 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 amazing mousetrap floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the trail across the road, then swiftly descended to the ground.
George was feeling strangely awkward. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in penmanship class. His cheek was still acting weird, but he got out of the Model T and slunk sternly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a thin creature emerged. It was teal-ish in color and looked like a cross between an ass and a pencil sharpener. It had five lime-green eyes in its pancreas. "Tykewoti quocilabac ejicot, nuhebok ni cobrika, lenunug jyslyk," the creature said.
"Rats," George said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Pluck sea shell dust cloth taffeta meat tenderizer freeze to river," the thing sniped.
"Out of this world. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Dogoofoody fountain pen ghitubylen."
"Why don't you take your fountain pen and shove it in your midriff?" George retorted.
The creature looked peculiar. "Jikugimi prolotomen umulut, gavumin," it sniveled. "Tiwhorom!" it continued.
"Your face is a tiwhorom!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, intense creature; he was feeling unusually amiable. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or songwriter. If he had been carrying a pom-pom, 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 Walla will be delighted to see you."
The creature reeled slightly and cleared out. Then it rose up on its expensive legs, puffed out its rib and sped vigorously toward him.
For the first time, George had the urge to run, but his carotid artery was turning to mush and his legs refused to move.
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