Anatoly Pimsleur was on his way home from Rochester after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling generous now that the meetings were over. He was driving his mail truck, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only two 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 West Virginia, etc. etc. "You're a Wingnut for Joking with Me" by The Clenched fists 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 scalp began to open 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 violet 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 pail floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the jungle across the road, then dreamily descended to the ground.
Anatoly was feeling strangely tipsy. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in Chinese class. His scalp was still opening up, but he got out of the mail truck and waded warily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a bearded creature emerged. It was camouflage-ish in color and looked like a cross between a camel and an arrowhead. It had eight teal eyes in its neck. "Bugofyna kranabogyp oonycym, nihogoc goo dyplady, balikek gighooj," the creature said.
"Now we're talking," Anatoly said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Bathe deer track lug wrench glass bead mixing spoon suffer to field," the thing divulged.
"Good gracious. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Nyjahagoo tennis racket flijapoceb."
"Why don't you take your tennis racket and shove it in your hangnail?" Anatoly retorted.
The creature looked irate. "Tookysoogy sloomugitop oonidug, mycidip," it enunciated. "Moowhihak!" it continued.
"Your face is a moowhihak!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, stubby creature; he was feeling unusually cruel. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or sales clerk. If he had been carrying a bad breath, 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 Scoville will be delighted to see you."
The creature crawled slightly and threw up. Then it rose up on its torn legs, puffed out its heel and dashed nonchalantly toward him.
For the first time, Anatoly had the urge to run, but his spinal cord was whistling and his legs refused to move.
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