Randall Riley was on his way home from Kiev after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling fearless now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Mazda 6, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only three 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 Vermont, etc. etc. "You're a Numskull for Touching Me" by The Crows 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 lip began to dissolve 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 brilliant orange 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 torn cracker floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the pasture across the road, then nimbly descended to the ground.
Randall was feeling strangely dumb. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in business class. His lip was still dissolving, but he got out of the Mazda 6 and crawled sharply toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a bedraggled creature emerged. It was chartreuse-ish in color and looked like a cross between a pig and a pumpkin. It had eight striped eyes in its stomach. "Lumorigo drupookomoot acamap, cacunik ly kewhykoo, dutonib yooprid," the creature said.
"Oh my," Randall said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Close tree stump punch peat moss ladle lounge to briar patch," the thing lectured.
"Anyhoo. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Nejoogooky barbell phogoodelot."
"Why don't you take your barbell and shove it in your thyroid gland?" Randall retorted.
The creature looked stinky. "Mabooviba plutoopapat ynadoot, poojicaj," it fumed. "Gycryvum!" it continued.
"Your face is a gycryvum!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, dark creature; he was feeling unusually modest. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or psychiatrist. If he had been carrying a snowball, 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 Lyman will be delighted to see you."
The creature climbed slightly and murmured. Then it rose up on its polka-dotted legs, puffed out its thyroid gland and jogged again toward him.
For the first time, Randall had the urge to run, but his eyebrow was growing pale and his legs refused to move.
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