"Advenan? Come in come in."

The radio beeped, signaling to Chris that his message had been transmitted. A light breeze rushed through the grass and caressed his sweaty forehead... but it couldn't brush away the nervousness that was buzzing through his body.

"Where are you?" Chris said into the radio.

No answer.

There couldn't be a malfunction—not now. It'd been seven years, and Chris was finally going to prove to the world that he wasn't crazy, talking all the time about flying spacecrafts and the beings who lived on them.

The day he first noticed their ship had been much like today: clear and sunny, like someone painted the sky cobalt. He'd thought it wasn't real... but that was only the first time. When he saw them again, he brought out binoculars and lay on his back like he was imagining shapes in the sky... only it wasn't his imagination painting the pictures for him, it was shocking reality.

He watched the aliens for a year before he had the courage to send a radio up to them on a remote-controlled helicopter. He'd done it on a whim, never imagining the results that ensued. And now he was guiding them in, helping them land on his turf.

The radio finally crackled to life, "We can hear you. We're landing now."

Chris's heart pounded faster. Was this some sort of joke?

"Advenan—don't land—Advenan?"

Static. More static. Then a pause.

"It's beautiful, Chris," Advenan whispered, his voice suddenly crystal clear.

It took Chris a moment to register what was happening. "You're landed?"

"I can see you now, running towards me. You're not at all like I pictured you."

"Advenan—"

"Tell me in a second. We can talk face to face... finally."

"It's not me—"

The radio sputtered to life one last time. The sound it emitted pierced Chris's ears... an explosion so loud it could've been a gunshot... and then a scream so terrible that it couldn't have been human.