Mikaelys

Disaster. It was a disaster.
An alien spacecraft—or whatever that enormous oblong object was—had crashed in my damn backyard half an hour ago. I could have sworn the crash could be heard all the way to China, but maybe not. The nearest neighbor was ten kilometers away; it made sense that no one had heard it.
I held the only gun in the house against my shoulder, an old rifle I had found when I moved into the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere, on the land I inherited from my grandfather.
The early morning chill seeped in through the open window, seeping under the light white nightgown she was wearing, making the fabric flutter, as she pointed at the figure approaching the door of the house.
That thing... whatever it was that had come out of the accident, walked so sure of every step it took towards here.
I was lucky enough not to tremble while I was yelling at him
"Who are you? What do you want?"
With one swift motion, I jerked the bolt of the old rifle, making sure to make enough noise. If that would scare the beast.
Creepy. When I heard two knocks on the door. As damn casual as if it were a Tuesday morning and the milkman was standing outside.