As we passed over Kansas or one of those little farmy states I spotted a small object moving in and out of the clouds beside the plane. Whatever it was, it was small and fast as all hell. It easily kept pace with us, swooping in and out, up and down, as if fighting the tremendous air disturbance the wake of the plane caused. Finally it swung close to the wing and I got a good look at the object. It wasn’t an object at all. It was humanoid, a small, naked creature with a rough tan hide and leathery wings that moved like a hummingbird.

I’d never seen one up close and personal, but I was pretty sure it was a gremlin, the annoying troublemakers of the monster world. And, just my luck, I had one tracking my plane. I looked around the cabin and, by the calm demeanor of the passengers, I guessed I was the only one who saw the creature. I determined there was a specific pattern to the gremlin’s swooping flight pattern. It was staying out of sight, but at the same time, slowly moving closer and closer to the wing.

We’ve all heard the stories. The little creatures are reported to feed on metal and are attracted to the huge man-made flying machines. Gremlins became famous in the 1940s during the war as a friendly symbol of Air Force sabotage.

But behind every legend there’s a little shred of truth, and this little bastard was intent on destroying the wing of a plane with over two hundred people inside. I had to do something without upsetting the passengers. Screaming “there’s a man on the wing!” these days could land you in federal prison for twenty years.

The creature had been gliding closer and closer, and finally it started taking quick swipes at the underside of the far tip of the right wing. The sharp talons on its large webbed hands tore the metal like paper with each swipe.

I looked over and saw an old woman sitting across the aisle from me. I had two businessmen types in the seats next to me, but they were fast asleep against one another thanks to multiple rounds of Bloody Marys.

“Excuse me, old lady?” I said.

She looked at me with pure disgust.

“Do you have a hand mirror? I have something in my eye.”

She looked at me for a long time. I blinked my right eye repeatedly for sympathy. Finally she dug inside her enormously overstuffed purse and took out a small round mirror smeared with lipstick and chocolate and handed it to me across the two sleeping suits.

“Keep it,” she said and crammed her purse under her seat.

I felt like telling her I was trying to save her cranky-ass life, but what was the use? She’d just think I was nuts and demand the mirror back. Old bitch.