Chapter 1
12th April, 1986, Chermside, Brisbane, Queensland, Australia, 11:25pm
"Mum's going to kill you for getting me home so late, Shell," said Nita to her cousin. "There's no way she'll let me go to the Dire Straits concert with you now!"
Shelley, a 28-year-old dental technician, had taken Nita to the drive-in to see Pretty In Pink. Afterwards they decided to look for Halley's Comet, which was supposed to be visible in the night sky. They had lost track of time. Nita was supposed to be home by 10pm.
"How long will it take to get home from here?" asked Nita.
"Another half an hour," replied Shelley.
"You're so dead!" exclaimed Nita, opening the car door.
Just as Shelley was about to get in the car, she noticed what looked like a cloud which obscured the stars in the east. "What's that?"
Nita looked to where Shelley was pointing. The object flew from the north to south-south-east in twenty seconds. It appeared to have 'blobs' on its four extremities.
Nita and Shelley stared at each other. "What was that?" asked Nita.
"I have no idea," replied Shelley. "But don't tell anyone, they won't believe you. Just keep it to yourself."
They drove home in stunned silence.
8th May, 1986, Redbank Plains, Queensland, 11pm
20-year-old Sharron had been shopping with her best friend, Samantha. Sharron had bought a new outfit for her date with her boyfriend, Martin, the following night. They were back at Sharron's Archerfield flat by the time the shops closed and Sharron made them coffee. They sat at Sharron's kitchen table, jostling for space with the well-tended fern.
Sharron was proud of her little unit. After the chaos of the family home, it was a sanctuary. She'd arranged her polished pine lounge suite around a large crocheted rug. Knick-knacks sat on small side tables. Plants decorated corners, benches and walls. They grew from baskets on the floor. She bought an expensive stereo and television. Art for the walls. She put photographs of her family everywhere. Her younger siblings loved her unit and Sharron told them they could take turns spending the weekend.
"I'm so glad you bought that dress," said Samantha. "You look stunning in it. Martin's going to love it."
"I hope so," Sharron grinned. "We should get you home, we have work tomorrow." They went out to the car and headed to Samantha's place.
Sharron waved Samantha off at her Redbank Plains home and headed the car back towards Archerfield, a 30-minute drive. She's need petrol, but it was late. Sharron was good with her money but she'd much rather spend her hard-earned on a dress than a tank of fuel. She was notorious for throwing in a couple of bucks' worth instead of filling up.
"I probably have enough to get home," she hoped. She didn't have enough money for petrol, but she really didn't want to go back to her friend's house to ask to borrow money. She decided to call her father in the morning and ask him to drop her off some money on his way to work.
She was somewhere on Ipswich Road when her yellow Datsun choked to a halt. "Oh, crap!" she exclaimed. "What do I do now?"
She looked around. There had to be a phone somewhere. She looked up the road and saw a roadhouse. Hopefully it had a telephone box. She got out of her car and walked the short distance to the closed roadhouse. Yes! There were two telephone boxes outside. She took her purse out of her handbag. There was only enough money to make one call. She inserted a twenty-cent coin and dialled her boyfriend's number.
After about ten rings, she heard a sleep-muffled voice. "Yeah, waddaya want?"
"Martin!" exclaimed Sharron, relieved. "It's Sharron. I'm sorry to wake you up, but I didn't know what else to do!"
"What's wrong?" asked Martin, trying to wake himself up.
"I've run out of petrol on my way home," explained Sharron.
"Ok, I'll come and pick you up," said Martin. "Where are you?"
She tried to describe the service station. "I'm at a Shell service station on Ipswich Road," she said. "I think it's at Gailes."
"Wait there," Martin told her. "I'll find you."
"Thank you," Sharron replied.
She hung up the phone and walked out to the road to wait for him. After about fifteen minutes, a woman pulled over and called out to her. "Do you need help?"
"It's all right!" Sharron called back. "My boyfriend's coming to get me."
"Ok," the woman called back, and drove away.
Another fifteen minutes passed. Where was Martin? Another car pulled over. This time it was a middle-aged man. "Are you ok?" he called.
"Yes, thanks," Sharron replied. "I'm waiting for my boyfriend." She was beginning to get nervous.
A little while later, a young man pulled over and offered her a lift, which she politely declined. Sharron wasn't stupid. She wasn't getting into a stranger's car late at night.
"This is ridiculous!" Sharron thought. "Martin should be here by now." She trudged back to the phone box as her watch hit midnight and May 8 became May 9. She had been waiting for 45 minutes now.
She had no more coins, so she spoke to the operator and asked to reverse the charges. She gave the operator her boyfriend's number. His flatmate answered.
"Martin has left already," he said. "He should be there by now."
"Well, he's not," Sharron replied.
"Well, wait for him in your car, and I'm sure he'll be there soon."
"Ok, thanks," said Sharron. She hung up the phone.
Sharron walked back to her car. She stood, alone, in the dark, waiting for her boyfriend to arrive. She looked back at the roadhouse. The brightly lit phone boxes sat on their concrete bases like twin beacons outside the Wacol snack bar and convenience store. Next door was the equally well-lit Shell service station, a squat, white building with three pumps under a protruding roof.
A train pulled in at the nearby Wacol train station. A few late-night passengers walked out of the station, and passed by Sharron's car. Cars drove past her along busy Ipswich Road, but still Martin didn't come.
Martin was beside himself with worry. He'd gone to pick Sharron up when she'd called but when he arrived at the big, brightly lit service station on Ipswich Rd, there'd been no sign of her.
He'd kept looking, thinking maybe he'd gone to the wrong one, and ended up with a flat tyre. By the time he'd found her car – near a second, smaller service station 2km down the road – she wasn't there.
"She'd probably called someone else," he thought. Maybe she was mad at him. Tomorrow, he'd go out and buy a bunch of flowers to give her on their date that night. A peace offering.
