I Am Her Father

On the night of 7 August 1993, Kelly Cahill and her husband were driving home through the hills outside Melbourne when a craft hung over the road ahead of them, a row of orange windows lined with tall black figures looking down. Then a white light filled the road. The next thing she knew they were driving on, oddly calm, past a roundabout she didn't remember reaching.

The kitchen clock said 2:30 in the morning. An hour and a half was gone, and under her navel was a perfect red triangle, like a burn. Weeks later the rest came back: the car stopped in the dark, a craft the width of a swimming pool sitting in a paddock, and seven or eight black beings with blood-red eyes gliding across the grass toward her. A voice with no accent told her it meant no harm. Then it called itself her father.

She thought she was alone with it. Then three strangers answered an investigator's newspaper ad: the same road, the same night, the same craft, the same missing time. Two of them carried the same mark. What the voice wanted from her is the part the film saves for last.