Pressing his forehead against the car window, Darren watched the sun peek-a-boo over the bushy clouds.

‘Dad?’ he said, still scanning the sky. ‘Dad. What would it mean if it was all true?’

His father’s mind was picking the right lane for Swindon on the A417 roundabout. September had mostly been shy about summer but today was an exception. Darren tapped the AC, waited a few seconds for the breeze to cool his neck, and then repeated his question. ‘What would it actually actually mean if it was all true?’

His dad made a puttering sound. ‘Well, I guess it would change everything.’ He was so intent on delighting his son that he walked right into the trap: ‘How?’

Darren was eight. On his sixth birthday his parents played him E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial on VHS. What they thought would just be a great night in became a two-year inquisition on aliens—with no end in sight. In his bedroom was a large telescope; a solar system duvet set; hordes of plastic humanoids with buggy eyes; and popular science books and magazines crammed with theories for unexplained phenomena. His dad blamed Eleanor—his mother— for fanning his interest in the occult. She said it’s only a bit of fun and argued the boy would soon tire of it.

Dad was taking Darren to a crop circle site he had found in one of the online forums. It was a beautiful design: a manta ray with fractal-like wings and tiny orbs (that looked like its children) tugging along ...