Mere minutes after arriving at their Nantucket family beach home, nine-year-old Scotty Sullivan was out the back door, scrambling toward the shore with Larry, the family dog, fast on his heels.
Late in the afternoon in mid-spring, the typical summer beach crowd visitors were still weeks away. Suddenly, Scotty became aware of an odd-looking object, hovering just above the crashing surf. In an age of hobbyist’s drones and all sorts of flying gadgets, he wasn’t overly concerned until the large flying object moved much, much, closer. A storm was brewing and dark clouds blanketed the sky. Nervously, Scotty turned and tried to spot his house — somewhere off behind the dunes — but it would be sixteen years before he’d see it again.