From The Big Front Yard - There was no front to the house. Then he was running around the house, hardly knowing he was running, and there was a fear inside of him at what had happened to the house. But the back of the house was all right. It was exactly as it had always been. He clattered up the stoop with Beasly and Towser running close behind him. He pushed open the door and burst into the entry and scrambled up the stairs into the kitchen and went across the kitchen in three strides to see what had happened to the front of the house. At the door between the kitchen and the living room he stopped and his hands went out to grasp the door jamb as he stared in disbelief at the windows of the living room. It was night outside. There could be no doubt of that. He had seen the fireflies flickering in the brush and weeds and the street lamps had been lit and the stars were out. But a flood of sunlight was pouring through the windows of the living room and out beyond the windows lay a land that was not Willow Bend. “Beasly,” he gasped, “look out there in front!” Beasly looked. “What place is that?” he asked. “That’s what I’d like to know.” Towser had found his dish and was pushing it around the kitchen floor with his nose, by way of telling Taine that it was time to eat. Taine went across the living room and opened the front door. The garage, he saw, was there. The pickup stood with its nose against the open garage door and the car was safe inside. There was nothing wrong with the front of the house at all.But if the front of the house was all right, that was all that was. For the driveway was chopped off just a few feet beyond the tail end of the pickup and there was no yard or woods or road. There was just a desert – a flat, far reaching desert, level as a floor, with occasional boulder piles and haphazard clumps of vegetation and all of the ground covered with sand and pebbles. A big blinding sun hung just above a horizon that seemed much too far away and a funny thing about it was that the sun was in the north, where no proper sun should be. It had a peculiar whiteness, too. Beasly stepped out on the porch and Taine saw that he was shivering like a frightened dog. “Maybe,” Taine told him, kindly, “You’d better go back in and start making us some supper.” “But, Hiram –“ “It’s all right, “said Taine. “It’s bound to be all right.” “If you say so, Hiram.”