…And He Built A Crooked House — Robert A. Heinlein

Teal’s insouciance was shaken for the first time. “I don’t know, Homer, I don’t rightly know — but I think that window ought to be walled up.” He stared at the lowered blind for a moment. “I think maybe we looked at a place where space isn’t. We looked around a fourth-dimensional corner and there wasn’t anything there.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ve got a headache.”

They waited for a while before tackling the fourth window. Like an unopened letter, it might not contain bad news. The doubt left hope. Finally the suspense stretched too thin and Bailey pulled the cord himself, in the face of his wife’s protests.

It was not so bad. A landscape stretched away from them, right side up, and on such a level that the study appeared to be a ground floor room. But it was distinctly unfriendly.

A hot, hot sun beat down from a lemon-colored sky. The flat ground seemed burned a sterile, bleached brown and incapable of supporting life. Life there was, strange stunted trees that lifted knotted, twisted arms to the sky. Little clumps of spiky leaves grew on the outer extremities of these misshapen growths.

“Heavenly day,” breathed Bailey, “where is that?”

Teal shook his head, his eyes troubled. “It beats me.”

“It doesn’t look like anything on Earth. It looks more like another planet — Mars, maybe.”

“I wouldn’t know. But, do you know, Homer, it might be worse than that, worse than another planet, I mean.”

“Huh? What’s that you say?”

“It might be clear out of our space entirely. I’m not sure that that is our sun at all. It seems too bright.”

Mrs. Bailey had somewhat timidly joined them and now gazed out at the outre scene. “Homer,” she said in a subdued voice, “those hideous trees — they frighten me.”

He patted her hand.

Teal fumbled with the window catch.

“What are you doing?” Bailey demanded.

“I thought if I stuck my head out the window I might be able to look around and tell a bit more.”

“Well — all right,” Bailey grudged, “but be careful.”

“I will.” He opened the window a crack and sniffed. “The air is all right, at least.” He threw it open wide.

His attention was diverted before he could carry out his plan. An uneasy tremor, like the first intimation of nausea, shivered the entire building for a long second, and was gone.

“Earthquake!” They all said it at once. Mrs. Bailey flung her arms around her husband’s neck.

Teal gulped and recovered himself, saying:

“It’s all right, Mrs. Bailey. This house is perfectly safe. You know you can expect settling tremors after a shock like last night.” He had just settled his features into an expression of reassurance when the second shock came. This one was no mild shimmy but the real seasick roll.

In every Californian, native born or grafted, there is a deep-rooted primitive reflex. An earthquake fills him with soul-shaking claustrophobia which impels him blindly to get outdoors! Model Boy Scouts will push aged grandmothers aside to obey it. It is a matter of record that Teal and Bailey landed on top of Mrs. Bailey. Therefore, she must have jumped through the window first. The order of precedence cannot be attributed to chivalry; it must be assumed that she was in readier position to spring.

They pulled themselves together, collected their wits a little, and rubbed sand from their eyes. Their first sensations were relief at feeling the solid sand of the desert land under them. Then Bailey noticed something that brought them to their feet and checked Mrs. Bailey from bursting into the speech that she had ready.

“Where’s the house?”

It was gone. There was no sign of it at all. They stood in the center of flat desolation, the landscape they had seen from the window. But, aside from the tortured, twisted trees, there was nothing to be seen but the yellow sky and the luminary overhead, whose furnace-like glare was already almost insufferable.

Bailey looked slowly around, then turned to the architect. “Well, Teal?” His voice was ominous.

Teal shrugged helplessly. “I wish I knew. I wish I could even be sure that we were on Earth.”

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