They started down the stairs carefully, but the wind caught them and they quickly reached the bottom in a wet heap.
Recruiting Lieutenant MacBride from behind his sofa, the men carefully edged out of the house and forced the front door shut.
The wind died. The fog dispersed. They stood dripping in the Optimum Dome Conditions of the bright avenue.
"I never figured on this," Lanfierre said, shaking his head.
With the front door closed the wind quickly built up inside the house. They could see the furnishing whirl past the windows. The house did a wild, elated jig.
"What kind of a place is this?" MacBride said, his courage beginning to return. He took out his notebook but it was a soggy mess. He tossed it away.
"Sure, he was different," Lanfierre murmured. "I knew that much."
When the roof blew off they weren't really surprised. With a certain amount of equanimity they watched it lift off almost gracefully, standing on end for a moment before toppling to the ground. It was strangely slow motion, as was the black twirling cloud that now rose out of the master bedroom, spewing shorts and socks and cases every which way.
"Now what?" MacBride said, thoroughly exasperated, as this strange black cloud began to accelerate, whirling about like some malevolent top....