Yard sales are all chit-chat and pleasantries until some kid gets sucked into another dimension. That's what Irene Wilcox thought from the back seat of the police car where she waited to be taken away. Also, she suspected that she'd finally solved the mystery of Mr. Wilcox' sudden and unexplained disappearance four years ago. Maybe.

She'd watched the forecast the night before and felt assured that the weather would be fine. That was good. It didn't take wind or rain to ruin a yard sale. A quiet overcast could dampen peoples enthusiasm enough to abandon her in the front yard with the attic content and Leos electrical gadgets from the garage.

It had taken her the better part of a week to get everything out and organized. Outmoded clothes and chairs with worn upholstery. Toys that maybe collectors would buy (not!) and a sewing machine that didn't run too well. All of them required cleaning and pricing, but not so with her husbands ... her ex-husbands tools and inventions. She had no idea what it all was and had put it in the driveway with a "Make an offer"-sign.

The neighbors hadn't been the first to show up as she'd expected. A little past nine thirty a dull blue station wagon parked at the curb and a bearded man got out. She told him the sale didn't open until ten, but he didn't mind and after a quick walk around he made her what she figured was a reasonable offer on some of Leos tools. Another car arrived shortly after and she accepted that the sale had started whether she was ready or not.

A quarter past ten Sybil arrived wearing sunglasses and pink lipstick. She lived two houses down on the other side of the street with a couple of teenagers. Her husband, Eric, was in the army and seldom at home. Sybil didn't seem to mind.

"Darling! You're a succes. Look at this," she said gesturing to all the people making their way around the lawn picking up and putting down lamps and video tapes and rummaging through boxes with old magazines that Irene had come very close to thrashing.

"Well, I don't know about that. Nobody's buying much. I got twenty for a couple of Leos things and a fiver for a bag of old records. What if that's it? I'll have to pay somebody to drive the rest away."

"Ah, pish," Sybil countered and stood aside for two young boys playing while their mother examined some of Irenes dresses with bored disdain. The boys ran around the two women and headed for the driveway.

"Everybody loves a yard sale. They want to make a good deal, you know. Feel they're stealing away with some vintage rarity that's just worthless crap."

Irene looked at her.

"Sorry. I didn't mean your stuff is crap, but give it time. The sun is shining, and you're just getting started. I'm sure you'll have a hundred in your pocket before noon."

Irene smiled and was about to protest good-naturedly when a crackling electrical noise made her stop and turn her head.

In the driveway, where she'd put Leos devices and contraptions, a large purple oval was glowing ominously. It was about eight feet tall and five feet wide and its edges crinkled with what looked like white hot current. On the ground below stood one of Leos gizmos. Irene couldn't begin to describe it. Not now and not later at the police station. To her it was just a box with buttons. That it also was the source of the flickering oval left her without any coherent comment. Then the mother screamed.

Everybody turned towards the woman who staggered forward and then dropped like her bones had turned to instant jelly. She didn't pass out. She just lay crumbled on the lawn in what seemed like a perpetual state of silent horror, gasping for breath. Irene looked at her and then back a the oval and the box. Then she saw the boy in the driveway. Or two thirds of the boy. His right arm and a good chunk of his torso was gone along with most of his head, but not all of it. There was no blood. The flesh was neatly cauterized in a distinctly oval like shape. He looked almost disassembled as he lay next to the pulsing oval, but of course he was dead. That she was sure of.

"Robbie," a weak and almost inaudible voice called. Irene saw the other boy, Robbies brother presumably, take steps towards his sibling unable to comprehend the atrociousness of the situation. Irene wanted to call out to him, to make him stop and stay away from the oval, but no sound would leave her throat. She had no air and couldn't remember how to breathe in. Her mouth just formed another oval, this one silent and impotent.

Movement caught her eye. An older man was going for the boy. Irene knew him but not his name. He frequently walked past her house with a small dog. His hair was white, and Irene later remembered how surprised she was at his agility.

David proceeded forward. The police told her afterwards that the boy's name was David. He held out his hand towards his brother, his face void of color or understanding. The oval was humming in an unstable and sinister low-pitched frequency. The old man was running towards David in severe slow motion, and Irene could swear that her heart had stopped beating.

Then, without warning, came a swooshing sound like a nuclear vacuum cleaner powering up. The oval bulged and expanded and then, promptly and unceremoniously, it sucked David off his feet and into whatever warped dimension it connected to. Or maybe the boy was simply disintegrated. He didn't pass through and land on the other side. He was gone as was the oval which disappeared as abruptly as it had materialized. The old man grabbed at the air occupied by David half a second before, but fell on his face empty handed. Soon after, somebody called the police. The yard sale was over.