Those who attempt to leave the CharLoft without bearing a particular concept of 'home' in mind will find themselves on a well-trimmed lawn. From the outside, the CharLoft definitely resembles a large red barn with white trim, with a sign hanging in front that reads, simply, 'Char Loft'. There is a small parking lot, which is usually empty. Traveling further from the CharLoft, one will note that the town it is ostensibly located in is known as World's End, Missouri, a small town that doesn't seem to appear on any maps (not even the ones sold at the local gas station), and that seems to have only one main road outside of town. There is a pawn shop, a gas station, a bookstore, a diner, and a tourist-trap-like museum (“The Museum at the World's End”), and not much else. The locals tend to keep to themselves most of the time, and avoid the CharLoft – there be crazy folk within, after all.

Those who explore the region carefully will discover that it extends approximately ten miles in all directions from the CharLoft (except north - CharLoft is actually about a half-mile north of center). The properties of the region put it outside of normal time and space - the realm is temporally and dimensionally stabilized in the same manner the CharLoft is, and people can accidentally fall into it just as they can fall into the CharLoft proper. The town takes up much of the southern and western part of things, although even the businesses and houses only take up a few square miles of real estate.

There is a persistent rumor that some of the CharLoft staff live in the houses here, but this has not been proven.

Interestingly, walking too far away from town (particularly in the woods) can often result in accidental dimensional slippage; this works similarly to how the Doors themselves function, though it typically only allows someone to wander between their current home dimension and the Char Loft. In the event that multiple people are following a leader, the leader's home dimension is chosen as the likely point of destination; otherwise, it is chosen randomly amongst those with the most experience in wandering back and forth in this manner.

Another way to enter or exit is by driving, obviously enough. Although most of the townsfolk don't seem to drive, the gas station remains in operation and is staffed, providing polite and friendly guidance to that special breed of lost driver who has gotten truly and hopelessly lost. Typically, asking directions at the gas station will result in a series of directions that, if followed accurately, will eventually get you on a more familiar highway, byway, or interstate, whether your destination is in Missouri or Paris. (If followed inaccurately, it will usually result in finding a road that leads you straight back to the station.) The illogic of this is frequently given a shrug by gas station employees.

This gas station provides directions (and, occasionally, fuel and supplies) to lost travellers. Interestingly, it provides fuel for a wide variety of vehicles upon request, including hydrogen canisters, batteries, water, diesel tanks, uranium cores, and microgram antimatter cores. However, the pumps only provide gasoline (standard, plus, and premium) - for anything else, you have to ask, and they may not always have it in quantity.

This junkyard is full of strange machinery, junked appliances, and other scraps. Most of the time, it's merely an interesting place to search for spare parts, although occasionally something big winds up in the scrapyards for a while, like a full spaceship or a submarine.

This somewhat tourist-trap museum contains a wide collection of items from various worlds, times, and locations - although the residents don't seem to believe that the contents are real, there are a surprising number of references to other worlds. Replicas include cannons from the French Revolution, a sword from a Roman gladiator, and a Mega Buster of Mega Man fame.

A single monolithic factory-like plant seems to provide for the area's power, water, telecommunications, and other needs, and is located in the far southwestern end of the area, well away from town proper, to cut down on noise complaints. It is heavily fenced off, and access is denied to visitors. Townspeople say (in their usual laconic way), “You don't want to be caught sneakin' in there. Ain't nothin' but trouble.” Electrical storms seem to occur over it with disturbing regularity, even during otherwise clear days.