Avon Fantasy Reader No. 13 — page 127: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ing dogs? Might not the Red Star confectionery still exist, splashing the street with the red of its neon sign? — . Could it be that he was going mad? He had heard whispers when he had passed, whispers the gossiping housewives had not intended him to hear. And he had heard the shouting of boys when he walked by. They thought him mad. Could he be really mad? Fle was sure he was not mad. He knew that he perhaps was the sanest of all men who walked the earth. For he, and he alone, had foreseen this very thing. And the others had scoffed at him for it. : Somewhere else the children might be playing on a street. But it would be a different street. And the children undoubtedly would be different, too. For the matter of which the street and everything upon it had been formed would now be cast in a different mold, stolen by different minds in a differ- ent dimension. Perhaps we shall come upon a day, far distant, when our plane, our world will dissolve beneath our feet and before our eyes as some stronger intel- ligence reaches out from the dimensional shadows of the very space we live in and wrests from us the matter which we know to be our own. _ But there had been no need to wait for that distant day. Scant years after he had written those prophetic words the thing was happening. Man had played unwittingly into the hands of those other minds in the other dimen- sion. Man had waged a war and war had bred a pestilence. And the whole vast cycle of events was but a detail of a cyclopean plan. He could see it all now. By an insidious mass hypnosis minions from that other dimension . . . or was it one supreme intelligence .. . had deliber- ately sown the seeds of dissension. The reduction of the world’s mental power had been carefully planned with diabolic premeditation. , On impulse he suddenly turned, crossed the room and opened the con- necting door to the bedroom. He stopped on the threshold and a gasp forced its way to his lips. : There was no bedroom. Where his stolid four poster and dresser had been there was grayish nothingness. | Like an automaton he turned again and paced to the hall door. Here, too, he found what he had expected. There was no hall, no familiar hat rack and umbrella stand. Nothing. . | Weakly Mr. Chambers moved back to his chair in the corner. “So here I am,” he said, half aloud. So there he was. Embattled in the last corner of the world that was left to him. : . Perhaps there were other men like him, he thought. Men who stood at bay against the emptiness that marked the transition from one dimension to another. Men who had lived close to the things they loved, who had endowed those things with such substantial form by power of mind alone that they now stood out alone against the power of some greater mind. The street was gone. The rest of his house was gone. This room still retained its form. Se . | 125