e upon a day, far distant, when our plane,
our world will dissolve beneath our feet and before our eyes as
some stronger intelligence 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 dimension. 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
deliberately 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
connecting door to the bedroom. He stopped on the threshold and a
sob forced its way to his lips.

There was no bedroom. Where his stolid four poster and dresser
had been there was greyish 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.

This room, he knew, would stay the longest. And when the rest of
the room was gone, this corner with his favorite chair would
remain. For this was the spot where he had lived for twenty
years. The bedroom was for sleeping, the kitchen for eating. This
room was for living. This was his last stand.

These were the walls and floors and prints and lamps that had
soaked up his will to make them walls and prints and lamps.

He looked out the window into a blank world. His neighbors'
ho