hideous fright which generally jolted him awake. Of how the organic

entities moved, he could tell no more than of how he moved himself. In

time he observed a further mystery - the tendency of certain entities to

appear suddenly out of empty space, or to disappear totally with equal

suddenness. The shrieking, roaring confusion of sound which permeated the

abysses was past all analysis as to pitch, timbre or rhythm; but seemed to

be synchronous with vague visual changes in all the indefinite objects,

organic and inorganic alike. Gilman had a constant sense of dread that it

might rise to some unbearable degree of intensity during one or another of

its obscure, relentlessly inevitable fluctuations.

But it was not in these vortices of complete alienage that he saw Brown

Jenkin. That shocking little horror was reserved for certain lighter,

sharper dreams which assailed him just before he dropped into the fullest

depths of sleep. He would be lying in the dark fighting to keep awake when

a faint lambent glow would seem to shimmer around the centuried room,

showing in a violet mist the convergence of angled planes which had seized

his brain so insidiously. The horror would appear to pop out of the

rat-hole in the corner and patter toward him over the sagging,

wide-planked floor with evil expectancy in its tiny, bearded human face;

but mercifully, this dream always melted away before the object got close

enough to nuzzle him. It had hellishly long, sharp, canine teeth; Gilman

tried to stop up the rat-hole every day, but each night the real tenants