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I think that's "None Before Me" by Sidney Carroll. However, Carroll's story is told mostly in chronological order: we meet this reclusive rich collector (Mr. Gresham); he buys this magnificent doll house; he gradually becomes obsessed with it; in the end he goes completely mad and thinks the dolls are real people and he's their god.

You could have read it in the anthology The Supernatural in Fiction (Leo P. Kelley, ed.) or in the Ray Bradbury-edited anthology Timeless Stories for Today and Tomorrow. Does any of these covers look familiar?

I think that's "None Before Me" by Sidney Carroll. However, Carroll's story is told mostly in chronological order: we meet this reclusive rich collector (Mr. Gresham); he buys this magnificent doll house; he gradually becomes obsessed with it; in the end he goes completely mad and thinks the dolls are real people and he's their god.

You could have read it in the anthology The Supernatural in Fiction (Leo P. Kelley, ed.) or in the Ray Bradbury-edited anthology Timeless Stories for Today and Tomorrow. Does any of these covers look familiar?

It was the back of Gresham's hand that had smote the building. Now the knuckles were bleeding. The hand was at his side and the blood dripped to the floor. "You fools," he shouted. "Never heard of a Day of Judgment? Wouldn't believe me when I warned you? The power of life is the power of death! I warned you--"

He raised the wounded hand and looked at it. The blood ran down his forearm. "Wash you in the blood--I'll wash you in the blood--you stupid, selfish, disobedient--people!"

He stood over the rubble and shouted, and exulted, and sweated. God--even a god--can not be entirely calm after producing an earthquake. Gresham could not keep his arms from shaking. But he knew he could go to sleep now. The evildoers had been slaughtered, vengeance had been wrought.

But first he walked to the window--first he wanted, for some strange reason, a look at the night sky. He walked to the window and leaned heavily upon the sill. He was still breathing hard, his throat and his brain felt curiously congested. He climbed up on the broad sill, as if, by getting close to the window, he could suck in more air. He stood there on the sill, leaning his full weight against the window, panting hard. He looked up at the sky. It was the faintest pale blue of the very early dawn. Not a single cloud floated up there--nothing . . . till Gresham saw. From the immense void, covering half the shoulder of the sky, the back of an enormous Hand was coming down at him--swiftly, powerfully, vengefully.

It was the back of Gresham's hand that had smote the building. Now the knuckles were bleeding. The hand was at his side and the blood dripped to the floor. "You fools," he shouted. "Never heard of a Day of Judgment? Wouldn't believe me when I warned you? The power of life is the power of death! I warned you—"

He raised the wounded hand and looked at it. The blood ran down his forearm. "Wash you in the blood—I'll wash you in the blood—you stupid, selfish, disobedient—people!"

He stood over the rubble and shouted, and exulted, and sweated. God—even a god—can not be entirely calm after producing an earthquake. Gresham could not keep his arms from shaking. But he knew he could go to sleep now. The evildoers had been slaughtered, vengeance had been wrought.

But first he walked to the window—first he wanted, for some strange reason, a look at the night sky. He walked to the window and leaned heavily upon the sill. He was still breathing hard, his throat and his brain felt curiously congested. He climbed up on the broad sill, as if, by getting close to the window, he could suck in more air. He stood there on the sill, leaning his full weight against the window, panting hard. He looked up at the sky. It was the faintest pale blue of the very early dawn. Not a single cloud floated up there--nothing . . . till Gresham saw. From the immense void, covering half the shoulder of the sky, the back of an enormous Hand was coming down at him--swiftly, powerfully, vengefully.

I think that's "None Before Me" by Sidney Carroll. However, Carroll's story is told mostly in chronological order: we meet this reclusive rich collector (Mr. Gresham); he buys the magnificent doll house; he gradually becomes obsessed with it; in the end he goes completely mad and thinks the dolls are real people and he's their god.

I think that's "None Before Me" by Sidney Carroll. However, Carroll's story is told mostly in chronological order: we meet this reclusive rich collector (Mr. Gresham); he buys this magnificent doll house; he gradually becomes obsessed with it; in the end he goes completely mad and thinks the dolls are real people and he's their god.