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A color from other worlds
West
of
Arkham
the
hills
rise
wild
,
and
there
are
valleys
with
deep
woods
that
no
axe
has
ever
cut
.
There
are
dark
narrow
glens
where
the
trees
slope
fantastically
,
and
where
thin
brooklets
trickle
without
ever
having
caught
the
glint
of
sunlight
.
On
the
gentler
slopes
there
are
farms
,
ancient
and
rocky
,
with
squat
,
moss-coated
cottages
brooding
eternally
over
old
New
England
secrets
in
the
lee
of
great
ledges
;
but
these
are
all
vacant
now
,
the
wide
chimneys
crumbling
and
the
shingled
sides
bulging
perilously
beneath
low
gambrel
roofs
.
The
old
folk
have
gone
away
,
and
foreigners
do
not
like
to
live
there
.
French-Canadians
have
tried
it
,
Italians
have
tried
it
,
and
the
Poles
have
come
and
departed
.
It
is
not
because
of
anything
that
can
be
seen
or
heard
or
handled
,
but
because
of
something
that
is
imagined
.
The
place
is
not
good
for
the
imagination
,
and
does
not
bring
restful
dreams
at
night
.
It
must
be
this
which
keeps
the
foreigners
away
,
for
old
Ammi
Pierce
has
never
told
them
of
anything
he
recalls
from
the
strange
days
.
Ammi
,
whose
head
has
been
a
little
queer
for
years
,
is
the
only
one
who
still
remains
,
or
who
ever
talks
of
the
strange
days
;
and
he
dares
to
do
this
because
his
house
is
so
near
the
open
fields
and
the
travelled
roads
around
Arkham
.
There
was
once
a
road
over
the
hills
and
through
the
valleys
,
that
ran
straight
where
the
blasted
heath
is
now
;
but
people
ceased
to
use
it
and
a
new
road
was
laid
curving
far
toward
the
south
.
Traces
of
the
old
one
can
still
be
found
amidst
the
weeds
of
a
returning
wilderness
,
and
some
of
them
will
doubtless
linger
even
when
half
the
hollows
are
flooded
for
the
new
reservoir
.
Then
the
dark
woods
will
be
cut
down
and
the
blasted
heath
will
slumber
far
below
blue
waters
whose
surface
will
mirror
the
sky
and
ripple
in
the
sun
.
And
the
secrets
of
the
strange
days
will
be
one
with
the
deep
's
secrets
;
one
with
the
hidden
lore
of
old
ocean
,
and
all
the
mystery
of
primal
earth
.
When
I
went
into
the
hills
and
vales
to
survey
for
the
new
reservoir
they
told
me
the
place
was
evil
.
They
told
me
this
in
Arkham
,
and
because
that
is
a
very
old
town
full
of
witch
legends
I
thought
the
evil
must
be
something
which
grandams
had
whispered
to
children
through
centuries
.
The
name
"
blasted
heath
"
seemed
to
me
very
odd
and
theatrical
,
and
I
wondered
how
it
had
come
into
the
folklore
of
a
Puritan
people
.
Then
I
saw
that
dark
westward
tangle
of
glens
and
slopes
for
myself
,
and
ceased
to
wonder
at
anything
besides
its
own
elder
mystery
.
It
was
morning
when
I
saw
it
,
but
shadow
lurked
always
there
.
The
trees
grew
too
thickly
,
and
their
trunks
were
too
big
for
any
healthy
New
England
wood
.
There
was
too
much
silence
in
the
dim
alleys
between
them
,
and
the
floor
was
too
soft
with
the
dank
moss
and
mattings
of
infinite
years
of
decay
.
In
the
open
spaces
,
mostly
along
the
line
of
the
old
road
,
there
were
little
hillside
farms
;
sometimes
with
all
the
buildings
standing
,
sometimes
with
only
one
or
two
,
and
sometimes
with
only
a
lone
chimney
or
fast-filling
cellar
.
Weeds
and
briers
reigned
,
and
furtive
wild
things
rustled
in
the
undergrowth
.
Upon
everything
was
a
haze
of
restlessness
and
oppression
;
a
touch
of
the
unreal
and
the
grotesque
,
as
if
some
vital
element
of
perspective
or
chiaroscuro
were
awry
.
I
did
not
wonder
that
the
foreigners
would
not
stay
,
for
this
was
no
region
to
sleep
in
.
It
was
too
much
like
a
landscape
of
Salvator
Rosa
;
too
much
like
some
forbidden
woodcut
in
a
tale
of
terror
.
But
even
all
this
was
not
so
bad
as
the
blasted
heath
.
I
knew
it
the
moment
I
came
upon
it
at
the
bottom
of
a
spacious
valley
;
for
no
other
name
could
fit
such
a
thing
,
or
any
other
thing
fit
such
a
name
.
It
was
as
if
the
poet
had
coined
the
phrase
from
having
seen
this
one
particular
region
.
It
must
,
I
thought
as
I
viewed
it
,
be
the
outcome
of
a
fire
;
but
why
had
nothing
new
ever
grown
over
those
five
acres
of
grey
desolation
that
sprawled
open
to
the
sky
like
a
great
spot
eaten
by
acid
in
the
woods
and
fields
?
It
lay
largely
to
the
north
of
the
ancient
road
line
,
but
encroached
a
little
on
the
other
side
.
I
felt
an
odd
reluctance
about
approaching
,
and
did
so
at
last
only
because
my
business
took
me
through
and
past
it
.
There
was
no
vegetation
of
any
kind
on
that
broad
expanse
,
but
only
a
fine
grey
dust
or
ash
which
no
wind
seemed
ever
to
blow
about
.
The
trees
near
it
were
sickly
and
stunted
,
and
many
dead
trunks
stood
or
lay
rotting
at
the
rim
.
As
I
walked
hurriedly
by
I
saw
the
tumbled
bricks
and
stones
of
an
old
chimney
and
cellar
on
my
right
,
and
the
yawning
black
maw
of
an
abandoned
well
whose
stagnant
vapours
played
strange
tricks
with
the
hues
of
the
sunlight
.
Even
the
long
,
dark
woodland
climb
beyond
seemed
welcome
in
contrast
,
and
I
marvelled
no
more
at
the
frightened
whispers
of
Arkham
people
.
There
had
been
no
house
or
ruin
near
;
even
in
the
old
days
the
place
must
have
been
lonely
and
remote
.
And
at
twilight
,
dreading
to
repass
that
ominous
spot
,
I
walked
circuitously
back
to
the
town
by
the
curving
road
on
the
south
.
I
vaguely
wished
some
clouds
would
gather
,
for
an
odd
timidity
about
the
deep
skyey
voids
above
had
crept
into
my
soul
.
In
the
evening
I
asked
old
people
in
Arkham
about
the
blasted
heath
,
and
what
was
meant
by
that
phrase
"
strange
days
"
which
so
many
evasively
muttered
.
I
could
not
,
however
,
get
any
good
answers
,
except
that
all
the
mystery
was
much
more
recent
than
I
had
dreamed
.
It
was
not
a
matter
of
old
legendry
at
all
,
but
something
within
the
lifetime
of
those
who
spoke
.
It
had
happened
in
the
'
eighties
,
and
a
family
had
disappeared
or
was
killed
.
Speakers
would
not
be
exact
;
and
because
they
all
told
me
to
pay
no
attention
to
old
Ammi
Pierce
's
crazy
tales
,
I
sought
him
out
the
next
morning
,
having
heard
that
he
lived
alone
in
the
ancient
tottering
cottage
where
the
trees
first
begin
to
get
very
thick
.
It
was
a
fearsomely
archaic
place
,
and
had
begun
to
exude
the
faint
miasmal
odour
which
clings
about
houses
that
have
stood
too
long
.
Only
with
persistent
knocking
could
I
rouse
the
aged
man
,
and
when
he
shuffled
timidly
to
the
door
I
could
tell
he
was
not
glad
to
see
me
.
He
was
not
so
feeble
as
I
had
expected
;
but
his
eyes
drooped
in
a
curious
way
,
and
his
unkempt
clothing
and
white
beard
made
him
seem
very
worn
and
dismal
.
