Howard Phillips Lovecraft - The Tree on the Hill, HP Lovercraft
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The Tree on the Hill
Lovecraft, Howard Phillips
Published:
1934
Categorie(s):
Fiction, Horror, Short Stories
Source:
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About Lovecraft:
Howard Phillips Lovecraft was an American author of fantasy, horror
and science fiction. He is notable for blending elements of science fiction
and horror; and for popularizing "cosmic horror": the notion that some
concepts, entities or experiences are barely comprehensible to human
minds, and those who delve into such risk their sanity. Lovecraft has be-
come a cult figure in the horror genre and is noted as creator of the
"Cthulhu Mythos," a series of loosely interconnected fictions featuring a
"pantheon" of nonhuman creatures, as well as the famed Necronomicon,
a grimoire of magical rites and forbidden lore. His works typically had a
tone of "cosmic pessimism," regarding mankind as insignificant and
powerless in the universe. Lovecraft's readership was limited during his
life, and his works, particularly early in his career, have been criticized as
occasionally ponderous, and for their uneven quality. Nevertheless,
Lovecraft’s reputation has grown tremendously over the decades, and he
is now commonly regarded as one of the most important horror writers
of the 20th Century, exerting an influence that is widespread, though of-
ten indirect. Source: Wikipedia
Also available on Feedbooks for Lovecraft:
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(1926)
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(1931)
•
(1928)
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(1934)
•
(1931)
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(1936)
•
(1930)
•
(1927)
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(1938)
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(1932)
Copyright:
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1.
Southeast of Hampden, near the tortuous Salmon River gorge, is a range
of steep, rocky hills which have defied all efforts of sturdy homesteaders.
The canyons are too deep and the slopes too precipitous to encourage
anything save seasonal livestock grazing. The last time I visited Hamp-
den the region—known as Hell's Acres—was part of the Blue Mountain
Forest Reserve. There are no roads linking this inaccessible locality with
the outside world, and the hillfolk will tell you that it is indeed a spot
transplanted from his Satanic Majesty's front yard. There is a local super-
stition that the area is haunted—but by what or by whom no one seems
to know. Natives will not venture within its mysterious depths, for they
believe the stories handed down to them by the Nez Perce Indians, who
have shunned the region for untold generations, because, according to
them, it is a playground of certain giant devils from the Outside. These
suggestive tales made me very curious.
My first excursion—and my last, thank God!—into those hills occurred
while Constantine Theunis and I were living in Hampden the summer of
1938. He was writing a treatise on Egyptian mythology, and I found my-
self alone much of the time, despite the fact that we shared a modest cab-
in on Beacon Street, within sight of the infamous Pirate House, built by
Exer Jones over sixty years ago.
The morning of June 23rd found me walking in those oddly shaped
hills, which had, since seven o'clock, seemed very ordinary indeed. I
must have been about seven miles north of Hampden before I noticed
anything unusual. I was climbing a grassy ridge overlooking a particu-
larly deep canyon, when I cam upon an area totally devoid of the usual
bunch-grass and greaseweed. It extended southward, over numerous
hills and valleys. At first I thought the spot had been burned over the
previous fall, but upon examining the turf, I found no signs of a blaze.
The nearby slopes and ravines looked terribly scarred and seared, as if
some gigantic torch had blasted them, wiping away all vegetation. And
yet there was no evidence of fire…
I moved on over rich, black soil in which no grass flourished. As I
headed for the approximate center of this desolate area, I began to notice
a strange silence. There were no larks, no rabbits, and even th einsects
seemed to have deserted the place. I gained the summit of a lofty knoll
and tried to guess at the size of that bleak, inexplicable region. Then I
saw the lone tree.
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It stood on a hill somewhat higher than its companions, and attracted
the eye because it was so utterly unexpected. I had seen no trees for
miles: thorn and hackberry bushes clustered the shallower ravines, but
there had been no mature trees. Strange to find one standing on the crest
of the hill.
I crossed two steep canyons before I came to it; and a surprise awaited
me. It was not a pine tree, nor a fir tree, nor a hackberry tree. I had never,
in all my life, seen one to compare with it—and I never have to this day,
for which I am eternally thankful!
More than anything it resembled an oak. It had a huge, twisted trunk,
fully a yard in diameter, and the large limbs began spreading outward
scarcely seven feet from the ground. The leaves were round, and curi-
ously alike in size and design. It might have been a tree painted on a can-
vas, but I will swear that it was real. I shall always know that it
was
real,
despite what Theunis said later.
I recall that I glanced at the sun and judged the time to be about ten
o'clock a.m., although I did not look at my watch. The day was becoming
warm, and I sat for a while in the welcome shade of the huge tree. Then I
regarded the rank grass that flourished beneath it—another singular
phenomenon when I remembered the bleak terrain through which I had
passed. A wild maze of hills, ravines, and bluffs hemmed me in on all
sides, although the rise on which I sat was rather higher than any other
within miles. I looked far to the east—and I jumped to my feet, startled
and amazed. Shimmering though a blue haze of distance were the Bitter-
root Mountains! There is no other range of snow-capped peaks within
three hundred miles of Hampden; and I knew—at this altitude—that I
shouldn't be seeing them at all. For several minutes I gazed at the mar-
vel; then I became drowsy. I lay in the rank grass, beneath the tree. I un-
strapped my camera, took off my hat, and relaxed, staring skyward
through the green leaves. I closed my eyes.
Then a curious phenomenon began to assail me—a vague, cloudy sort
of vision—glimpsing or day-dreaming seemingly without relevance to
anything familiar. I thought I saw a great temple by a sea of ooze, where
three suns gleamed in a pale red sky. The vast tomb, or temple, was an
anomalous color—a nameless blue-violet shade. Large beasts flew in the
cloudy sky, and I seemed to hear the pounding of their scaly wings. I
went nearer the stone temple, and a huge doorway loomed in front of
me. Within that portal were swirling shadows that seemed to dart and
leer and try to snatch me inside that awful darkness. I thought I saw
three flaming eyes in the shifting void of a doorway, and I screamed
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with mortal fear. In that noisome depth, I knew, lurked utter destruc-
tion—a living hell even worse than death. I screamed again. The vision
faded.
I saw the round leaves and the sane earthly sky. I struggled to rise. I
was trembling; cold perspiration beaded my brow. I had a mad impulse
to flee; run insanely from that sinister tree on the hill—but I checked the
absurd intuition and sat down, trying to collect my senses. Never had I
dreamed anything so realistic; so horrifying. What had caused the vis-
ion? I had been reading several of Theunis' tomes on ancient Egypt… I
mopped my forehead, and decided that it was time for lunch. But I did
not feel like eating.
Then I had an inspiration. I would take a few snapshots of the tree, for
Theunis. They might shock him out of his habitual air of unconcern. Per-
haps I would tell him about the dream… Opening my camera, I took half
a dozen shots of the tree. Also, I included one of the gleaming, snow-
crested peaks. I might want to return, and these photos would help…
Folding the camera, I returned to my cushion of soft grass. Had that
spot beneath the tree a certain alien enchantment? I know that I was re-
luctant to leave it…
I gazed upward at the curious round leaves. I closed my eyes. A
breeze stirred the branches, and their whispered music lulled me into
tranquil oblivion. And suddenly I saw again the pale red sky and the
three suns. The land of three shadows! Again the great temple came into
view. I seemed to be floating on the air—a disembodied spirit exploring
the wonders of a mad, multi-dimensional world! The temple's oddly
angled cornices frightened me, and I knew that this place was one that
no man on earth had ever seen in his wildest dreams.
Again the vast doorway yawned before me; and I was sucked within
that black, writing cloud. I seemed to be staring at space unlimited. I saw
a void beyond my vocabulary to describe; a dark, bottomless gulf teem-
ing with nameless shapes and entities—things of madness and delirium,
as tenuous as a mist from Shamballah.
My soul shrank. I was terribly afraid. I screamed and screamed, and
felt that I would soon go mad. Then in my dream I ran and ran in a fever
of utter terror, but I did not know what I was running from… I left that
hideous temple and that hellish void, yet I knew I must, barring some
miracle, return…
At last my eyes flew open. I was not beneath the tree. I was sprawled
on a rocky slope, my clothing torn and disordered. My hands were
bleeding. I stood up, pain stabbing through me. I recognized the
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