Lovecraft, H P & Rimel, Duane - The Tree On The Hill

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The Tree On The Hill

by H. P. Lovecraft

Written 1934

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 Hampden 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 superstition 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 myself alone much of the time, despite the fact that we

shared a modest cabin 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

south of Hampden before I noticed anything unusual. I was climbing a grassy ridge

overlooking a particularly deep canyon, when I came 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 the insects 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.

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.

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Lovecraft, H P & Rimel, Duane - The Tree On The Hill

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