Колір з інших світів

           WestofArkhamthehillsrisewild,andtherearevalleyswithdeepwoodsthatnoaxehasevercut.Therearedarknarrowglenswherethetreesslopefantastically,andwherethinbrookletstricklewithouteverhavingcaughttheglintofsunlight.Onthegentlerslopestherearefarms,ancientandrocky,withsquat,moss-coatedcottagesbroodingeternallyoveroldNewEnglandsecretsintheleeofgreatledges;buttheseareallvacantnow,thewidechimneyscrumblingandtheshingledsidesbulgingperilouslybeneathlowgambrelroofs.

           Theoldfolkhavegoneaway,andforeignersdonotliketolivethere.French-Canadianshavetriedit,Italianshavetriedit,andthePoleshavecomeanddeparted.Itisnotbecauseofanythingthatcanbeseenorheardorhandled,butbecauseofsomethingthatisimagined.Theplaceisnotgoodfortheimagination,anddoesnotbringrestfuldreamsatnight.Itmustbethiswhichkeepstheforeignersaway,foroldAmmiPiercehasnevertoldthemofanythingherecallsfromthestrangedays.Ammi,whoseheadhasbeenalittlequeerforyears,istheonlyonewhostillremains,orwhoevertalksofthestrangedays;andhedarestodothisbecausehishouseissoneartheopenfieldsandthetravelledroadsaroundArkham.

           Therewasoncearoadoverthehillsandthroughthevalleys,thatranstraightwheretheblastedheathisnow;butpeopleceasedtouseitandanewroadwaslaidcurvingfartowardthesouth.