The Dead Valley
by Ralph Adams Cram
I have a friend, Olof Ehrensvärd, a Swede by birth, who yet, by
reason of a strange and melancholy mischance of his early boyhood, has
thrown his lot with that of the New World. It is a curious story of a
headstrong boy and a proud and relentless family: the details do not
matter here, but they are sufficient to weave a web of romance around
the tall yellow-bearded man with the sad eyes and the voice that gives
itself perfectly to plaintive little Swedish songs remembered out of
childhood. In the winter evenings we play chess together, he and I, and
after some close, fierce battle has been fought to a finish—usually
with my own defeat—we fill our pipes again, and Ehrensvärd tells me
stories of the far, half-remembered days in the fatherland, before he
went to sea: stories that grow very strange and incredible as the
night deepens and the fire falls together, but stories that,
nevertheless, I fully believe.
One of them made a strong impression on me, so I set it down here,
only regretting that I cannot reproduce the curiously perfect English
and the delicate accent which to me increased the fascination of the
tale. Yet, as best I can remember it, here it is.
"I never told you how Nils and I went over the hills to Hallsberg,
and how we found the Dead Valley, did I? Well, this is the way it
happened. I must have been about twelve years old, and Nils Sjöberg,
whose father's estate joined ours, was a few months younger. We were
inseparable just at that time, and whatever we did, we did together.
"Once a week it was market day in Engelholm, and Nils and I went
always there to see the strange sights that the market gathered from
all the surrounding country. One day we quite lost our hearts, for an
old man from across the Elfborg had brought a little dog to sell, that
seemed to us the most beautiful dog in all the world. He was a round,
woolly puppy, so funny that Nils and I sat down on the ground and
laughed at him, until he came and played with us in so jolly a way
that we felt that there was only one really desirable thing in life,
and that was the little dog of the old man from across the hills. But
alas! we had not half money enough wherewith to buy him, so we were
forced to beg the old man not to sell him before the next market day,
promising that we would bring the money for him then. He gave us his
word, and we ran home very fast and implored our mothers to give us
money for the little dog.
"We got the money, but we could not wait for the next market day.
Suppose the puppy should be sold! The thought frightened us so that we
begged and implored that we might be allowed to go over the hills to
Hallsberg where the old man lived, and get the little dog ourselves,
and at last they told us we might go. By starting early in the morning
we should reach Hallsberg by three o'clock, and it was arranged that
we should stay there that night with Nils's aunt, and, leaving by noon
the next day, be home again by sunset.
"Soon after sunrise we were on our way, after having received
minute instructions as to just what we should do in all possible and
impossible circumstances, and finally a repeated injunction that we
should start for home at the same hour the next day, so that we might
get safely back before nightfall.
"For us, it was magnificent sport, and we started off with our
rifles, full of the sense of our very great importance yet the journey
was simple enough, along a good road, across the big hills we knew so
well, for Nils and I had shot over half the territory this side of the
dividing ridge of the Elfborg. Back of Engelholm lay a long valley,
from which rose the low mountains, and we.had to cross this, and then
follow the road along the side of the hills for three or four miles,
before a narrow path branched off to the left, leading up through the
"Nothing occurred of interest on the way over, and we reached
Hallsberg in due season, found to our inexpressible joy that the
little dog was not sold, secured him, and so went to the house of
Nils's aunt to spend the night.
"Why we did not leave early on the following day, I can't quite
remember; at all events, I know we stopped at a shooting range just
outside of the town, where most attractive paste-board pigs were
sliding slowly through painted foliage, serving so as beautiful marks.
The result was that we did not get fairly started for home until
afternoon, and as we found ourselves at last pushing up the side of
the mountain with the sun dangerously near their summits, I think we
were a little scared at the prospect of the examination and possible
punishment that awaited us when we got home at midnight.
Therefore we hurried as fast as possible up the mountain side,
while the blue dusk closed in about us, and the light died in the
purple sky. At first we had talked hilariously, and the little dog had
leaped ahead of us with the utmost joy. Latterly, however, a curious
oppression came on us; we did not speak or even whistle, while the dog
fell behind, following us with hesitation in every muscle.
"We had passed through the foothills and the low spurs of the
mountains, and were almost at the top of the main range, when life
seemed to go out of everything, leaving the world dead, so suddenly
silent the forest became, so stagnant the air. Instinctively we halted
"Perfect silence,—the crushing silence of deep forests at night;
and more, for always, even in the most impenetrable fastnesses of the
wooded mountains, is the multitudinous murmur of little lives,
awakened by the darkness, exaggerated and intensified by the stillness
of the air and the great dark but here and now the silence seemed
unbroken even by the turn of a leaf, the movement of a twig, the note
of night bird or insect. I could hear the blood beat through my veins;
and the crushing of the grass under our feet as we advanced with
hesitating steps sounded like the falling of trees.
"And the air was stagnant,—dead. The atmosphere seemed to lie upon
the body like the weight of sea on a diver who has ventured too far
into its awful depths. What we usually call silence seems so only in
relation to the din of ordinary experience. This was silence in the
absolute, and it crushed the mind while it intensified the senses,
bringing down the awful weight of inextinguishable fear.
"I know that Nils and I stared towards each other in abject terror,
listening to our quick, heavy breathing, that sounded to our acute
senses like the fitful rush of waters. And the poor little dog we were
leading justified our terror. The black oppression seemed to crush him
even as it did us.
He lay close on the ground, moaning feebly, and dragging himself
painfully and slowly closer to Nils's feet. I think this exhibition of
utter animal fear was the last touch, and must inevitably have blasted
our reason—mine anyway; but just then, as we stood quaking on the
bounds of madness, came a sound, so awful, so ghastly, so horrible,
that it seemed to rouse us from the dead spell that was on us.
In the depth of the silence came a cry, beginning as a low,
sorrowful moan, rising to a tremulous shriek, culminating in a yell
that seemed to tear the night in sunder and rend the world as by a
cataclysm. So fearful was it that I could not believe it had actual
existence: it passed previous experience, the powers of belief, and
for a moment I thought it the result of my own animal terror, an
hallucination born of tottering reason.."A glance at Nils dispelled
this thought in a flash. In the pale light of the high stars he was the
embodiment of all possible human fear, quaking with an ague, his jaw
fallen, his tongue out, his eyes protruding like those of a hanged
man. Without a word we fled, the panic of fear giving us strength, and
together, the little dog caught close in Nils's arms, we sped down the
side of the cursed mountains,—anywhere, goal was of no account: we
had but one impulse—to get away from that place.
"So under the black trees and the far white stars that flashed
through the still leaves overhead, we leaped down the mountain side,
regardless of path or landmark, straight through the tangled
underbrush, across mountain streams, through fens and copses,
anywhere, so only that our course was downward.
"How long we ran thus, I have no idea, but by and by the forest
fell behind, and we found ourselves among the foothills, and fell
exhausted on the dry short grass, panting like tired dogs.
"It was lighter here in the open, and presently we looked around to
see where we were, and how we were to strike out in order to find the
path that would lead us home. We looked in vain for a familiar sign.
Behind us rose the great wall of black forest on the flank of the
before us lay the undulating mounds of low foothills, unbroken by
trees or rocks, and beyond, only the fall of black sky bright with
multitudinous stars that turned its velvet depth to a luminous gray.
"As I remember, we did not speak to each other once: the terror was
too heavy on us for that, but by and by we rose simultaneously and
started out across the hills.
"Still the same silence, the same dead, motionless air—air that
was at once sultry and chilling:
a heavy heat struck through with an icy chill that felt almost like
the burning of frozen steel. Still carrying the helpless dog, Nils
pressed on through the hills, and I followed close behind. At last, in
front of us, rose a slope of moor touching the white stars. We climbed
it wearily, reached the top, and found ourselves gazing down into a
great, smooth valley, filled half way to the brim with—what?p
"As far as the eye could see stretched a level plain of ashy white,
faintly phosphorescent, a sea of velvet fog that lay like motionless
water, or rather like a floor of alabaster, so dense did it appear, so
seemingly capable of sustaining weight. If it were possible, I think
that sea of dead white mist struck even greater terror into my soul
than the heavy silence or the deadly cry—so ominous was it, so
utterly unreal, so phantasmal, so impossible, as it lay there like a
dead ocean under the steady stars. Yet through that mist we must go!
there seemed no other way home, and, shattered with abject fear, mad
with the one desire to get back, we started down the slope to where
the sea of milky mist ceased, sharp and distinct around the stems of
the rough grass.
"I put one foot into the ghostly fog. A chill as of death struck
through me, stopping my heart, and I threw myself backward on the
slope. At that instant came again the shriek, close, close, right in
our ears, in ourselves, and far out across that damnable sea I saw the
cold fog lift like a water-spout and toss itself high in writhing
convolutions towards the sky. The stars began to grow dim as thick
vapor swept across them, and in the growing dark I saw a great, watery
moon lift itself slowly above the palpitating sea, vast and vague in
the gathering mist.
"This was enough: we turned and fled along the margin of the white
sea that throbbed now with fitful motion below us, rising, rising,
slowly and steadily, driving us higher and higher up.
the side of the foothills.
"It was a race for life; that we knew. How we kept it up I cannot
understand, but we did, and at last we saw the white sea fall behind
us as we staggered up the end of the valley, and then down into a
region that we knew, and so into the old path. The last thing I
remember was hearing a.strange voice, that of Nils, but horribly
changed, stammer brokenly, 'The dog is dead!' and then the whole world
turned around twice, slowly and resistlessly, and consciousness went
out with a crash.
"It was some three weeks later, as I remember, that I awoke in my
own room, and found my mother sitting beside the bed. I could not
think very well at first, but as I slowly grew strong again, vague
flashes of recollection began to come to me, and little by little the
whole sequence of events of that awful night in the Dead Valley came
back. All that I could gain from what was told me was that three weeks
before I had been found in my own bed, raging sick, and that my
illness grew fast into brain fever. I tried to speak of the dread
things that had happened to me, but I saw at once that no one looked
on them save as the hauntings of a dying frenzy, and so I closed my
mouth and kept my own counsel.
"I must see Nils, however, and so I asked for him. My mother told
me that he also had been ill with a strange fever, but that he was now
quite well again. Presently they brought him in, and when we were
alone I began to speak to him of the night on the mountain. I shall
never forget the shock that struck me down on my pillow when the boy
denied everything: denied having gone with me, ever having heard the
cry, having seen the valley, or feeling the deadly chill of the
ghostly fog. Nothing would shake his determined ignorance, and in
spite of myself I was forced to admit that his denials came from no
policy of concealment, but from blank oblivion.
"My weakened brain was in a turmoil. Was it all but the floating
phantasm of delirium? Or had the horror of the real thing blotted
Nils's mind into blankness so far as the events of the night in the
Dead Valley were concerned? The latter explanation seemed the only one,
else how explain the sudden illness which in a night had struck us
both down? I said nothing more, either to Nils or to my own people,
but waited, with a growing determination that, once well again, I would
find that valley if it really existed.
"It was some weeks before I was really well enough to go, but
finally, late in September, I chose a bright, warm, still day, the
last smile of the dying summer, and started early in the morn-ing
along the path that led to Hallsberg. I was sure I knew where the
trail struck off to the right, down which we had come from the valley
of dead water, for a great tree grew by the Hallsberg path at the
point where, with a sense of salvation, we had found the home road.
Presently I saw it to the right, a little distance ahead.
"I think the bright sunlight and the clear air had worked as a
tonic to me, for by the time I came to the foot of the great pine, I
had quite lost faith in the verity of the vision that haunted me,
believing at last that it was indeed but the nightmare of madness.
Nevertheless, I turned sharply to the right, at the base of the tree,
into a narrow path that led through a dense thicket. As I did so I
tripped over something. A swarm of flies sung into the air around me,
and looking down I saw the matted fleece, with the poor little bones
thrusting through, of the dog we had bought in Hallsberg.
"Then my courage went out with a puff, and I knew that it all was
true, and that now I was frightened. Pride and the desire for
adventure urged me on, however, and I pressed into the close thicket
that barred my way. The path was hardly visible: merely the worn road
of some small beasts, for, though it showed in the crisp grass, the
bushes above grew thick and hardly penetrable. The land rose slowly,
and rising grew clearer, until at last I came out on a great slope of
hill, unbroken by trees or shrubs, very like my memory of that rise of
land we had topped in order that we might find the dead valley and the
icy fog. I looked at the sun; it was bright and clear, and all around
insects were humming in the autumn air, and birds were darting to and
fro..Surely there was no danger, not until nightfall at least; so I
began to whistle, and with a rush mounted the last crest of brown
"There lay the Dead Valley! A great oval basin, almost as smooth
and regular as though made by man. On all sides the grass crept over
the brink of the encircling hills, dusty green on the crests, then
fading into ashy brown, and so to a deadly white, this last color
forming a thin ring, running in a long line around the slope. And
then? Nothing. Bare, brown, hard earth, glittering with grains of
alkali, but otherwise dead and barren. Not a tuft of grass, not a stick
of brushwood, not even a stone, but only the vast expanse of beaten
"In the midst of the basin, perhaps a mile and a half away, the
level expanse was broken by a great dead tree, rising leafless and
gaunt into the air. Without a moment's hesitation I started down into
the valley and made for this goal. Every particle of fear seemed to
have left me, and even the valley itself did not look so very
terrifying. At all events, I was driven by an overwhelming curiosity,
and there seemed to be but one thing in the world to do,—to get to
that Tree! As I trudged along over the hard earth, I noticed that the
multitudinous voices of birds and insects had died away. No bee or
butterfly hovered through the air, no insects leaped or crept over the
dull earth. The very air itself was stagnant.
"As I drew near the skeleton tree, I noticed the glint of sunlight
on a kind of white mound around its roots, and I wondered curiously.
It was not until I had come close that I saw its nature.
"All around the roots and barkless trunk was heaped a wilderness of
little bones. Tiny skulls of rodents and of birds, thousands of them,
rising about the dead tree and streaming off for several yards in all
directions, until the dreadful pile ended in isolated skulls and
Here and there a larger bone appeared,—the thigh of a sheep, the
hoofs of a horse, and to one side, grinning slowly, a human skull.
"I stood quite still, staring with all my eyes, when suddenly the
dense silence was broken by a faint, forlorn cry high over my head. I
looked up and saw a great falcon turning and sailing downward just
over the tree. In a moment more she fell motionless on the bleaching
"Horror struck me, and I rushed for home, my brain whirling, a
strange numbness growing in me. I ran steadily, on and on. At last I
glanced up. Where was the rise of hill? I looked around wildly. Close
before me was the dead tree with its pile of bones. I had circled it
round and round, and the valley wall was still a mile and a half away.
"I stood dazed and frozen. The sun was sinking, red and dull,
towards the line of hills. In the east the dark was growing fast. Was
there still time? Time! It was not that I wanted, it was will!
My feet seemed clogged as in a nightmare. I could hardly drag them
over the barren earth. And then I felt the slow chill creeping through
me. I looked down. Out of the earth a thin mist was rising, collecting
in little pools that grew ever larger until they joined here and there,
their currents swirling slowly like thin blue smoke. The western hills
halved the copper sun. When it was dark I should hear that shriek
again, and then I should die. I knew that, and with every remaining
atom of will I staggered towards the red west through the writhing mist
that crept clammily around my ankles, retarding my steps.
"And as I fought my way off from the Tree, the horror grew, until
at last I thought I was going to die. The silence pursued me like dumb
ghosts, the still air held my breath, the hellish fog caught at my
feet like cold hands.
"But I won! though not a moment too soon. As I crawled on my hands
and knees up the brown slope, I heard, far away and high in the air,
the cry that already had almost bereft me of reason. It was faint and
vague, but unmistakable in its horrible intensity. I glanced behind.
The fog was the dense and pallid, heaving undulously up the brown
slope. The sky was gold under the setting.sun, but below was the ashy
gray of death. I stood for a moment on the brink of this sea of hell,
and then leaped down the slope. The sunset opened before me, the night
closed behind, and as I crawled home weak and tired, darkness shut
down on the Dead Valley."