H.P. Lovecraft in Maine

One of my favorite stories by Lovecraft, and one which led to certain terrible associations with the strange barren woods of winter Maine, is The Thing on the Doorstep (conveniently available online at the link given here).

After reading this in my late teens and rereading in my early twenties, late afternoon returns from the skislopes at Sunday River with my skibum ex became extremely creepy. The bare trees, the sun going down behind cold grey humps of granite hillside, and scattered ramshackle dwellings and sheds along the winding, icy route gave rise to deep feelings of foreboding and made me dread the rides home. I am a big fan of creepiness but sometimes it crosses the line of excitement and thrill and bleeds deep into DREAD and TERROR.

Recent excursions into the Bridgton area in late fall had similar tones -- I think it has something to do with that specific time of day, the black trees, and the still, cold, standing water they are reflected in.