Originally published in the January 1928 issue of Weird Tales, “In Amundsen’s Tent” is a curious blend of fact and fantasy. The story engages two historic 1911 Antarctic expeditions (led by Roald Amundsen and Robert Falcon Scott respectively) as its historical backdrop.
In the interest of avoiding too many spoilers (for I highly recommend this peculiar little horror nugget), I’ll focus on why “In Amundsen’s Tent” is pure magic. First and foremost, it transports the reader from the mundane into the macabre through a series of vivid portals. Each of these gateways serves as a threshold for increasing the reader’s discomfiture.
After a somewhat clumsy preamble, our first gateway is the bleak and frigid landscape of Antarctica. Back in the 1920s, but even so a century later, this continent represents an inhospitable, alien terrain. The narrative begins with three Antarctic explorers, Dahlstrom, Eastman, and Nels, who are isolated and vulnerable in this harsh environment. The story implies their venture is some undisclosed years after the abovementioned 1911 Amundsen and Scott expeditions. Leahy slyly describes the cases on their sleds as “long and black like coffins” to foreshadow impending doom. And then it comes in the form of a deserted tent on the horizon, completely unexpected and out of place. What other choice is there for these stalwart explorers but to have a closer look?
And thus, we cross our second threshold. For in this tent, they discover a severed head. There is no accompanying body, causing them to speculate that the motive was cannibalism. Ghastly to be sure, but entirely reasonable considering the environment. Yep, that makes sense, and all is well until our explorers discover a sled buried in the snow outside the tent containing plenty of food. So, it wasn’t hunger that led to this baffling beheading. And need we even ask where the rest of this poor chap’s body ended up? Fortunately, in addition to the severed head, they happen upon the journal of one Robert Drumgold, which describes the events leading up to his gruesome demise.
To be fair, nothing makes a severed head more enticing than a journal providing some context for its decapitation. Onward, brave readers, if you have the stomach for it. And hopefully you do, because the fate of Robert Drumgold and his expedition is entirely worth it. For as we learn in this journal, Drumgold was also an Antarctic explorer around the time of the 1911 Amundsen and Scott expeditions. He was also part of a three-man team, including his fellow explorers Sutherland and Travers. And along with these two, he also happened upon a deserted tent in the frozen expanse.
Whoa. That’s some eerie symmetry Leahy is building. Right? The dread resulting from this symmetry is what opens the next portal. There’s still time to turn back, brave reader. But no, we must go on. Because of the Norwegian flag hoisted overhead, Drumgold and his compatriots surmise this is a tent left behind by the Amundsen expedition. There is something distinctly unnerving in the bulge on one side of the shelter. It’s as if something entirely untoward has taken up residency in there. And their sled dogs are acutely terrified of this tent, which leads to the inevitable decision by Sutherland to have a look inside. Spoiler alert, he does not discover another severed head.
What Leahy does brilliantly is not really revealing to the reader what’s in the tent. Whatever it is causes Sutherland to immediately go mad. And despite his warnings, Travers has to have a look for himself. Then he goes mad, leaving Drumgold as the only remaining sane member of the party. There’s lots of exposition about what the thing in the tent might be, and whether or not it’s alive or dead. But we never really get to see it for ourselves…leaving Drumgold, and the reader having to imagine it. This is the heart of the magic I referenced above.
We cross our final threshold with the headlong flight away from whatever this horrific discovery was, and the realization that some deserted Antarctic tents are best left unopened. Because our three hapless explorers, two of them now insane, are no longer alone in the frigid expanse. Tension builds in the following journal entries that cover January 5th through the 11th (presumably of 1912). Leahy masterfully depicts a cogent yet veiled series of events that lead up to a severed head to be discovered years later by Dahlstrom, Eastman, and Nels. Even worse, we’re given no resolution to the fate of these three in the wake of their grisly discovery.
And this is why “In Amundsen’s Tent” is pure magic. In contrast to many contemporary horror stories that rely on gratuitous depictions of violence, Leahy achieves success by engaging the reader’s imagination. This human faculty is the wellspring of our most potent emotions, including horror. It’s easy to lose sight of that in an age of overstimulation and excessive visual displays that fall short of what our own imaginations are capable of conjuring. Hopefully, I haven’t given too much away here and recommend this story