Near the end of the Valley of Humility the green grass turned to brown stubble, and the perfume of fir and flower gave way to the stench of sulphur pits and rotting flesh. The singing of birds yielded to the muffled wing-flaps of vampirous bats and mysterious moanings. The westering sun glowed blood red as it reluctantly settled into the musty mist of the valley. As Christian watched it slide from view, he found himself standing at the mouth of the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Now, if there had been any heights to climb, or seas to swim that would have taken him around this evil place, Christian would have done it in a flash. But the path laid down for him by his Lord led this way, and therefore, this way must he go.
Now this valley is a very fearful and solitary place—a place where all the woeful and miserable pieces of ground in all the world come together in one long, dreary valley. There is a section of lonely wilderness, a long stretch of swamps and pits, and a length of drought-parched earth. There is also a place where one side of the narrow way drops off into a slimy swamp while the other slides into viscous, sucking quicksand. It is a country void of people—one that none but a Christian with visions of a better land would ever pass through. It was here that Apollyon came to Christian again—this time in an even worse form than before.