The Bennington Triangle: Vermont's Portal to Nowhere

In the fog-choked folds of Vermont's Green Mountains, where autumn leaves bleed crimson and winter winds howl like lost souls, lies a 100-square-mile enigma dubbed the Bennington Triangle. Coined in 1992 by folklorist Joseph A. Citro, this cursed corridor centered on haunted Glastenbury Mountain has swallowed hikers, hunters, and innocents alike since Native whispers warned of a "man-eating stone." From 1945 to 1950, five vanished in its maw, leaving behind bus seats, abandoned trucks, and echoes of screams. UFO orbs, Bigfoot howls, and Abenaki curses fuel the fire: Is it a vortex to oblivion, a serial shadow, or the mountains' vengeful hunger? Step lightly. The trail turns to void.

The Unearthing: Cursed Trails and Vanishing Acts, 1945-1950

The saga ignites November 12, 1945, in Bickford Hollow's whispering pines. Middie Rivers, 74, a grizzled hunting guide who knew every root and ravine, led four clients toward deer sign. At 4 p.m., he veered ahead with rifle slung and voice calling back. Then silence. Camp waited; dusk fell. By dawn, Vermont State Guard and Fort Devens troops scoured 300 souls deep, bloodhounds baying. Weeks yielded one spent .30-06 cartridge and a handkerchief, perhaps his. No tracks, no blood, no bones. Rivers, who once quipped, "These woods don't bite if you don't poke," became the Triangle's first ghost.

December 1, 1946: Paula Jean Welden, 18, Bennington College sophomore in a blaze-red jacket, thumbs a ride to the Long Trail's misty embrace. "Just a walk to clear my head," she tells her roommate. Witnesses spot her: a Banner newsman gives directions; an elderly duo trails 100 yards back. She rounds a bend and is gone. No scream, no struggle. Over 1,000 volunteers, FBI flyovers, $5,000 reward: nothing. Snow buries clues; her father, a Stamford judge, storms Fall River diners chasing phantoms. The void claims its co-ed, birthing Vermont State Police from the bungled probe.

Three years to the day, December 1, 1949, James E. Tedford, 68, WWI vet from Bennington Soldiers' Home, boards a St. Albans bus post-family visit. Chatty at transfer, he slumps asleep. Fourteen eyes confirm: he is there at the Route 7 penultimate stop, timetable open on his lap. Bennington arrives with an empty seat and luggage intact. No exit, no fuss. Despondent over "homecoming," or dematerialized mid-ride? Cops probe; whispers of queer sightings in Brandon, 70 miles north.

Columbus Day, October 12, 1950: Paul "Buddy" Jepson, 8, special-needs boy in red jacket, idles in his mom's truck cab at the pig-dump farmstead. She steps away minutes and he is gone. Bloodhounds trace 200 yards toward Glastenbury, scent snaps at crossroads. Hundreds hunt; his dad muses "mountain lure," but rain erases trails. Abduction? Or the curse's child-snatch?

Sixteen days on, October 28, 1950, Frieda Langer, 53, sturdy Teaneck homemaker and trail-tough, camps Somerset Reservoir with kin. Hiking with cousin Herb, she tumbles stream-ward, soaks through. "Wait here; I'll change," she calls, vanishing 300 yards from tents. Herb waits an hour, returns to an empty camp. 400 volunteers, National Guard choppers, Army divers: nothing. May 1951 yields her skull in flood-flushed weeds, decayed beyond cause. Drowned? Devoured?

The Abenaki Shadow: Curses and Man-Eating Stones

Long before Citro's coinage, Abenaki lore branded Glastenbury "cursed ground," a four-winds maelstrom where flora twists unnaturally and silence devours birdsong. Tribes buried dead here, shunning the living lest the "Profile Devil," a rock-face demon, or enchanted stone gape and gulp the unwary. 1892's Henry McDowell, mill-madman, axes a Fayville worker, flees to asylums and woods, his voices a harbinger? Ghost towns Glastenbury and Somerset, logging-razed and flood-flayed, amplify the pall. Ruins where winds wail like Wendigo.

Patterns prick: All five blinked out 3-4 p.m., October-December; three in red (Welden, Jepson, Rivers' party). Folklore flares: 1950 Banner dubs it "Lost Horizon," echoing Hilton's mystic gulch. Post-1950, shadows linger. 2008's Robert Singley, Bennington prof, "crescendoes" into disorientation, rescued but spooked: "Dizzying confusion... like the woods fought back."

Cosmic Voids: Portals, Yetis, or Human Hands?

Theories twist like Glastenbury's gales. Mundane: Serial slayer? Escaped McDowell, or vagrant killer in the vortex? Yet no bodies but Langer's, no weapons, no witnesses. Geological gulps: Sinkholes from talc mines, or disorienting winds mimicking Bermuda's pull? Woo surges: UFO "flying silos" (1984 Pratt sighting), Bigfoot "Bennington Monster" (1940s howls, 1967 cave-raider of women). Portals? Keel's "Window Areas" to other realms, where red lures the devourer. Jackson's *Hangsaman* (1951), inspired by Welden, spins co-ed dread into occult ink.

The Dig Details Table: What the Void Swallowed

Date	Victim	Last Seen	Clues/Outcome
Nov 12, 1945	Middie Rivers, 74	Hunting Bickford Hollow; ahead of group	One rifle cartridge; no trace
Dec 1, 1946	Paula Welden, 18	Long Trail bend; red jacket	No evidence; $5K reward, FBI hunt futile
Dec 1, 1949	James Tedford, 68	Bus seat, Route 7 penultimate stop	Luggage left; possible Brandon sighting
Oct 12, 1950	Paul Jepson, 8	Truck cab at pig farm; red jacket	Hounds to crossroads; scent lost
Oct 28, 1950	Frieda Langer, 53	300 yds from Somerset camp; post-stream fall	Skull in weeds May '51; cause unknown

Key Players: The Lost and the Searchers Table

Name	Role	Quote/Contribution
Middie Rivers	Hunting Guide	"These woods don't bite if you don't poke." - Recalled by clients; vanished leading hunt
Paula Welden	Bennington College Student	"Just a walk to clear my head." - To roommate; inspired Hangsaman
James Tedford	WWI Veteran	Despondent over return; "thin to emaciation" - Family; bus void
Paul Jepson	Farm Boy	"Lure of the mountains" - Father; hounds to crossroads
Frieda Langer	Homemaker/Hiker	"Wait here; I'll change." - To cousin; decayed in weeds
Joseph A. Citro	Folklorist	Coiner of "Bennington Triangle" (1992); linked to Bridgewater vibes
Abenaki Elders	Native Lorekeepers	"Cursed winds meet; stone swallows the unwary." - Oral histories

Echoes in the Ether: Legacy and Lingering Questions

Today, Glastenbury's ghost towns crumble in Green Mountain National Forest, trails luring hikers despite "bad luck in red" taboos. Banner retrospectives (2006, 2025) keep flames flickering; podcasts like *Lore* ("Red Coats," 2017) and *Brave Little State* (2025) dissect the dread. Fact-checks shrug: Coincidences in wilds, no serial proof. Yet anomalies nag. Singley's 2008 "crescendo" daze, 2023 drone orbs. Did the stone stir, or winds whisper names? The Triangle endures, a fog-veiled dare, would you enter to find the answers?

The Bennington Triangle: Vermont's Portal to Nowhere