THE DEVIL OF EAST LUPTON, VERMONT
By WILLIAM FITZGERALD
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories August 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
To this day nobody pretends to understand the Devil of East Lupton,Vermont. There are even differences of opinion about the end to whichthat devil came. Mr. Tedder is sure he was the fiend in question, andthat he ceased to be fiendish when he rid himself of the pot over hishead.
Other authorities believe that heavy ordnance did the trick, and pointto a quarter-mile crater for proof. It takes close reasoning to decide.
But if by the Devil of East Lupton you mean the Whatever-it-was thatcame out of Somewhere to Here, and caused all the catastrophes byhis mere arrival—why—then the Devil was the Whatever-it-was in theleathery, hide-like covering on the morning Mr. Tedder ran away fromthe constable.
On that morning, Mr. Tedder ran like a deer—or as nearly like a deeras Mr. Tedder could hope to run. The resemblance was not close. Deerdo not hesitate helplessly between possible avenues of escape. Deerdo not plunge out of concealing thickets to scuttle through merelyshoulder-high brush because a pathway shows. But Mr. Tedder did.
The constable, behind him, shouted wrathfully. There was a thirty-dayjail-sentence waiting for someone for vagrancy—which is to say, fornot having any money. Mr. Tedder was elected.
He would not gain any money by staying in jail, but the constable whoarrested him and the justice of the peace who sentenced him wouldreceive fees for their activity. That was why this township wasnotoriously a bad place for tramps, bums, blanket-stiffs and itinerantworkmen in need of a job.
"I can't go much further," Mr. Tedder thought. His heart thumpedhorribly. There was an agonizing stitch in his side. His breath was ahoarse, honking noise as it rushed in and out. Despair filled him asexhaustion neared.
He pounded, sobbing for breath, up a little ten-foot rise. His eyestried to blur with tears. Then he lurched down the other side of theridge and saw that he was in the neglected, broken-limbed orchard of anabandoned farm.
The house was partly collapsed and wholly ruined. A remainingshed leaned crazily. Vines climbed over a rail fence—three partsrotten—and went on along a strand of barbed wire nailed to tree-trunks.
He could run no further. He looked, despairing, for a hiding place. Hishaggard, ineffectual face turned desperately. He saw something dark andlarge. To his blurred eyes it looked like a cow. He ran toward it. Itshrank back, stirring....
There was a thin, high screaming noise, like gas escaping through apunctured tire, but a tire inflated to a monstrous pressure. There wasa vast, foggy vaporousness. The dark shape made convulsive movements,but Mr. Tedder was too lost in panic to take note. He ran blindlytoward it.
"Ug!" gasped Mr. Tedder.
The scream descended in pitch. A pungent, ammoniacal smell filledthe air. Mr. Tedder ran into a wisp of fog which tore at his lungs.He choked and fell—which was fortunate, because the air was clearernear the ground. He lay kicking among dead leaves and dry grass-stemswhile a gray vapor spread and spread, and a very gentle breeze urged itsidewise among the unkempt trees of the orchard.
