Up the hill from the old Wellspring Friends Meetinghouse, which, like most of the meetinghouses in rural Pennsylvania, dated back to the 1700’s, was Wellspring High School. This semi-dilapidated institution of lower learning had been built in the early 1900’s and was situated in the center of town. Recently, some rather strange events had been occurring at the school. Indeed, there were townspeople who referred to these incidents as symptoms of a disease that had infected the school community. Several faculty members had reported experiencing a decided improvement in their physical and mental well being after passing the town limits. Of late, it seemed that almost every year marked the death of a faculty member after a brief illness. This had been happening for about five years, and the teachers involved were all middle-aged; there wasn’t a single senior citizen among them.

     Beneath a veneer of very appealing country friendliness and rural wholesomeness, something was sorely amiss in this town, which prided itself upon being both isolated and insulated from the rest of the world. It was a running joke among the high school faculty that Wellspring had not been concerned about the potential impact of Y2K because the town was still becoming acclimated to the twentieth century.

     Hear no evil; see no evil; speak no evil. This was the immediate response of the principal of Wellspring High School to the destruction of the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. Television monitors throughout the school were turned off by order of the principal, keeping the students and faculty literally in the dark about the greatest man-made catastrophe to hit the United States in the twenty-first century. It wasn’t until they left school that Wellspring students were able to get news about one of the most important current events they would ever discuss in a social studies class.

     Ignorance is bliss, or so they say. Wellspring’s condition was anything but blissful, however, and seemed to be linked to a vague sense of spiritual emptiness. From this spiritual void, there had emerged a sinister presence, which had the effect upon the town of an untreated wound that had been allowed to fester. Over the last three years, the infection seemed to be gaining a stranglehold upon the school district. Students had become more and more unruly in their behavior and less and less motivated by a work ethic that was suffering from a rapid deterioration. Parents displayed an over-identification with their children and defended them to the point of eroding the authority of the teachers entrusted with the youngsters’ education. Whose life was going to be affected adversely by this "infection"? The children’s? The parents’? Society’s? Phyllis Gladstone, a world cultures teacher at Wellspring High, would have responded with "all of the above".

     Sean Glied looked as if he were about to explode. Tension screamed throughout his body, tying his nerves into tiny knots and forcing him to hyperventilate.  His phone beckoned harshly in an imperious tone, demanding to be answered. Since his secretary was gone for the afternoon, he was left without a buffer zone. HE had to answer the phone. Taking a deep breath, he was able to muster a façade of concern for his caller.

     "Sean Glied here. How may I help you?"

     "You’ve got to do something about Dr. Gladstone! We cannot afford to have parents and kids upset. Dawn Jackson’s mother wants Dawn to get into a top-notch college. If that impossible bitch gives this girl a "C’, we’ll never hear the end of it. You’re the high school principal, after all. DO SOMETHING!"

     "Ok, Katherine, I’ll get right on it. You’re absolutely right. Wellspring is the best high school in the county, and the parents and children of this district must be protected from radical teachers. Dr. Gladstone will soon be getting my personal attention. This threat to the education of our children will be eliminated."

     Almost under its own power, the receiver seemed to slide from Glied’s clammy hand back into place. Katherine Pierce, the President of the Wellspring Board of Education, had made her point. This was a model school district, and no one would be allowed to damage that image! It did not matter that events were unfolding within the community and the school district that could tarnish that celebrated image.

     The district was still reeling from the aftershock of a violent confrontation that had occurred in the high school just last week. A suspended student suspected of drug dealing had burst into the school carrying a boom box that belched blaring music. John Furze, the assistant principal, was hit with the boom box and knocked out. Two teachers were sent to the hospital to be treated for bite wounds they suffered while attempting to subdue the youth, who appeared to be high on drugs and had a gun in his pocket. Glied did not have to deal with the immediate situation because he was away on a mini-vacation. Yes, timing was everything for Glied. Only one radio station had mentioned the incident, and the local newspapers had printed a short article about it. Fortunately, the major newspapers did not cover the episode. Glied heaved a heavy sigh. The publicity had been contained, and the pr fallout had been held to a minimum.

     Next week, Dr. Doolittle, a member of the Wellspring Board of Education, would be on trial for child molestation. Fortunately again for the school district, the pr damage was amazingly inconsequential, and the major newspapers showed no interest in the course of the trial. Living in a small rural town had the advantage of perpetuating an image of a pure existence, one lacking excitement, especially the violent type.

     Whenever he encountered outsiders, Glied was relieved to hear them spout forth their admiration for the small, quiet town and its outstanding school district. Now, it was up to him to protect that image by ridding the high school of its most recent source of turbulence. As if he did not have enough on his mind with the assault that had taken place in the hall directly outside the high school office and the probable conviction (he had always thought Doolittle was a pervert) of a school board member for child molestation! Now he had to deal with a recalcitrant teacher. The words of Kate Pierce reverberated in his mind. "DO SOMETHING!" He would make sure his observations of her world cultures classes provided plenty of ammunition to achieve that goal. He would do his best to make sure the doctor was "out" as soon as possible.

     The VCR!!! Where was the VCR??? It was the beginning of November, the time Mexicans celebrate El día de los muertos, the Day of the Dead. Dr. Phyllis Gladstone’s sixth period world cultures class needed to view the last ten minutes of Macario, a film by Luis Buñel, a famous Mexican producer. The English teacher, whose room this was, always had a VCR in the closet. Today, the VCR seemed to have vanished as Sean Glied slithered into the room, clutching his observation notepad eager to record Dr. Gladstone’s inability to show the end of the film. The VCR’s absence provided a perfect opportunity for Glied to demonstrate her poor planning , which would support his charge of incompetent teaching. After about five minutes, the student Dr. Gladstone had sent to the school media center to borrow a VCR, reappeared pushing a large, cumbersome box on wheels into the classroom. It was the only VCR the library could spare. Who would want to use such a ancient monster? Maybe, the damned thing won’t work, thought Glied.

     After Dr. Gladstone plugged in the VCR and inserted the video, the film ran without incident, beginning with Mario’s death scene. This is an especially thought-provoking scene because, in contrast to the traditional Mexican view of death as a necessary part of existence, Macario fears death and refuses to accept his own mortality. In an attempt to flee from Death’s messenger, Macario finds himself in an enormous cave. Dr. Gladstone’s students were mesmerized by the endless rows of candles representing lives, whose weak lights flicker against the wall of a huge, dark cavern. As Macario runs from Death’s messenger, urgent calls of Macario! Macario! resound throughout the cavern. At this point, Phyllis Gladstone pressed the stop button on the VCR to discuss the scene. As she lifted her index finger from the button, she felt a jerky movement and heard a very soft, sucking sound. Strange behavior for a VCR, but then again old machines are known for their erratic actions, she mused. Something was different in the classroom. Sean Glied was missing! Maybe he left to take care of some urgent administrative business in his office, she speculated.

     Glied felt as though he had been pulled through a wind tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, he was forced to jump and landed between the messenger of Death, who was beckoning to Macario, and a desperate Macario, who was trying to escape. Sean Glied had been sucked up by the VCR and transported into the film, Macario. All he heard was Spanish and he couldn’t understand a work of it. Where the hell am I? he pondered. Glied was not only lost but at a loss for words. As principal of Wellspring High School, he had consistently supported cutting foreign language programs and encouraged the underfunding of these programs as well as anything that was relevant to world cultures. Now he had to get out of this Spanish-speaking mess! What were his choices? The Inquisition? Death? Escape?

     Neither Mario nor Death’s messenger seemed aware of Sean Glied’s presence. He, by contrast, could hear and see everything that occurred in his new surroundings but when he tried to touch something, it was as though the object had no substance; his hand passed right through everything he attempted to touch. Night was falling, and his stomach was voicing its distress. Glied hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he could feel the gurgling of his gastric juices intensified by the mere thought of something edible. Suddenly, he remembered the granola bar he had tucked away in his jacket pocket. He quickly tore off the wrapper and consumed the whole granola bar in two bites. For a brief moment, he was satisfied, and the dragon’s breath, which had been heating up his throat due to the activity of digestive juices that had nothing to digest, stopped. Exhausted from the ordeal of his afternoon, he had no trouble falling asleep. Soon he was dreaming about eating an entire turkey that had been cooked especially for him.

     Several days had passed since the principal of Wellspring High School had last been seen observing Dr. Gladstone’s sixth period world cultures class. The faculty room abounded with speculations. Some thought that he had left his wife of 25 years for another woman, while others thought he had committed suicide in a remote place because of his dysfunctional family. After all, drugs had been a serious problem for both himself and his two teenage sons for many years. As old rumors about his disappearance were abandoned, new ones sprang up and were quickly circulated.

     Needless to say, Phyllis Gladstone was enjoying her freedom and secretly hoped that Sean Glied would never return to Wellspring High School. In his absence, she had submitted a requisition for a new VCR. Within a couple days, a miracle occurred, or so it seemed, and she removed a brand new VCR from its packing box. The first tape she placed in it was Macario. As she rewound the tape, she noticed something. After pressing stop, she played the part of the tape that had caught her attention. There it was! A particle of dirt seemed to be embedded in the tape. The spec of dirt or smudge gave the impression of a figure gesticulating wildly. It almost looked like a person signaling for help, which, of course, was impossible. How could something in the tape be attempting to communicate with her? If she mentioned that idea to anyone, she would be the next staff member to disappear from the high school. She definitely needed a rest. Thanksgiving recess would soon arrive, thank God. Whatever the thing on the tape was, it needed to be removed; that much was certain.

     The next morning, Dr. Gladstone discussed the dirt particle problem with the media specialist at Wellspring High School. He agreed to remove the problem dirt spec and splice the tape. Dr. Gladstone could pick up the tape at the end of the school day.

     At three o’clock, she dropped by the media specialist’s station to pick up her tape. As he handed it to her, he commented upon having seen what appeared to be a movement that seemed to be signaling something in the piece he cut from the tape. Incredible, the effect a "moving" spec of dirt can have on someone’s mind! Just incredible! After placing the cut section into the disposal bin, he thought he heard cries for help. He must be losing his mind, he thought as he handed her the spliced version of Macario.

     "By the way, do you think the Sean Glied mystery will ever be solved?" he asked.

     Phyllis Gladstone gave a wry smile and glanced in the direction of the disposal bin. "We’ve certainly had our share of unsolved mysteries recently," she said slipping the Macario tape into her briefcase.