There was once a town in the heart of America where all life seemed to live in harmony with its surroundings. The town lay in the midst of prosperous farms, where, in spring, white clouds of bloom drifted above the green fields. In autumn, oak and maple and birch set up a blaze of color that flamed and flickered across a background of pines. Then foxes barked in the hills and deer silently crossed the fields.

Along the roads, laurel, great ferns and wildflowers delighted the traveler's eye through much of the year. Even in winter the roadsides were places of beauty, where countless birds came to feed on the berries and on the seed heads of the dried weeds rising above the snow. The countryside was, in fact, famous for the abundance and variety of its bird life, and when the flood of migrants was pouring through in spring and fall people traveled from great distances to observe them. Others came to fish the streams, which flowed clear and cold out of the hills and contained shady pools where trout lay. So it had been from the days many years ago when the first settlers raised their houses, sank their wells, and built their barns.

Then some evil spell settled on the community: mysterious diseases swept the flocks of chickens; the cattle and sheep sickened and died. In the town the doctors became more and more puzzled by new kinds of sickness appearing among their patients. There had been several sudden and unexplained deaths, not only among adults but even among children.