Three Days Later....

It had to be Maynard Hadley. I look back now and realize it could have been no one else. Who else could have been more useless to them? But let me explain.

Maynard Hadley, resident kiddie picture collector. I rest my case. The only meaningful relationship Maynard ever had in his life was with his mother. No other woman would tolerate his nonsense.

Maynard worked in his father's prescription shop. He'd sit behind the counter and leer at anything with a skirt or a tight pair of leggings. But his favorite target was girls not even close to legal. More than once, I had casually stepped between his red, bulging eyes and a group of middle school girls. Rage would beat through my heart, as I imagined beating the vulgar punk to a bloody pulp.

Mom and pop had only had the one kid. Me. But, oh Lord! Had that been one of my sisters; Maynard would have met his maker long before they came. I tell you that much, right now.

As it was, just about every man in town swore they would kill him one day. Only a few men secretly idolized him. And all of us normal guys know who they are too. Guess the visitors figured their first order of business was to take out the trash. And I thank 'em for it. My conscience and my record can remain squeaky clean.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Anyways. They found ole Maynard dead at the quarry. The coroner said his neck had been snapped in several places. But that wasn't what killed the slimebucket. From what Doc MacKensie could tell, Maynard was dead long before something broke his neck. Doc thought maybe a bear had got a hold of the body after death. Maynard had died of a massive heart attack, brought on by--and I quote-- "extreme euphoria." His blood was so full of "feel good" chemicals, they could have bottled it up and sold it on the black market. His heart couldn't help but burst.

And the look of pleasure on Maynard's face, according to Doc Mackensie, was almost disgusting. The fact that he had been found naked didn't help neither. His clothes were never found.

The estimated time of death was about two days before the body was found. About one day after the strange meteor shower.

At the time, no one made any connections. Most of us had gone on with our lives. Most had never even seen 'em come down. Out of sight, out of mind. Maynard's death meant one more funeral, and one less blotch on our town's good name. Good riddance, and pass the black-eyed peas.

The coroner scribbled down a cause of death, stated that a bear mauled the dead remains, and then put his stamp of approval on the death certificate and the medical report. Done deal.

And life went on as usual.