On Thanksgiving when Jack failed to show up for dinner, his Aunt Margaret was the first to observe how late it was and how her nephew had yet to show. She shared this information with her sister, who had been distracted by the minor reunion, and Jack's mother called him, thinking that maybe he had overslept. But there was no ring on the other end, and she left her house to check on Jack.
She sped the entire way to her son's house and pulled parked behind Jack's car in his driveway. The front door was locked, but for emergencies Jack had loaned her one of his spare keys, which she used to let herself in.
“Jack? Are you home?” she asked as she opened the door.
The house was dark and quiet. She closed the door and checked the living room first. “Jack?”
He wasn't there.
She checked the kitchen next, then made her way to his bedroom after finding it vacant. As she walked closer, she noticed a putrid stench. It was faint, but she covered her nose with her scarf.
“Jack?” she said as she knocked on his bedroom door. No answer was returned, and she knocked again and put her ear to the door. Again, she heard nothing. “Jack?” she said as she cracked open his bedroom door. The second the door was opened, she was battered by an awful miasma that nearly emptied the few contents she had consumed during the day.
“Jack,” she said once she had her nausea under control, “when was the last time you cl—” Her fingernails dug into her face where she held her scarf as her eyelids peeled back.606Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRkfXUIV5G3
Jack laid on his bed, with too many flies buzzing about.
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The investigation by police was ruled suicide by dehydration. Because of the copious quantities of bodily wastes that saturated his bedspread, they determined that he had remained in his bed for days before dying.
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