Nobody remembered specifically when he got the moniker “crazy”, or if his last name was even Edwards. But “Crazy Edwards” was what they called him, and crazy is sort of how Edwards acted.
He hated loud noises. He’d throw rocks at loud cars and run away into the woods. On July 1st, after fireworks on Centennial Field, his sobbing, echoing moans kept half the village awake till dawn.
He walked barefoot and smelled terribly. Extremely shy, he’d bow his head and cross the street rather than share the sidewalk.
Gently protective of children, he’d once saved a young boy from a cougar. That young boy was Glenn Nyborg, whose family owned Nyborg’s General Store, and began a tab for Crazy Edwards. The tab hadn’t been paid for 15 years, but the Nyborgs didn’t really care.
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He was a fixture in a village that had come to think of him as a weird uncle. But when Crazy Edwards failed for days to grab the grocery box from Nyborg’s back porch, the village began to worry.
When they found his body at the dump, they assumed he’d died of old age. And he was extremely old… for a Sasquatch.
