Over three hours passed and still no one or combination of ones could manage to budge the corpse, seated on the pavement in a devil-may-care pose. Even with the assistance of some of the less squeamish residents they could not shift it.
By this time it was beginning to smell, the heat of the August sun accelerating the rate of decomposition. Swarms of large, greenish flies began to circle the body, pestering those who stood near. Eventually the authorities gave up, stating that they would return later with better equipment to move the body.
The villagers covered it with a tarpaulin and left in there, trying their best to ignore the stench.
Later that night the cousin of the slain man approached his killer, wielding a pump-action shotgun. A loud roar shattered the silence and sanctity of the night. They residents, already shaken by the day’s events, ignored it as best they could and went to sleep.
As they made their way down the hill the next morning, the residents were greeted by a curious sight. Sure enough, the body of the young man still sat under the tarpaulin, stinking to high heaven, but next to it was seated another corpse.
It had been shot in the face with a pump action gun, and its entire forehead had been blown open, revealing a skull that was empty and peppered with bits of bone and brain matter. They way in which he was seated, caused the residents to recognize him instantly.
“Dai Gator allyuh…”