Arrogance and an apathetic personality caught up to him. Rhett. 21. More of an asshole than most others his age. And he did not care. Until they came and he died.
The boy had managed to piss off about half the town, including a few gang-boys who weren't having it with his bullshit. Everyone knew where he lived; that huge ass house up that huge ass hill. Finding him and getting him to invite them inside was easy. Child's play even!
Rhett stayed in control for the most part. He had the kids wrapped around his finger. They didn't know. And he didn't know how powerful these men really were. He ended up in the kitchen, tied up with them beating the daylight out of him.
His less than happy form was dragged around the house a bit for the hell of it. They dropped him off in the backyard, tying up a quick noose. Rhett knew where this would end. His high and mighty attitude had really done him in this time.
Spikes were driven through his body before hanging. Because what's the fun in just hanging a kid in a tree? There wasn't any. Blood splattered and sprayed and stained those adorable clothes he always wore. Someone decided it would be fun to cut off his fingers and sew more of those spikes to them, however that worked out.
And his lifeless body hung. The police found it. Of course they would. You could spot those stripes from a very far distance. But no one really cared about him. They stopped caring when he turned sixteen.
It is said that his ghost haunts the town. After strange happenings, such as an unidentified serial killer that more than slightly resembled Rhett in his younger years, occurred around the town, people believed those rumors. They say he stayed in his prime of 15. The happiest time of his life. Before he turned into a total jerk. Before people stopped caring.