Enter the plague.
My sweet little town is being overrun by locusts. Well okay, actually, they're cicadas. And they're EVERYWHERE. and it's only JUNE. USUALLY, cicadas flourish later in the summer, but holy cow! The noise is so deafening that walking outside near trees hurts your ears; looking out the window shows dozens flying around in the middle of the day; and one flew right into John's neck while we were playing disc golf last night, causing him to leap about five feet and manically pound himself in the neck and chest in horror. They covered the trees on the course and were so loud that we had to shout to talk to each other where the path veered too near their lair.
If I suddenly disappear into oblivion, look for my remains under a lump on crawling, buzzing cicadas. They litter the sidewalks. They veer through the air. It's "The Birds", part two.
Good bye, sweet world. Scoot over, butler: the cicadas did it.