Another creepy story... especially for me

Bean was a tall, skinny boy, encumbered by all the most unoriginal mockery. His reaction to this hardship was a strange sort of perseverance. His real personality was strangled in public. Everyone saw a scrawny, huge kid with an upturned nose and a strange assortment of moles. He was all arms and legs and torso. Turn a mosquito into a human, and you would get something like Bean.
Bean lived in the sort of arrangement that would tend to produce normal children. He had a mother, a father, an older brother, and two younger sisters. Unfortunately, he was the odd one out. He towered over the males in his family and skyscraper-ed over the females. His arm length spanned a whole wall of his house. Basketball was not an option however. Bean’s gait was as awkward as trying to kiss your elbow in public. His manners were not much better, more like trying to touch your nose with your tongue.
One of his more odd traits was a strange fascination and adoration of his own feet. He kept them very well manicured as a child. As he grew towards adolescence, his fascination got weirder. He named each toe and got little suit for them. He could sometimes be found sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking at his wiggling toes. He would yell to anyone who happened to walk by, “Lookie, lookie! My toes are talking!” Most would hurry by, cringing in shame if related and shuddering in disgust if not.
His family tried to remedy his problem by taking him to gobs of psychiatrists and psychologists and chiropractors and counselors, but every time he persisted in his belief that his toes were talking to him. He would say that at night his toes got up and walked around by themselves, that they talked and moved like little creatures. His earnest story was met with concerned, stern, confused, and disgusted glares.
One day, Bean went outside, stepping lightly, so as not to put too much pressure on his darling toes. He was so concerned for them that he did not watch where he was going and got hit by a semi.
His family was stricken with sorrow, but not in the deep, soul-wrenching way. They were sad on the surface, but inwardly glad to be rid of their stigma child.
A couple of months after Bean’s funeral, the family began to notice mice in the house. They could hear the mice scurrying around and noticed food disappearing from counters. They set traps, but never caught any of them. This continued on and on with no success.
A year was coming up since Bean’s death. On the day of his anniversary, each family member woke up to the strange sensation of a new, perfectly manicured toe on each foot.