Can you find the glitch in this story??

There is a glitch in this story. Can you find it? I am not talking spelling errors or anything like that.



Urban legends, pshaw! That’s what we all try to tell ourselves when something eerily real threatens our bubble of existence. This threat is “urban” because it is close to home, our home, and “legend” because it could not really be true, could it?
That is exactly what my friend Martin used to tell me. He was a thinker, always trying to figure out why and how, but not so much what. He was all facts and proofs, no conjecture. So when our hometown, Hillside, became afflicted with a panic-like fear of some unknown terror, he was the first to “pshaw” it.
A little kid, a cute one named Bobby, had been riding to school on his bike, when he disappeared. They found his bike in the middle of the sidewalk and his books scattered. The strangest thing was that all of his clothes down to his undershirt were in a heap as well. Some outspoken fanatics claimed that aliens had abducted him, but more commonly suspicions fled to the creepy idea of a pedophile, lurking the quiet streets of Hillside. Martin said, “Now, that’s more like it.” He liked the logic of this answer.
Bobby’s mishap occurred across town. It did not much affect us kids on this side of town. Martin and I continued our carefree jaunts to school. We were only annoyed when our mothers made us drive with them, the first couple of weeks after Bobby disappeared.
But, it happened again, closer to home this time. She was no kid, either. Granny Eplebor had been walking home from the grocery store in a hurry to make lunch for her grandkids. She never returned home. They found her groceries all around her dress and her shoes and even her dentures. While the town mourned, Martin explained to me his theories of why serial killers do this, and how they do that. He and I were not even afraid, certainly not us, we were far too logical to be scared of something like this.
This pattern continued on for a couple of months. As more people slowly disappeared in the same way, fear became an epidemic in the town. Hysteria seeped into every encounter. Furtive glances asked the same question or relayed the same fear: “Are you the killer?”
As hysteria increased, so did the disappearances. This proportional increase was very interesting to Martin. He, being the nerdy, mad scientist type began compiling data about the deaths and the town. He even took it so far as conducting interviews. At first he was just interested in how such tragedy affected the town. Then he began to get more involved. He would not tell me what was going. We stopped having so much fun together because he was too busy being smart.
Finally I bugged him enough about what he was doing that he consented to telling me. He told me that he would come over and tell me. He also told me that I would regret ever wanting to know. This time I said, “Pshaw, bring it on.”
He never made it over. They found him with his notes strewn about his heaped clothes. The notes were shamelessly broadcast in the newspaper. They were really only a few scattered words, “fear”, “contagious” and “combustion”. Goodbye, Hillside.