I had been watching when my children had walked by my house on the way to the school for what Nathan says is a pageant. The boy, Jem, was carrying what looked like a child-sized ham as, the girl, Scout walked beside him. She tripped and I chuckled as the ham fell on the ground in a cloud of dust and coated the side of it with fine particles. They continued on their way and I didn't see them for a few hours.
I was reading The Gray Ghost again. Its well-worn pages were a comfort for as were the words. The story spoke to me in ways that words couldn't anymore. I hope that Jem and Scout will eventually read it because it may help them understand me better, but they'll never know me as more than the man who gave Scout the blanket during the fire, left presents in a knot-hole in the tree, and the man who watched the man laughed at their amusing antics that they and their friend got up to.
On that slightly depressing and upsetting note, I closed the book and looked outside. The moon was covered by clouds that made the world look ominous and threatening. It was almost impossible to see anything in the shadows that the small pools of light the streetlamps could reach. I walked from the front window to the one on the side where I knew I would be able to see my children if they hadn't gotten home already.
"Cecil Jacobs is a big fat he-en!" suddenly pierced the silence. I knew the voice, it was Scout. Looking closer I could see slight reflections off a small blob, Scout in her ham costume, no doubt. Next to her was a taller figure that I identified as Jem.
"He-y!" that was Jem. They were walking faster the closer they got to the streetlight. I wondered why, but assumed that it was just an older child about to play a prank on them. It was Halloween after all. Suddenly, they both stopped. I regarded them in confusion and a small amount of apprehension, why would they stop when they were so close to home?
Then I heard a scream of "Run, Scout! Run! Run!" from Jem. A figure was rapidly approaching and I identified him easily with his dirty clothing. It was Bob Ewell. There was a glint coming from his hand. He had a knife. I ran into the kitchen and reached for a knife, tuning out my deceased fathers warnings to not go. My children needed me, and i would be there whether "father" liked it or not. That was when I heard the scream.