They say peculiar things happen on Halloween night.
Jem and I had been making our way through the school yard, home from the Halloween pageant. Aunt Alexandra and Atticus were too worn out to come watch, although afterwards I was somewhat grateful they didn't see my embarrassing performance as a cured ham. We were returning late since I was mortified that I had fallen asleep during my part, and thankfully Jem was kind enough to consent to wait until everyone had gone. The sky was pitch black, for the moon was nowhere to be found, and the only definite thing to be seen was the fat streaks painted on my ham costume and the distant glowing specks of the street lights. We had slowed as we reached the school yard, arms outstretched to guide ourselves through the black. Shadows played tricks on the corner of my eyes, the gnarled trees casting horrid monsters onto the school fence. I wasn't afraid. After all, earlier that night someone remarked how haints should be the ones afraid of me. I huddled deeper into my costume as we ambled along the uneven ground. It was simply a little windy, that was all.
Jem suddenly came to a stop.
"Hush, Scout." His hand came to rest on the ham where my head should be. If it was trembling, I didn't notice.
"Why?" Indignant, I tried to shake his hand away, but Jem merely shushed me. He was growing too big for his boots. I voiced that sentiment, and he shot me a look. He was serious.
So I listened. The occasional breeze would pick up, and hastily die down again. I recalled a phrase Atticus once used – the calm before the storm, was it? With nothing particularly out of the ordinary, at least of what we were conscious of, Jem and I started off again, but slower. More cautiously. Sure enough, I caught the rustling of cotton and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot, camouflaged beneath the natural comfort of trees in the wind. A sharp gasp escaped my throat. Immediately the sounds grew more urgent, the interval between steps dwindling, and the person was running, running full pelt in our direction.
"Scout! Scout!" Jem pushed me and I stumbled forward, but didn't fall. Until we were hit with something possessing the equivalent force of a steam train. I was sent reeling and bouncing along the rugged earth before coming to a violent shuddering stop. A deep grunt and what seemed like flesh on bone sounded nearby. And perhaps an echo of the dull thunk of metal piercing wood. Disorientated, my thoughts screamed nothing but escape and Jem. The ham costume was no longer a source of protection, but a metal cage restricting my movement. I turned to the side to the best of my ability and inched my way out, scrambling back up to my feet. The inner wire cut into my skin. It didn't matter, I was free.
A splintering crack. Jem's screams resounded in my skull. The shadow of a figure towered over him, engulfing him in darkness. Frozen on the spot, all I could do was watch in numbed horror.
"Run!" One choked out word snapped me from my reverie, simply because it was his voice. I could just make out the pale outline of Jem's stricken face. He had always been my elder brother. I had never seen him like this before. In any other situation, I would never obey that single command. Jean Louise- no, Scout Finch was no coward.
"I'll come back for you, Jem."
I turned my tail and never looked back. Had I, I may not have been able to bear to leave Jem. It was the fastest I'd ever run in the entirety of my life. My heart was set on overdrive, running on pure adrenaline. Sweat poured down the side of my face as I frantically made my way down the dark street.
Atticus was on the veranda, if he was worried by my hollering he didn't show it. Lowering his book he questioned me what happened, before quickly picking up the telephone, and asking Aunt Alexandra to send me to bed. I complied, albeit in reluctance. Aunt Alexandra was strangely tolerant at the time, as she attempted to assuage my fears. After she had left, I tried to shut my eyes, willing sleep to come. It didn't – usually Jem would wish me good night before retiring to our respective rooms. I heard a car pull up in front of the house, heavy footsteps trudging through the gravel, and the front door swing open and shut. The car left as swiftly as it arrived.
Later on, according to Atticus and Mr Tate, the only evidence of a scuffle left was a destroyed cloth-and-chicken-wire ham, the crushed leaves of fall littered among the tree roots, and an abandoned, bloodstained knife.
They say peculiar things happen on Halloween night. They also say in absence, a heart grows fonder.
I remember feeling mighty lonely in my bed that night.