“No sir, thank you,” I heard Jem say. “It’s just a little walk.”
“Be careful of haints,” the voice said. “Better still, tell the haints to be careful of Scout.”
“There aren’t many folks left now,” Jem told me. “Let’s go.”
We went through the auditorium to the hallway, then down the steps. It was still black dark. The remaining cars were parked on the other side of the building, and their headlights were little help. “If some of ‘em were goin’ in our direction we could see better,” said Jem. “Here Scout, let me hold onto your—hock. You might lose your balance.”
“I can see all right.”
“Yeah, but you might lose your balance.” I felt a slight pressure on my head, and assumed that Jem had grabbed that end of the ham. “You got me?”
“Uh huh.”
We began crossing the black schoolyard, straining to see our feet. “Jem,” I said,
“I forgot my shoes, they’re back behind the stage.”
“Well let’s go get ‘em.” But as we turned around the auditorium lights went off.
“You can get ’em tomorrow,” he said.
“But tomorrow’s Sunday,” I protested, as Jem turned me homeward.
“You can get the Janitor to let you in… Scout?”
“Hm?”
“Nothing.”
Jem hadn’t started that in a long time. I wondered what he was thinking. He’d tell me when he wanted to, probably when we got home. I felt his fingers press the top of my costume, too hard, it seemed. I shook my head. “Jem, you don’t hafta
—”
“Hush a minute, Scout,” he said, pinching me.
We walked along silently. “Minute’s up,” I said. “Whatcha thinkin‘ about?” I turned to look at him, but his outline was barely visible.
“Thought I heard something,” he said. “Stop a minute.”
We stopped.
“Hear anything?” he asked.
“No.”
We had not gone five paces before he made me stop again.
“Jem, are you tryin‘ to scare me? You know I’m too old—”
“Be quiet,” he said, and I knew he was not joking.
The night was still. I could hear his breath coming easily beside me. Occasionally there was a sudden breeze that hit my bare legs, but it was all that remained of a promised windy night. This was the stillness before a thunderstorm. We listened.
“Heard an old dog just then,” I said.
“It’s not that,” Jem answered. “I hear it when we’re walkin‘ along, but when we stop I don’t hear it.”
“You hear my costume rustlin‘. Aw, it’s just Halloween got you…”
I said it more to convince myself than Jem, for sure enough, as we began walking, I heard what he was talking about. It was not my costume.
“It’s just old Cecil,” said Jem presently. “He won’t get us again. Let’s don’t let him think we’re hurrying.”
We slowed to a crawl. I asked Jem how Cecil could follow us in this dark, looked to me like he’d bump into us from behind.
“I can see you, Scout,” Jem said.
“How? I can’t see you.”
“Your fat streaks are showin‘. Mrs. Crenshaw painted ’em with some of that shiny stuff so they’d show up under the footlights. I can see you pretty well, an‘ I expect Cecil can see you well enough to keep his distance.”
I would show Cecil that we knew he was behind us and we were ready for him.
“Cecil Jacobs is a big wet he-en!” I yelled suddenly, turning around.
We stopped. There was no acknowledgement save he-en bouncing off the distant schoolhouse wall.
“I’ll get him,” said Jem. “He-y!”
