TKAM Journal #9 from the perspective of Heck Tate

I couldn't believe it was that cold. The wind was light and dence at the same time. Blowing the grass flat, rocking the trees, lifting the gravel off the drive way. It was as if the wind spat sheets of air at me, and then drew it back, then spat again like waves on shores. I had to cover my face with my sleeve. When I was passing the old side walk, crossing the grass towards the Finches place, which was hard to tell because the elephant trees were covering most of the front, I stumbled upon something blubbery like liver, though it was not moist, but there was warmth fading slowly under the liver-like surface. I bent, then changed my mind and squatted. My patten-leather shoes kind of sank into what smelt like liquid metal or iron. With that What-Did-I-Just-Step-In face, i felt around the figure. My hands fell upon a dagger, forced into a cage of bones. I stepped back and critically searched some more, eager to find the answer to this mystery. When I found a few more clues, I rushed to the Finches. The wind had died down enough that I could slightly hear the stinging sounds of wind chimes dancing. Before, they were very much silenced. The Finches porch light was like an orange dangling right above the doorway ceiling like inflamed mistletoe. I stomped my feet on the tattered rug. When the door crept open, the air from within the house was milk warm. I saw little Scout. Her hair was windblown. For the first time, I really looked at Scout. She looks like one of the little girls that you would see on a pudding commercial. How could somebody like Bob Ewell dare to think of harming such cute and lovely children?