Over the past Summers I have become very fond of Jem and Scout. They somehow touched a nerve inside of me that seemed to open my eyes to the world and the people in it. The fact that I intrigued them amused me. I knew it was only because of the rumours but for some reason it did not matter. It's simple to judge others before actually getting to know them. I know, as the community often misjudged me. When you hear them often enough you actually start believing them yourself. This is the reason I often lonely wandered the streets at night with no real purpose but to look at our beautiful countryside, free of whispers and judging faces.
             The number of stories spun about me and my family's past actions were immense. I think the worst culprit was Mrs. Stephanie Crawford, the neighborhood gossip, who I thought could probably talk under water. A superb example of the way the town gave into rumours is shown in a story Stephanie Crawford began. It is alleged that I was cutting up newspapers with a pair of scissors. My father then came into the living room. As he passed, I supposedly stabbed him in the leg and kept on cutting. I think the children liked this story the most. The fact that the town listened to such nonsense without any real proof made me angry and depressed.
             The thing I liked about your children was that despite all the rumours they still wanted to see what I was like for themselves. Sure they listened to the gossip but still they had to know if they were true or not. Because of this I felt as though Jem and Scout had befriended me in sort of a weird way and I was grateful for the respect. They had many escapades trying to catch that elusive glimpse of me. Up until the night in question I don't think they really ever did. One summer night Jem, Scout and Dill all tried to catch a look of me by sneaking up to my porch window. I saw them approaching and thought I would give them what they came for. But as soon as
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