´To Kill A Mocking Birdµ- Harper Lee.

Descriptive Writing; Chapter 6
The howling winds gusted past my heavy body as we strolled silently down the sidewalk with the soft night -murmurs of the unknown animals and creatures hiding around the neighbourhood to break the muted atmosphere. The Radley house loomed ominously i n the distance against the star less, dark night, leaning and reaching eerily towards us, somehow un-consciously luring us closer towards it. The knee length meadow of sharp blades of grass whipped along my shins as we made our way around the back of the Radley house towards the soaring high, barbed wired fence, crushing the dried branches and twigs dangerously loud under each slow step. The moon shone brighter, the sky got darker and the wild winds got cooler as my heart beat raced more rapidly than ever before. Shivers ran down my spine as we cautiously and ever so slowly mounted the unbalanced steps. My fingers painfully scraped against the splintered timbe rs of the porch which creaked with each step that we made. Reaching up, trying to peer secretively into the fogged up and cob -webbed covered window, sweat dripped of my hands and face in fear that we·re going to get caught. A feral wind sprang up whipping around the mysterious house of Maycomb. The shutters banged, shattering the silence. Every sound we caused seemed to echo ten times louder in my mind. Every move ment made felt sluggish, like it took so long to be performed. I felt uncomfortable, like someone was stari ng at me; but who? The shadows caused by the sagging and swaying trees made me paranoid. The rustling of the leaves made me fearful. I knew we shouldn·t be there, I could tell something bad was going to happen. A flicker of light ran across the porch as a dark nebulous figure passed the window. Mysterious; Ghost-like. Deathly and distorted, the shadow grew towards us. I gulped; my throat went dry, my stomach dropped and my heart sto pped beating as the dark and shadowy structure made me bristle with fear. The cold mist chilled me as we ran to safety without a second thought. The drooping trees snatched and grabbed at us as we fled without looking back at the old framework that was now squatted uninvitingly in the distance. The wind died, and the house grew still but a grim laughter and gun shots echoing hauntingly through the night.

Emily Clarke.

Mrs. Mundy.

Term 1.