Mystery of dream!

“Hey, Paddy!” Whisper-yelled James, my friend from school, from outside my window. Summer air trickled in slowly, as sweat bounced onto my forehead. Ma had given me a hand held fan. “What do you want, James?” I called back. James lingered outside the window, most likely standing on Pa’s prized petunias, like he always did. “Paddy, someone came to town!” he exclaimed. I sat right up, suddenly interested. In the small town of Woodhollow no one came, unless they were lost, but even then they steered clear of the town, as if they would rather have their cars stuck in a tree rather than come into the town. No one blamed them for their decision. Woodhollow was the center of ghastly rumors of serial killers, witches, an’ crimes. No one knew why no one left. Probably ‘cause it was cheap living here. Far from any city, an’ in the desolate region of the countryside. “Who came into town?”I asked, whispering. James leaned over the trampled petunias, an’ he was quiet for a moment. “I dunno,” He was quiet for a moment. “I’d thought you’d know.” He continued. “Why would I know? I haven’t been out in 3 days!” I gasped in betrayal, ”You think ya know someone”. “Rumor ‘as it that they walked in with swagger, dressed in all black, must ‘ave been so hot for him under the thick coat he wore, Sheriff Dipper chased after him calling out ‘hey stranger who are ya’?’ he just ignored him, an’ kept on walking, like he was searchin’ for sumthing.” He stopped. “What happened, anything else weird.” I prodded “That’s all, I dunno what happened next.” James said abruptly, turning around. Thick, heavy footsteps thumped through the side of the house, an’ James started to run. Those footsteps signaled that my older brother Prescott was gonna’ come into the garden. He now stood parallel to the window. Paddy,” he sang tauntingly, “if you leave the window open, then the skinny-man’s gonna’ get’cha!” he wiggled his thin fingers. I’d give him a black eye if it weren't for the insect screen in between us. The skinny-man was an urban legend ‘round these parts of, a skinny, tall man with long body parts. His decrepit, wrinkled face made a creepy smile, an’ round hollowed out eyes. “What’cha want?” I ask frustratedly. Tucking in my covers so he didn’t suspect James was at the window. “Wanna go int’a town with me?” he asks. “Well, I’ll be! Prescott William Waterson, you’re asking your sick little sister to go shoppin’ with ya when she’s havin’ a fever?” I chastised, then recalled the man James told me about. I stood up stretching. “I’ll come. I need the stretching anyways” ... As we headed into town, the first sight we saw was an Old Man McGregor, the town’s oldest resident and part-time nutjob, chewin’ his straw, he looked us up and down, and our cart. “Y'all folks better head on back home, the man in black’s ‘ere ‘gain” he called. “Our Ma an’ Pa won’t be happy with that happening, better to go on to the market, than face the punishment for not.” Prescott called back, his head looked down to the ground. “Hey, Paddy d’ya know what Old Man McGregor meant by that?” he asked, as if McGregor had gotten to him an’ made him anxious. Nothing EVER made Prescott Willam Waterson anxious. I weighed my options, as to tell him about what was up, but if Prescott told Ma an’ Pa I was hanging with James again, they’d beat me up then send me flyin’ out the door. “Jessica came to the garden, tellin’ me about some visitor, in all black garb.” I lied. Jessica Bixton, the girl I had lied about telling me, hated me. “I thought she wanted to scare me, but ya’ know me.” “It's impossible to scare ya.” Prescott said. It was a line we had memorized. Because it was true. Nothing scared me. But this sent chills down my spine. We headed down to the market in the square. We saw the way people parted, like a vignette around the stalls. People rushed to get their things, as opposed to the usual Sunday slugs that passed through mushed together like blobs of tan and pink. In the middle was the man in black. I didn’t know their gender yet, but I just considered it a man ‘cause of what Mcgreggor had said to me an’ Prescott.