Every night-sound I heard from my cot on the back porch was magnified three-fold; every scratch of feet on gravel was Boo Radley seeking revenge, every passing Negro laughing in the night was Boo Radley loose and after us; insects splashing against the screen were Boo Radley's insane fingers picking the wire to pieces; the chinaberry trees were malignant, hovering, alive. (6.84)
In Scout’s fevered mind, Boo expands into a dangerous world, where every sound signals a threat. And later, when Scout realizes that it was Boo who brought her a blanket, she’s nearly sick, as if realizing that she had just walked along the edge of a cliff in the dark and only survived by chance. While part of Scout’s fear of Boo she shares with any kid who ever thought there was a monster under the bed, it also seems linked to a fear of unknown dangers lurking in the seemingly familiar.
As time passes and Scout faces down more real threats, her fear of Boo lessens. He lurks in her imagination not as a monster but as a neighbor, who feels familiar even though she’s never actually laid eyes on him.
But I still looked for him each time I went by. Maybe someday we would see him. I imagined how it would be: when it happened, he'd just be sitting in the swing when I came along. "Hidy do, Mr. Arthur," I would say, as if I had said it every afternoon of my life. "Evening, Jean Louise," he would say, as if he had said it every afternoon of my life, "right pretty spell we're having, isn't it?" "Yes sir, right pretty," I would say, and go on.It was only a fantasy. (26.5-6)
This shift in Scout’s interest in Boo reflects her growing experience with