What have you most regretted losing?
The day had come and gone almost unnoticed by Edward. It would likely have passed into the gentle blur of unremarkable days had it not been for the unexpected sound of human voices nearby. Quite startlingly nearby, in fact. He had been so preoccupied with shaping a bush into the form of a juggling bear that he had not noticed the sudden start of birds from the hillside below, nor the complete cessation of insect noises around him. It was as if all of nature was disturbed by the sound of the two young boys - for that was what Edward was hearing now, the as-yet unchanged voices of two adolescent boys. He crouched down in the bushes and stared down at them. They were also crouching and peering up over his head towards his castle. From his vantage point, Edward could see them, but they could not see him.
"You go first."
"No, you go first.
"NO."
"It's haunted, dude."
"There's no such thing as ghosts."
"Then why won't you go first?" A pause, and then, "My Dad said that he saw a ghost up here when he was our age. And his father saw it too."
A longer pause, and then in a dread-filled voice, "It's the Knife Man. My Dad saw him, too."
"Maybe our Dad's were just messing with us?"
"I dunno, man. My Dad said that we should never come up here. He said that a kid was murdered up here."
"My Dad said so too." The longest pause yet. "Maybe we should just go, man. We'll tell the other guys that we went all the way to the house and got chased by the Knife Man."
Edward watched the two boys run down the hill, grab their bikes and pedal away. He tried to remember the last time that anyone had come prowling around his home. It had been years. Maybe it had been the fathers of those two boys. Back then, they had called him "The Scissor Man", and they too had said that their fathers had whispered tales about the murderous ghost who haunted the house on the hill. It seemed once every generation that someone would come sneaking around. Edward wondered if he had become some sort of legendary, cautionary tale that all fathers whispered about to their sons at night. Be careful or Edward Scissorhands will get you…
The thought filled him with melancholy. How fortunate those boys were to have fathers who loved them and told them stories. Edward had spent so little time with the eccentric scientist who had created him out of chopping blades and a cookie heart. Edward regretted the loss of this man more than anything else in his life. The Inventor, his father had died before he could tell Edward anything about life in the world outside of his castle. The world was such a puzzle to him. Edward was sure that the Inventor would have been able to explain everything to him, if only he had lived.
"You go first."
"No, you go first.
"NO."
"It's haunted, dude."
"There's no such thing as ghosts."
"Then why won't you go first?" A pause, and then, "My Dad said that he saw a ghost up here when he was our age. And his father saw it too."
A longer pause, and then in a dread-filled voice, "It's the Knife Man. My Dad saw him, too."
"Maybe our Dad's were just messing with us?"
"I dunno, man. My Dad said that we should never come up here. He said that a kid was murdered up here."
"My Dad said so too." The longest pause yet. "Maybe we should just go, man. We'll tell the other guys that we went all the way to the house and got chased by the Knife Man."
Edward watched the two boys run down the hill, grab their bikes and pedal away. He tried to remember the last time that anyone had come prowling around his home. It had been years. Maybe it had been the fathers of those two boys. Back then, they had called him "The Scissor Man", and they too had said that their fathers had whispered tales about the murderous ghost who haunted the house on the hill. It seemed once every generation that someone would come sneaking around. Edward wondered if he had become some sort of legendary, cautionary tale that all fathers whispered about to their sons at night. Be careful or Edward Scissorhands will get you…
The thought filled him with melancholy. How fortunate those boys were to have fathers who loved them and told them stories. Edward had spent so little time with the eccentric scientist who had created him out of chopping blades and a cookie heart. Edward regretted the loss of this man more than anything else in his life. The Inventor, his father had died before he could tell Edward anything about life in the world outside of his castle. The world was such a puzzle to him. Edward was sure that the Inventor would have been able to explain everything to him, if only he had lived.