“167 Great South Road, Papakura. The Montville motel.” She cried out. Cringed as the notes of the clown song blasting loud. “Oh, heck.”
“What is happening? Are you safe?”
“He’s playing a creepy clown song.” Great. Now her voice shook in concert with her limbs.
“Are you safe?” the woman repeated.
“T-the doors are locked.”
“Is he still there?
“I d-don’t k-know. All I can hear is the creepy clown music.”
Sirens sounded in the distance, faint at first but coming closer and closer, eventually drowning out the disturbing music.
A vehicle pulled up outside, blue lights, red lights flashing.
“I-I think the police are here.”
“Don’t open the door until they identify themselves.”
“’Kay.”
A knock rattled the wooden door. “Police.”
Quick steps took her to the window to double-check. Yep, the friendly neighborhood police. Thank you. Thank you.Thank you. Relief solidified her knees, cleared her mind, allowed her to calm, to breathe.
“It’s them.” She answered the summons, despite wearing nothing more than a damp towel.
One male and a female policeman displayed their identification. “You reported an intruder?”
