Sounds Ominous

I know I jumped. I believe I screamed a little as well (all right, a lot). The hand had fallen on my shoulder and said ‘powerful adult’. Actually, the way it had landed on my shoulder it screamed “AUTHORITY!” (Yes. All the letters screamed in capitals. It was screaming, not just politely speaking). Looking round to the hand, my scream had trailed off, until I saw the hand then it started to rise again. The hand was also not just physically close to the side of my head, but it was also almost the actual size of my head (my neck and head still a little sore from the most recent of grabs by another almost as large hand of the showie). I saw this large hand, this very large rock of a hand. I saw to what it was attached. A dark blue jacket. A very nice blue. Strong colour, the fabric good and hard wearing. Hard wearing for those scuffles it may be required to partake in. My scream faded again as my gaze continued past the lump of muscle and knuckles holding my shoulder, past the cuff of solid weave and up the length of the arm to a serious face of, yes, of course a policeman.

So that was the game. The showies tormented you for your stupid behaviour. Terrified  you with dire threats of incarceration in a box, without informing anyone to your location. Until, terrified and broken, publicly embarrassed and wearing a slightly damp pants front, I must admit (Eight year olds can panic a little). They release you just long enough for you to tink that the worst has happened. Then, they alert the police, who catch you before you have even cleared the site. “I’m sorry!” I blurted out to the policeman. Trust me, no phone book would be necessary to have broken me at that point (I’m sure they didn’t really use a phone book. At least not as often as is suggested, but you know how urban myths build up and the movies continue the myth). “I know I shouldn’t have stolen the windmill. But I didn’t have any money, and it was only a dollar. And he’s got it back and …..”  I blubbered out the full confession to the policeman. He stood there listening. Then as I wound down my hysterical admissions, I realised his face had changed expression. It had actually appeared to harden a little. I mentally replayed the initial expression and realised he had been smiling kindly when first my crying face had turned to his. But now as I finished off my explanation, “…. I don’t want to be put in a box and forgotten about.” He actually looked quite angry. And sort of, taller. And somewhat, overall bigger.

“So you stole something and got caught by them did you?” He asked in a deep and booming voice. “And I thought maybe you were upset because you were lost”. I silently shook my head. Then unexpectedly he looked to the left and right, and, BANG!

 (Continued tomorrow)