You were laying on the couch, engrossed in your book, as rain pattered against the windows. The TV flickered on, interrupting your peace with a news alert. A killer on the loose dressed as a clown. You squinted at the screen and felt your stomach drop. It was Simon, your ex husband. Four murders. You had filed for divorce, but he never signed.

Heart racing, you bolted up and secured all the windows and doors. Grabbing your gun, your phone suddenly rang.

"Hi sunshine," Simon's voice oozed through the phone, sending chills down your spine. "Miss me?"

"You're a fucking psycho," you spat, gun in hand, knowing he could hear the tremble in your voice.

"You could never get rid of me. I killed them for you. They shouldn't have touched you," he sneered.

"There's a bullet waiting for you, Simon," you laughed, hiding your fear. Then, a loud bang shattered the silence, a window broken. You spun around, gun raised, and there he stood: tall, blonde, and painted like a clown.