The clock struck twelve but not a mouse was seen to run down the clock face.
It was a close call but all we could think of was it is close to closing so it wouldn’t matter all that much.
It was going to be a matter of not allowing her to infect us and so cloy to our souls in ways that would leave us scarred for life.
Beneath the clock the cloister was a bustle with the religious sisters clopping along on their way to early morning prayers, matins as they referred to them as. Their wooden shoes making that unmistakeable sound not a clod but more a clop.
With their cloaks wrapped tightly around themselves they entered the chapel where a cloud of holiness pervaded the early morning.
Sister Closet, the convent clown had died overnight from a blood clot and was now discovering whether or not the clover was greener on the other side.
After prayers they all gathered in the dining room where Sister Clovis, the convent cook had prepared them a hearty meal of lamb chops.
Later that day they buried Sister Closet complete with clown nose and took turns in throwing the clods of dirt down onto her coffin.
Afterwards the holy sisters at the sound of the convent clock, cloaks flowing, processed into the chapel to pray silently for Sister Closet their close friend, clown and cloister cleaner.