There she is, black and white, walking through

There she is, black and white, walking through his garden - again. "She is not supposed to be here," he growled, "I warned her before." The back door is open, but she doesn't

listen. This strange nun haunts my tool shed. She has this god awful face, like frosted dough that's been stepped on by a mule. Sometimes she takes my rake and just leaves it

nailed to the ceiling above my bed. One time she took my scones and left them in the rain, as her vaporous form turned and crooned. But the ghastly nun most disturbed me when

she was crazy about music. 'Although, music is all I need'; she said.

We shrugged our shoulders and closed the cell. 48 hours later, she'd changed her tune. A body provided limitless music, with no food, water, light, or human contact, becomes

a snake waving at foxes in the night, who turn, teeth bared, and scatter off. She was that snake, two days late, wiggling about the cell and hissing half-songs, and I

was the janitor who had to sweep up Medusa's cut hair before it slithered out of the salon. "Don't drive off the foxes, they tip well," I told this snake. Now she hisses our jingle

to every snake chalmer she meets. Soon enough, the salon was full of snake Chalmers looking to take advantage of our 10% off referral discount hair cut. Business was booming and

slithered in from every crevice in town. They were so happy to have someone willing to put coils in their hair. Both Medusa and Monty Python were regular clients. HISSTERICAL!