Thursday, 6 November 2014


 “There’s a monster in the cellar.” Little Timmy said.
“Whenever I go down there, I know it wants me dead.”
“Shush now.” said his mother. “Don’t be daft you see.”
“There’s nothing in this house other than your dad, you and me”

But little Timmy watched and waited for his time,
He knew that one day soon that beast would cross that line.
“They’d fine me in a pile.” He said. “Just guts and blood and bone,
And then they’ll feel real sorry, for leaving me at home”.

“I’ll get that beast.” Smirked Timmy as he sat inside his room,
“I’ll make the damp dark cellar, into the beasties tomb”
So out he pulled some paper, and while sitting on his bed
did start to draw a master plan to make the monster dead.

So on one dull damp Sunday, little Timmy started on the trap,
Praying that the wee beastie would be taking a little nap.
He utilised the tools, he needed for the plan
And although he was afraid, he had to act the man.

Laying out the pins, at the top of cellar stairs,
Hoping to catch the monster as it came up, unawares.
Then with all the power tools that his father kept inside,
He set them in a pattern to ensure the creature died.

Felling rather smug he retired to his room.
Knowing that the beast would come hunting all too soon.
And he lay there on his bed, waiting for the wails
As the nasty beastie on the tools it did impale.

He needed not wait long, less than an hour of time did pass.
When from down below, a noise did come at last.
The screams and roars from downstairs made him cringe and feel quite sad.
For not the noise of beast did rise, but the wails of his dear dad.

No longer afraid of the beastie, he jump onto the floor,
listening to the anger that filter through his door.
Down the stairs he pelted, to see what he had done.
Facing his dear father as he stared back at his son.

“Why have you built this?” his mother did despair.
Forgetting about the dinner as she rushed to comb her hair.
“We must get him to the doctors”, she shouted on the run.
With images of the physician as she put her lipstick on.

Rushing to the car, a tea towel round his head.
Little Timmy feel real bad. He didn’t want his father dead.
Sitting very quietly as his mother drove along.
Knowing that his punishment would not be very long.

Once at the young doctors, he bandaged up his dad.
And he waited with his mother, feeling ashamed and very sad.
His plan was very simple, just to kill that dreadful beast
That lived deep in his cellar, waiting for a feast.

An hour of so did pass, until they drove back down their road
His mother looking angry, little Timmy she would scold.
But then she stopped so sudden that his dad did curse and Nash.
The fire brigade stood waiting, there house was turned to ash.

“Someone left the gas on” the fireman did declare.
“The explosion blew your roof off, thirty foot into the air.”
“We got her pretty quick, despite the dreary weather,
But why ever did you keep the bear inside your cellar”

Upon the fresh cut lawn lay the body of the beast.
Well some of what was left, its chest and arm at least.
Little Timmy felt quite proud of the vision he could see.
It’s soul may have gone to heaven, but its guts hung from the tree.

“I told you Mum, I told you” little Timmy did repeat
“That beast was down right nasty.” as his kicked around its feet
“If you hadn’t left the gas on, then my meat it would have picked”
“Eating up my body, and my bones it would have licked”

“I’m sorry” said his mother “that we didn’t really believe”
As she looked at all the bloodstains that had splattered the leaves.
“We really should have trusted you”, his father did declare
as a lump of meat fell, with a splat from out the air.

So now we have a new house, all sparkling and repaired.
They filled in the damp cellar, removing the creaky stairs.
I really should have mentioned that its brother lives here to
But I have a plan to get it; it’s hidden in the loo.

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