“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.
