Theobolds
Thicket
By Priscilla Brett
In Theobolds Thicket, a house
there once stood
It was made out of bricks and
crafted from wood.
It had shutters and knockers,
and a hearth made of stone,
But what made it strange, was
who called it home.
The house in the thicket,
though normal it seemed
Held creatures and monsters
like none you have dreamed.
It was home to a dragon. An
evil elf, Joe.
A hog-faced hobgoblin and a
faerie named Roe.
There were tiny house elves,
who scurried about.
And when others left messes,
they’d stomp and they’d shout.
The thing understairs was a
wicket named Bob,
Whom the house elves just
hated (because he’s a slob).
In the chimney there lived a
thing called Ashoo.
Who, on windy days, howled a
howling Haroooo.
The mice in the cupboard have
tea-time with Mick,
He’s an Irish Wood-Olly, who
make termites sick.
In the fridge lives a
Mon-Sun, who checks on the food.
She’s a rather strange
creature and sometimes, quite rude.
There’s a sprite in the
breadbox, and imp on the shelf,
And a mermaid who’s preening
and bathing herself
In a room down the hall,
lives a troll named Kazim,
Who’s really a darling,
though folks think him mean.
Right next to Kazim is a room
for the Grimlows,
A creature of shadow, that
nobody quite knows.
One day there was nothing,
the next he was there!
All strange and shadowed and
covered in hair.
In the room next to his is a
family of Awsocks,
A strange type of critter
made out of lost socks.
In the left hallway closet
sleeps a small linen fairy,
She’s dreaming of princes,
the one she will marry.
In the third level bathroom
is the head of the Grake,
Who lives in the plumbing,
like a clog-eating snake.
In the bedroom next-door is a
strange looking thing,
Made of other creatures.
Snake for tail. Bat for wing.
They call it Chimera, but she
prefers Jane,
She likes singing show tunes
and dancing in rain.
In the attic, in the dark, a
phoenix tends her nest.
And below her, a griffin sleeps
and guards her in his rest.
Edgar, is head manticore. He
is a fearful type.
But he’s a wise old manticore
and always knows what’s right.
He watches over all the
beasts, and minds the monsters too
But mind! His eyes are ever
watchful and might just fall on you.
In a shoebox, in the closet,
wrapped in gauze with painted eyes
Is the mummy of Queen Neeboo,
the one who never dies.
Next to her, in azure jars,
are prickly night Ramoo,
A kind of monster pickle,
immersed completely in goo.
The one who eats these
pickles, is a zombie. Arty Sam.
He’s only partly deadish, and
mostly still a man.
Arty shares a bedroom, with a
vampire named Alfred,
Who’s deathly scared of
spiders and anything that’s red.
Alfred’s girl is Wendy, and
Wendy is a witch.
She rides a wolf named Bezus,
who’s got a sort of twitch.
When Bezus sees a cat, he
turns and runs away,
Because a fortune teller told
him, he be bitten on one day.
The house, though full of
monsters, kept open its doors
So as man banished
nightmares, soon came even more
In crawled Under-Bedders, and
Closeted-Elle-Boo
Things that haunted bedrooms
and ate the fear and gloom
Ghosts and wraiths and
poltergeist, they all came in the night.
All had the same sad story,
man had no more time for fright.
So grew Theo’s house, in the
thicket by the stream
It grew so full that it
began, bursting at the seams
Things continued this way for
a fortnight, until arrived Big Ben
Who was a giant out of Spain,
Who stood ninety-two foot ten
The creatures of Theobolds
thicket, called a parley at the stream
They even invited Mon-Sun, if
she promised not to be mean
“We’ve a problem” Edgar
rumbled, when he spoke a silence fell
“We’ve no more room for
monsters, and if you cannot tell,
Our poor abode is full to
brim, not a mouse could fit
If any more monsters come to
stay, outside you’ll have to sit
This upset the crowd you see,
they’d nowhere else to go
Some monsters started crying,
they were so filled with woe
Said fairy Roe “We’re lost I
fear, for man he has no place
For things that have no value
printed plainly on their face”
“I agree” growled Bezus, “Man
has no more fear or drive.
He loves plastic metal
things, that were never alive.
“Perhaps,” the phoenix sang, “
there somehow is a way,
To show to man we have worth,
and haven’t seen our day.”
Suddenly a tiny voice, soft
and small and mild
Spoke out from back the
frightened crowd, it was a tiny child.
“ I think that what you say
is wrong,” she spoke above the hum
“For every person needs a
monster a thing to overcome.
I’ll be right back,” the
child said and ran into the dark
The monsters sat there
wanting, until sang the morning lark.
When sunshine crept out ‘ore
the hills and night gave in to day
The monsters began to worry
that the girl had lost her way
Sudden came a sound so large
it gave them all a fright
And a group of tired
townsfolk walked from wood into the light.
The little girl who led
them, grinned wide from ear to ear
“See!? I have brought you
people who aren’t afraid to fear!”
The Butcher, he stepped
forward, and turning to Mr Grake
Said, “ I have, I fear, a
problem. That needs a toilet snake!”
So Mr Grake left Theobolds,
and much to his surprise
Spent the remainder of his
days, eating toilet-clogging pies.
From the crowd stepped Alice
who to the linen fairy said
“I’m so very much afraid of
the prince beneath my bed”
The Linen Fairy, happy,
smiled, and quickly followed on
This sort of thing continued,
till all but Ed were gone.
Edgar stood there beaming,
and looked at the broken house
Cupboards now stood bear, the
only soul inside, a mouse
The house it seemed had given
up, its work all done, it sighed
The house in Theobolds
Thicket, softly moaned, collapsed, and died
Edgar looking at the girl,
and though children on him wore,
Said, “ I hope you have some
purpose, for this old Manticore”
