With Chat to Ours for Back to Ours, I’m here for an extraction,

I’m fully briefed, a little tired, but ready for distraction.

The hunters come in cars, on bikes, their legs are primed for walking,

There’s much ‘hubbub’ around the place, the mood is set for stalking.


With safety done we button up and cover both our ears,

We’re pensive, scared, with eyes on stalks but there’s no time for tears.

Scary noises, people ask, ‘Have they been here forever‘?

No turning back or bailing out, we’re all in this together.


A sad old man who lives his life from one day to another,

His family gone, no wife or kids, no sister or no brother.

His demons are not life itself, but what he’s left to ponder;

A lonely life, it would appear, ‘til a friend arrives from yonder.


He loves this place which he calls home, with all its ups and downs.

There’s always worse than this,’ he says. ‘Int’ cities and in towns’.

Headphones off we move along from post, to wall, to corner.

What’s that? It moved, I think!’ Was it monster or performer?


Kids and families babble, happy, some a bit distracted,

We move to cardboard boxes where the hunters were attracted.

A noise to the right gives quite a fright – it’s from the local chippy –

A girl appears from way behind, no coat although it’s nippy.


She joins the fun whilst Mum and Dad chop chips and mix the batter,

This really is quite strange indeed – what next? The Mad Hatter?

We’re off again into the dark, the air is thin and cold,

but we’re brave monster hunters and we’ve never been so bold.


A church, a tree and then appears the BIGGEST of the night.

Long arms and fangs, but a voice so calm, we do not fear our plight.

A tale of times gone by we sponge, so eloquently put –

The lighting’s great, the puppets Wow! But it’s dampening under foot.


Around the church big eyes stare out at our band of brave extractors.

Up street we go – ‘what’s ‘appning’ next?‘ from this troupe of reenactors?

A garage door lifts to a noise, eyes reach for Mum and Dad,

but we’re proper monster hunters now – this is no part-time fad.


We leave a giant squirming hand behind an up and over,

Inside we’re safe – we think – but we’re not quite in the clover.

The windows rattle to monster claws and vivid eyes which stare,

beyond wildest imaginations we thought we’d laid out bare.


A drink of tea to calm our nerves, is taken by all ages,

Those crunchy biscuit noises softening all those monsters’ rages.

A night of battle, the harshest truths, with many stark reminders,

but at least we’re now all fully-fledged, intrepid monster finders!


By Chris Head, inspired by Monster Extraction



Categories: Commissions

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