Horrid Henry and the Zombie Vampire Read online

  Copyright

  Text © Francesca Simon 2011

  Cover and internal illustrations © Tony Ross 2011

  Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  www.jabberwockykids.com

  Originally published in Great Britain in 2011 by Orion Children’s Books.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.

  Source of Production: Versa Press, East Peoria, Illinois, USA

  Date of Production: February 2012

  Run Number: 17107

  For the amazing, inspiring, and fantastic

  Josh Stamp-Simon

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1. Horrid Henry Writes a Story

  2. Horrid Henry and the Nudie Foodie

  3. Horrid Henry and the Mad Professor

  4. Horrid Henry and the Zombie Vampire

  Acknowledgments

  More Horrid Henry books!

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  “NO!” screamed Horrid Henry. “NO!”

  “Don’t be horrid, Henry,” said Dad.

  “We’d LOVE to hear your new story, Peter,” said Mom.

  “I wouldn’t,” said Henry.

  “Don’t be rude, Henry,” said Dad.

  Horrid Henry stuck his fingers in his ears and glared.

  AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH.

  Wasn’t it bad enough that he had to sit at the table in front of a disgusting plate filled with—yuck—sprouts and—blecccchh—peas instead of the fries and pizza he had BEGGED Dad to cook for dinner? Did he really have to listen to Peter droning on as well?

  This was torture. This was a cruel and unusual punishment. Did any child in the world ever suffer as much as Henry?

  It was so unfair! Mom and Dad wouldn’t let him play the Killer Boy Rats during dinner but now they wanted to force him to listen to Peter read his stupid story.

  Peter wrote the world’s worst stories. If they weren’t about fairies, they were about kittens or butterflies or little elves that helped humans with their chores. His last one was all about the stupid adventures of Peter’s favorite plastic sheep, Fluff Puff, and the terrible day his pink-and-yellow nose turned blue. The king of the sheep had to come and wave his magic hoof to change it back…Henry shuddered just remembering. And then Henry had shouted that a woodsman who really craved a lamb chop had nabbed Fluff Puff and then Mom and Dad had sent him to his room.

  Perfect Peter unfolded his piece of paper and cleared his throat.

  “My story is called, Butterfly Fairies Paint the Rainbow,” said Peter.

  “AARRGGHHH!” said Henry.

  “What a lovely title,” said Mom. She glared at Henry.

  “Can’t wait to hear it,” said Dad. “Stop playing with your food, Henry,” he added, as Horrid Henry started squishing peas under his knife.

  “Once upon a time there lived seven butterfly fairies. There was one for every color of the rainbow. Dance and prance, prance and dance, went the butterfly fairies every day.”

  Henry groaned. “That’s just copying Daffy and her Dancing Daisies.”

  “I’m not copying,” said Perfect Peter.

  “Are too.”

  “Are not.”

  “Don’t be horrid, Henry,” said Mom. “Peter, that’s a lovely story so far. Go on, what happens next?”

  “The butterfly fairies also kept the rainbow lovely and shiny. Each fairy polished their own color every day. But one day the butterfly fairies looked up at the sky. Whoopsy daisy! All the colors had fallen off the rainbow.”

  “Call the police,” said Horrid Henry.

  “Mom, Henry keeps interrupting me,” wailed Peter.

  “Stop it, Henry,” said Mom.

  “The fairies ran to tell their queen what had happened,” read Peter.

  “‘All the colors of the rainbow fell down,’ cried the butterfly fairies.

  “‘Oh no.

  “‘Oh woe.

  “‘Boohoo. Boohoo.”’

  SCRATCH! SCRAPE! Horrid Henry started grinding his knife into his plate.

  “Stop that, Henry,” said Dad.

  “I’m just eating my dinner,” said Henry. He sighed loudly. “You’re always telling me to use my knife. And now I am and you tell me to stop.”

  Perfect Peter raised his voice. “‘Don’t cry, butterfly fairies,’ said the Queen. ‘We’ll just—’”

  SCRAPE!

  Horrid Henry scraped louder.

  “Mom!” wailed Peter. “He’s trying to ruin my story.”

  “There’s nothing to ruin,” said Henry.

  “Be quiet, Henry,” said Dad. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you.”

  Henry burped.

  “Henry! I’m warning you!”

  “I didn’t say anything,” said Henry.

  “Mom! I’m just getting to the really exciting part,” said Peter. “Henry’s spoiling it.”

  “Go on, Peter, we’re all listening,” said Mom.

  “‘Don’t cry, butterflies,’ said the queen. ‘We’ll just have to pick up our magic paint pots and color it back in.’

  “‘Yay,’ said the fairies. ‘Let’s get to work.”’

  “Blecchhhhhhh!” said Horrid Henry, pretending to vomit and knocking a few sprouts onto the floor.

  “Henry, I’m warning you…” said Mom. “Sorry, Peter.”

  “‘I’ll paint the rainbow blue,’ said blue butterfly.

  “‘I’ll paint the rainbow orange,’ said orange butterfly.

  “‘I’ll paint the rainbow green,’ said green butterfly.

  “I’ll paint—’”

  “‘I’ll paint the rainbow black and hang skulls on it,’ said Terminator butterfly,” snarled Horrid Henry.

  “MOM!” wailed Peter. “Henry’s interrupting me again!”

  “Henry, this is your final warning,” said Dad. “If I hear one more word out of you, no TV for a week.”

  “Then the fairy queen picked up the paint pots and—”

  Horrid Henry yawned loudly.

  “…and the butterfly fairies were so happy that they began to sing:

  ‘Tee-hee. Tra-la.

  Tra-a tra-la

  We are dainty little fairies

  And we play and sing all day

  Maybe you can come and join us

  Then we’ll paint the day away

  Tee-hee hee hee

  Tra-la-la-la.’”

  “Blah-blah, blah-blah,” snarled Horrid Henry. He hadn’t though
t Peter could write a worse story than The Adventures of Fluff Puff but he was wrong.

  “That’s the worst story I ever heard,” said Horrid Henry.

  “Henry. Be quiet,” said Dad.

  Horrid Henry’s fingers curled around a sprout.

  “What did you think of my story, Mom?” said Peter.

  “That was the best story I ever heard,” said Mom.

  “Well done, Peter,” said Dad.

  Bong! A sprout hit Perfect Peter on the head.

  “OW! Henry just threw a sprout at me,” wailed Peter.

  “Did not!” said Henry. “It slipped off my fork.”

  “That’s it, Henry!” shouted Dad.

  “Go to your room, Henry!” shouted Mom.

  Horrid Henry leaped down from the table and began to stomp. “Look at me, I’m a butterfly fairy!”

  Horrid Henry stomped upstairs to his bedroom. It was so unfair. In the olden days, when people hadn’t enjoyed a play, didn’t they throw tomatoes and rotten oranges at the stage? He was only being historical. Peter was lucky he hadn’t thrown much worse at him.

  Well, he’d show everyone how it was done.

  He’d write the greatest story ever. All about King Hairy the Horrible and his wicked wife, Queen Gertrude the Gruesome. They would spend their days cackling and making evil plans.

  Horrid Henry lay down on his bed.

  He’d get writing as soon as he finished this week’s Screamin’ Demon comic.

  “Margaret! Stop shouting!

  Steven! Stop grunting!

  William! Stop weeping!

  Soraya! Stop singing!

  Henry! Just stop!

  Everyone. BE QUIET!” yelled Miss Battle-Axe. She mopped her brow. One day she would retire to a war zone and enjoy the peace and quiet.

  Until then…she glared at her class.

  “Now. I want everyone to settle down and write a story.”

  Horrid Henry scowled. Miss Battle-Axe always hated his stories, even Henry’s brilliant one about the Troll Werewolf Mummies who hid beneath teachers’ beds and snacked on their toes. She hadn’t even liked his cannibal can-can story about the cannibal dance troupe who ate their way across Europe.

  It was hard, heavy work writing a story. Why should he bother when his efforts met with so little reward?

  What was that stupid thing Peter had read out last night? That would do. Quickly Horrid Henry scribbled down Peter’s dreadful butterfly fairies story. Miss Battle-Axe didn’t deserve anything better.

  Done! Now back to his comic. Screamin’ Demon was just about to discover where the Master of the Macabre had hidden the treasure…

  Horrid Henry felt a long fingernail poke into his shoulder. He looked up into Miss Battle-Axe’s evil eye.

  “…And why aren’t you writing your story, Henry?” hissed Miss Battle-Axe.

  Horrid Henry smiled.

  “Because I finished it,” said Henry.

  “You…finished it?” said Miss Battle-Axe. She tugged on her ear. Perhaps it was time she had her earwax removed again.

  “Yup,” said Henry.

  “Let me see,” said Miss Battle-Axe, holding out her bony claw.

  Tee-hee, thought Horrid Henry, handing her the story. She doesn’t believe me. Wouldn’t batty old Miss Battle-Axe get a surprise.

  “Hmmm,” said Miss Battle-Axe after she’d finished reading. “Hmmm. Butterfly Fairies Paint the Rainbow. Hmmm.” She stared at Henry and tried to smile but her mouth had trouble turning up due to lack of practice. “Much better than usual, Henry.”

  Henry stared. The men in white coats would be coming to take Miss Battle-Axe away any moment if she liked this story better than his others.

  “In fact…in fact…I want you to go now to Miss Lovely’s class and read it out loud to the kindergartners. They’ll love it.”

  What? NO!!!!!!!

  Perfect Peter’s class sat expectantly on the carpet as Horrid Henry stood before them, story in hand. Now everyone would think he’d written this stupid story. Moody Margaret would tease him until he was old and gray and toothless. But what could he do? He was trapped.

  “Putter fair pat the rainb…” mumbled Horrid Henry.

  “Speak up, Henry,” said Miss Lovely. “Don’t be shy. We’re so looking forward to your story.”

  “Butterfly Fairies Paint the Rainbow,” hissed Horrid Henry.

  Perfect Peter’s jaw dropped. Too late Henry realized his mistake. Writing a story about butterfly fairies was bad enough. But he’d never hear the end of it if people found out he’d copied his younger brother’s story. Though even Peter wouldn’t be such a tattletale…would he?

  Peter put his hand in the air.

  “Miss Lovely, that’s my—” began Peter.

  “Just kidding,” said Horrid Henry hastily. “My story is really called, uh, Butterfly Fairies Fight the Giants.”

  He glanced down at his story, changing words as he read:

  “Once upon a time there lived two hideous giants, King Hairy the Horrible and Queen Gertrude the Gruesome. Stamp and stomp, stomp and stamp went the hideous giants every day.

  “They liked stomping on fairies, especially the butterfly fairies who polished the rainbow every day.

  “‘One day the giants looked up at the sky. Whoopsy daisy! All the butterfly fairies had fallen off the rainbow.

  “‘Oh what fun,’ cackled King Hairy the Horrible, squishing the blue butterfly fairy.

  “‘Yippee!’ squealed Queen Gertrude the Gruesome, squashing the orange butterfly fairy.

  “‘Ha ha!’ they both shrieked, stomping on the green butterfly fairy.”

  Perky Parveen looked shocked.

  Spotless Sam began to sniff.

  “‘I’m going to roast those fairies for dinner,’ said Queen Gertrude the Gruesome. ‘Yum, yum!’ she drooled as the delicious smell of cooked fairy wafted through the castle kitchen. Then the Queen picked up the fairy bones and—”

  Miss Lovely looked pale.

  Oh no, what now, thought Horrid Henry desperately. He’d reached Peter’s horrible fairy song.

  “Tee-hee. Tra-la.

  Tra-la tra-la

  We are dainty little fairies

  And we play and sing all day

  Maybe you can come and join us

  Then we’ll paint the day away

  Tee-hee hee hee

  Tra-la-la-la.”

  Horrid Henry took a deep breath.

  “King Hairy the Horrible and Queen Gertrude the Gruesome were so happy that they began to sing:

  ‘Tee-hee. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha.

  We are big and ugly giants

  And we belch and kill all day

  Maybe we can come and find you

  Then we’ll squish your guts away

  Tee-hee tee-hee

  Ha ha ha ha,’”

  bellowed Horrid Henry.

  Perky Parveen began to cry.

  “The fairwies got squished,” sobbed Lisping Lily.

  “I don’t want the giants to eat the fairies,” shrieked Tidy Ted.

  “I’m scared,” howled Helpful Hari.

  “I want my mama,” wept Needy Neil.

  “Wah!” wailed the kindergartners.

  Horrid Henry was thrilled. What a reaction! Maybe I’ll add a bit more, thought Horrid Henry. This is such a great story it’s a shame to end it here.

  “‘Let’s find some bunnies,’ snarled the giants. ‘I’m sure—’”

  “Stop! Stop!” said Miss Lovely. She looked gray. “Better go back to your class,” she whispered. What had Miss Battle-Axe been thinking?

  Horrid Henry shook his head and closed the door on the screaming, howling class.


  Wow. What a great story he’d written.

  Maybe he should be an author when he grew up.

  “Children, I have some thrilling news,” burbled Mrs. Oddbod.

  Horrid Henry groaned. His idea of thrilling news and Mrs. Oddbod’s idea of thrilling news were not the same. Thrilling news would be Mutant Max replacing Mrs. Oddbod as principal. Thrilling news would be Miss Battle-Axe being whisked off to ancient Rome to be a gladiator. Thrilling news would be Moody Margaret dumped in a swamp and Perfect Peter sent to prison.

  Thrilling news wasn’t new coat hooks and who was in the Good as Gold book.

  But wait. What was Mrs. Oddbod saying? “Our school has been chosen to be a healthy-eating school. Our new healthy and nutritious school meals will be an example for schools everywhere.”

  Horrid Henry sat up. What? Healthy eating? Oh no. Henry knew what grown-ups meant by healthy food. Celery. Beets. Eggplant towers. Anything that tasted yucky and looked revolting was bound to be good for him. Anything that tasted yummy was bound to be bad. Henry had plenty of healthy eating at home. Was nowhere safe?

  “And guess who’s going to help make our school a beacon of healthy eating?” babbled Mrs. Oddbod. “Only the world-famous chef, Mr. Nudie Foodie.”

  Rude Ralph snorted. “Nudie,” he jeered.

  Mr. Nudie Foodie? thought Horrid Henry. What kind of stupid name was that? Were there really parents out there whose last name was Foodie, who’d decided that the perfect name for their son was Nudie?

  “And here he is, in person,” proclaimed Mrs. Oddbod.

  The children clapped as a shaggy-haired man wearing a red-checked apron and a chef’s hat bounced to the front of the auditorium.

  “Starting today your school will be the place for delicious, nutritious food,” he beamed. “I’m not nude, it’s my food that’s nude! My delicious, yummalicious grub is just plain scrummy.”