Horrid Henry's Monster Movie Page 3

  Did anyone suffer as much as Henry?

  He sighed loudly.

  “Okay,” said Horrid Henry. “But that’ll cost you three.”

  Horrid Henry stared happily at his seven glorious grump cards. He’d done it! He was free to do anything he wanted. He would be king forever.

  Why wait?

  Horrid Henry skipped downstairs, went straight to the candy jar, and took a huge handful of candy.

  “Put those back, Henry,” said Mom. “You know candy day is Saturday.”

  “Don’t care,” said Henry. “I want candy now and I’m having them now.” Shoving the huge handful into his mouth, he reached into the jar for more.

  “Henry!” screamed Mom. “Put those back. That’s it. No candy for a week. Now go straight—”

  Horrid Henry whipped out a grump card and handed it to Mom.

  Mom gasped. Her jaw dropped.

  “Where…when…did you get a grump card?”

  Henry shrugged. “I got it ’cause I was so good.”

  Mom stared at him. Dad must have given him one. How amazing.

  Henry strolled into the living room. Time for Terminator Gladiator!

  Dad was sitting on the sofa watching the boring news. Well, not for long. Horrid Henry grabbed the clicker and switched channels.

  “Hey,” said Dad. “I was watching.”

  “Tough,” said Henry. “I’m watching what I want to watch. Go, Gladiator!” he squealed.

  “Don’t be horrid, Henry. I’m warning you…”

  Horrid Henry stuck out his tongue at Dad. “Buzz off, baldie.”

  Dad gasped.

  “That’s it, Henry. No computer games for a week. Now go straight—”

  Dad stared at the grump card that Henry waved at him. Henry? A grump card? Mom must have given him one. But how? When?

  “I’ll just go off now and play on the computer,” said Henry, smirking.

  Tee-hee. The look on Dad’s face. And what fun to play on the computer, after he’d been banned from it! That was well worth a grump card. After all, he had plenty.

  * * *

  Horrid Henry spat his sprouts onto the floor. But a grump card took care of the “no TV for the rest of the day” punishment. Then he flicked peas at Peter and nicked four of his fries. That was well worth a grump card, too, thought Horrid Henry, to get his allowance back. Bit of a shame that he had to give two grump cards to lift the ban on going to Ralph’s sleepover, but, hey, that’s what grump cards were for, right?

  “Henry, it’s my turn to play on the computer,” said Peter.

  “Tough,” said Horrid Henry, zapping and blasting.

  “I’m going to tell on you,” said Peter.

  “Go ahead,” said Henry. “See if I care.”

  “You’re going to get into big, big trouble,” said Peter.

  “Go away, wormy worm toady pants poopsicle,” said Henry. “You’re annoying me.”

  “Mom! Henry just called me a wormy worm toady pants poopsicle!” shrieked Peter.

  “Henry! Stop calling your brother names,” said Mom.

  “I didn’t,” shouted Henry.

  “He did too!” howled Peter.

  “Shut up, Ugg-face!” snarled Henry.

  “Mom! Henry just called me Ugg-face!”

  “That’s it,” said Mom. “Henry! Go to your room. No computer for a—”

  Horrid Henry handed over another grump card.

  “Henry. Where did you get these?” said Mom.

  “I was given them for being good,” said Horrid Henry. That wasn’t a lie, because he had been good by playing with Peter, and Peter had given them to him.

  Perfect Peter burst into tears.

  “Henry tricked me,” said Peter. “He took my grump cards.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  “We made a deal, you wibble-face nappy!” shrieked Henry and attacked. He was a bulldozer flattening a wriggling worm…

  “AAARRRGGGHH!” screamed Peter.

  “You horrid boy,” said Mom. “No allowance for a week. No TV for a week. No computer for a week. No candy for a week. Go to your room!”

  Whoa, grump card to the rescue. Thank goodness he’d saved one for emergencies.

  What? Huh?

  Horrid Henry felt frantically inside his pockets. He looked on the floor. He checked his pockets again. And again.

  There were no grump cards left.

  What had he done? Had he just blown all his grump cards in an hour? His precious, precious grump cards? The grump cards he’d never, ever get again?

  NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

  Chomp chomp chomp chomp…Burp.

  Ahhh! Horrid Henry scoffed the last crumb of Super Spicy Hedgehog chips and burped again. So yummy. Wow. He’d eaten the entire pack in seventeen seconds. No one could guzzle chips faster than Horrid Henry, especially when he was having to gobble them secretly in class. He’d never been caught, not even—

  A dark, icy shadow fell across him.

  “Are you eating in class, Henry?” hissed Miss Battle-Axe.

  “No,” said Henry.

  Tee-hee. Thanks to his super-speedy jaws, he’d already swallowed the evidence.

  “Then where did this chip packet come from?” said Miss Battle-Axe, pointing to the plastic bag on the floor.

  Henry shrugged.

  “Bert! Is this yours?”

  “I dunno,” said Beefy Bert.

  “There is no eating in class,” said Miss Battle-Axe. Why did she have to say the same things over and over? One day the Queen would discover that she, Boudicca Battle-Axe, was her long-lost daughter and sweep her off to the palace, where she would live a life of pampered luxury. But until then—

  “Now, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,” she glared at Horrid Henry, “our school will be having its very own Olympics. We’ll be running and jumping and swimming and—”

  “Eating!” yelled Horrid Henry.

  “Quiet, Henry,” snapped Miss Battle-Axe. “I want all of you to practice hard, both in school and out, to show—”

  Horrid Henry stopped listening. It was so unfair. Wasn’t it bad enough that every morning he had to heave his heavy bones out of bed to go to school, without wasting any of his precious TV-watching time running and jumping and swimming? He was a terrible runner. He was a pathetic jumper. He was a hopeless swimmer—though he did have his five-meter badge…Besides, Aerobic Al was sure to win every medal. In fact, they should just give them all to him now and save everyone else a load of bother.

  Shame, thought Horrid Henry, that the things he was so good at never got prizes. If there was a medal for who could watch TV the longest or who could eat the most candy, or who was quickest out of the classroom door when the last bell rang, well, he’d be covered in gold from head to toe.

  “Go on, Susan! Jump higher.”

  “I’m jumping as high as I can,” said Sour Susan.

  “That’s not high,” said Moody Margaret. “A tortoise could jump higher than you.”

  “Then get a tortoise,” snapped Susan sourly.

  “You’re just a lazy lump.”

  “You’re just a moody meanie.”

  “Lump.”

  “Meanie.”

  “LUMP!”

  “MEANIE!”

  Slap!

  Slap!

  “Whatcha doin’?” asked Horrid Henry, leaning over the garden wall.

  “Go away, Henry,” said Margaret.

  “Yeah, Henry,” said Susan.

  “I can stand in my own yard if I want to,” said Henry.

  “Just ignore him,” said Margaret.

  “We’re practicing fo
r the school Olympics,” said Susan.

  Horrid Henry snorted.

  “I don’t see you practicing,” said Margaret.

  “That’s ’cause I’m doing my own Olympics, frog-face,” said Henry.

  His jaw dropped. YES! YES! A thousand times yes! Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Of course he should set up his own Olympics. And have the competitions he’d always wanted to have. A name-calling competition! A chocolate-eating competition! A chip-eating competition! A who-could-watch-the-most-TVs-at-the-same-time-competition! He’d make sure he had competitions thathe could win. The Henry Olympics. The Holympics. And the prizes would be…the prizes would be…masses and masses of chocolate!

  “Can Ted and Gordon and I be in your Olympics?” said Perfect Peter.

  “NO!” said Henry. Who’d want some nappy babies competing? They’d spoil everything, they’d—

  Wait a minute…

  “Of course you can, Peter,” said Henry smoothly. “That will be one dollar each.”

  “Why?” said Ted.

  “To pay for the super fantastic prizes, of course,” said Henry. “Each champion will win a massive prize of…chocolate!”

  Peter’s face fell.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “And a medal,” added Henry quickly.

  “Oh,” said Peter, beaming.

  “How massive?” said Margaret.

  “Armfuls and armfuls,” said Horrid Henry. His mouth watered just thinking about it.

  “Hmmm,” said Margaret. “Well, I think there should be a speed haircutting competition. And dancing.”

  “Dancing?” said Henry. Well, why not? He was a marvelous dancer. His elephant stomp would win any competition hands down. “Okay.”

  Margaret and Susan plonked down one dollar each.

  “By the way, that’s ballroom dancing,” said Margaret.

  “No way,” said Henry.

  “No ballroom dancing, then we won’t enter,” said Margaret. “And Linda and Gurinder and Kate and Fiona and Soraya won’t either.”

  Horrid Henry considered. He was sure to win everything else, so why not let her have a tiny victory? And the more people who entered, the more chocolate for him!

  “Okay,” said Henry.

  “Bet you’re scared I’ll win everything,” said Margaret.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “I can eat more candy than you any day.”

  “Ha!” said Margaret. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “The Purple Hand Gang can beat the Secret Club and the Best Boys Club, no sweat,” said Horrid Henry. “Bring it on.”

  * * *

  “Hang on,” said Margaret. “What’s with calling this the Holympics? It should be the Molympics. I came up with the haircutting and dancing competitions.”

  “’Cause Molympics is a terrible name,” said Henry.

  “So’s Holympics,” said Margaret.

  “Actually,” said Peter, “I think it should be called the Polympics.”

  “Shut up, worm,” said Henry.

  “Yeah, worm,” said Margaret.

  “Mom!” screamed Henry. “Mom!!!!!!!!”

  Mom came running out of the shower.

  “What is it, Henry?” she said, dripping water all over the floor. “Are you all right?”

  “I need candy,” he said.

  “You got me out of the shower because you need candy?” she repeated.

  “I need to practice for the candy speed-eating competition,” said Henry. “For my Olympics.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Mom.

  Horrid Henry was outraged.

  “How am I supposed to win if I can’t practice?” he howled. “You’re always telling me to practice stuff. And now when I want to you won’t let me.”

  Bookings for Henry’s Olympics were brisk. Everyone in Henry’s class—and a few from Peter’s—wanted to compete. Horrid Henry gazed happily at the 45 dollars’ worth of chocolate and chips piled high on his bed. Wow. Wow. Mega mega wow. Boxes and boxes and boxes filled with yummy, yummy sweets! Giant bar after giant bar of chocolate. His Holympics would have the best prizes ever. And he, Henry, fully expected to win most of them. He’d win enough chocolate to last him a lifetime and have the glory of coming first, for once.

  Horrid Henry gazed at the chocolate prize mountain.

  The chocolate prize mountain gazed back at him and winked.

  Wait.

  He, Henry, was doing all the work. Surely it was only fair if he got something for his valuable time. He should have kept a bit of money back to cover his expenses.

  Horrid Henry removed a giant chocolate bar from the pile.

  After all, I do need to practice for the speed-eating contest, he thought, tearing off the wrapper and shoving a massive piece into his mouth. And then another. Oh boy, was that chocolate yummy. In a few seconds, it was gone.

  Yeah! Horrid Henry, chocolate-eating champion of the universe!

  You know, thought Henry, gazing at the chocolate mound teetering precariously on his bed, I think I bought too many prizes. And I do need to practice for my event…

  What a great day, thought Horrid Henry happily. He’d won the candy speed-eating competition (though Greedy Graham had come a close second), the chip-eating contest and the name-calling one. (Peter had run off screaming when Henry called him Wibble Wobble Pants, Nappy Noodle, and Odiferous.)

  Rude Ralph won “Burp to the Beat.” Margaret and Susan won best ballroom dancers. Vain Violet was the surprise winner of the speed haircutting competition. Weepy William…well, his hair would grow back—eventually.

  Best of all, Aerobic Al didn’t win a thing.

  The winners gathered around to collect their prizes.

  “Where’s my chocolate, Henry?” said Moody Margaret.

  “And there better be loads like you promised,” said Vain Violet.

  Horrid Henry reached into the big prize bag.

  Now, where was the ballroom dancing prize?

  He pulled out a Choco Bloco. Yikes, was that all the chocolate he had left? He rummaged around some more.

  “A Choco Bloco?” said Margaret slowly. “A single Choco Bloco?”

  “They’re very yummy,” said Henry.

  “And mine?” said Violet.

  “And mine?” said Ralph.

  “And mine for coming second?” said Graham.

  “You’re supposed to share it!” screamed Horrid Henry, as he turned and ran.

  Wow, thought Horrid Henry, as he fled down the road, Rude Ralph, Moody Margaret, Sour Susan, Vain Violet, and Greedy Graham chasing after him, I’m pretty fast when I need to be. Maybe I should enter the school Olympics after all.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Imogen Stubbs for sharing some fine filmmaking moments with me.

  Horrid Henry writes the best story ever, spars with a famous chef over his school’s lunch menu, creates a new game with Perfect Peter, and hunts for zombie vampires.

  Horrid Henry plots a brilliant plan for total TV control; schemes, bribes, and fights his way to become class president; battles with Peter over who gets the awesome purple dinosaur and who’s stuck with the boring green one; and performs the greatest magic trick the world has ever seen at his school’s talent contest.

  Horrid Henry invades Perfect Peter’s room; hunts for cookies in Moody Margaret’s Secret Club tent, with frightening results; writes his biography—and Moody Margaret’s; and plots to see the best band in the world (while his family wants to see the worst).

  Horrid Henry builds the biggest, meanest monster snowman ever; writes his will (but is more interested in what others should be leaving him); starts his own makeover business; and manages to thwart th
e Happy Nappy for a chance to meet his favorite author in the whole world.

  Horrid Henry discovers a genius way to write thank-you letters; negotiates over vegetables; competes with Perfect Peter over which of them is sickest; and finds himself wearing the wrong underpants—with dreadful consequences.

  Henry is dragged to dancing class against his will; vies with Moody Margaret to make the yuckiest Glop; goes camping; and tries to be good like Perfect Peter—but not for long.

  About the Author

  Photo: Francesco Guidicini

  Francesca Simon spent her childhood on the beach in California and then went to Yale and Oxford Universities to study medieval history and literature. She now lives in London with her family. She has written over forty-five books and won the Children’s Book of the Year in 2008 at the Galaxy British Book Awards for Horrid Henry and the Abominable Snowman.