Horrid Henry and the Mummy's Curse

by Francesca Simon

  “Get your feet off the sofa, Henry!” said Mom.

  “Unh,” grunted Henry.

  “Stop getting chips everywhere!” snapped Mom.

  “Unh,” grunted Henry.

  “Have you done your homework, Henry?” said Mom.

  Henry didn’t answer.

  “HENRY!” shouted Mom.

  “WHAT!” shouted Henry.

  “Have you done your homework?”

  “What homework?” said Henry. He kept his eyes glued to the TV.

  “Go, Mutants!” he screeched.

  “The five spelling words you are supposed to learn tonight,” said Mom.

  “Oh,” said Henry. “That homework.”

  Horrid Henry hated homework. He had far better things to do with his precious time than learn how to spell “zipper” or work out the answer to 6 × 7. For weeks Henry’s homework sheets had ended up in the recycling box until Dad found them. Henry swore he had no idea how they got there and blamed Fluffy the cat, but since then Mom and Dad had checked his school bag every day.

  Mom snatched the remote and switched off the TV.

  “Hey, I’m watching!” said Henry.

  “When are you going to do your homework, Henry?” said Mom.

  “SOON!” screamed Henry. He’d just returned from a long, hard day at school. Couldn’t he have any peace around here? When he was king anyone who said the word “homework” would get thrown to the crocodiles.

  “I had a phone call today from Miss Battle-Axe,” said Mom. “She said you got a zero in the last ten spelling tests.”

  “That’s not my fault,” said Henry. “First I lost the words, then I forgot, then I couldn’t read my writing, then I copied the words wrong, then—”

  “I don’t want to hear any more silly excuses,” said Mom. “Do you know your spelling words for tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” lied Henry.

  “Where’s the list?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Henry.

  “Find it or no TV for a month,” said Mom.

  “It’s not fair,” muttered Henry, digging the crumpled spelling list out of his pocket.

  Mom looked at it.

  “There’s going to be a test tomorrow,” she said. “How do you spell ‘goat’?”

  “Don’t you know how, Mom?” asked Henry.

  “Henry…” said Mom.

  Henry scowled.

  “I’m busy,” moaned Henry. “I promise I’ll tell you right after Mutant Madman. It’s my favorite show.”

  “How do you spell ‘goat’?” said Mom.

  “G-O-T-E,” snapped Henry.

  “Wrong,” said Mom. “What about ‘boat’?”

  “Why do I have to do this?” wailed Henry.

  “Because it’s your homework,” said Mom. “You have to learn how to spell.”

  “But why?” said Henry. “I never write letters.”

  “Because,” said Mom. “Now spell “boat.”

  “B-O-T-T-E,” said Henry.

  “No more TV until you do your homework,” said Mom.

  “I’ve done all my homework,” said Perfect Peter. “In fact, I enjoyed it so much I’ve already done tomorrow’s homework as well.”

  Henry pounced on Peter. He was a cannibal tenderizing his victim for the pot.

  “Eeeeyowwww!” screamed Peter.

  “Henry! Go to your room!” shouted Mom. “And don’t come out until you know all your spelling words!”

  Horrid Henry stomped upstairs and slammed his bedroom door. This was so unfair! He was far too busy to bother with stupid, boring, useless spelling. For instance, he hadn’t read the new Mutant Madman comic book. He hadn’t finished drawing that treasure map. And he hadn’t even begun to organize his new collection of Twizzle cards. Homework would have to wait.

  There was just one problem. Miss Battle-Axe had said that everyone who spelled all their words correctly tomorrow would get a pack of Big Bopper candy. Henry loved Big Bopper candy. Mom and Dad hardly ever let him have them. But why on earth did he have to learn spelling words to get some? If he were the teacher, he’d only give candy to children who couldn’t spell. Henry sighed. He’d just have to sit down and learn those stupid words.

  4:30. Mom burst into the room. Henry was lying on his bed reading a comic.

  “Henry! Why aren’t you doing your homework?” said Mom.

  “I’ll do it in a sec,” said Henry. “I’m just finishing this page.”

  “Henry …” said Mom.

  Henry put down the comic.

  Mom left. Henry picked up the comic.

  5:30. Dad burst into the room. Henry was playing with his knights.

  “Henry! Why aren’t you doing your homework?” said Dad.

  “I’m tired!” yawned Henry. “I’m just taking a little break. It’s hard having so much work!”

  “Henry, you’ve only got five words to learn!” said Dad. “And you’ve just spent two hours not learning them.”

  “All right,” snarled Henry. Slowly, he picked up his spelling list. Then he put it down again. He had to get in the mood. Soothing music, that’s what he needed. Horrid Henry switched on his radio. The terrible sound of the Driller Cannibals boomed through the house.

  “OH, I’M A CAN-CAN-CANNIBAL!” screamed Henry, stomping around his room. “DON’T CALL ME AN ANIMAL JUST ’CAUSE I’M A CAN-CAN-CANNIBAL!”

  Mom and Dad stormed into Henry’s bedroom and turned off the music.

  “That’s enough, Henry!” said Dad.

  “DO YOUR HOMEWORK!” screamed Mom.

  “IF YOU DON’T GET EVERY SINGLE WORD RIGHT IN YOUR TEST TOMORROW THERE

  WILL BE NO TELEVISION FOR A WEEK!” shouted Dad.

  EEEK! No TV and no candy! This was too much. Horrid Henry looked at his spelling words with loathing.

  GOAT

  BOAT

  SAID

  STOAT

  FRIEND

  “I hate goats! I’ll never need to spell the word ‘goat’ in my life,” said Henry. He hated goat’s cheese. He hated goat’s milk. He thought goats were smelly. That was one word he’d definitely never need to know.

  The next word was “boat.” Who needs to spell that? thought Henry. I’m not going to be a sailor when I grow up. I get seasick. In fact, it’s bad for my health to learn how to spell “boat.”

  As for “said,” what did it matter if he spelled it “sed”? It was perfectly understandable, written “sed.” Only an old fusspot like Miss Battle-Axe would mind such a tiny mistake.

  Then there was “stoat.” What on earth was a stoat? What a mean, sneaky word. Henry wouldn’t know a stoat if it sat on him. Of all the useless, horrible words, “stoat” was the worst. Trust his teacher, Miss Battle-Axe, to make him learn a horrible, useless word like stoat.

  The last word was “friend.” Well, a real friend like Rude Ralph didn’t care how the word “friend” was spelled. As far as Henry was concerned any friend who minded how he spelled “friend” was no friend. Miss Battle-Axe included that word to torture him.

  Five whole spelling words. It was too much. I’ll never learn so many words, thought Henry. But what about tomorrow? He’d have to watch Moody Margaret and Jolly Josh and Clever Clare chomping away at those delicious Big Boppers, while he, Henry, had to gnash his empty teeth. Plus no TV for a week! Henry couldn’t live that long without TV! He was sunk. He was doomed to be candy-less, and TV-less.

  But wait. What if there was a way to get that candy without the horrid hassle of learning to spell? Suddenly, Henry had a brilliant, spectacular idea. It was so simple Henry couldn’t believe he’d never thought of it before.

  He sat next to Clever Clare. Clare always knew the spelling words. All Henry had to do was to take a little peek at her work. If he positioned his chair right, he’d easily be able to see what she wrote. And he wouldn’t be copying her, no way. Just double-checking. I am a genius, thought Horrid Henry. 100% right on the test. Loads of Big Bopper candy. Mom and Dad would be so t
hrilled they’d let him watch extra TV. Hurray!

  Horrid Henry swaggered into class the next morning. He sat down in his seat between Clever Clare and Beefy Bert. Carefully, he inched his chair over a fraction so that he had a good view of Clare’s paper.

  “Spelling test!” barked Miss Battle-Axe. “First word—goat.”

  Clare bent over her paper. Henry pretended he was staring at the wall, then, quick as a flash, he glanced at her work and wrote “goat.”

  “Boat,” said Miss Battle-Axe. Again Horrid Henry sneaked a look at Clare’s paper and copied her. And again. And again.

  This is fantastic, thought Henry. I’ll never have to learn any spelling words. Just think of all the comic books he could read instead of wasting his time on homework! He sneaked a peek at Beefy Bert’s paper. Blank. Ha ha, thought Henry.

  There was only one word left. Henry could taste the tingly tang of a Big Bopper already. Wouldn’t he swagger around! And no way would he share his candy with anyone.

  Suddenly, Clare shifted position and edged away from him. Rats! Henry couldn’t see her paper anymore.

  “Last word,” boomed Miss Battle-Axe. “Friend.”

  Henry twisted in his seat. He could see the first four words. He just needed to get a tiny bit closer…

  Clare looked at him. Henry stared at the ceiling. Clare glared, then looked back at her paper. Quickly, Henry leaned over and…YES! He copied down the final word, “friend.”

  Victory!

  Chomp! Chomp! Chomp! Mmmmm, boy, did those Big Boppers taste great!

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Miss Battle-Axe. She was smiling at him with her great big yellow teeth.

  Miss Battle-Axe had never smiled at Henry before.

  “Well, Henry,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “What an improvement! I’m thrilled.”

  “Thank you,” said Henry modestly.

  “In fact, you’ve done so well I’m promoting you to the top spelling group. Twenty-five extra words a night. Here’s the list.”

  Horrid Henry’s jaws stopped chomping. He looked in horror at the new spelling list. It was littered with words. But not just any words. Awful words. Mean words. Long words. HARD words.

  Hieroglyphs.

  Trapezium.

  Diarrhea.

  “AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” shrieked Horrid Henry.

  3

  HORRID HENRY’S SWIMMING LESSON

  Oh no! thought Horrid Henry. He pulled the blanket tightly over his head. It was Thursday. Horrible, horrible, Thursday. The worst day of the week. Horrid Henry was certain Thursdays came more often than any other day.

  Thursday was his class swimming day. Henry had a nagging feeling that this Thursday was even worse than all the other awful Thursdays.

  Horrid Henry liked the bus ride to the pool. Horrid Henry liked doing the dance of the seven towels in the changing room. He also liked hiding in the lockers, throwing socks in the pool, and splashing everyone.

  The only thing Henry didn’t like about going swimming was…swimming.

  The truth was, Horrid Henry hated water. Ugggh! Water was so…wet! And soggy. The chlorine stung his eyes. He never knew what horrors might be lurking in the deep end. And the pool was so cold penguins could fly in for the winter.

  Fortunately, Henry had a brilliant list of excuses. He’d pretend he had warts, or a tummy ache, or had lost his swimsuit. Unfortunately, the mean, nasty, horrible swimming teacher, Soggy Sid, usually made him get in the pool anyway.

  Then Henry would duck Dizzy Dave, or splash Weepy William, or pinch Gorgeous Gurinder, until Sid ordered him out. It was not surprising that Horrid Henry had never managed to get his five-meter badge.

  Arrrgh! Now he remembered. Today was test day. The terrible day when everyone had to show how far they could swim. Aerobic Al was going for gold. Moody Margaret was going for silver. The only ones who were still trying for their five-meter badges were Lazy Linda and Horrid Henry. Five whole meters! How could anyone swim such a vast distance?

  If only they were tested on who could sink to the bottom of the pool the fastest, or splash the most, or spit water the farthest, then Horrid Henry would have every badge in a jiffy. But no. He had to leap into a freezing cold pool, and, if he survived that shock, somehow thrash his way across five whole meters without drowning.

  Well, there was no way he was going to school today.

  Mom came into his room.

  “I can’t go to school today, Mom,” Henry moaned. “I feel terrible.”

  Mom didn’t even look at him.

  “Thursday-itis again, I presume,” said Mom.

  “No way!” said Henry. “I didn’t even know it was Thursday.”

  “Get up, Henry,” said Mom. “You’re going swimming and that’s that.”

  Perfect Peter peeked around the door.

  “It’s badge day today!” he said. “I’m going for fifty meters!”

  “That’s great, Peter,” said Mom. “I bet you’re the best swimmer in your class.”

  Perfect Peter smiled modestly.

  “I just try my best,” he said. “Good luck with your five-meter badge, Henry,” he added.

  Horrid Henry growled and attacked. He was a Venus flytrap slowly mashing a frantic fly between his deadly leaves.

  “Eeeeeowwww!” screeched Peter.

  “Stop being horrid, Henry!” screamed Mom. “Leave your poor brother alone!”

  Horrid Henry let Peter go. If only he could find some way not to take his swimming test he’d be the happiest boy in the world.

  * * *

  Henry’s class arrived at the pool. Okay, thought Henry. Time to unpack his excuses to Soggy Sid.

  “I can’t go swimming, I’ve got a wart,” lied Henry.

  “Take off your sock,” ordered Soggy Sid.

  Rats, thought Henry.

  “Maybe it’s better now,” said Henry.

  “I thought so,” said Sid.

  Horrid Henry grabbed his stomach.

  “Tummy pains!” he moaned. “I feel terrible.”

  “You seemed fine when you were prancing around the pool a moment ago,” snapped Sid. “Now get changed.”

  Time for the killer excuse.

  “I forgot my swimsuit!” said Henry. This was his best chance of success.

  “No problem,” said Soggy Sid. He handed Henry a bag. “Put on one of these.”

  Slowly, Horrid Henry rummaged in the bag. He pulled out a bikini top, a blue suit with a hole in the middle, a pair of pink underpants, a tiny pair of green trunks, a polka-dot one piece with bunnies, see-through white shorts, and a diaper.

  “I can’t wear any of these!” protested Horrid Henry.

  “You can and you will, if I have to put them on you myself,” snarled Sid.

  Horrid Henry squeezed into the green trunks. He could barely breathe. Slowly, he joined the rest of his class pushing and shoving by the side of the pool.

  Everyone had millions of badges sewn all over their suits. You couldn’t even see Aerobic Al’s bathing suit beneath the stack of badges.

  “Hey you!” shouted Soggy Sid. He pointed at Weepy William. “Where’s your swimsuit?”

  Weepy William glanced down and burst into tears.

  “Waaaaah,” he wailed and ran weeping back to the changing room.

  “Now get in!” ordered Soggy Sid.

  “But I’ll drown!” screamed Henry. “I can’t swim!”

  “Get in!” screamed Soggy Sid.

  Good-bye, cruel world. Horrid Henry held his breath and fell into the icy water. ARRRRGH! He was turning into an iceberg!

  He was dying! He was dead! His feet flailed madly as he sank down, down, down—clunk! Henry’s feet touched the bottom.

  Henry stood up, choking and spluttering. He was waist-deep in water.

  “Linda and Henry! Swim five meters—now!”

  What am I going to do? thought Henry. It was so humiliating not even being able to swim five meters! Everyone would tease him. And he’d have to
listen to them bragging about their badges! Wouldn’t it be great to get a badge? Somehow?

  Lazy Linda set off, very very slowly. Horrid Henry grabbed onto her leg. Maybe she’ll pull me across, he thought.

  “Ugggh!” gurgled Lazy Linda.

  “Leave her alone!” shouted Sid. “Last chance, Henry.”

  Horrid Henry ran along the pool’s bottom and flapped his arms, pretending to swim.

  “Did it!” said Henry.

  Soggy Sid scowled.

  “I said swim, not walk!” screamed Sid. “You’ve failed. Now get over to the far lane and practice. Remember, anyone who stops swimming during the test doesn’t get a badge.”

  Horrid Henry stomped over to the far lane. No way was he going to practice! How he hated swimming! He watched the others splashing up and down, up and down. There was Aerobic Al, doing his laps like a bolt of lightning. And Moody Margaret. And Kung-Fu Kate. Everyone would be getting a badge but Henry. It was so unfair.

  “Pssst, Susan,” said Henry. “Have you heard? There’s a shark in the deep end!”

  “Oh yeah, right,” said Sour Susan. She looked at the dark water in the far end of the pool.

  “Don’t believe me,” said Henry. “Find out the hard way. Come back with a leg missing.”

  Sour Susan paused and whispered something to Moody Margaret.

  “Shut up, Henry,” said Margaret. They swam off.

  “Don’t worry about the shark,

  Andrew,” said Henry. “I think he’s already eaten today.”

  “What shark?” said Anxious Andrew.

  Andrew stared at the deep end. It did look awfully dark down there.

  “Start swimming, Andrew!” shouted Soggy Sid.

  “I don’t want to,” said Andrew.

  “Swim! Or I’ll bite you myself!” snarled Sid.

  Andrew started swimming.

  “Dave, Ralph, Clare, and Bert—start swimming!” bellowed Soggy Sid.

  “Look out for the shark!” said Horrid Henry. He watched Aerobic Al tearing up and down the lane. “Gotta swim, gotta swim, gotta swim,” muttered Al between strokes.