Horrid Henry's Monster Movie

by Francesca Simon

  Text © Francesca Simon 2012

  Cover and internal illustrations © Tony Ross 2012

  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 2012 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: August 2012

  Run Number: 18382

  For Emily Lethbridge

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1. Horrid Henry’s Monster Movie

  2. Horrid Henry’s Horrid Weekend

  3. Horrid Henry’s Grump Card

  4. Horrid Henry’s Olympics

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Horrid Henry loved scary movies. He loved nothing more than curling up on the comfy black chair with a huge bag of popcorn and a Fizzywizz drink and jumping out of his seat in shock every few minutes. He loved wailing ghosts, oozing swamps, and bloodthirsty monsters. No film was too scary or too creepy for Horrid Henry. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

  Perfect Peter hated scary movies. He hated nothing more than hiding behind the comfy black chair covering his eyes and jumping out of his skin in shock every few seconds. He hated ghosts and swamps and monsters. Even Santa Claus saying “ho ho ho” too loudly scared him.

  Thanks to Peter being the biggest scaredy-cat who ever lived, Mom and Dad would never take Henry to see any scary movies.

  And now, the scariest, most frightening, most terrible film ever was in town. Horrid Henry was desperate to see it.

  “You’re not seeing that movie and that’s final,” said Mom.

  “Absolutely no way,” said Dad. “Much too scary.”

  “But I love scary movies!” shrieked Horrid Henry.

  “I don’t,” said Mom.

  “I don’t,” said Dad.

  “I hate scary movies,” said Perfect Peter. “Please can we see The Big Bunny Caper instead?”

  “NO!” shrieked Horrid Henry.

  “Stop shouting, Henry,” said Mom.

  “But everyone’s seen The Vampire Zombie Werewolf,” moaned Horrid Henry. “Everyone but me.”

  Moody Margaret had seen it and said it was the best horror movie ever.

  Fiery Fiona had seen it three times. “And I’m seeing it three more times,” she squealed.

  Rude Ralph said he’d run screaming from the cinema.

  AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH. Horrid Henry thought he would explode he wanted to see The Vampire Zombie Werewolf so much. But no. The movie came and went, and Horrid Henry wailed and gnashed.

  So he couldn’t believe his luck when Rude Ralph came up to him one day at recess and said:

  “I’ve got The Vampire Zombie Werewolf on DVD. Want to come over and watch it after school?”

  Did he ever!

  Horrid Henry squeezed onto the sofa between Rude Ralph and Brainy Brian. Dizzy Dave sat on the floor next to Jolly Josh and Aerobic Al. Anxious Andrew sat on a chair. He’d already covered his face with his hands. Even Moody Margaret and Sour Susan were there, squabbling over who got to sit in the armchair and who had to sit on the floor.

  “Okay, everyone, this is it,” said Rude Ralph. “The scariest movie ever. Are we ready?”

  “Yeah!”

  Horrid Henry gripped the sofa as the eerie piano music started.

  There was a deep, dark forest.

  “I’m scared!” wailed Anxious Andrew.

  “Nothing’s happened yet,” said Horrid Henry.

  A boy and a girl ran through the shivery, shadowy trees.

  “Is it safe to look?” gasped Anxious Andrew.

  “Shhh,” said Moody Margaret.

  “You shhh!” said Horrid Henry.

  “MWAHAAAAHAAAAHAHAHAA!” bellowed Dizzy Dave.

  “I’m scared!” shrieked Anxious Andrew.

  “Shut up!” shouted Rude Ralph.

  The pale girl stopped running and turned to the bandaged boy.

  “I can’t kiss you or I’ll turn into a zombie,” sulked the girl.

  “I can’t kiss you or I’ll turn into a vampire,” scowled the boy.

  “But our love is so strong!” wailed the vampire girl and the zombie boy.

  “Not as strong as me!” howled the werewolf, leaping out from behind a tree stump.

  “AAAAAAAARRRRGGGHHH!” screeched Anxious Andrew.

  “SHUT UP!” shouted Henry and Ralph.

  “Leave her alone, you walking bandage,” said the werewolf.

  “Leave him alone, you smelly fur ball,” said the vampire.

  “This isn’t scary,” said Horrid Henry.

  “Shh,” said Margaret.

  “Go away!” shouted the zombie.

  “You go away, you big meanie,” snarled the werewolf.

  “Don’t you know that two’s company and three’s a crowd?” hissed the vampire.

  “I challenge you both to an arm-wrestling contest,” howled the werewolf. “The winner gets to keep the arms.”

  “Or in your case, the paws,” sniffed the vampire.

  “This is the worst movie I’ve ever seen,” said Horrid Henry.

  “Shut up, Henry,” said Margaret.

  “We’re trying to watch,” said Susan.

  “Ralph, I thought you said this was a really scary movie,” hissed Henry. “Have you actually seen it before?”

  Rude Ralph looked at the floor.

  “No,” admitted Ralph. “But everyone said they’d seen it and I didn’t want to be left out.”

  “Margaret’s a big fat liar too,” said Susan. “She never saw it either.”

  “Shut up, Susan!” shrieked Margaret.

  “Awhooooooo,” howled the werewolf.

  Horrid Henry was disgusted. He could make a much scarier movie. In fact…what was stopping him? Who better to make the scariest movie of all time than Henry? How hard could it be to make a movie? You just pointed a camera and yelled, “Action!” Then he’d be rich rich rich. He’d need a spare house just to stash all his cash. And he’d be famous too. Everyone would be begging for a role in one of his mega-horror blockbusters. Please can we be in your new monster movie? Mom and Dad and Peter would beg. Well, they could beg as long as they liked. He’d give them his autograph, but that would be it.

  Henry could see the poster now:

  “I could make a really scary movie,” said Henry.

  “Not as scary as the movie I could make,” said Margar
et.

  “Ha!” said Henry. “Your scary movie wouldn’t scare a toddler.”

  “Ha!” said Margaret. “Your scary movie would make a baby laugh.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Henry.

  “Yeah,” said Margaret.

  “Well, we’ll just see about that,” said Henry.

  Horrid Henry walked around his yard, clutching Mom’s camcorder.

  He could turn the yard into a swamp…flood a few flower beds…rip up the lawn and throw buckets of mud at the windows as the monster squelched his monstrous way through the undergrowth, growling and devouring, biting and—

  “Henry, can I be in your movie?” said Peter.

  “No,” said Henry. “I’m making a scary monster movie. No nappy babies.”

  “I am not a nappy baby,” said Peter.

  “Are too.”

  “Am not. Mom! Henry won’t let me be in his movie.”

  “Henry!” yelled Mom. “Let Peter be in your movie or you can’t borrow the camcorder.”

  Gah! Why did everyone always get in his way? How could Henry be a great director if other people told him who to put in his movie?

  “Okay, Peter,” said Henry, scowling. “You can be best boy.”

  Best boy! That sounded super. Wow. That was a lot better than Peter had hoped.

  “Best boy!” shouted Horrid Henry. “Get the snack table ready.”

  “Snack table?” said Peter.

  “Setting up the snack table is the most important part of making a movie,” said Henry. “So I want cookies and chips and Fizzywizz drinks—NOW!” he bellowed. “It’s hungry work making a movie.”

  Filmmaking next door at Moody Margaret’s house was also proceeding slowly.

  “How come I have to move the furniture?” asked Susan. “You said I could be in your movie.”

  “Because I’m the director,” said Margaret. “So I decide.”

  “Margaret, you can be the monster in my movie. No need for any make-up,” shouted Horrid Henry over the wall.

  “Shut up, Henry,” said Margaret. “Susan. Start walking down the path.”

  “BOOOOOOOOOOOO,” shouted Horrid Henry. “BOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

  “Cut!” yelled Margaret. “Quiet!” she screamed. “I’m making a movie here.”

  * * *

  “Peter, hold the flashlight and shine the spotlight on me,” ordered Henry.

  “Hold the flashlight?” said Peter.

  “It’s very important,” said Henry.

  “Mom said you had to let me be in your movie,” said Peter. “Or I’m telling on you.”

  Horrid Henry glared at Perfect Peter.

  Perfect Peter glared at Horrid Henry.

  “Mom!” screamed Peter.

  “Okay, you can be in the movie,” said Henry.

  “Stop being horrid, Henry,” shouted Mom. “Or you hand back that camera instantly.”

  “I’m not being horrid; that’s in the movie,” lied Henry.

  Perfect Peter opened his mouth and then closed it.

  “So what’s my part?” said Peter.

  * * *

  Perfect Peter stood on the bench in the front yard.

  “Now say your line, ‘I am too horrible to live,’ and jump off the bench into the crocodile-filled moat, where you are eaten alive and drown,” said Henry.

  “I don’t want to say that,” said Peter.

  Horrid Henry lowered the camera. “Do you want to be in the movie or don’t you?” he hissed.

  “I am too horrible to live,” muttered Peter.

  “Louder!” said Henry.

  “I am too horrible to live,” said Peter a fraction louder.

  “And as you drown, scream out, ‘and I have smelly pants,’” said Henry.

  “What?” said Peter.

  Tee-hee, thought Horrid Henry.

  “But how come you get to play all the other parts and dance and sing, and all I get to do is walk around going wooooooo?” said Susan sourly in next door’s yard.

  “Because it’s my movie,” said Margaret.

  “Keep it down, we’re filming here,” said Henry. “Now, Peter, you are walking down the garden path out into the street—”

  “I thought I’d just drowned,” said Peter.

  Henry rolled his eyes.

  “No, dummy, this is a horror movie. You rose from the dead, and now you’re walking down the path singing this song, just before the hairy scary monster leaps out of the bushes and rips you to shreds.

  “Wibble bibble dribble pants

  Bibble baby wibble pants

  Wibble pants wibble pants

  Dribble dribble dribble pants,”

  sang Horrid Henry.

  Perfect Peter hesitated. “But, Henry, why would my character sing that song?”

  Henry glared at Peter.

  “Because I’m the director and I say so,” said Henry.

  Perfect Peter’s lip trembled. He started walking.

  “Wibble bibble dribble pants

  Bibble baby wibble pants

  Wibble pants wib—”

  “I don’t want to!” came a screech from next door’s front yard.

  “Susan, you have to be covered up in a sheet,” said Margaret.

  “But no one will see my face and know it’s me,” said Susan.

  “Duh,” said Margaret. “You’re playing a ghost.”

  Sour Susan flung off the sheet.

  “Well I quit,” said Susan.

  “You’re fired!” shouted Margaret.

  “I don’t want to sing that dribble pants song,” said Peter.

  “Then you’re fired!” screamed Henry.

  “No!” screamed Perfect Peter. “I quit.” And he ran out of the front gate, shrieking and wailing.

  Wow, thought Horrid Henry. He chased after Peter, filming.

  “I’ve had it!” screamed Sour Susan. “I don’t want to be in your stupid movie!” She ran off down the road, shrieking and wailing.

  Margaret chased after her, filming.

  Cool, thought Horrid Henry, what a perfect end for his movie, the puny wimp running off terrified—

  BUMP!

  Susan and Peter collided and sprawled flat on the pavement.

  CRASH!

  Henry and Margaret tripped over the screaming Peter and Susan.

  SMASH!

  Horrid Henry dropped his camcorder.

  SMASH!

  Moody Margaret dropped her camcorder.

  OOPS.

  Horrid Henry stared down at the twisted broken metal as his monster movie lay shattered on the concrete path.

  WHOOPS.

  Moody Margaret stared down at the cracked camcorder as her Hollywood horror movie lay in pieces on the ground.

  “Henry!” hissed Margaret.

  “Margaret!” hissed Henry.

  “This is all your fault!” they wailed.

  “NOOOOOOOOO!” screamed Horrid Henry. “I don’t want to spend the weekend with Steve.”

  “Don’t be horrid, Henry,” said Mom. “It’s very kind of Aunt Ruby to invite us down for the weekend.”

  “But I hate Aunt Ruby!” shrieked Henry. “And I hate Steve and I hate you!”

  “I can’t wait to go,” said Perfect Peter.

  “Shut up, Peter!” howled Henry.

  “Don’t tell your brother to shut up,” shouted Mom.

  “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” And Horrid Henry fell to the floor wailing and screaming and kicking.

  Stuck-Up Steve was Horrid Henry’s hideous cousin. Steve hated Henry. Henry hated him. The last time Henry had seen Steve, Henry had tricked him into thinking there was
a monster under his bed. Steve had sworn revenge. Then there was the other time at the restaurant when…well, Horrid Henry thought it would be a good idea to avoid Steve until his cousin was grown-up and in prison for crimes against humanity.

  And now his mean, horrible parents were forcing him to spend a whole precious weekend with the toadiest, wormiest, smelliest boy who ever slimed out of a swamp.

  Mom sighed. “We’re going and that’s that. Ruby says Steve is having a lovely friend over so that should be extra fun.”

  Henry stopped screaming and kicking. Maybe Steve’s friend wouldn’t be a stuck-up monster. Maybe he’d been forced to waste his weekend with Steve too. After all, who’d volunteer to spend time with Steve? Maybe together they could squish Stuck-Up Steve once and for all.

  Ding dong.

  Horrid Henry, Perfect Peter, Mom, and Dad stood outside Rich Aunt Ruby’s enormous house on a gray, drizzly day. Steve opened the massive front door.

  “Oh,” he sneered. “It’s you.”

  Steve opened the present Mom had brought. It was a small flashlight. Steve put it down.

  “I already have a much better one,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Mom.

  Another boy stood beside him. A boy who looked vaguely familiar. A boy…Horrid Henry gasped. Oh no. It was Bill. Bossy Bill. The horrible son of Dad’s boss. Henry had once tricked Bill into photocopying his bottom. Bill had sworn revenge. Horrid Henry’s insides turned to jelly. Trust Stuck-Up Steve to be friends with Bossy Bill. It was bad enough being trapped in a house with one archenemy. Now he was stuck in a house with two…

  Stuck-Up Steve scowled at Henry. “You’re wearing that old shirt of mine,” he said. “Don’t your parents ever buy you new clothes?”

  Bossy Bill snorted.

  “Steve,” said Aunt Ruby. “Don’t be rude.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Steve. “I was just asking. No harm in asking, is there?”

  “No,” said Horrid Henry. He smiled at Steve. “So when will Aunt Ruby buy you a new face?”