Horrid Henry's Monster Movie

by Francesca Simon

  “Henry,” said Mom. “Don’t be rude.”

  “I was just asking,” said Henry. “No harm in asking, is there?” he added, glaring at Steve.

  Steve glared back.

  Aunt Ruby beamed. “Henry, Steve and Bill are taking you to their friend Tim’s paintballing party.”

  “Won’t that be fun,” said Mom.

  Peter looked frightened.

  “Don’t worry, Peter,” said Aunt Ruby, “you can help me plant seedlings while the older boys are out.”

  Peter beamed. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t like paintballing. Too messy and scary.”

  Paintballing! Horrid Henry loved paintballing. The chance to splat Steve and Bill with ooey gooey globs of paint…hmmm, maybe the weekend was looking up.

  “Great!” said Horrid Henry.

  “How nice,” said Rich Aunt Ruby, “you boys already know each other. Think how much fun you’re all going to have sharing Steve’s bedroom together.”

  Uh-oh, thought Horrid Henry.

  “Yeah!” said Stuck-Up Steve. “We’re looking forward to sharing a room with Henry.” His piggy eyes gleamed.

  “Yeah!” said Bossy Bill. “I can’t wait.” His piggy eyes gleamed.

  “Yeah,” said Horrid Henry. He wouldn’t be sleeping a wink.

  Horrid Henry looked around the enormous high-ceilinged bedroom he’d be sharing with his two evil enemies for two very long days and one very long night. There was a bunk bed, which Steve and Bill had already nabbed, and two single beds. Steve’s bedroom shelves were stuffed with zillions of new toys and games, as usual.

  Bill and Steve smirked at each other. Henry scowled at them. What were they plotting?

  “Don’t you dare touch my Super-Blooper Blaster,” said Steve.

  “Don’t you dare touch my Demon Dagger Saber,” said Bill.

  A Super-Blooper Blaster! A Demon Dagger Saber! Trust Bill and Steve to have the two best toys in the world…Rats.

  “Don’t worry,” said Henry. “I don’t play with baby toys.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Stuck-Up Steve. “Bet you’re too much of a baby to jump off my top bunk onto your bed.”

  “Am not,” said Henry.

  “We’re not allowed to jump on beds,” said Perfect Peter.

  “We’re not allowed,” mimicked Steve. “I thought you were too poor to even have beds.”

  “Ha ha,” said Henry.

  “Chicken. Chicken. Scaredy-cat,” sneered Bossy Bill.

  “Squawk!” said Stuck-Up Steve. “I knew you’d be too scared, chicken.”

  That did it. No one called Horrid Henry chicken and lived. As if he, Henry, leader of a pirate gang, would be afraid to jump off a top bunk. Ha.

  “Don’t do it, Henry,” said Perfect Peter.

  “Shut up, worm,” said Henry.

  “But it’s so high,” squealed Peter, squeezing his eyes shut.

  Horrid Henry clambered up the ladder and stepped onto the top bunk. “It’s nothing,” he lied. “I’ve jumped off much higher.”

  “Well, go on then,” said Stuck-Up Steve.

  Boing! Horrid Henry bounced.

  Boing! Horrid Henry bounced higher. Whee! This bed was very springy.

  “We’re waiting, chicken,” said Bossy Bill.

  BOING! BOING! Horrid Henry bent his knees, then—leap! He jumped onto the single bed below.

  SMASH!

  Horrid Henry crashed to the floor as the bed collapsed beneath him.

  Huh? What? How could he have broken the bed? He hadn’t heard any breaking sounds. It was as if…as if…

  Mom, Dad, and Aunt Ruby ran into the room.

  “Henry broke the bed,” said Stuck-Up Steve.

  “We tried to stop him,” said Bossy Bill, “but Henry insisted on jumping.”

  “But…but…” said Horrid Henry.

  “Henry!” wailed Mom. “You horrid boy.”

  “How could you be so horrid?” said Dad. “No allowance for a year. Ruby, I’m so sorry.”

  Aunt Ruby pursed her lips. “These things happen,” she said.

  “And no paintballing party for you,” said Mom.

  What?

  “No!” wailed Henry.

  Then Horrid Henry saw a horrible sight. Behind Aunt Ruby’s back, Steve and Bill were covering their mouths and laughing. Henry realized the terrible truth. Bill and Steve had tricked him. They’d broken the bed. And now he’d gotten the blame.

  “But I didn’t break it!” screamed Henry.

  “Yes you did, Henry,” said Peter. “I saw you.”

  AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH! Horrid Henry leaped at Peter. He was a storm god hurling thunderbolts at a foolish mortal.

  “AAAIIIEEEEEE!” squealed Perfect Peter.

  “Henry! Stop it!” shrieked Mom. “Leave your brother alone.”

  Nah nah ne nah nah mouthed Steve behind Aunt Ruby’s back.

  “Isn’t it lovely how nicely the boys are playing together?” said Aunt Ruby.

  “Yes, isn’t it?” said Mom.

  “Not surprising,” said Aunt Ruby, beaming. “After all, Steve is such a polite, friendly boy, I’ve never met anyone who didn’t love him.”

  Snore! Snore! Snore!

  Horrid Henry lay on a mattress listening to hideous snoring sounds. He’d stayed awake for hours, just in case they tried anything horrible, like pouring water on his head, or stuffing frogs in his bed. Which was what he was going to do to Peter, the moment he got home.

  Henry had just spent the most horrible Saturday of his life. He’d begged to go to the paintballing party. He’d pleaded to go to the paintballing party. He’d screamed about going to the paintballing party. But no. His mean, horrible parents wouldn’t budge. And it was all Steve and Bill’s fault. They’d tripped him going down the stairs.

  They’d kicked him under the table at lunch (and then complained that he was kicking them). And every time Aunt Ruby’s back was turned they stuck out their tongues and jeered: “We’re going paintballing and you’re not.”

  He had to get to that party. And he had to be revenged. But how? How? His two archenemies had banded together and struck the first blow. Could he booby-trap their beds and remove a few slats? Unfortunately, everyone would know he’d done it and he’d be in even more trouble than he was now.

  Scare them? Tell them there was a monster under the bed? Hmmm. He knew Steve was as big a scaredy-cat as Peter. But he’d already done that once. He didn’t think Steve would fall for it again.

  Get them into trouble? Turn them against each other? Steal their best toys and hide them? Hmmm. Hmmm. Horrid Henry thought and thought. He had to be revenged. He had to.

  Tweet tweet. It was Sunday morning. The birds were singing. The sun was shining. The—

  Yank!

  Bossy Bill and Stuck-Up Steve pulled off his blanket.

  “Nah na ne nah nah, we-ee beat you,” crowed Bill.

  “Nah na ne nah nah, we got you into trouble,” crowed Steve.

  Horrid Henry scowled. Time to put Operation Revenge into action.

  “Bill thinks you’re bossy, Steve,” said Henry. “He told me.”

  “Did not,” said Bossy Bill.

  “And Steve thinks you’re stuck-up, Bill,” added Henry sweetly.

  “No, I don’t,” said Steve.

  “Then why’d you tell me that?” said Horrid Henry.

  Steve stuck his nose in the air. “Nice try, Henry, you big loser,” said Stuck-Up Steve. “Just ignore him, Bill.”

  “Henry, it’s not nice to tell lies,” said Perfect Peter.

  “Shut up, worm,” snarled Horrid Henry.

  Rats.

  Time for plan B.

  Except he didn’t h
ave a plan B.

  “I can’t wait for Tim’s party,” said Bossy Bill. “You never know what’s going to happen.”

  “Yeah, remember when he told us he was having a pirate party and instead we went to the Wild West Theme Park!” said Steve.

  “Or when he said we were having a sleepover, and instead we all went to a Manic Buzzards concert.”

  “And Tim gives the best party bags. Last year everyone got a Deluxe Demon Dagger Saber,” said Steve. “Wonder what he’ll give this year? Oh, I forgot, Henry won’t be coming to the party.”

  “Too bad you can’t come, Henry,” sneered Bossy Bill.

  “Yeah, too bad,” sneered Stuck-Up Steve. “Not.”

  ARRRRGGGHH. Horrid Henry’s blood boiled. He couldn’t decide what was worse, listening to them crow about having gotten him into so much trouble or brag about the great party they were going to and he wasn’t.

  “I can’t wait to find out what surprises he’ll have in store this year,” said Bill.

  “Yeah,” said Steve.

  Who cares? thought Horrid Henry. Unless Tim was planning to throw Bill and Steve into a shark tank. That would be a nice surprise. Unless of course…

  And then suddenly Horrid Henry had a brilliant, spectacular idea. It was so brilliant and so spectacular, that for a moment he wondered whether he could stop himself from flinging open the window and shouting his plan out loud. Oh wow. Oh wow. It was risky. It was dangerous. But if it worked, he would have the best revenge ever in the history of the world. No, the history of the solar system. No, the history of the universe!

  It was an hour before the party. Horrid Henry was counting the seconds until he could escape.

  Aunt Ruby popped her head around the door waving an envelope.

  “Letter for you boys,” she said.

  Steve snatched it and tore it open.

  “He must be planning something amazing,” said Bill.

  “I bet we’re all going to be acting in a movie!” said Steve.

  “Yeah!” said Bill.

  “Too bad you won’t, Henry,” said Stuck-Up Steve.

  “You’re so lucky,” said Henry. “I wish I were going.”

  Mom looked at Dad.

  Dad looked at Mom.

  Henry held his breath.

  “Well, you can’t, Henry, and that’s final,” said Mom.

  “It’s so unfair!” shrieked Henry.

  Henry’s parents dropped Steve and Bill off at Tim’s party on their way home. Steve was in his blue bunny pajamas and blue bunny fluffy slippers and clutching a panda.

  Bill was in his yellow duckling pajamas and yellow duckling fluffy slippers and clutching his monkey.

  “Shame you can’t come, Henry,” said Steve, smirking. “But we’ll be sure to tell you all about it.”

  “Do,” said Henry as Mom drove off.

  Horrid Henry heard squeals of laughter at Hoity-Toity Tim’s front door. Bill and Steve stood frozen. Then they started to wave frantically at the car.

  “Are they saying something?” said Mom, glancing in the rearview mirror.

  “Nah, just waving good-bye,” said Horrid Henry. He rolled down his window.

  “Have fun, guys!”

  “I’ve been so good!” shrieked Horrid Henry. “Why can’t I have a grump card?”

  “You have not been good,” said Mom.

  “You’ve been awful,” said Dad.

  “No, I haven’t,” said Henry.

  Mom sighed. “Just today you pinched Peter and called him names. You pushed him off the comfy black chair. You screamed. You wouldn’t eat your sprouts. You—”

  “Aside from that,” said Horrid Henry. “I’ve been so good. I deserve a grump card.”

  “Henry,” said Dad. “You know we only give grump cards for exceptionally good behavior.”

  “But I never get one!” howled Henry.

  Mom and Dad looked at each other.

  “And why do you think that is?” said Mom.

  “Because you’re mean and unfair and the worst parents in the world!” screamed Horrid Henry.

  What other reason could there be?

  A grump card was precious beyond gold and silver and rubies and diamonds. If Mom or Dad thought you’d behaved totally spectacularly above and beyond the call of duty they gave you a grump card. A grump card meant that you could erase any future punishment. A grump card was a glittering, golden, get-out-of-jail-free ticket.

  Horrid Henry had never had a grump card. Just think, if he had even one…if Dad was in the middle of telling him off, or banning him from the computer for a week, all Henry had to do was hand him a grump card, and, like magic, the telling off would end, the punishment would be erased, and Henry would be back on the computer zapping baddies.

  Horrid Henry longed for a grump card. But how could he ever get one? Even Peter, who was always perfect, only had seven. And he’d never even used a single one. What a waste. What a total waste.

  Imagine what he could do if he had a grump card…He could scoff every sweet and cookie and treat in the house. He could forget all about homework and watch TV instead. And best of all, if Dad ever tried to ban him from the computer or Mom shouted that he’d lost his allowance for a month, all Henry had to do was produce the magic card.

  What bliss.

  What heaven.

  What joy.

  But how could Henry get a grump card? How? How?

  Could he behave totally exceptionally above and beyond the call of duty? Horrid Henry considered. Nah. That was impossible. He’d once spent a whole day being perfect, and even then had ended up being sent to his room.

  So how else to get a grump card?

  Steal one? Hmmm. Tempting. Very tempting. He could sneak into Peter’s room, snatch a grump card or two, then sneak out again. He could even substitute a fake grump card at the bottom in case Peter noticed his stash was smaller. But then Peter would be sure to tell on him when Henry produced the golden ticket to freedom, and Mom and Dad would be so mad they’d probably double his punishment and ban him from the computer for life.

  Or he could kidnap Fluff Puff, Peter’s favorite plastic sheep, and hold him for ransom. Yes! And then when Peter had ransomed him back, Henry could steal him again. And again. Until all Peter’s grump cards were his. Yes! He was brilliant. He was a genius. Why had he never thought of this before?

  Except…if Peter told on him, Henry had a horrible feeling that he would get into trouble. Big, big trouble that not even a grump card could get him out of.

  Time to think again. Could he swap something for one? What did Henry have that Peter wanted? Comics? No. Chips? No. Killer Boy Rats CDs? No way.

  Henry sighed. Maybe he could buy one from Peter. Unfortunately, Horrid Henry never had any money. Whatever pitiful allowance he ever had always seemed to vanish through his fingers. Besides, who’d want to give that wormy worm a penny?

  Better yet, could Henry trick Peter into giving him one? Yeah! They could play a great game called Learn to Share. Henry could tell Peter to give him half his grump cards as Peter needed to learn to stop being such a selfish hog. It could work…

  There was a snuffling sound, like a pig rustling for truffles, and Perfect Peter stuck his head around the door.

  “What are you doing, Henry?” asked Peter.

  “None of your business, worm,” said Horrid Henry.

  “Want to play with me?” said Peter.

  “No,” said Henry. Peter was always nagging Henry to play with him. But when Henry had played Robot and Mad Professor with him, for some reason Peter hadn’t enjoyed giving Henry all his candy and money and doing all Henry’s chores for him.

  “We could play checkers…or Scrabble?” said Peter.

  “N-O spells no,” sa
id Henry. “Now get out of—” Horrid Henry paused. Wait a minute. Wait a minute…

  “How much will you pay me?” said Horrid Henry.

  Perfect Peter stared at Henry.

  “Pay you? Pay you to play with me?”

  “Yeah,” said Henry.

  Perfect Peter considered.

  “How much?” said Peter slowly.

  “One dollar a minute,” said Henry.

  “One dollar a minute!” said Peter.

  “It’s a good offer, toad,” said Henry.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Peter.

  “What, you think it should be two dollars a minute?” said Henry. “Okay.”

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

  “Tell what, worm? That I made you a perfectly good offer? No one’s forcing you.”

  Perfect Peter paused. Henry was right. He could just say no.

  “Or…” said Horrid Henry. “You could pay me in grump cards.”

  “Grump cards?” said Peter.

  “After all, you have tons and you never use them,” said Henry. “You could spare one or two or four and never notice…and you’ll refill your stash in no time.”

  It was true that he didn’t really need his grump cards, thought Peter. And it would be so nice to play a game…

  “Okay,” said Peter.

  YES! thought Horrid Henry. What a genius he was.

  “I charge one grump card a minute.”

  “No,” said Peter. “Grump cards are valuable.”

  Horrid Henry sighed.

  “Tell you what, because I’m such a nice brother, I will play you a game of Scra…Scrab…” Horrid Henry could barely bring himself to even say the word Scrabble…“for two grump cards. And a game of checkers for two more.”

  “And a stuffed animal tea party?” said Peter.