“So?” said Margaret. “This is my house and we play by my rules.”
“Yeah, Henry,” said Sour Susan.
“And I love playing school,” said Perfect Peter. “It’s such fun doing math.”
Grrr. If only Henry could just go home. “I want a good report,” Mom had said, “or you won’t be going to Dave’s bowling party tonight. It’s very kind of Margaret and her mom to have you boys over to play.”
“But I don’t want to go to Margaret’s!” howled Henry. “I want to stay home and watch TV!”
“N-O spells no,” said Mom, and sent him kicking and screaming next door. “You can come home at five o’clock to get ready for Dave’s party and not a minute before.”
Horrid Henry gazed longingly over the wall. His house looked so inviting. There was his bedroom window, twinkling at him. And his lonesome TV, stuck all by itself in the living room, just begging him to come over and turn it on. And all his wonderful toys, just waiting to be played with. Funny, thought Horrid Henry, his toys seemed so boring when he was in his room. But now that he was trapped at Margaret’s, there was so much he longed to do at home.
Wait. He could hide out in his fort until five. Yes! Then he’d stroll into his house as if he’d been at Margaret’s all day. But then Margaret’s mom would be sure to call his mom to say that Henry had vanished and Henry would get into trouble. Big, big trouble. Big, big, banned from Dave’s party trouble.
Or, he’d pretend to be sick. Margaret’s mom was such an old fusspot she’d be sure to send him home immediately. Yippee. He was a genius. This would be easy. A few loud coughs, a few dramatic clutches at his stomach, a dash to the bathroom, and he’d be sent straight home and…oops. He’d be put to bed. No party. No pizza. No bowling. And what was the point of pretending to be sick on the weekend? He was trapped.
Moody Margaret whacked her ruler on the table.
“I want everyone to write a story,” said Margaret.
Write a story! Boy would Horrid Henry write a story. He seized a piece of paper and a pencil and scribbled away.
“Who’d like to read their story to the class?” said Margaret.
“I will,” said Henry.
Once upon a time there was a moody old grouch named Margaret. Margaret had been born a frog but an ugly wizard cursed the frog and turned it into Margaret.
“That’s enough, Henry,” snapped Margaret. Henry ignored her.
“Ribbet ribbet,” said Margaret Frog. “Ribbet ribbet ribbet.” Everyone in the kingdom tried to get rid of this horrible croaking moody monster. But she smelled so awful that no one could get near her. And then one day a hero named Heroic Henry came, and he held his nose, grabbed the Margaret Monster and hurled her into outer space where she exploded and was never seen again.
THE END
Susan giggled. Margaret glared.
“F,” said Margaret.
“Why?” said Horrid Henry innocently.
“’Cause,” said Margaret. “I’m the teacher and I say it was boring.”
“Did you think my story was boring, Peter?” demanded Henry.
Peter looked nervous.
“Did you?” said Margaret.
“Well, uhm, uhmm, I think mine is better,” said Peter.
Once upon a time there was a dish towel named Terry. He was a very sad dish towel because he didn’t have any dishes to dry. One day he found a lot of wet dishes. Swish swish swish, they were dry in no time. “Yippee”, said Terry the Towel, “I wonder when–”
“Boring!” shouted Horrid Henry.
“Excellent, Peter,” said Moody Margaret. “Much better than Henry’s.”
Susan read a story about her cat.
My cat Kitty Kat is a big fat cat. She says meow. One day Kitty Kat met a dog. Meow, said Kitty Kat. Woof woof, said the dog. Kitty Kat ran away. So did the dog. The end.
“OK class, here are your scores,” said Margaret. “Peter came in first.”
“Yay!” said Perfect Peter.
“What?” said Susan. “My story was way better than his.”
“Susan came in second, Henry came in ninth.”
“How can I be ninth if there are only three people in the class?” demanded Horrid Henry.
“’Cause that’s how bad your story was,” said Margaret. “Now, I’ve made some worksheets for you. No talking or there’ll be no break.”
“Goody,” said Perfect Peter. “I love worksheets. Are there lots of hard spelling words to learn?”
Horrid Henry had had enough. It was time to turn into Heroic Henry and destroy this horrible hag.
Henry crumpled up his worksheet and stood up.
“I’ve just been pretending to be a student,” shouted Henry. “In fact, I’m a school inspector. And I’m shutting your school down. It’s a disgrace.”
Margaret gasped.
“You’re a moody old grouch and you’re a terrible teacher,” said the inspector.
“I am not,” said Margaret.
“She is not,” said Susan.
“Silence when the inspector is speaking! You’re the worst teacher I’ve ever seen. Imagine grading a stupid story about a tea towel higher than a fantastic tale about a wicked wizard.”
“I’m the principal,” said Margaret. “You can’t boss me around.”
“I’m the inspector,” said Henry. “I can boss everyone around.”
“Wrong, Henry,” said Margaret, “because I’m the chief school inspector, and I’m inspecting you.”
“Oh no you’re not,” said Henry.
“Oh yes I am,” said Margaret.
“An inspector can’t be a principal and a teacher, so there,” said Henry.
“Oh yes I can,” said Margaret.
“No you can’t, ’cause I’m king and I sentence you to the Tower!” shrieked King Henry the Horrible.
“I’m the empress!” screamed Margaret. “Go to jail.”
“I’m king of the universe, and I’m sending you to the snakepit,” shrieked Henry.
“I’m queen of the universe and I’m going to chop off your head!”
“Not if I chop off yours first!” shrieked the king, yanking on the queen’s hair.
The queen screamed and kicked the king.
The king screamed and kicked the queen.
“MOM!” screamed Margaret.
Margaret’s mother rushed into the Secret Club tent.
“What’s wrong with my little snugglechops?” said Margaret’s mom.
“Henry’s not playing my game,” said Margaret. “And he kicked me.”
“She kicked me first,” said Henry.
“If you children can’t play nicely I’ll have to send you all home,” said Margaret’s mother severely.
“No!” said Peter.
Send him…home. Yes! Henry would make Margaret scream until the walls fell down. He would tell Margaret’s mom her house smelled of pooh. He could… he would…
But if Henry was sent home for being horrid, Mom and Dad would be furious. There’d be no pizza and bowling party for sure.
Unless…unless…It was risky. It was dangerous. It could go horribly, horribly wrong. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Need a drink,” said Henry, and ran out of the tent before Margaret could stop him.
Henry went into the kitchen to find Margaret’s mom.
“I’m worried about Margaret, I think she’s getting sick,” said Henry.
“My little Maggie-muffin?” gasped Margaret’s mom.
“She’s being very strange,” said Henry sadly. “She said she’s the queen of the world and she would cut off my head.”
“Margaret would never say such a thing,” said her Mom. “She always plays beautifully. I’ve never seen a child so good at sharing.”
Horrid Henry nodd
ed. “I know. It must be ’cause she’s sick. Maybe she caught something from Peter.”
“Has Peter been ill?” said Margaret’s mom. She looked pale.
“Oh yeah,” lied Henry. “He’s been throwing up, and—and—well, it’s been awful. But I’m sure he’s not very contagious.”
“Throwing up?” said Margaret’s mom weakly.
“And diarrhea,” said Henry. “Tons and tons.”
Margaret’s mother looked ashen.
“Diarrhea?”
“But he’s much better now,” said Henry. “He’s only run to the bathroom five times since we’ve been here.”
Margaret’s mother looked faint. “My little Margaret is so delicate…I can’t risk…” she gasped. “I think you and Peter had better go home right away. Margaret! Margaret! Come in at once,” she shouted.
Horrid Henry did not wait to be told twice. School was out!
Ahhhh, thought Horrid Henry happily, reaching for the TV remote, this was the life. Margaret had been sent to bed. He and Peter had been sent home. There was enough time to watch Marvin the Maniac and Terminator Gladiator before Dave’s party.
“I can’t help it that Margaret wasn’t feeling well, Mom,” said Horrid Henry. “I just hope I haven’t caught anything from her.”
Honestly.
Mom was so selfish.
“Now, let’s see,” said Mom, consulting her list, “we need pirate flags, chocolate coins, swords, treasure chests, eyepatches, skull and crossbones plates. Have I missed anything?”
Horrid Henry stopped chewing. Wow! For once, Mom was talking about something important. His Purple Hand Pirate party wasn’t till next month, but it was never too soon to start getting in supplies for the birthday party of the year. No, the century.
But wait. Mom had forgotten cutlasses. They were essential for the gigantic pirate battle Henry was planning. And what about all the ketchup for fake blood? And where were the buckets of sweets?
Horrid Henry opened his mouth to speak.
“That sounds great, Mom,” piped Perfect Peter. “But don’t forget the pirate napkins.”
“Napkins. Check,” said Mom, smiling.
Huh?
“I don’t want napkins at my party,” said Horrid Henry.
“This isn’t for your party,” said Mom. “It’s for Peter’s.”
WHAT???
“What do you mean, it’s for Peter’s?” gasped Horrid Henry. He felt as if an icy hand had gripped him by the throat. He was having trouble breathing.
“Peter’s birthday is next week, and he’s having a pirate party,” said Mom.
Perfect Peter kept eating his oatmeal.
“But he’s having a Sammy the Snail party,” said Horrid Henry, glaring at Peter.
“I changed my mind,” said Perfect Peter.
“But pirates was my party idea!” shrieked Horrid Henry. “I’ve been planning it for months. You’re just a copycat.”
“You don’t own pirates,” said Peter. “Gordon had a pirate party for his birthday. So I want pirates for mine.”
“Henry, you can still have a pirate party,” said Dad.
“NOOOOOO!” screamed Horrid Henry. He couldn’t have a pirate party after Peter. Everyone would think he’d copied his wormy toad brother.
Henry pounced. He was a poisoned arrow whizzing toward its target.
THUD! Peter fell off his chair.
SMASH! Peter’s oatmeal bowl crashed to the floor.
“AAAEEEIIIII!” screeched Perfect Peter.
“Look what you’ve done, you horrid boy!” yelled Mom. “Say sorry to Peter.”
“WAAAAAAAAAAA!” sobbed Peter.
“I won’t!” said Horrid Henry. “I’m not sorry. He stole my party idea, and I hate him.”
“Then go to your room and stay there,” said Dad.
“It’s not fair!” wailed Horrid Henry.
“What shall we do with the drunken sailor? What shall we do with the drunken sailor?” sang Perfect Peter as he walked past Henry’s slammed bedroom door.
“Make him walk the plank!” screamed Horrid Henry. “Which is what will happen to you if you don’t SHUT UP!”
“Mom! Henry told me to shut up,” yelled Peter.
“Henry! Leave your brother alone,” said Mom.
“You’re the oldest. Can’t you be grown-up for once and let him have his party in peace?” said Dad.
NO! thought Horrid Henry. He could not. He had to stop Peter having a pirate party. He just had to.
But how?
He could bribe Peter. But that would cost money that Henry didn’t have. He could promise to be nice to him… No way. That was going too far. That little copycat worm did not deserve Henry’s niceness.
Maybe he could trick him into abandoning his party idea. Hmmmm. Henry smiled. Hmmmmm.
Horrid Henry opened Peter’s bedroom door and sauntered in. Perfect Peter was busy writing names on his YO HO HO pirate invitations. The same ones, Henry noticed, that he’d been planning to send, with the peg-legged pirate swirling his cutlass and looking like he was about to leap out at you.
“You’re supposed to be in your room,” said Peter. “I’m telling on you.”
“You know, Peter, I’m glad you’re having a pirate party,” said Henry.
Peter paused.
“You are?” said Peter cautiously.
“Yeah,” said Horrid Henry. “It means you’ll get the pirate cannibal curse and I won’t.”
“There’s no such thing as a pirate cannibal curse,” said Peter.
“Fine,” said Horrid Henry. “Just don’t blame me when you end up as a shrunken head dangling around a cannibal’s neck.”
Henry’s such a liar, thought Peter. He’s just trying to scare me.
“Gordon had a pirate party, and he didn’t turn into a shrunken head,” said Peter.
Henry sighed.
“Of course not, because his name doesn’t start with P. The cannibal pirate who made the curse was named Blood Boil Bob. Look, that’s him on the invitations,” said Henry.
Peter glanced at the pirate. Was it his imagination, or did Blood Boil Bob have an especially mean and hungry look? Peter put down his crayon.
“He had a hateful younger brother named Paul, who became Blood Boil Bob’s first shrunken head,” said Henry. “Since then, the cannibal curse has passed down to anyone else whose name starts with P.”
“I don’t believe you, Henry,” said Peter. He was sure Henry was trying to trick him. Lots of his friends had had pirate parties, and none of them had turned into a shrunken head.
On the other hand, none of his friends had names that began with P.
“How does the curse happen?” said Peter slowly.
Horrid Henry looked around. Then, putting a finger to his lips, he crept over to Peter’s wardrobe and flung it open. Peter jumped.
“Just checking Blood Boil Bob’s not in there,” whispered Henry. “Now keep your voice down. Remember, dressing up as pirates, singing pirate songs, talking about treasure, wakes up the pirate cannibal. Sometimes—if you’re lucky—he just steals all the treasure. Other times he… POUNCES,” shrieked Henry.
Peter turned pale.
“Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me,” sang Horrid Henry. “Yo ho—whoops, sorry, better not sing, in case he turns up.”
“MOOOMMM!” wailed Peter. “Henry’s trying to scare me!”
“What’s going on?” said Mom.
“Henry said I’m going to turn into a shrunken head if I have a pirate party.”
“Henry, don’t be horrid,” said Mom, glaring. “Peter, there’s no such thing.”
“Told you, Henry,” said Perfect Peter.
“If I were you I’d have a Sammy the Slug party,” said Horrid Henry.
“Samm
y the Snail,” said Peter. “I’m having a pirate party and you can’t stop me. So there.”
Rats, thought Horrid Henry. How could he make Peter change his mind?
“Don’t dooooooo it, Peter,” Henry howled spookily under Peter’s door every night. “Beware! Beware!”
“Stop it, Henry!” screamed Peter.
“You’ll be sorry,” Horrid Henry scrawled all over Peter’s homework.
“Remember the cannibal curse,” Henry whispered over supper the night before the party.
“Henry, leave your brother alone or you won’t be coming to the party,” said Mom.
What? Miss out on chocolate coins? Henry scowled. That was the least he was owed.
It was so unfair. Why did Peter have to wreck everything?
***
It was Peter’s birthday party. Mom and Dad hung two huge skull and crossbones pirate flags outside the house. The exact ones, Horrid Henry noted bitterly, that he had planned for his birthday party. The cutlasses had been decorated and the galleon cake eaten. All that remained was for Peter’s horrible guests, Tidy Ted, Spotless Sam, Goody-Goody Gordon, Perky Parveen, Helpful Hari, Tell-Tale Tim, and Mini Minnie to go on the treasure hunt.
“Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me,” sang Horrid Henry. He was wearing his pirate skull scarf, his eyepatch, and his huge black skull and crossbones hat. His bloody cutlass gleamed.
“Don’t sing that,” said Peter.
“Why not, baby?” said Henry.
“You know why,” muttered Peter.
“I warned you about Blood Boil Bob, but you wouldn’t listen,” hissed Henry, “and now—” he drew his hand across his throat. “Hey everyone, let’s play pin the tail on Peter.”
“MOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!” wailed Peter.
“Behave yourself, Henry,” muttered Mom, “or you won’t be coming on the treasure hunt.”
Horrid Henry Robs the Bank Page 2
