“You know you want to do the right thing,” said Henry.
Peter did want to do the right thing.
“Okay, Henry,” said Peter. “You can have the purple dinosaur. I’ll have the green one.”
YES!!!
Slowly Perfect Peter crawled under his desk and picked up the purple dinosaur.
“Good boy, Peter,” said his angel.
“Idiot,” said his devil.
Slowly Peter held out the dinosaur to Henry. Henry grabbed it…
Wait. Was he crazy? Why should he swap with Henry? Henry was only trying to trick him…
“Give it back!” yelled Peter.
“No!” said Henry.
Peter tugged on the dinosaur’s legs.
Henry tugged on the dinosaur’s head.
“Gimme!”
“Gimme!”
Tug
Tug
Yank
Yank
Snaaaaap.
Riiiiiiip.
Horrid Henry looked at the twisted purple dinosaur head in his hands.
Perfect Peter looked at the broken purple dinosaur claw in his hands.
“I want the green dinosaur!” shrieked Henry and Peter.
“No, no, no, no, no!” shouted Miss Battle-Axe. “Spitting is not a talent, Graham. Violet, you can’t do the cancan as your talent. Ralph, burping to the beat is not a talent.”
She turned to Bert. “What’s your talent?”
“I dunno,” said Beefy Bert.
“And what about you, Steven?” said Miss Battle-Axe grimly.
“Caveman,” grunted Stone-Age Steven. “Ugg!”
Horrid Henry had had enough.
“Me next!” shrieked Horrid Henry. “I’ve got a great talent! Me next!”
“Me!” shrieked Moody Margaret.
“Me!” shrieked Rude Ralph.
“No one who shouts out will be performing anything,” said Miss Battle-Axe.
Next week was Horrid Henry’s school talent show. But this wasn’t an ordinary school talent show. Oh no. This year was different. This year, the famous TV presenter Sneering Simone was choosing the winner.
But best and most fantastic of all, the prize was a chance to appear on Simone’s TV show, Talent Tigers. And from there…well, there was no end to the fame and fortune that awaited the winner.
Horrid Henry had to win. He just had to. A chance to be on TV! A chance for his genius to be recognized, at last.
The only problem was, he had so many talents it was impossible to pick just one. He could eat chips faster than Greedy Graham. He could burp to the theme tune of Marvin the Maniac. He could stick out his tongue almost as far as Moody Margaret.
But brilliant as these talents were, perhaps they weren’t quite special enough to win. Hmmmm…
Wait, he had it.
He could perform his new rap, “I have an ugly brother, ick ick ick/A smelly toad brother, who makes me sick.” That would be sure to get him on Talent Tigers.
“Margaret!” barked Miss Battle-Axe, “what’s your talent?”
“Susan and I are doing a rap,” said Moody Margaret.
What?
“I’m doing a rap,” howled Henry. How dare Margaret steal his idea!
“Only one person can do a rap,” said Miss Battle-Axe firmly.
“Unfair!” shrieked Horrid Henry.
“Be quiet, Henry,” said Miss Battle-Axe.
Moody Margaret stuck out her tongue at Horrid Henry. “Nah nah ne nah nah.”
Horrid Henry stuck out his tongue at Moody Margaret. Aaaarrgh! It was so unfair.
“I’m doing a hundred push-ups,” said Aerobic Al.
“I’m playing the drums,” said Jazzy Jim.
“I want to do a rap!” howled Horrid Henry. “Mine’s much better than hers!”
“You have to do something else or not take part,” said Miss Battle-Axe, consulting her list.
Not take part? Was Miss Battle-Axe out of her mind? Had all those years working on a chain gang done her in?
Miss Battle-Axe stood in front of Henry, baring her fangs. Her pen tapped impatiently on her notebook.
“Last chance, Henry. List closes in ten seconds…”
What to do, what to do?
“I’ll do magic,” said Horrid Henry. How hard could it be to do some magic? He wasn’t a master of disguise and the fearless leader of the Purple Hand Gang for nothing. In fact, not only would he do magic, he would do the greatest magic trick the world had ever seen. No rabbits out of a hat. No flowers out of a cane. No sawing a girl in half—though if Margaret volunteered Henry would be very happy to oblige.
No! He, Henry, Il Stupendioso, the greatest magician ever, would…would…he would wake the dead.
Wow. That was much cooler than a rap. He could see it now. He would chant his magic spells and wave his magic wand, until slowly, slowly, slowly, out of the coffin the bony body would rise, sending the audience screaming out of the hall!
Yes! thought Horrid Henry, Talent Tigers here I come. All he needed was an assistant.
Unfortunately, no one in his class wanted to assist him.
“Are you crazy?” said Gorgeous Gurinder.
“I’ve got a much better talent than that. No way,” said Clever Clare.
“Wake the dead?” gasped Weepy William. “Nooooo.”
Rats, thought Horrid Henry. For his spectacular trick to work, an assistant was essential. Henry hated working with other children, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Was there anyone he knew who would do exactly as they were told? Someone who would obey his every order? Hmmm. Perhaps there was a certain someone who would even pay for the privilege of being in his show.
Perfect Peter was busy emptying the dishwasher without being asked.
“Peter,” said Henry sweetly, “how much would you pay me if I let you be in my magic show?”
Perfect Peter couldn’t believe his ears. Henry was asking him to be in his show. Peter had always wanted to be in a show. And now Henry was actually asking him after he’d said no a million times. It was a dream come true. He’d pay anything.
“I’ve got $6.27 in my piggy bank,” said Peter eagerly.
Horrid Henry pretended to think.
“Done!” said Horrid Henry. “You can start by painting the coffin black.”
“Thank you, Henry,” said Peter humbly, handing over the money.
Tee-hee, thought Horrid Henry, pocketing the loot.
Henry told Peter what he had to do. Peter’s jaw dropped.
“And will my name be on the billboard so everyone will know I’m your assistant?” asked Peter.
“Of course,” said Horrid Henry.
***
The great day arrived at last. Henry had practiced and practiced and practiced. His magic robes were ready. His magic spells were ready. His coffin was ready. His props were ready. Even his dead body was as ready as it would ever be. Victory was his!
Henry and Peter stood backstage and peeked through the curtain as the audience charged into the hall. The school was buzzing. Parents pushed and shoved to get the best seats. There was a stir as Sneering Simone swept in, taking her seat in the front row.
“Would you please move?” demanded Margaret’s mother, waving her camcorder. “I can’t see my little Maggie Muffin.”
“And I can’t see Al with your big head in the way,” snapped Aerobic Al’s dad, shoving his camera in front of Moody Margaret’s mom.
“Parents, behave!” shouted Mrs. Oddbod. “What an exciting show we have for you today! You will be amazed at all the talents in this school. First Clare will recite Pi, which as you all know is the ratio of the circumference of a circle to the diameter, to 31 significant figures!”
“3.14159 26535 89793 23846 26433 83279,” said Clever Clare.
Sneering Simone made a few notes.
“Boring,” shouted Horrid Henry. “Boring!”
“Shhh,” hissed Miss Battle-Axe.
“Now, Gurinder, Linda, Fiona, and Zoe
proudly present: the cushion dance!”
Gorgeous Gurinder, Lazy Linda, Fiery Fiona, and Zippy Zoe ran on stage and placed a cushion in each corner. Then they skipped to each pillow, pretended to sew it, then hopped around with a pillow each, singing:
“We’re the stitching queens
dressed in sateen,
we’re full of beans,
see us preen,
as we steal…the…scene!”
Sneering Simone looked surprised. Tee-hee, thought Horrid Henry gleefully. If everyone’s talents were as awful as that, he was a shoe-in for Talent Tigers.
“Lovely,” said Mrs. Oddbod. “Just lovely. And now we have William, who will play the flute.”
Weepy William put his mouth to the flute and blew. There was no sound.
William stopped and stared at his flute. The mouth hole appeared to have vanished.
Everyone was looking at him. What could he do?
“Toot toot toot,” trilled William, pretending to blow. “Toot toot toot—waaaaaah!” wailed William, bursting into tears and running off stage.
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Oddbod, “anyone could put the mouthpiece on upside down. And now we have…” Mrs. Oddbod glanced at her paper, “a caveman Ugga Ugg dance.”
Stone-Age Steven and Beefy Bert stomped on stage wearing leopard-skin costumes and carrying clubs.
“UGGG!” grunted Stone-Age Steven. “UGGG UGGG UGGG UGGG UGGG! Me caveman!”
STOMP CLUMPA CLUMP
STOMP CLUMPA CLUMP
stomped Stone-Age Steven.
STOMP CLUMPA CLUMP
STOMP CLUMPA CLUMP
stomped Beefy Bert.
“UGGA BUG UGGA BUG UGG UGG UGG,” bellowed Steven, whacking the floor with his club.
“Bert!” hissed Miss Battle-Axe. “This isn’t your talent! What are you doing on stage?”
“I dunno,” said Beefy Bert.
“Boo! Boooooo!” jeered Horrid Henry from backstage as the cavemen thudded off.
Then Moody Margaret and Sour Susan performed their rap:
“Mar-garet, ooh ooh oooh
Mar-garet, it’s all true
Mar-garet, best of the best
Pick Margaret, and dump the rest.”
Rats, thought Horrid Henry, glaring. My rap was so much better. What a waste. And why was the audience applauding?
“Booooo!” yelled Horrid Henry. “Boooooo!”
“Another sound out of you and you will not be performing,” snapped Miss Battle-Axe.
“And now Soraya will be singing ‘You Broke My Heart in 39 Pieces,’ accompanied by her mother on the piano,” said Mrs. Oddbod hastily.
“Sing out, Soraya!” hissed her mother, pounding the piano and singing along.
“I’m singing as loud as I can,” yelled Soraya.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! went the piano.
Then Jolly Josh began to saw “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” on his double bass.
Sneering Simone held her ears.
“We’re next,” said Horrid Henry, grabbing hold of his billboard and whipping off the cloth.
Perfect Peter stared at the billboard. It read:
Il Stupendioso, world’s greatest magician played by Henry
Magic by Henry
Costumes by Henry
Props by Henry
Sound by Henry
Written by Henry
Directed by Henry
“But Henry,” said Peter, “where’s my name?”
“Right here,” said Horrid Henry, pointing.
On the back, in tiny letters, was written:
Assistant: Peter
“But no one will see that,” said Peter.
Henry snorted.
“If I put your name on the front of the billboard, everyone would guess the trick,” said Henry.
“No they wouldn’t,” said Peter.
Honestly, thought Horrid Henry, did any magician ever have such a dreadful helper?
“I’m the star,” said Henry. “You’re lucky you’re even in my show. Now shut up and get in the coffin.”
Perfect Peter was furious. That was just like Henry, to be so mean.
“Get in!” ordered Henry.
Peter put on his skeleton mask and climbed into the coffin. He was fuming.
Henry had said he’d put his name on the billboard, and then he’d written it on the back. No one would know he was the assistant. No one.
The lights dimmed. Spooky music began to play.
“Ooooooooohhhh,” moaned the ghostly sounds as Horrid Henry, wearing his special long black robes studded with stars and a special magician’s hat, dragged his coffin through the curtains onto the stage.
“I am Il Stupendioso, the great and powerful magician!” intoned Henry. “Now, Il Stupendioso will perform the greatest trick ever seen. Be prepared to marvel. Be prepared to be amazed. Be prepared not to believe your eyes. I, Il Stupendioso, will wake the dead!!”
“Ooohh,” gasped the audience.
Horrid Henry swept back and forth across the stage, waving his wand and mumbling.
“First I will say the secret words of magic. Beware! Beware! Do not try this at home. Do not try this in a graveyard. Do not—” Henry’s voice sank to a whisper—“do not try this unless you’re prepared for the dead…to walk!” Horrid Henry ended his sentence with a blood-curdling scream. The audience gasped.
Horrid Henry stood above the coffin and chanted:
“Abracadabra,
flummery flax,
voodoo hoodoo
mumbo crax.
Rise and shine, corpse of mine!”
Then Horrid Henry whacked the coffin once with his wand.
Slowly, Perfect Peter poked a skeleton hand out of the coffin, then withdrew it.
“Ohhhh,” went the audience. Toddler Tom began to wail.
Horrid Henry repeated the spell.
“Abracadabra,
flummery flax,
voodoo hoodoo
mumbo crax.
Rise and shine, bony swine!”
Then Horrid Henry whacked the coffin twice with his wand.
This time Perfect Peter slowly raised the plastic skull with a few tufts of blond hair glued to it, then lowered it back down.
Toddler Tom began to howl.
“And now, for the third and final time, I will say the magic spell, and before your eyes, the body will rise. Stand back…”
“Abracadabra,
flummery flax,
voodoo hoodoo
mumbo crax.
Rise and shine, here is the sign!”
And Horrid Henry whacked the coffin three times with his wand.
The audience held its breath.
And held it.
And held it.
And held it.
“He’s been dead a long time, maybe his hearing isn’t so good,” said Horrid Henry. “Rise and shine, here is the sign,” shouted Henry, whacking the coffin furiously.
Again, nothing happened.
“Rise and shine, brother of mine,” hissed Henry, kicking the coffin, “or you’ll be sorry you were born.”
I’m on strike, thought Perfect Peter. How dare Henry stick his name on the back of the billboard. And after all Peter’s hard work!
Horrid Henry looked at the audience. The audience looked expectantly at Horrid Henry.
What could he do? Open the coffin and yank the body out? Yell, “Ta-da!” and run off stage? Do his famous elephant dance?
Horrid Henry took a deep breath.
“Now that’s what I call dead,” said Horrid Henry.
“This was a difficult decision,” said Sneering Simone. Henry held his breath. He’d kill Peter later. Peter had finally risen from the coffin after Henry left the stage, then instead of slinking off, he’d actually said, “Hello everyone! I’m alive!” and waved. Grrr. Well, Peter wouldn’t have to pretend to be a corpse once Henry had finished with him.
“…a very difficult decision. But I’ve decided that
the winner is…” Please not Margaret, please not Margaret, prayed Henry. Sneering Simone consulted her notes, “The winner is the Il Stupendioso—”
“YES!!” screamed Horrid Henry, leaping to his feet. He’d done it! Fame at last! Henry Superstar was born! Yes, yes, yes!
Sneering Simone glared. “As I was saying, the Il Stupendioso corpse. Great comic timing. Can someone tell me his name?”
Horrid Henry stopped dancing.
Huh?
What?
The corpse?
“Is that me?” said Peter. “I won?”
“NOOOOOOOOO!” shrieked Horrid Henry.
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.
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.
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 the Happy Nappy for a chance to meet his favorite author in the whole world.
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).
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.
Horrid Henry Wakes the Dead Page 3
