Horrid Henry's Christmas
Page 3
Horrid Henry looked at the clock. It was past midnight. Mom and Dad had forbidden him to go downstairs till morning, on pain of having all his presents taken away and no TV all day.
But this was an emergency. He’d creep downstairs, take a quick peek to make sure he hadn’t missed Santa Claus, then be back in bed in a jiffy.
No one will ever know, thought Horrid Henry.
Henry tiptoed around the whoopee cushions, leaped over the crisscross threads, stepped over the jump rope and carefully squeezed through his door so as not to disturb the bucket of water. Then he crept downstairs.
Horrid Henry shone his flashlight over the living room. Santa Claus hadn’t been. The room was exactly as he’d left it that evening.
Except for one thing. Henry’s light illuminated the Christmas tree, heavy with chocolate Santas and chocolate bells and chocolate reindeer. Mom and Dad must have hung them on the tree after he’d gone to bed.
Horrid Henry looked at the chocolates cluttering up the Christmas tree. Shame, thought Horrid Henry, the way those chocolates spoil the view of all those lovely decorations. You could barely see the baubles and tinsel he and Peter had worked so hard to put on.
“Hi, Henry,” said the chocolate Santas.
“Don’t you want to eat us?”
“Go on, Henry,” said the chocolate bells. “You know you want to.”
“What are you waiting for, Henry?” urged the chocolate reindeer.
What indeed? After all, it was Christmas.
Henry took a chocolate Santa or three from the side, and then another two from the back. Mmm, boy, was that great chocolate, he thought, stuffing them into his mouth.
Oops. Now the chocolate Santas looked a little unbalanced.
Better take a few from the front and from the other side, to even it up, thought Henry. Then no one will notice there are a few chocolates missing.
Henry gobbled and gorged and guzzled. Wow, were those chocolates yummy!!!
The tree looks a bit bare, thought Henry a little while later. Mom had such eagle eyes she might notice that a few— well, all—of the chocolates were missing. He’d better hide all those gaps with a few extra baubles. And, while he was improving the tree, he could swap that stupid fairy for Terminator Gladiator.
Henry piled extra decorations onto the branches. Soon the Christmas tree was so covered in baubles and tinsel there was barely a hint of green. No one would notice the missing chocolates. Then Henry stood on a chair, dumped the fairy, and, standing on his tippy-tippy toes, hung Terminator Gladiator at the top where he belonged.
Perfect, thought Horrid Henry, jumping off the chair and step ping back to admire his work. Absolutely perfect. Thanks to me this is the best tree ever.
There was a terrible creaking sound. Then another. Then suddenly . . .
The Christmas tree toppled over.
Horrid Henry’s heart stopped.
Upstairs he could hear Mom and Dad stirring.
“Hey! Who’s down there?” shouted Dad.
RUN!!! thought Horrid Henry. Run for your life!!
Horrid Henry ran like he had never run before, up the stairs to his room before Mom and Dad could catch him. Oh please let him get there in time. His parents’ bedroom door opened just as Henry dashed inside his room. He’d made it. He was safe.
The bucket of water spilled all over him.
Horrid Henry fell over the jump rope.
jangled the bells.
belched the whoopee cushions.
“What is going on in here?” shrieked Mom, glaring.
“Nothing,” said Horrid Henry, as he lay sprawled on the floor soaking wet and tangled up in threads and wires and rope. “I heard a noise downstairs so I got up to check,” he added innocently.
“Tree’s fallen over,” called Dad. “Must have been overloaded. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”
“Get back to bed, Henry,” said Mom wearily. “And don’t touch your stocking till morning.”
Henry looked. And gasped. His stocking was stuffed and bulging. That mean old sneak, thought Horrid Henry indignantly. How did he do it? How had he escaped the traps?
Watch out Santa Claus, thought Horrid Henry. I’ll get you next year.
4
HORRID HENRY’S CHRISTMAS LUNCH
December 25th
(at last!)
“Oh, handkerchiefs, just what I wanted,” said Perfect Peter. “Thank you so much.”
“Not handkerchiefs again,” moaned Horrid Henry, throwing the hankies aside and ripping the paper off the next present in his pile.
“Don’t tear the wrapping paper!” squeaked Perfect Peter.
Horrid Henry ripped open the present and groaned.
Yuck (a pen, pencil, and ruler). Yuck (a dictionary). Yuck (gloves). OK ($15—should have been a lot more). Eeew (a pink bow tie from Aunt Ruby). Eeew (mints). Yum (huge tin of chocolates). Good (five more knights for his army). Very good (a subscription to Gross-Out Fan Club) …
And (very very good) a Terminator Gladiator trident …and . . .
And …where was the rest?
“Is that it?” shrieked Henry.
“You haven’t opened my present, Henry,” said Peter. “I hope you like it.”
Horrid Henry tore off the wrapping. It was a Manners with Maggie calendar.
“Ugh, gross,” said Henry. “No thank you.”
“Henry!” said Mom. “That’s no way to receive a present.”
“I don’t care,” moaned Horrid Henry. “Where’s my Zapatron Hip-Hop dinosaur? And where’s the rest of the Terminator Gladiator fighting kit? I wanted everything, not just the trident.”
“Maybe next year,” said Mom.
“But I want it now!” howled Henry.
“Henry, you know that ‘I want doesn’t get’,” said Peter. “Isn’t that right, Mom?”
“It certainly is,” said Mom. “And I haven’t heard you say thank you, Henry.”
Horrid Henry glared at Peter and sprang. He was a hornet stinging a worm to death.
“WAAAAAAH!” wailed Peter.
“Henry! Stop it or—”
“They’re here!” shouted Horrid Henry, leaping up and abandoning his prey. “That means more presents!”
“Wait, Henry,” said Mom.
But too late. Henry raced to the door and flung it open.
There stood Granny and Grandpa, Prissy Polly, Pimply Paul, and Vomiting Vera.
“Gimme my presents!” he shrieked, snatching a bag of brightly wrapped gifts out of Granny’s hand and spilling them on the floor. Now, where were the ones with his name on them?
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” said Mom brightly. “Henry, don’t be rude.”
“I’m not being rude,” said Henry. “I just want my presents. Great, money!” said Henry, beaming. “Thanks, Granny! But couldn’t you add a few dollars and—”
“Henry, don’t be horrid!” snapped Dad.
“Let the guests take off their coats,” said Mom.
“Bleeeeech,” said Vomiting Vera, throwing up on Paul.
“Eeeeek,” said Polly.
All the grown-ups gathered in the living room to open their gifts.
“Peter, thank you so much for the perfume, it’s my favorite,” said Granny.
“I know,” said Peter.
“And what a lovely comic, Henry,” said Granny. “Mutant Max is my . . . um …favorite.”
“Thank you, Henry,” said Grandpa. “This comic looks very …interesting.”
“I’ll have it back when you’ve finished with it,” said Henry.
“Henry!” said Mom, glaring.
For some reason Polly didn’t look delighted with her present.
“Eeeek!” squeaked Polly. “This soap has …hairs in it.” She pulled out a long black one.
“That came free,” said Horrid Henry.
“We’re getting you toothpaste next year, you little brat,” muttered Pimply Paul under his breath.
Honestly, there was no pleasing s
ome people, thought Horrid Henry indignantly. He’d given Paul a great bar of soap, and he didn’t seem thrilled. So much for it’s the thought that counts.
“A poem,” said Mom. “Henry, how lovely.”
“Read it out loud,” said Grandpa.
“Dear old wrinkly Mom
Don’t be glum ’
Cause you’ve got a fat tum
And an even bigger…”
“Maybe later,” said Mom.
“Another poem,” said Dad. “Great!”
“Let’s hear it,” said Granny.
“Dear old baldy Dad—
…and so forth,” said Dad, folding Henry’s poem quickly.
“Oh,” said Polly, staring at the crystal frog vase Mom and Dad had given her.
“How funny. This looks just like the vase I gave Aunt Ruby for Christmas last year.”
“What a coincidence,” said Mom, blushing bright red.
“Great minds think alike,” said Dad quickly.
Dad gave Mom an iron.
“Oh, an iron, just what I always wanted,” said Mom.
Mom gave Dad oven gloves.
“Oh, oven gloves, just what I always wanted,” said Dad.
Pimply Paul gave Prissy Polly a huge power drill.
“Eeeek,” squealed Polly. “What’s this?”
“Oh, that’s the Megawatt Superduper Drill-o-matic 670 XM3,” said Paul, “and just wait till you see the attachments. You’re getting those for your birthday.”
“Oh,” said Polly.
Granny gave Grandpa a lovely mug to put his false teeth in.
Grandpa gave Granny a shower cap and a jumbo pack of dusters.
“What super presents!” said Mom. “Yes,” said Perfect Peter. “I loved every single one of my presents, especially the oranges and walnuts in my stocking.”
“I didn’t,” said Horrid Henry.
“Henry, don’t be horrid,” said Dad. “Who’d like a mince pie?”
“Are they homemade or from the store?” asked Henry.
“Homemade of course,” said Dad.
“Gross,” said Henry.
“Ooh,” said Polly. “No, Vera!” she squealed as Vera vomited all over the plate.
“Never mind,” said Mom tightly. “There’s more in the kitchen.”
Horrid Henry was bored. Horrid Henry was fed up. The presents had all been opened. His parents had made him go on a long, boring walk. Dad had confiscated his Terminator trident when he had speared Peter with it.
So, what now?
Grandpa was sitting in the armchair with his pipe, snoring, his tinsel crown slipping over his face.
Prissy Polly and Pimply Paul were squabbling over whose turn it was to change Vera’s stinky diaper.
“Eeeek,” said Polly. “I did it last.”
“I did,” said Paul.
“WAAAAAAAAA!” wailed Vomiting Vera.
Perfect Peter was watching Sammy the Snail slithering about on TV.
Horrid Henry snatched the remote and switched channels.
“Hey, I was watching that!” protested Peter.
“Tough,” said Henry.
Let’s see, what was on? “Tra la la la . . .” Ick! Daffy and her Dancing Daisies. “Wait! I want to watch!” wailed Peter. Click. “…And the tension builds as the judges compare tomatoes grown . . .”
Click! “ …Wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you . . .” Click! “Chartres Cathedral is one of the wonders of …” Click! “HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.” Opera! Click! Why was there nothing good on TV? Just a baby movie about singing cars he’d seen a million times already.
“I’m bored,” moaned Henry. “And I’m starving.” He wandered into the kitchen, which looked like a hurricane had swept through.
“When’s lunch? I thought we were eating at two. I’m starving.”
“Soon,” said Mom. She looked a little frazzled. “There’s been a little problem with the oven.”
“So when’s lunch?” bellowed Horrid Henry.
“When it’s ready!” bellowed Dad.
Henry waited. And waited. And waited. “When’s lunch?” asked Polly.
“When’s lunch?” asked Paul.
“When’s lunch?” asked Peter.
“As soon as the turkey is cooked,” said Dad. He peeked into the oven. He poked the turkey. Then he went pale.
“It’s hardly cooked,” he whispered.
“Check the temperature,” said Granny.
Dad checked.
“Oops,” said Dad.
“Never mind, we can start with the sprouts,” said Mom cheerfully.
“That’s not the right way to do sprouts,” said Granny. “You’re peeling too many of the leaves off.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Dad.
“That’s not the right way to make gravy,” said Granny.
“Yes, Mother,” said Dad.
“That’s not the right way to make stuffing,” said Granny.
“Yes, Mother,” said Dad.
“That’s not the right way to roast potatoes,” said Granny.
“Mother!” yelped Dad. “Leave me alone!”
“Don’t be horrid,” said Granny.
“I’m not being horrid,” said Dad.
“Come along, Granny, let’s get you a nice drink and leave the chef on his own,” said Mom, steering Granny firmly toward the living room. Then she stopped.
“Is something burning?” asked Mom, sniffing.
Dad checked the oven.
“Not in here.”
There was a shriek from the living room.
“It’s Grandpa!” shouted Perfect Peter.
Everyone ran in.
There was Grandpa, asleep in his chair. A thin column of black smoke rose from the arms. His paper crown, drooping over his pipe, was smoking.
“Whh..whh?” mumbled Grandpa, as Mom whacked him with her broom. “AAARRGH!” he gurgled as Dad threw water over him.
“When’s lunch?” screamed Horrid Henry.
“When it’s ready,” screamed Dad.
It was dark when Henry’s family finally sat down to Christmas lunch. Henry’s tummy was rumbling so loudly with hunger he thought the walls would cave in. Henry and Peter made a dash to grab the seat against the wall, furthest from the kitchen.
“Get off!” shouted Henry.
“It’s my turn to sit here,” wailed Peter.
“Mine!”
“Mine!”
“WAAAAAAAAAAA!” screeched Henry.
“WAAAAAAAAAAA!” wailed Peter.
“Quiet!” screamed Dad.
Mom brought in fresh holly and ivy to decorate the table.
“Lovely,” said Mom, placing the boughs all along the center.
“Very festive,” said Granny.
“I’m starving!” wailed Horrid Henry.
“This isn’t Christmas lunch, it’s Christmas dinner.”
“Shhh,” said Grandpa.
The turkey was finally cooked. There were platefuls of stuffing, sprouts, cranberries, gravy, and peas.
“Smells good,” said Granny.
“Mmmm, boy,” said Grandpa. “What a feast.”
Horrid Henry was so hungry he could eat the tablecloth.
“Come on, let’s eat!” he said.
“Hold on, I’ll just get the roast potatoes,” said Dad. Wearing his new oven gloves, he carried in the steaming hot potatoes in a glass roasting dish, and set it in the middle of the table.
“Voila!” said Dad. “Now, who wants dark meat and who . . .”
“What’s that crawling …aaaarrrghh!” screamed Polly. “There are spiders everywhere!”
Millions of tiny spiders were pouring from the holly and crawling all over the table and the food.
“Don’t panic!” shouted Pimply Paul, leaping from his chair, “I know what to do, we just—”
But before he could do anything the glass dish with the roasted potatoes exploded.
“EEEEEKK!” screamed Polly.
Everyone star
ed at the slivers of glass glistening all over the table and the food.
Dad sank down in his chair and covered his eyes.
“Where are we going to get more food?” whispered Mom.
“I don’t know,” muttered Dad.
“I know,” said Horrid Henry, “let’s start with Christmas pudding and defrost some pizzas.”
Dad opened his eyes.
Mom opened her eyes.
“That,” said Dad, “is a brilliant idea.”
“I really hanker for some pizza,” said Grandpa.
“Me too,” said Granny.
Henry beamed. It wasn’t often his ideas were recognized for their brilliance.
“Merry Christmas everyone,” said Horrid Henry. “Merry Christmas.”
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Susie Boyt, Amanda Craig, Judith Elliott, Fiona Kennedy and Kate Saunders for sharing their Christmas disaster stories with me.
Horrid Henry’s Family, Friends, and Enemies
Aerobic Al
Anxious Andrew
Aunt Ruby
Beefy Bert
Bossy Bill
Brainy Brian
Clever Clare
Dad
Dizzy Dave
Fiery Fiona
Fluffy the cat
Goody-Goody Gordon
Gorgeous Gurinder
Grandpa
Granny
Great Aunt Greta
Greedy Graham
Inky Ian
Jazzy Jim
Jolly Josh
Jumpy Jeffrey
Kind Kasim
Kung-Fu Kate
Lazy Linda
Lisping Lilly
Magic Martha
Miss Battle-Axe
Miss Lovely
Miss Thumper
Miss Tutu
Mom
Moody Margaret