Horrid Henry's Stinkbomb

by Francesca Simon

  Bliss, thought Henry. I can build my Parthenon in peace.

  There was just one problem. There was only a small number of toilet paper rolls left.

  This isn’t nearly enough for my Parthenon, thought Horrid Henry. I need more.

  He went over to Moody Margaret’s table.

  “I need more rolls,” he said.

  “Tough,” said Margaret. “We’re using all of ours.”

  Henry stomped over to Sour Susan’s table.

  “Give me some rolls,” he said.

  “Go away,” said Susan sourly. “Margaret took our extras.”

  “Sit down, Henry,” barked Miss Battle-Axe.

  Henry sat, fuming. This was an outrage. Hadn’t Miss Battle-Axe told them to share? And here were his greedy classmates hogging all the toilet paper rolls when his Parthenon desperately needed extra engines.

  BUZZZ. Break time!

  “Leave your Parthenons on the tables to dry,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Henry, you will stay in at break and finish.”

  What?

  Miss break?

  “But—but—”

  “Sit down,” ordered Miss Battle-Axe. “Or you’ll go straight to the Principal’s Office!”

  Eeeek! Horrid Henry knew the Principal, Mrs. Oddbod, all too well. He did not need to know her any better.

  Henry slunk back to his chair. Everyone else ran shrieking out of the door to the playground. Why was it always children who were punished? Why weren’t teachers ever sent to the Principal’s Office? It was so unfair!

  “I just have to run down the hall for a moment. Don’t you dare leave that table,” said Miss Battle-Axe.

  The moment Miss Battle-Axe left the room, Henry jumped up and accidentally on purpose knocked over Clare’s chair. He broke William’s pencil and drew a skull and crossbones on Bert’s teepee.

  Then he wandered over to Sour Susan’s table. There was a freshly glued Parthenon, waiting to be painted.

  Henry studied it.

  You know, he thought, Susan’s group hasn’t done a bad job. Not bad at all. Shame about that bulge on the side, though. If they shared one roll with me, it would balance so much better.

  Horrid Henry looked to the left.

  He looked to the right.

  Snatch! Susan’s supports sagged.

  Better even that up, thought Horrid Henry.

  Yank!

  Hmmm, thought Horrid Henry, glancing at Gurinder’s table. What were they thinking? Those walls are far too tall.

  Grab! Gurinder’s temple tottered.

  And as for Clare’s pathetic efforts, it was positively bursting with useless pillars.

  Whisk! Clare’s columns wobbled.

  Much better, thought Horrid Henry. Soon he had plenty of rolls.

  CLOMP

  CLOMP

  CLOMP

  Horrid Henry dashed back to his table and was innocently gluing away as the class stampeded back to their tables.

  Wobble

  Wobble

  Wobble—CRASH!

  On every table, Parthenons started collapsing.

  Everyone shrieked and screamed and sobbed.

  “It’s your fault!”

  “Yours!”

  “You didn’t glue it right!”

  “You didn’t build it right!”

  Rude Ralph hurled a paintbrush at Moody Margaret. Margaret hurled it back. Suddenly the room was filled with flying brushes, gluepots, and rolls.

  Miss Battle-Axe burst in.

  “STOP IT!” bellowed Miss Battle-Axe, as a roll hit her on the nose. “YOU ARE THE WORST CLASS I HAVE EVER TAUGHT! I LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR ONE MINUTE AND JUST LOOK AT THIS MESS! NOW SIT DOWN AND SHUT—”

  The door opened. In walked the Principal.

  Mrs. Oddbod stared at Miss Battle-Axe.

  Miss Battle-Axe stared at Mrs. Oddbod.

  “Boudicca!” said Mrs. Oddbod. “What-is-going-on?”

  “The sacking of Troy!” shrieked Horrid Henry.

  There was a terrible silence.

  Horrid Henry shrank in his seat. Now he was done for. Now he was dead.

  “I can see that,” said Mrs. Oddbod coldly. “Miss Battle-Axe! Come to my office—now!”

  “No!” whimpered Miss Battle-Axe.

  YES! thought Horrid Henry.

  Victory!

  4

  HORRID HENRY’S SLEEPOVER

  Horrid Henry loved sleepovers.

  Midnight feasts! Pillow fights! Screaming and shouting! Rampaging till dawn!

  The time he ate all the ice cream at Greedy Graham’s and left the freezer door open! The time he jumped on all the beds at Dizzy Dave’s and broke them all. And that time at Rude Ralph’s when he—well, hmmm, perhaps better not mention that.

  There was just one problem. No one would ever have Horrid Henry at their house for a sleepover more than once. Whenever Henry went to sleep at a friend’s house, Mom and Dad were sure to get a call at three a.m. from a demented parent screaming at them to pick up Henry immediately.

  Horrid Henry couldn’t understand it. Parents were so fussy. Even the parents of great kids like Rude Ralph and Greedy Graham. Who cares about a little noise? Or a broken bed? Big deal, thought Horrid Henry.

  It was no fun having friends sleep over at his house. There was no rampaging and feasting at Henry’s. It was lights out as usual at nine o’clock, no talking, no feasting, no fun.

  So when New Nick, who had just joined Henry’s class, invited Henry to stay the night, Horrid Henry couldn’t believe his luck. New beds to bounce on. New cookie jars to raid. New places to rampage. Bliss!

  Henry packed his sleepover bag as fast as he could.

  Mom came in. She looked grumpy.

  “Got your pajamas?” she asked.

  Henry never needed pajamas at sleepovers because he never went to bed.

  “Got them,” said Henry. Just not with him, he thought.

  “Don’t forget your toothbrush,” said Mom.

  “I won’t,” said Horrid Henry. He never forgot his toothbrush—he just chose not to bring it.

  Dad came in. He looked even grumpier.

  “Don’t forget your comb,” said Dad.

  Horrid Henry looked at his bulging backpack stuffed with toys and comics. Sadly, there was no room for a comb.

  “I won’t,” lied Henry.

  “I’m warning you, Henry,” said Mom. “I want you to be on best behavior tonight.”

  “Of course,” said Horrid Henry.

  “I don’t want any phone calls at three a.m. from Nick’s parents,” said Dad. “If I do, this will be your last sleepover ever. I mean it.”

  Nag nag nag.

  “All right,” said Horrid Henry.

  Ding Dong.

  WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!

  A woman opened the door. She was wearing a Viking helmet on her head and long flowing robes. Behind her stood a man in a velvet cloak holding back five enormous, snarling black dogs.

  “TRA LA LA BOOM-DY AY,” boomed a dreadful, earsplitting voice.

  “Bravo, Bravo!” shouted a chorus from the sitting room.

  GRRRRRRR! growled the dogs.

  Horrid Henry hesitated. Did he have the right house? Was New Nick an alien?

  “Oh don’t mind us, dear, it’s our opera club’s karaoke night,” trilled the Viking helmet.

  “Nick!” bellowed the Cloak. “Your friend is here.”

  Nick appeared. Henry was glad to see he was not wearing a Viking helmet or a velvet cloak.

  “Hi Henry,” said New Nick.

  “Hi Nick,” said Horrid Henry.

  A little girl toddled over, sucking her thumb.

  “Henry, this is my sister, Lily,” said Nick.

  Lily gazed at Horrid Henry.

  “I love you, Henwy,” said Lisping Lily. “Will you marry with me?”

  “NO!” said Horrid Henry. Uggh. What a revolting thought.

  “Go away, Lily,” said Nick.

  Lily did not move.

 
; “Come on, Nick, let’s get out of here,” said Henry. No toddler was going to spoil his fun. Now, what would he do first, raid the kitchen or bounce on the beds?

  “Let’s raid the kitchen,” said Henry.

  “Great,” said Nick.

  “Got any good candy?” asked Henry.

  “Tons!” said New Nick.

  Yeah! thought Horrid Henry. His sleepover fun was beginning!

  They sneaked into the kitchen. The floor was covered with dog blankets, overturned food bowls, clumps of dog hair, and gnawed dog bones. There were a few suspicious looking puddles. Henry hoped they were water.

  “Here are the cookies,” said Nick.

  Henry looked. Were those dog hairs all over the jar?

  “Uh, no thanks,” said Henry. “How about some candy?”

  “Sure,” said Nick. “Help yourself.”

  He handed Henry a bar of chocolate. Yummy! Henry was about to take a big bite when he stopped. Were those—teeth marks in the corner?

  “RAAA!” A big black shape jumped on Henry, knocked him down, and snatched the chocolate.

  Nick’s dad burst in.

  “Rigoletto! Give that back!” said Nick’s dad, yanking the chocolate out of the dog’s mouth.

  “Sorry about that, Henry,” he said, offering it back to Henry.

  “Uhh, maybe later,” said Henry.

  “Okay,” said Nick’s dad, putting the slobbery chocolate back in the cabinet.

  Eeew, gross, thought Horrid Henry. “I love you, Henwy,” came a lisping voice behind him.

  “AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!” warbled a high, piercing voice from the sitting room.

  Henry held his ears. Would the windows shatter?

  “Encore!” shrieked the opera karaoke club.

  “Will you marry with me?” asked Lisping Lily.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Horrid Henry.

  Horrid Henry leapt on Nick’s bed.

  Yippee, thought Horrid Henry. Time to get bouncing.

  Bounce—

  Crash!

  The bed collapsed in a heap.

  “What happened?” said Henry. “I hardly did anything.”

  “Oh, I broke the bed ages ago,” said Nick. “Dad said he was tired of fixing it.”

  Rats, thought Henry. What a lazy dad.

  “How about a pillow fight?” said Henry.

  “No pillows,” said Nick. “The dogs chewed them.”

  Hmmm.

  They could sneak down and raid the freezer, but for some reason Henry didn’t really want to go back into that kitchen.

  “I know!” said Henry. “Let’s watch TV.”

  “Sure,” said New Nick.

  “Where is the TV?” said Henry.

  “In the living room,” said Nick.

  “But—the karaoke,” said Henry.

  “Oh, they won’t mind,” said Nick.

  “They’re used to noise in this house.”

  “DUM DUM DE DUM DUMM DUMM

  DUM DE DUM DUMM DUMM–”

  Horrid Henry sat with his face pressed to the TV. He couldn’t hear a word Mutant Max was shrieking with all that racket in the background.

  “Maybe we should go to bed,” said Horrid Henry, sighing. Anything to get away from the noise.

  “Okay,” said New Nick.

  Phew, thought Horrid Henry. Peace at last.

  SNORE! SNORE!

  Horrid Henry turned over in his sleeping bag and tried to get comfortable. He hated sleeping on the floor. He hated sleeping with the window open. He hated sleeping with the radio on.

  And he hated sleeping in the same room with someone who snored.

  Awhooooooo! howled the winter wind through the open window.

  SNORE! SNORE!

  “I’m just a lonesome cowboy, lookin’ for a lonesome cowgirl,” blared the radio.

  WOOF WOOF WOOF barked the dogs.

  “Yeowwww!” squealed Henry, as five wet, smelly dogs pounced on him.

  “Awhoooo!” howled the wind.

  SNORE! SNORE!

  “TOREADOR—on guard!” boomed the opera karaoke downstairs.

  Horrid Henry loved noise. But this was—too much.

  He’d have to find somewhere else to sleep.

  Horrid Henry flung open the bedroom door.

  “I love you Henwy,” said Lisping Lily.

  Slam! Horrid Henry shut the bedroom door.

  Horrid Henry did not move.

  Horrid Henry did not breathe.

  Then he opened the door a fraction.

  “Will you marry with me, Henwy?”

  Aaarrrgh!!!

  Horrid Henry ran from the bedroom and barricaded himself in the linen closet. He settled down on a pile of towels.

  Phew. Safe at last.

  “I want to give you a big kiss, Henwy,” came a little voice beside him.

  NOOOOOOOO!

  It was three a.m.

  “TRA LA LA BOOM-DY AY!”

  “—LONESOME COWBOY!”

  SNORE! SNORE!

  AWHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

  WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!

  Horrid Henry crept to the hall phone and dialed his number.

  Dad answered.

  “I’m so sorry about Henry, do you want us to come and get him?” Dad mumbled.

  “Yes,” wailed Horrid Henry. “I need my rest!”

  And now for a sneak peek at one of the laugh-out-loud stories in Horrid Henry and the Mummy’s Curse

  HORRID HENRY'S HOBBY

  “Out of my way, worm!” shrieked Horrid Henry, pushing past his younger brother Perfect Peter and dashing into the kitchen.

  “NO!” screamed Perfect Peter. He scrambled after Henry and clutched his leg.

  “Get off me!” shouted Henry. He grabbed the unopened Sweet Tweet cereal box. “Nah nah ne nah nah, I got it first.”

  Perfect Peter lunged for the Sweet Tweet box and snatched it from Henry. “But it’s my turn!”

  “No, mine!” shrieked Henry.

  He ripped open the top and stuck his hand inside.

  “It’s mine!” shrieked Peter. He ripped open the bottom.

  A small wrapped toy fell to the floor.

  Henry and Peter both lunged for it.

  “Gimme that!” yelled Henry.

  “But it’s my turn to have it!” yelled Peter.

  “Stop being horrid, Henry!” shouted Mom. “Now give me that thing!”

  Henry and Peter both held on tight.

  “NO!” screamed Henry and Peter. “IT’S MY TURN TO HAVE THE TOY!”

  Horrid Henry and Perfect Peter both collected Gizmos from inside Sweet Tweet cereal boxes. So did everyone at their school. There were ten different colored Gizmos to collect, from the common green to the rare gold. Both Henry and Peter had Gizmos of every color. Except for one. Gold.

  “Right,” said Mom, “whose turn is it to get the toy?”

  “MINE!” screamed Henry and Peter.

  “He got the last one!” screeched Henry. “Remember—he opened the new box and got the blue Gizmo.”

  It was true that Perfect Peter had got the blue Gizmo—two boxes ago. But why should Peter get any? If he hadn’t started collecting Gizmos to copy me, thought Henry resentfully, I’d get every single one.

  “NO!” howled Peter. He burst into tears. “Henry opened the last box.”

  “Crybaby,” jeered Henry.

  “Stop it,” said Peter.

  “Stop it,” mimicked Henry.

  “Mom, Henry’s teasing me,” wailed Peter.

  “I remember now,” said Mom. “It’s Peter’s turn.”

  “Thank you, Mom,” said Perfect Peter.

  “It’s not fair!” screamed Horrid Henry as Peter tore open the wrapping. There was a gold gleam.

  “Oh my goodness,” gasped Peter. “A gold Gizmo!”

  Horrid Henry felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He stared at the glorious, glowing, golden Gizmo.

  “It’s not fair!” howled Henry. “I want a gold Gizmo!”r />
  “I’m sorry, Henry,” said Mom. “It’ll be your turn next.”

  “But I want the gold one!” screamed Henry.

  He leaped on Peter and yanked the Gizmo out of his hand. He was Hurricane Henry uprooting everything in his path.

  “Hellllllllp!” howled Peter.

  “Stop being horrid, Henry, or no more Gizmos for you!” shouted Mom. “Now clean up this mess and get dressed.”

  “NO!” howled Henry. He ran upstairs to his room, slamming the door behind him.

  He had to have a gold Gizmo. He simply had to. No one at school had a gold one. Henry could see himself now, the center of attention, everyone pushing and shoving just to get a look at his gold Gizmo. Henry could charge 50 cents a peek. Everyone would want to see it and to hold it. Henry would be invited to every birthday party. Instead, Peter would be the star attraction. Henry gnashed his teeth just thinking about it.

  But how could he get one? You couldn’t buy Gizmos. You could only get them inside Sweet Tweet cereal boxes. Mom was so mean she made Henry and Peter finish the old box before she’d buy a new one. Henry had eaten mountains of Sweet Tweet cereal to collect all his Gizmos. All that hard work would be in vain, unless he got a gold one.

  He could, of course, steal Peter’s. But Peter would be sure to notice, and Henry would be the chief suspect.

  He could swap. Yes! He would offer Peter two greens! That was generous. In fact, that was really generous. But Peter hated doing swaps. For some reason he always thought Henry was trying to cheat him.

  And then suddenly Henry had a brilliant, spectacular idea. True, it did involve a little tiny teensy weensy bit of trickery, but Henry’s cause was just. He’d been collecting Gizmos far longer than Peter had. He deserved a gold one, and Peter didn’t.

  “So, you got a gold Gizmo,” said Henry, popping into Peter’s room. “I’m really sorry.”

  Perfect Peter looked up from polishing his Gizmos. “Why?” he said suspiciously. “Everyone wants a gold Gizmo.”

  Horrid Henry looked sadly at Perfect Peter. “Not any more. They’re very unlucky, you know. Every single person who’s got one has died horribly.”