Horrid Henry and the Mummy's Curse (3 page)

Horrid Henry scowled as he followed Mom up and down the aisles of the Happy Shopper. He’d crashed the cart into some people so Mom wouldn’t let him push it. Then she caught him filling the cart with chips and soda and made him put them all back. What a horrible rotten day this had turned out to be.

“Yum, cabbage,” said Perfect Peter. “Could we get some?”

“Certainly,” said Mom.

“And spinach, my favorite!” said Peter.

“Help yourself,” said Mom.

“I want candy!” screamed Henry.

“No,” said Mom.

“I want doughnuts!” screamed Henry.

“No!” screamed Mom.

“There’s nothing to eat here!” shrieked Henry.

“Stop being horrid, Henry,” hissed Mom. “Everyone’s looking.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well I do,” said Mom. “Now make yourself useful. Go and get a box of Sweet Tweets.”

“All right,” said Henry. Now was his chance to escape. Before Mom could stop him he grabbed a cart and whizzed off.

“Watch out for the racing driver!” squealed Henry. Shoppers scattered as he zoomed down the aisle and screeched to a halt in front of the cereal section. There were the Sweet Tweets. A huge pile of them, in a display tower, under a twinkling sign saying, “A free Gizmo in every box! Collect them all!”

Henry reached for a box and put it in his cart.

And then Horrid Henry stopped. What was the point of buying a whole box if it just contained another green Gizmo? Henry didn’t think he could bear it. I’ll just check what’s inside, he thought. Then, if it
is
a green one, I’ll be prepared for the disappointment.

Carefully, he opened the box and slipped his hand inside. Aha! There was the toy. He lifted it out, and held it up to the light. Rats! A green Gizmo, just what he’d feared.

But wait. There was bound to be a child out there longing for a green Gizmo to complete his collection just as much as Henry was longing for a gold. Wouldn’t it be selfish and horrid of Henry to take a green he didn’t need when it would make someone else so happy?

I’ll just peek inside one more box, thought Horrid Henry, replacing the box he’d opened and reaching for another.

Rip! He tore it open. Red.

Hmmm, thought Henry. Red is surplus to requirements.

Rip! Another box opened. Blue.

Rip! Rip! Rip!

Green! Green! Blue!

I’ll just try one more at the back, thought Henry. He stood on tiptoe, and stretched as far as he could. His hand reached inside the box and grabbed hold of the toy.

The tower wobbled.

CRASH!

Horrid Henry sprawled on the ground. Henry was covered in Sweet Tweets. So was the floor. So were all the shoppers.

“HELP!” screamed the manager, skidding in the mess. “Whose horrid boy is this?”

There was a very long silence.

“Mine,” whispered Mom.

* * *

Horrid Henry sat in the kitchen surrounded by boxes and boxes and boxes of Sweet Tweets. He’d be eating Sweet Tweets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for weeks. But it was worth it, thought Henry happily. Banned for life from the Happy Shopper, how wonderful. He uncurled his hand to enjoy again the glint of gold.

Although he
had
noticed that Scrummy Yummies were offering a free Twizzle card in every box. Hmmmm, Twizzle cards.

Ahhhh, thought Horrid Henry. He turned on the TV and stretched out. School was over. What could be better than lying on the sofa all afternoon, eating chips and watching TV? Wasn’t life great?

Then Mom came in. She did not look like a mom who thought life was grand. She looked like a mom on the warpath against boys who lay on sofas all afternoon, eating chips and watching TV.

“Get your feet off the sofa, Henry!” said Mom.

“Unh,” grunted Henry.

“Stop getting chips everywhere!” snapped Mom.

“Unh,” grunted Henry.

“Have you done your homework, Henry?” said Mom.

Henry didn’t answer.

“HENRY!” shouted Mom.

“WHAT!” shouted Henry.

“Have you done your homework?”

“What homework?” said Henry. He kept his eyes glued to the TV.

“Go, Mutants!” he screeched.

“The five spelling words you are supposed to learn tonight,” said Mom.

“Oh,” said Henry. “
That
homework.”

Horrid Henry hated homework. He had far better things to do with his precious time than learn how to spell “zipper” or work out the answer to 6 × 7. For weeks Henry’s homework sheets had ended up in the recycling box until Dad found them. Henry swore he had no idea how they got there and blamed Fluffy the cat, but since then Mom and Dad had checked his school bag every day.

Mom snatched the remote and switched off the TV.

“Hey, I’m watching!” said Henry.

“When are you going to do your homework, Henry?” said Mom.

“SOON!” screamed Henry. He’d just returned from a long, hard day at school. Couldn’t he have any peace around here? When he was king anyone who said the word “homework” would get thrown to the crocodiles.

“I had a phone call today from Miss Battle-Axe,” said Mom. “She said you got a zero in the last ten spelling tests.”

“That’s not
my
fault,” said Henry. “First I lost the words, then I forgot, then I couldn’t read my writing, then I copied the words wrong, then—”

“I don’t want to hear any more silly excuses,” said Mom. “Do you know your spelling words for tomorrow?”

“Yes,” lied Henry.

“Where’s the list?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know,” said Henry.

“Find it or no TV for a month,” said Mom.

“It’s not fair,” muttered Henry, digging the crumpled spelling list out of his pocket.

Mom looked at it.

“There’s going to be a test tomorrow,” she said. “How do you spell ‘goat’?”

“Don’t you know how, Mom?” asked Henry.

“Henry…” said Mom.

Henry scowled.

“I’m busy,” moaned Henry. “I promise I’ll tell you right after Mutant Madman. It’s my favorite show.”

“How do you spell ‘goat’?” said Mom.

“G-O-T-E,” snapped Henry.

“Wrong,” said Mom. “What about ‘boat’?”

“Why do I have to do this?” wailed Henry.

“Because it’s your homework,” said Mom. “You have to learn how to spell.”

“But why?” said Henry. “I never write letters.”

“Because,” said Mom. “Now spell “boat.”

“B-O-T-T-E,” said Henry.

“No more TV until you do your homework,” said Mom.

“I’ve done all
my
homework,” said Perfect Peter. “In fact, I enjoyed it so much I’ve already done tomorrow’s homework as well.”

Henry pounced on Peter. He was a cannibal tenderizing his victim for the pot.

“Eeeeyowwww!” screamed Peter.

“Henry! Go to your room!” shouted Mom. “And don’t come out until you know
all
your spelling words!”

Horrid Henry stomped upstairs and slammed his bedroom door. This was so unfair! He was far too busy to bother with stupid, boring, useless spelling. For instance, he hadn’t read the new Mutant Madman comic book. He hadn’t finished drawing that treasure map. And he hadn’t even begun to organize his new collection of Twizzle cards. Homework would have to wait.

There was just one problem. Miss Battle-Axe had said that everyone who spelled all their words correctly tomorrow would get a pack of Big Bopper candy. Henry loved Big Bopper candy. Mom and Dad hardly ever let him have them. But why on earth did he have to learn spelling words to get some? If
he
were the teacher, he’d only give candy to children who couldn’t spell. Henry sighed. He’d just have to sit down and learn those stupid words.