Horrid Henry and the Mummy's Curse (7 page)

“We must wrap Fluffy in the sacred bandages,” said Henry. “He will be our messenger between this world and the next.”

“Meoww,” said Fluffy, as he was wrapped from head to tail in toilet paper.

“Now you,” said Henry.

“Me?” squeaked Peter.

“Yes,” said Henry. “Do you want to

free Mom from the mummy’s curse?” Peter nodded.

“Then you must stand still and be

quiet for thirty minutes,” said Henry. That should give him plenty of time to play with the mummy kit.

He started wrapping Peter. Round and round and round and round went the toilet paper until Peter was tightly wrapped from head to toe.

Henry stepped back to admire his work. Goodness, he was a brilliant mummy-maker! Maybe that’s what he should be when he grew up. Henry, the Mummy-Maker. Henry, World’s Finest Mummy-Maker. Henry, Mummy-Maker to the Stars. Yes, it certainly had a ring to it.

“You’re a fine-looking mummy, Peter,” said Henry. “I’m sure you’ll be made very welcome in the next world.”

“Huuunh?”said Peter.

“Silence!” ordered Henry. “Don’t move. Now I must utter the sacred spell. By the powers of Horus, Morus, Borus, and Stegosaurus,” intoned Henry, making up all the Egyptian sounding names he could.

“Stegosaurus?” mumbled Peter.

“Whatever!” snapped Henry. “I call on the scarab! I call on Isis! Free Fluffy from the mummy’s curse. Free Peter from the mummy’s curse. Free Mom from the mummy’s curse. Free— ”

“What on earth is going on in here?” shrieked Mom, bursting through the door. “You horrid boy! What have you done to Peter? And what have you done to poor Fluffy?”

“Meoww,” yowled Fluffy.

“Mommy!” squealed Perfect Peter.

Eowww, gross! thought Horrid Henry, opening up the plastic mummy body and placing the organs in the canopic jar.

The bad news was that Henry had been banned from watching TV for a week. The good news was that Perfect Peter had said he never wanted to see that horrible mummy kit again.

And now for a sneak peek at one of the
laugh-out-loud stories in
Horrid Henry Tricks and Treats

“You’re such a pig, Susan!”

“No I’m not! You’re the pig!” “You are!” squealed Moody Margaret. “You are!” squealed Sour Susan. “Oink!”

“Oink!”

All was not well at Moody Margaret’s Secret Club.

Sour Susan and Moody Margaret glared at each other inside the Secret Club tent. Moody Margaret waved the empty cookie tin in Susan’s sour face.

“
Someone
ate all the cookies,” said Moody Margaret. “And it wasn’t me.”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” said Susan. “Liar!”

“Liar!”

Margaret stuck out her tongue at Susan. Susan stuck out her tongue at Margaret. Margaret yanked Susan’s hair.

“Oww! You horrible meanie!”

shrieked Susan. “I hate you.”

She yanked Margaret’s hair.

“OWWW!” screeched Moody Margaret. “How dare you?”

They scowled at each other.

“Wait a minute,” said Margaret. “You don’t think—”

* * *

Not a million miles away, sitting on a throne inside the Purple Hand fort hidden behind prickly branches, Horrid Henry wiped a few biscuit crumbs from his mouth and burped. Mmmm boy, nothing beat the taste of an archenemy’s cookies.

The branches parted.

“Password!” hissed Horrid Henry. “Smelly toads.”

“Enter,” said Henry.

The guard entered and gave the secret handshake.

“Henry, why—” began Perfect Peter. “Call me by my title, Worm!”

“Sorry, Henry—I mean Lord High Excellent Majesty of the Purple Hand.”

“That’s better,” said Henry. He waved his hand and pointed at the ground. “Be seated, Worm.”

“Why am I Worm and you’re Lord High Excellent Majesty?”

“Because I’m the leader,” said Henry.

“I want a better title,” said Peter.

“All right,” said the Lord High Excellent Majesty, “you can be Lord Worm.”

Peter considered.

“What about Lord High Worm?”

“OK,” said Henry. Then he froze.

“Worm! Footsteps!”

Perfect Peter peeked through the leaves.

“Enemies approaching!” he warned.

Pounding feet paused outside the entrance.

“Password!” said Horrid Henry.

“Dog poo breath,” said Margaret, bursting in. Sour Susan followed.

“That’s not the password,” said Henry.

“You can’t come in,” squeaked the guard, a little late.

“You’ve been stealing the Secret Club cookies,” said Moody Margaret.

“Yeah, Henry,” said Susan.

Horrid Henry stretched and yawned.

“Prove it.”

Moody Margaret pointed to all the crumbs lying on the dirt floor.

“Where did all these crumbs come from, then?”

“Cookies,” said Henry.

“So you admit it!” shrieked Margaret.

“Purple Hand cookies,” said Henry. He pointed to the Purple Hand skull and crossbones cookie tin.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” said Margaret.

Horrid Henry fell to the floor and started rolling around.

“Ooh, ooh, my pants are on fire, I’m burning, call the fire fighters!” shouted Henry.

Perfect Peter dashed off.

“Mom!” he hollered. “Henry’s pants are on fire!”

Margaret and Susan made a hasty retreat. Horrid Henry stopped rolling and howled with laughter.