Horrid Henry and the Zombie Vampire
Read Horrid Henry and the Zombie Vampire Online
Authors: Francesca Simon
Copyright
Text © Francesca Simon 2011
Cover and internal illustrations © Tony Ross 2011
Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
Fax: (630) 961-2168
Originally published in Great Britain in 2011 by Orion Children’s Books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.
Source of Production: Versa Press, East Peoria, Illinois, USA
Date of Production: February 2012
Run Number: 17107
For the amazing, inspiring, and fantastic
Josh Stamp-Simon
“NO!” screamed Horrid Henry. “NO!”
“Don’t be horrid, Henry,” said Dad.
“We’d LOVE to hear your new story, Peter,” said Mom.
“I wouldn’t,” said Henry.
“Don’t be rude, Henry,” said Dad.
Horrid Henry stuck his fingers in his ears and glared.
AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH.
Wasn’t it bad enough that he had to sit at the table in front of a disgusting plate filled with—yuck—sprouts and—blecccchh—peas instead of the fries and pizza he had BEGGED Dad to cook for dinner? Did he really have to listen to Peter droning on as well?
This was torture. This was a cruel and unusual punishment. Did any child in the world ever suffer as much as Henry?
It was so unfair! Mom and Dad wouldn’t let him play the Killer Boy Rats during dinner but now they wanted to force him to listen to Peter read his stupid story.
Peter wrote the world’s worst stories. If they weren’t about fairies, they were about kittens or butterflies or little elves that helped humans with their chores. His last one was all about the stupid adventures of Peter’s favorite plastic sheep, Fluff Puff, and the terrible day his pink-and-yellow nose turned blue. The king of the sheep had to come and wave his magic hoof to change it back…Henry shuddered just remembering. And then Henry had shouted that a woodsman who really craved a lamb chop had nabbed Fluff Puff and then Mom and Dad had sent him to his room.
Perfect Peter unfolded his piece of paper and cleared his throat.
“My story is called,
Butterfly Fairies Paint the Rainbow
,” said Peter.
“AARRGGHHH!” said Henry.
“What a lovely title,” said Mom. She glared at Henry.
“Can’t wait to hear it,” said Dad. “Stop playing with your food, Henry,” he added, as Horrid Henry started squishing peas under his knife.
“Once upon a time there lived seven butterfly fairies. There was one for every color of the rainbow. Dance and prance, prance and dance, went the butterfly fairies every day.”
Henry groaned. “That’s just copying
Daffy and her Dancing Daisies
.”
“I’m not copying,” said Perfect Peter.
“Are too.”
“Are not.”
“Don’t be horrid, Henry,” said Mom. “Peter, that’s a lovely story so far. Go on, what happens next?”
“The butterfly fairies also kept the rainbow lovely and shiny. Each fairy polished their own color every day. But one day the butterfly fairies looked up at the sky. Whoopsy daisy! All the colors had fallen off the rainbow.”
“Call the police,” said Horrid Henry.
“Mom, Henry keeps interrupting me,” wailed Peter.
“Stop it, Henry,” said Mom.
“The fairies ran to tell their queen what had happened,” read Peter.
“‘All the colors of the rainbow fell down,’ cried the butterfly fairies.
“‘Oh no.
“‘Oh woe.
“‘Boohoo. Boohoo.”’
SCRATCH! SCRAPE! Horrid Henry started grinding his knife into his plate.
“Stop that, Henry,” said Dad.
“I’m just eating my dinner,” said Henry. He sighed loudly. “You’re always telling me to use my knife. And now I am and you tell me to stop.”
Perfect Peter raised his voice. “‘Don’t cry, butterfly fairies,’ said the Queen. ‘We’ll just—’”
SCRAPE!
Horrid Henry scraped louder.
“Mom!” wailed Peter. “He’s trying to ruin my story.”
“There’s nothing to ruin,” said Henry.
“Be quiet, Henry,” said Dad. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you.”
Henry burped.
“Henry! I’m warning you!”
“I didn’t
say
anything,” said Henry.
“Mom! I’m just getting to the really exciting part,” said Peter. “Henry’s spoiling it.”
“Go on, Peter, we’re all listening,” said Mom.
“‘Don’t cry, butterflies,’ said the queen. ‘We’ll just have to pick up our magic paint pots and color it back in.’
“‘Yay,’ said the fairies. ‘Let’s get to work.”’
“Blecchhhhhhh!” said Horrid Henry, pretending to vomit and knocking a few sprouts onto the floor.
“Henry, I’m warning you…” said Mom. “Sorry, Peter.”
“‘I’ll paint the rainbow blue,’ said blue butterfly.
“‘I’ll paint the rainbow orange,’ said orange butterfly.
“‘I’ll paint the rainbow green,’ said green butterfly.
“I’ll paint—’”
“‘I’ll paint the rainbow black and hang skulls on it,’ said Terminator butterfly,” snarled Horrid Henry.
“MOM!” wailed Peter. “Henry’s interrupting me
again!
”
“Henry, this is your final warning,” said Dad. “If I hear one more word out of you, no TV for a week.”
“Then the fairy queen picked up the paint pots and—”
Horrid Henry yawned loudly.
“…and the butterfly fairies were so happy that they began to sing:
‘Tee-hee. Tra-la.
Tra-a tra-la
We are dainty little fairies
And we play and sing all day
Maybe you can come and join us
Then we’ll paint the day away
Tee-hee hee hee
Tra-la-la-la.’”
“Blah-blah, blah-blah,” snarled Horrid Henry. He hadn’t thought Peter could write a worse story than
The Adventures of Fluff Puff
but he was wrong.
“That’s the worst story I ever heard,” said Horrid Henry.
“Henry. Be quiet,” said Dad.
Horrid Henry’s fingers curled around a sprout.
“What did
you
think of my story, Mom?” said Peter.
“That was the best story I ever heard,” said Mom.
“Well done, Peter,” said Dad.
Bong! A sprout hit Perfect Peter on the head.
“OW! Henry just threw a sprout at me,” wailed Peter.
“Did not!” said Henry. “It slipped off my fork.”
“That’s it, Henry!” shouted Dad.
“Go to your room, Henry!” shouted Mom.
Horrid Henry leaped down from the table and began to stomp. “Look at me, I’m a butterfly fairy!”
Horrid Henry stomped upstairs to his bedroom. It was so unfair. In the olden days, when people hadn’t enjoyed a play, didn’t they throw tomatoes and rotten oranges at the stage? He was only being historical. Peter was lucky he hadn’t thrown much worse at him.
Well, he’d show everyone how it was done.
He’d write the greatest story ever. All about King Hairy the Horrible and his wicked wife, Queen Gertrude the Gruesome. They would spend their days cackling and making evil plans.