Horrid Henry and the Zombie Vampire (5 page)

He was still breathing. He was still alive. Everyone at his table was slurping up the food and beaming. Everyone at the other tables was coughing and choking and spitting…

Horrid Henry took another teeny tiny taste.

The sauce was…delicious. It was much nicer than the regular glop they served at lunchtime with pasta. It was a million billion times nicer. And he had just…he had just…

“Is this some kind of joke?” gasped Mrs. Oddbod, gagging. “Mr. Nudie Foodie, you are toast! Leave here at once!”

Mr. Nudie Foodie slunk off.

“NOOOOO!” screamed Horrid Henry. “It’s yummy! Don’t go!”

Everyone stared at Horrid Henry.

“Weird,” said Rude Ralph.

Horrid Henry grabbed the top secret candy tin he kept hidden under his bed. It was jam-packed with all his favorites: Big Boppers. Nose Pickers. Dirt Balls. Hot Snot. Gooey Chewies. Scrunchy Munchies.

Yummy!!!

Mmmm boy! Horrid Henry’s mouth watered as he prized off the lid. Which to have first? A Dirt Ball? Or a Gooey Chewy? Actually, he’d just scoff it all. It had been ages since he’d…

Huh?

Where were all his chocolates? Where were all his candy? Who’d swiped them? Had Margaret invaded his room? Had Peter sneaked in? How dare—Oh. Horrid Henry suddenly remembered.
He’d
eaten them all.

Rats.

Rats.

Triple rats.

Well, he’d just have to go and buy more. He was sure to have tons of pocket money left.

Chocolate, here I come, thought Horrid Henry, heaving his bones and dashing over to his skeleton bank.

He shook it. Then he shook it again.

There wasn’t even a rattle.

How could he have
no
money and
no
candy? It was so unfair! Just last night Peter had been boasting about having $7.48 in
his
piggy bank. And loads of candy left over from Halloween. Horrid Henry scowled. Why did Peter
always
have money? Why did he, Henry,
never
have money?

Money was totally wasted on Peter. What was the point of Peter having money since he never spent it? Come to think of it, what was the point of Peter having candy since he never ate them?

There was a shuffling,
scuttling noise, then Perfect Peter dribbled into Henry’s bedroom carrying all his soft toys.

“Get out of my room, worm!” bellowed Horrid Henry, holding his nose. “You’re stinking it up.”

“I am not,” said Peter.

“Are too, smelly pants.”

“I do not have smelly pants,” said Peter.

“Do too, woofy, poofy, stinky pants.”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Henry, will you play with me?” said Peter.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Pretty please?”

“No!!”

“But we could play school with all my cuddly toys,” said Peter. “Or have a tea party with them…”

“For the last time, NOOOOOOO!” screamed Horrid Henry.

“You
never
play with me,” said Perfect Peter.

“That’s ’cause you’re a toad-faced diaper wibble bibble,” said Horrid Henry. “Now go away and leave me alone.”

“Mom! Henry’s calling me names again!” screamed Peter. “He called me wibble bibble.”

“Henry! Don’t be horrid!” shouted Mom.

“I’m not being horrid, Peter’s annoying me!” yelled Henry.

“Henry’s annoying
me!
” yelled Peter.

“Make him stop!” screamed Henry and Peter.

Mom ran into the room.

“Boys. If you can’t play nicely then leave each other alone,” said Mom.

“Henry won’t play with me,” wailed Peter. “He
never
plays with me.”

“Henry! Why can’t you play with your brother?” said Mom. “When I was little, Ruby and I played beautifully together all the time.”

Horrid Henry scowled.

“Because he’s a wormy worm,” said Henry.

“Mom! Henry just called me a wormy worm,” wailed Peter.

“Don’t call your brother names,” said Mom.

“Peter only wants to play stupid baby games,” said Henry.

“I do not,” said Peter.

“If you’re not going to play together then you can do your chores,” said Mom.

“I did mine,” said Peter. “I fed Fluffy, cleaned out the litter tray,
and
tidied my room.”

Mom beamed. “Peter,
you
are the best boy in the world.”

Horrid Henry scowled. He’d been far too busy reading his comics to empty the wastepaper baskets and tidy his room. He stuck out his tongue at Peter behind Mom’s back.

“Henry’s making horrible faces at me,” said Peter.

“Henry,
please
be nice for once and play with Peter,” said Mom. She sighed and left the room.

Henry glared at Peter.

Peter glared at Henry.

Horrid Henry was about to push Peter out the door when suddenly he had a brilliant, spectacular idea. It was so brilliant and so spectacular that Horrid Henry couldn’t believe he was still standing in his bedroom and hadn’t blasted off into outer space trailing clouds of glory. Why had he never thought of this before? It was magnificent. It was genius. One day he would start Henry’s Genius Shop, where people would pay a million dollars to buy his super fantastic ideas. But until then…

“Okay, Peter, I’ll play with you,” said Horrid Henry. He smiled sweetly.

Perfect Peter could hardly believe his ears.

“You’ll…
play
with me?” said Perfect Peter.

“Sure,” said Horrid Henry.

“What do you want to play?” asked Peter cautiously. The last time Peter could remember Henry playing with him they’d played Cannibals and Dinner. Peter had had to be dinner…

“Let’s play Robot and Mad Professor,” said Henry.

“Okay,” said Perfect Peter. Wow. That sounded a lot more exciting than his usual favorite game—writing lists of vegetables or having ladybug tea parties with his stuffed toys. He’d probably have to be the robot, and do what Henry said, but it would be worth it to play such a fun game.

“I’ll be the robot,” said Horrid Henry.

Peter’s jaw dropped.

“Go on,” said Henry. “You’re the mad professor. Tell me what to do.”

Wow. Henry was even letting
him
be the mad professor! Maybe he’d been wrong about Henry…maybe Henry had been struck by lightning and changed into a nice brother…

“Robot,” ordered Perfect Peter. “March around the room.”

Horrid Henry didn’t budge.

“Robot!” said Peter. “I order you to march.”