Horrid Henry and the Mega-Mean Time Machine

by Francesca Simon

Bang!

  Pow!

  Terminator Gladiator slashed at Rapper Zapper.

  Zap!

  Rapper Zapper slashed back.

  “Go Zappy!” yelled Henry, lying bundled up in blankets on the sofa. Once everyone had scrambled out of the lake, Mom and Dad wanted to get home as fast as possible.

  “I think the park next time,” mumbled Dad, sneezing.

  “Definitely,” mumbled Mom, coughing. “Oh, I don’t know,” said Horrid Henry happily. “A little water never hurt anyone.”

  2

  HORRID HENRY AND THE MEGA-MEAN TIME MACHINE

  Horrid Henry flicked the switch. The time machine whirred. Dials spun. Buttons pulsed. Latches locked. Horrid Henry Time Traveler was ready for blastoff!

  Now, where to go, where to go?

  Dinosaurs, thought Henry. Yes! Henry loved dinosaurs. He would love to stalk a few Tyrannosaurus Rexes as they rampaged through the primordial jungle.

  But what about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table? “Arise, Sir Henry,” King Arthur would say, kicking Lancelot out of his chair. “Sure thing, King,” Sir Henry would reply, twirling his sword. “Out of my way, worms!”

  Or what about the siege of Troy? Heroic Henry, that’s who he’d be, the fearless fighter dashing about doing daring deeds.

  Tempting, thought Henry. Very tempting.

  Wait a sec, what about visiting the future, where school was banned and parents had to do whatever their children told them? Where everyone had their own spaceship and ate candy for dinner. And where King Henry the Horrible ruled supreme, chopping off the head of anyone who dared to say no to him.

  To the future, thought Henry, setting the dial.

  Bang! Pow! Henry braced himself for the jolt into hyperspace—10, 9, 8, 7, 6—

  “Henry, it’s my turn.”

  Horrid Henry ignored the alien’s whine. —5, 4, 3—

  “Henry! If you don’t share I’m going to tell Mom.”

  AAAARRRRGGGHHHHHH. The Time Machine shuddered to a halt. Henry climbed out.

  “Go away, Peter,” said Henry. “You’re ruining everything.”

  “But it’s my turn.”

  “GO AWAY!”

  “Mom said we could both play with the box,” said Peter. “We could cut out windows, make a little house, paint flowers—”

  “NO!” screeched Henry.

  “But…” said Peter. He stood in the living room, holding his scissors and crayons.

  “Don’t you touch my box!” hissed Henry.

  “I will if I want to,” said Peter. “And it’s not yours.” Henry had no right to boss him around, thought Peter. He’d been waiting such a long time for his turn. Well, he wasn’t waiting any longer. He’d start cutting out a window this minute.

  Peter got out his scissors.

  “Stop! It’s a time machine, you toad!” shrieked Henry.

  Peter paused.

  Peter gasped.

  Peter stared at the huge cardboard box. A time machine? A time machine? How could it be a time machine?

  “It is not,” said Peter.

  “Is too,” said Henry.

  “But it’s made of cardboard,” said Peter. “And the washing machine came in it.”

  Henry sighed.

  “Don’t you know anything? If it looked like a time machine everyone would try to steal it. It’s a time machine in disguise.”

  Peter looked at the time machine. On the one hand he didn’t believe Henry for one minute. This was just one of Henry’s tricks. Peter was a hundred million billion percent certain Henry was lying.

  On the other hand, what if Henry was telling the truth for once and there was a real time machine in his living room?

  “If it is a time machine, I want to have a turn,” said Peter.

  “You can’t. You’re too young,” said Henry.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  Perfect Peter stuck out his bottom lip. “I don’t believe you anyway.”

  Horrid Henry was outraged.

  “Okay, I’ll prove it. I’ll go to the future right now. Stand back. Don’t move.”

  Horrid Henry leaped into the box and closed the lid. The Time Machine began to shudder and shake.

  Then everything was still for a very long time.

  Perfect Peter didn’t know what to do. What if Henry was gone—forever? What if he were stuck in the future?

  I could have his room, thought Peter.

  I could watch whatever I wanted on TV. I could—

  Suddenly the box tipped over and Horrid Henry staggered out.

  “Wh—wh—where am I?” he stuttered. Then he collapsed on the floor.

  Peter stared at Henry.

  Henry stared wildly at Peter.

  “I’ve been to the future!” gasped Henry, panting. “It was amazing. Wow. I met my great-great-greatgrandson. He still lives in this house. And he looks just like me.”

  “So he’s ugly,” muttered Peter.

  “What—did—you—say?” hissed Henry.

  “Nothing,” said Peter quickly. He didn’t know what to think. “Is this a trick, Henry?”

  “Course it isn’t,” said Henry. “And just for that I won’t let you have a turn.”

  “I can if I want to,” said Peter.

  “You keep away from my time machine,” said Henry. “One wrong move and you’ll get blasted into the future.”

  Perfect Peter walked a few steps toward the time machine. Then he paused.

  “What’s it like in the future?”

  “Boys wear dresses,” said Horrid Henry. “And lipstick. People talk Ugg language. You’d probably like it. Everyone just eats vegetables.”

  “Really?”

  “And kids have tons of homework.” Perfect Peter loved homework.

  “Ooohh.” This Peter had to see. Just in case Henry was telling the truth.

  “I’m going to the future and you can’t stop me,” said Peter.

  “Go ahead,” said Henry. Then he snorted. “You can’t go looking like that!” “Why not?” said Peter.

  “’Cause everyone will laugh at you.” Perfect Peter hated people laughing at him.

  “Why?”

  “Because to them you’ll look weird.

  Are you sure you really want to go to the future?”

  “Yes,” said Peter.

  “Are you sure you’re sure?”

  “YES,” said Peter.

  “Then I’ll get you ready,” said Henry solemnly.

  “Thank you, Henry,” said Peter. Maybe he’d been wrong about Henry. Maybe going to the future had turned him into a nice brother.

  Horrid Henry dashed out of the living room.

  Perfect Peter felt a quiver of excitement. The future. What if Henry really was telling the truth?

  Horrid Henry returned carrying a large wicker basket. He pulled out an old red dress of Mom’s, some lipstick, and a black frothy drink.

  “Here, put this on,” said Henry. Perfect Peter put on the dress. It dragged onto the floor.

  “Now, with a bit of lipstick,” said Horrid Henry, applying big blobs of red lipstick all over Peter’s face, “you’ll fit right in. Perfect,” he said, standing back to admire his handiwork. “You look just like a boy from the future.”

  “Okay,” said Perfect Peter.

  “Now listen carefully,” said Henry. “When you arrive, you won’t be able to speak the language unless you drink this bibble babble drink. Take this with you and drink it when you get there.”

  Henry held out the frothy black drink from his Dungeon Drink Kit. Peter took it.

  “You can now enter the time machine.”

  Peter obeyed. His heart was pounding.

  “Don’t get out until the time machine has stopped moving completely. Then count to twenty-five, and open the hatch very very slowly. You don’t want a piece of you in the twenty-third century, and the rest here in the twenty-first. Good luck.”

  Henry swirled the box around and ar
ound and around. Peter began to feel dizzy. The drink sloshed on the floor.

  Then everything was still.

  Peter’s head was spinning. He counted to twenty-five, then crept out.

  He was in the living room of a house that looked just like his. A boy wearing a bathrobe and silver waggly antennae with his face painted in blue stripes stood in front of him.

  “Ugg?” said the strange boy.

  “Henry?” said Peter.

  “Uggg uggg bleuch ble bloop,” said the boy.

  “Uggg uggg,” said Peter uncertainly.

  “Uggh uggh drink ugggh,” said the boy, pointing to Peter’s bibble babble drink.

  Peter drank the few drops which were left.

  “I’m Zog,” said Zog. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Peter,” said Peter.

  “Ahhhhh! Welcome! You must be my great-great-great-uncle Peter. Your very nice brother Henry told me all about you when he visited me from the past.”

  “Oh, what did he say?” said Peter.

  “That you were an ugly toad.”

  “I am not,” said Peter. “Wait a minute,” he added suspiciously. “Henry said that boys wore dresses in the future.”

  “They do,” said Zog quickly. “I’m a girl.”

  “Oh,” said Peter. He gasped. Henry would never in a million years say he was a girl. Not even if he were being poked with red hot pokers. Could it be…

  Peter looked around. “This looks just like my living room.”

  Zog snorted.

  “Of course it does, Uncle Pete. This is now the Peter Museum. You’re famous in the future. Everything has been kept exactly as it was.”

  Peter beamed. He was famous in the future. He always knew he’d be famous. A Peter Museum! He couldn’t wait to tell Spotless Sam and Tidy Ted.

  here was just one more thing…

  “What about Henry?” he asked. “Is he famous too?”

  “Nah,” said Zog smoothly. “He’s known as What’s-His-Name, Peter’s older brother.”

  Ahh. Peter swelled with pride. Henry was in his lowly place, at last. That proved it. He’d really traveled to the future!

  Peter looked out the window. Strange how the future didn’t look so different from his own time.

  Zog pointed.

  “Our spaceships,” he announced.

  Peter stared. Spaceships looked just like cars.

  “Why aren’t they flying?” said Peter.

  “Only at nighttime,” said Zog. “You can either drive ’em or fly ’em.”

  “Wow,” said Peter.

  “Don’t you have spaceships?” said Zog.

  “No,” said Peter. “Cars.”

  “I didn’t know they had cars in olden days,” said Zog. “Do you have blitzkatrons and zappersnappers?”

  “No,” said Peter. “What—”

  The front door slammed. Mom walked in. She stared at Peter.

  “What on earth…”

  “Don’t be scared,” said Peter. “I’m Peter. I come from the past. I’m your great-great-great grandfather.”

  Mom looked at Peter.

  Peter looked at Mom.

  “Why are you wearing my dress?” said Mom.

  “It’s not one of yours, silly,” said Peter. “It belonged to my mom.”

  “I see,” said Mom.

  “Come on, Uncle Pete,” said Zog quickly, taking Peter firmly by the arm, “I’ll show you our supersonic hammock in the back yard.”

  “Okay, Zog,” said Peter happily.

  Mom beamed.

  “It’s so wonderful to see you playing nicely with your brother, Henry.”

  Perfect Peter stood still.

  “What did you call him?”

  “Henry,” said Mom.

  Peter felt a chill.

  “So his name’s not Zog? And he’s not a girl?”

  “Not the last time I looked,” said Mom.

  “And this house isn’t…the Peter Museum?”

  Mom glared at Henry. “Henry! Have you been teasing Peter again?”

  “Ha ha tricked you!” shrieked Henry. “Na Na Ne Nah Nah, wait till I tell everybody!”

  “NO!” squealed Peter. “NOOOOOOO!” How could he have believed his horrible brother?

  “Henry! You horrid boy! Go to your room! No TV for the rest of the day,” said Mom.

  But Horrid Henry didn’t care. The Mega-Mean Time Machine would go down in history as his greatest trick ever.

  3

  PERFECT PETER’S REVENGE

  Perfect Peter had had enough. Why oh why did he always fall for Henry’s tricks?

  Every time it happened he swore Henry would never ever trick him again. And every time he fell for it. How could he have believed that there were fairies at the bottom of the garden? Or that there was such a thing as a Fangmangler? But the time machine was the worst. The very very worst. Everyone had teased him. Even Goody-Goody Gordon asked him if he’d seen any spaceships recently.

  Well, never again. His mean, horrible brother had tricked him for the very last time.

  I’ll get my revenge, thought Perfect Peter, pasting the last of his animal stamps into his album. I’ll make Henry sorry for being so mean to me.

  But what horrid mean nasty thing could he do? Peter had never tried to take revenge on anyone.

  He asked Tidy Ted.

  “Mess up his room,” said Ted.

  But Henry’s room was already a mess. He asked Spotless Sam.

  “Put a spaghetti stain on his shirt,” said Sam.

  But Henry’s shirts were already stained. Peter picked up a copy of his favorite

  Reluctantly, Peter closed Best Boy magazine. Somehow he didn’t think he’d find the answer inside. He was on his own.

  I’ll tell Mom that Henry eats candy in his bedroom, thought Peter. Then Henry would get into trouble. Big big trouble.

  But Henry got into trouble all the time. That wouldn’t be anything special.

  I know, thought Peter, I’ll hide Mr. Kill. Henry would never admit it, but he couldn’t sleep without Mr. Kill. But so what if Henry couldn’t sleep? He’d just come and jump on Peter’s head or sneak downstairs and watch scary movies.

  I have to think of something really, really horrid, thought Peter. It was hard for Peter to think horrid thoughts, but Peter was determined to try.

  He would call Henry a horrid name, like Ugly Toad or Poo Poo Face. That would show him.

  But if I did, Henry would hit me, thought Peter.

  Wait, he could tell everyone at school that Henry wore diapers. Henry the big diaper. Henry the big smelly diaper. Henry diaper face. Henry poopy pants. Peter smiled happily. That would be the perfect revenge.

  Then he stopped smiling. Sadly, no one at school would believe that Henry still wore diapers. Worse, they might think that Peter still did! Eeeek.

  I’ve got it, thought Peter, I’ll put a muddy twig in Henry’s bed. Peter had read a great story about a younger brother who’d done just that to a mean older one. That would serve Henry right.

  But was a muddy twig enough revenge for all of Henry’s crimes against him?

  No it was not.

  I give up, thought Peter, sighing. It was hopeless. He just couldn’t think of anything horrid enough.

  Peter sat down on his beautifully made bed and opened Best Boy magazine.

  shrieked the headline.

  And then a dreadful thought tiptoed into his head. It was so dreadful, and so horrid, that Perfect Peter could not believe that he had thought it.

  “No,” he gasped. “I couldn’t.” That was too evil.

  But…but…wasn’t that exactly what he wanted? A horrid revenge on a horrid brother?

  “Don’t do it!” begged his angel.

  “Do it!” urged his devil, thrilled to get the chance to speak. “Go on, Peter! Henry deserves it.”

  YES! thought Peter. He would do it. He would have revenge!

  Perfect Peter sat down at the computer.

  Tap tap tap
.

  Peter printed out the note and carefully scrawled:

  HENry

  There! thought Peter proudly. That looks just like Henry’s writing. He folded the note, then sneaked into the garden, climbed over the wall, and left it on the

  table inside Moody Margaret’s Secret Club tent.

  “Of course Henry loves me,” said Moody Margaret, primping. “He can’t help it.

  Everyone loves me because I’m so lovable.”

  “No you’re not,” said Sour Susan. “You’re moody. And you’re mean.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are too!”

  “Am not. You’re just jealous ’cause no one would ever want to marry you,” snapped Margaret.

  “I am not jealous. Anyway, Henry likes me the best,” said Susan, waving a folded piece of paper.

  “Says who?”

  “Says Henry.”

  Margaret snatched the paper from Susan’s hand and read:

  Margaret sniffed. “Just like dog poo, you mean.”

  “I do not,” shrieked Susan.

  “Is this your idea of a joke?” snorted Moody Margaret, crumpling the poem.

  Sour Susan was outraged.

  “No. It was waiting for me on the clubhouse table. You’re just jealous because Henry didn’t write you a poem.”

  “Huh,” said Margaret. Well, she’d show Henry. No one made a fool of her.

  Margaret snatched up a pen and scribbled a reply to Henry’s note.

  “Take this to Henry and report straight back,” she ordered. “I’ll wait here for Linda and Gurinder.”

  “Take it yourself,” said Susan sourly. Why oh why was she friends with such a mean, moody, jealous grump?

  Horrid Henry was inside the Purple Hand Fort plotting death to the Secret Club and scarfing down cookies when an enemy agent peered through the entrance.

  “Guard!” shrieked Henry.

  But that miserable worm toad was nowhere to be found.

  Henry reminded himself to fire Peter immediately.

  “Halt! Who goes there?”

  “I have an important message,” said the Enemy.