Horrid Henry and the Mummy's Curse

by Francesca Simon

  What a show-off, thought Henry. Wouldn’t it be fun to play a trick on him?

  Horrid Henry pretended he was a crocodile. He sneaked under the water to the middle of the pool and waited until Aerobic Al swam overhead. Then Horrid Henry reached up.

  Pinch! Henry grabbed Al’s thrashing leg.

  “AAAARGGG!” screamed Al. “Something’s grabbed my leg. Help!” Aerobic Al leaped out of the pool.

  Tee hee, thought Horrid Henry.

  “It’s a shark!” screamed Sour Susan. She scrambled out of the pool.

  “There’s a shark in the pool!” screeched Anxious Andrew.

  “There’s a shark in the pool!” howled Rude Ralph.

  Everyone was screaming and shouting and struggling to get out.

  The only one left in the pool was Henry.

  Shark!

  Horrid Henry forgot there were no sharks in swimming pools.

  Horrid Henry forgot he’d started the shark rumor.

  Horrid Henry forgot he couldn’t swim.

  All he knew was that he was alone in the pool—with a shark!

  Horrid Henry swam for his life. Shaking and quaking, splashing and crashing, he torpedoed his way to the side of the pool and scrambled out.

  He gasped and panted. Thank goodness. Safe at last! He’d never ever go swimming again.

  “Five meters!” bellowed Soggy Sid. “You’ve all failed your badges today, except for—Henry!”

  “Waaaaaaahhhhhh!” wailed the other children.

  “Whoopee!” screamed Henry. “Olympics, here I come!”

  4

  HORRID HENRY AND THE MUMMY’S CURSE

  Tiptoe. Tiptoe. Tiptoe.

  Horrid Henry crept down the hall. The coast was clear. Mom and Dad were in the garden, and Peter was playing at Tidy Ted’s.

  Tee hee, thought Henry, then darted into Perfect Peter’s room and shut the door.

  There it was. Sitting unopened on Peter’s shelf. The grossest, yuckiest, most stomach-curdling kit Henry had ever seen. A brand-new, deluxe “Curse of the Mummy” kit, complete with a plastic body to mummify, mummy-wrapping

  gauze, curse book, amulets, and, best of all, removable mummy organs to put in a canopic jar. Peter had won it at the “Meet a Real Mummy” exhibition at the museum, but he’d never even played with it once.

  Of course, Henry wasn’t allowed into Peter’s bedroom without permission. He was also not allowed to play with Peter’s toys. This was so unfair, Henry could hardly believe it. True, he wouldn’t let Peter touch his Boom-Boom Basher, his Goo-Shooter, or his Dungeon Drink kit. In fact, since Henry refused to share any of his toys with Peter, Mom had forbidden Henry to play with any of Peter’s toys—or else.

  Henry didn’t care—Perfect Peter had boring baby toys—that is, until he brought home the mummy kit. Henry had ached to play with it. And now was his chance.

  Horrid Henry tore off the wrapping and opened the box.

  WOW! So gross! Henry felt a delicious shiver. He loved mummies. What could be more thrilling than looking at an ancient, wrapped-up DEAD body? Even a pretend one was wonderful. And now he had hours of fun ahead of him.

  Pitter-patter! Pitter-patter! Pitter-patter!

  Oh help, someone was coming up the stairs! Horrid Henry shoved the mummy kit behind him as Peter’s bedroom door swung open and Perfect Peter strolled in.

  “Out of my way, worm!” shouted Henry.

  Perfect Peter slunk off. Then he stopped.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re in my room! You can’t order me out of my own room!”

  “Oh yeah?” blustered Henry.

  “Yeah!” said Peter.

  “You’re supposed to be at Ted’s,” said Henry, trying to distract him.

  “He got sick,” said Peter. He stepped closer. “And you’re playing with my kit! You’re not allowed to play with any of my things! Mom said so! I’m going to tell her right now!”

  Uh oh. If Peter told on him, Henry would be in big trouble. Very big trouble. Henry had to save himself, fast. He had two choices. He could leap on Peter and throttle him. Or he could use weasel words.

  “I wasn’t playing with it,” said Henry smoothly. “I was trying to protect you.” “No you weren’t,” said Peter. “I’m telling.”

  “I was too,” said Henry. “I was trying to protect you from the Mummy’s Curse.”

  Perfect Peter headed for the door. Then he stopped.

  “What curse?” said Peter.

  “The curse that turns people into mummies!” said Henry desperately.

  “There’s no such thing,” said Peter.

  “Wanna bet?” said Henry. “Everyone knows about the mummy’s curse! They take on the shape of someone familiar but really, they’re mummies! They could be your cat—”

  “Fluffy?” said Peter. “Fluffy, a mummy?”

  Henry looked at fat Fluffy snoring peacefully on a cushion.

  “Even Fluffy,” said Henry. “Or Dad. Or Me. Or you.”

  “I’m not a mummy,” said Peter.

  “Or even—” Henry paused melodramatically and then whispered, “Mom.”

  “Mom, a mummy?” gasped Peter.

  “Yup,” said Henry. “But don’t worry. You help me draw some Eyes of Horus. They’ll protect us against…her.”

  “She’s not a mummy,” said Peter.

  “That’s what she wants us to think,” whispered Henry. “It’s all here in the mummy curse book.” He waved the book in front of Peter. “Don’t you think the mummy on the cover resembles you-know-who?”

  “No,” said Peter.

  “Watch,” said Horrid Henry. He grabbed a pencil.

  “Don’t draw on a book!” squeaked Peter.

  Henry ignored him and drew glasses on the mummy.

  “How about now?” he asked.

  Peter stared. Was it his imagination or did the mummy look a little familiar?

  “I don’t believe you,” said Peter. “I’m going straight down to ask Mom.”

  “But that’s the worst thing you could do!” shouted Henry.

  “I don’t care,” said Peter. Down he went.

  Henry was sunk. Mom would probably cancel his birthday party when Peter blabbed. And he’d never even had a chance to play with the mummy kit! It was so unfair.

  Mom was reading on the sofa.

  “Mom,” said Peter, “Henry says you’re a mummy.”

  Mom looked puzzled.

  “Of course I’m a mummy,” she said.

  “What?” said Peter.

  “I’m your mummy,” said Mom, with a smile.

  Peter took a step back.

  “I don’t want you to be a mummy,” said Peter.

  “But I am one,” said Mom. “Now come and give me a hug.”

  “No!” said Peter.

  “Let me wrap my arms around you,” said Mom.

  “NO WRAPPING!” squealed Peter. “I want my mommy!”

  “But I’m your mummy,” said Mom.

  “I know!” squeaked Peter. “Keep away, you…Mummy!”

  Perfect Peter staggered up the stairs to Henry.

  “It’s true,” he gasped. “She said she was a mummy.”

  “She did?” said Henry.

  “Yes,” said Peter. “What are we going to do?”

  “Don’t worry, Peter,” said Henry. “We can free her from the curse.”

  “How?” breathed Peter.

  Horrid Henry pretended to consult the curse book.

  “First we must sacrifice to the Egyptian gods Osiris and Hroth,” said Henry.

  “Sacrifice?” said Peter.

  “They like cat guts, and stuff like that,” said Henry.

  “No!” squealed Peter. “Not…Fluffy!”

  “However,” said Henry, leafing through the curse book, “marbles are also acceptable as an offering.”

  Perfect Peter ran to his toy box and scooped up a handful of marbles.

  “Now get me some toilet paper,” added Henry.

 
; “Toilet paper?” said Peter.

  “Do not question the priest of Anubis!” shrieked Henry.

  Perfect Peter got the toilet paper.

  “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

  HORRID HENRY’S RAID

  “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.

  “Ha ha ha ha ha—the Purple Hand rules!” he cackled.

  “We’ll get you for this, Henry,” said Margaret.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Henry.

  “You didn’t really steal their cookies, did you, Henry?” asked Lord High Worm the following day.

  “As if,” said Horrid Henry. “Now get back to your guard duty. Our enemies may be planning a revenge attack.”

  “Why do I always have to be the guard?” said Peter. “It’s not fair.”

  “Whose club is this?” said Henry fiercely.

  Peter’s lip began to tremble.

  “Yours,” muttered Peter.

  “So if you want to stay as a temporary member, you have to do what I say,” said Henry.

  “OK,” said Peter.

  “And remember, one day, if you’re very good, you’ll be promoted from junior guard to chief guard,” said Henry.

  “Ooh,” said Peter, brightening.

  Business settled, Horrid Henry reached for the cookie tin. He’d saved five yummy chocolate fudge chewies for today.

  Henry picked up the tin and stopped. Why wasn’t it rattling? He shook it.

  Silence.

  Horrid Henry ripped off the lid and shrieked.

  The Purple Hand cookie tin was empty. Except for one thing. A dagger drawn on a piece of paper. The dastardly mark of Margaret’s Secret Club! Well, he’d show them who ruled.

  “Worm!” he shrieked. “Get in here!”

  Peter entered.

  “We’ve been raided!” screamed Henry. “You’re fired!”

  “Waaaah!” wailed Peter.

  * * *

  “Good work, Susan,” said the leader of the Secret Club, her face covered in chocolate.

  “I don’t see why you got three cookies and I only got two when I was the one who sneaked in and stole them,” said Susan sourly.

  “Tribute to your leader,” said Moody Margaret.

  “I still don’t think it�
�s fair,” muttered Susan.

  “Tough,” said Margaret. “Now let’s hear your spy report.”

  “NAH NAH NE NAH NAH!” screeched a voice from outside.

  Susan and Margaret dashed out of the Secret Club tent. They were too late. There was Henry, prancing off, waving the Secret Club banner he’d stolen.

  “Give that back, Henry!” screamed Margaret.

  “Make me!” said Henry.

  Susan chased him. Henry darted.

  Margaret chased him. Henry dodged.

  “Come and get me!” taunted Henry.

  “All right,” said Margaret. She walked toward him, then suddenly jumped over the wall into Henry’s garden and ran to the Purple Hand fort.

  “Hey, get away from there!” shouted Henry, chasing after her. Where was that useless guard when you needed him?

  Margaret nabbed Henry’s skull and crossbones flag and darted off.

  The two leaders faced each other. “Gimme my flag!” ordered Henry. “Gimme my flag!” ordered Margaret. “You first,” said Henry.

  “You first,” said Margaret.

  Neither moved.

  “OK, at the count of three we’ll throw them to each other,” said Margaret. One, two, three—throw!”

  Margaret held on to Henry’s flag.

  Henry held on to Margaret’s flag.

  Several moments passed.

  “Cheater,” said Margaret.

  “Cheater,” said Henry.

  “I don’t know about you, but I have important spying work to get on with,” said Margaret.

  “So?” said Henry. “Get on with it. No one’s stopping you.”

  “Drop my flag, Henry,” said Margaret.

  “No,” said Henry.

  “Fine,” said Margaret. “Susan! Bring me the scissors.”

  Susan ran off.

  “Peter!” shouted Henry. “Worm! Lord Worm! Lord High Worm!”

  Peter stuck his head out of the upstairs window.

  “Peter! Get the scissors! Quick!” ordered Henry.

  “No,” said Peter. “You fired me, remember?” And he slammed the window shut.