home before Mom and Dad discovered he’d been out.
Moody Margaret bustled into the tent, followed by her mother, Gorgeous Gurinder, Kung-Fu Kate, Lazy Linda, Vain Violet, Singing Soraya, and Sour Susan.
“Now, girls, it’s late, I want you to go straight to bed, lights out, no talking,” said Margaret’s mother. “My little Maggie Moo Moo needs her beauty sleep.”
Ha, thought Horrid Henry. Margaret could sleep for a thousand years and she’d still look like a frog.
“Yes, Mom,” said Margaret.
“Good night, girls,” trilled Margaret’s mom. “See you in the morning.”
Phew, thought Horrid Henry, lying as still as he could. He’d be back home in no time, mission safely accomplished.
“We’re sleeping out here?” said Singing Soraya. “In a tent?”
“I said it was a Secret Club sleepover,” said Margaret.
Horrid Henry’s heart sank. Huh? They were planning to sleep here? Rats, rats, rats, double rats. He was going to have to hide inside this hot dusty chest until they were asleep.
Maybe they’d all fall asleep soon, thought Horrid Henry hopefully.
Because he had to get home before Mom and Dad discovered he was missing. If they realized he’d sneaked outside, he’d be in so much trouble his life wouldn’t be worth living and he might as well abandon all hope of ever watching TV or eating another cookie until he was an old, shriveled bag of bones struggling to chew with his one tooth and watch TV with his magnifying glass and hearing aid. Yikes!
Horrid Henry looked grimly at the cookies clutched in his fist. Thank goodness he’d brought provisions.
He might be trapped here for a very long time.
“Where’s your sleeping bag, Violet?” said Margaret.
“I didn’t bring one,” said Vain Violet. “I don’t like sleeping on the floor.”
“Tough,” said Margaret, “that’s where we’re sleeping.”
“But I need to sleep in a bed,” whined Vain Violet. “I don’t want to sleep out here.”
“Well, we do,” said Margaret.
“Yeah,” said Susan.
“I can sleep anywhere,” said Lazy Linda, yawning.
“I’m calling my mom,” said Violet. “I want to go home.”
“Go ahead,” said Margaret. “We don’t need you, do we?”
Silence.
“Oh come on, Violet, stay,” said Gurinder.
“Yeah, stay,” said Kung-Fu Kate.
“No!” said Violet, flouncing out of the tent.
“Hummph,” said Moody Margaret.
“She’s no fun anyway. Now, everyone put your sleeping bags down where I say. I need to sleep by the entrance, because I need fresh air.”
“I want to sleep by the entrance,” said Soraya.
“No,” said Margaret, “it’s my party so I decide. Susan, you go to the back because you snore.”
“Do not,” said Susan.
“Do too,” said Margaret.
“Liar.”
“Liar.”
SLAP!
SLAP!
“That’s it!” wailed Susan. “I’m calling my mom.”
“Go ahead,” said Margaret, “see if I care, snore-box. That’ll be tons more Chocolate Fudge Chewies for the rest of us.”
Sour Susan stood still. She’d been looking forward to Margaret’s sleepover for ages. And she still hadn’t had any of the midnight feast Margaret had promised.
“All right, I’ll stay,” said Susan sourly, putting her sleeping bag down at the back of the tent by the dress-up chest.
“I want to be next to Gurinder,” said Lazy Linda, scratching her head.
“Do you have lice?” said Gurinder.
“No!” said Linda.
“You do too,” said Gurinder.
“Do not,” said Linda.
“Do too,” said Gurinder. “I’m not sleeping next to someone who has lice.”
“Me neither,” said Kate.
“Me neither,” said Soraya.
“Don’t look at me,” said Margaret. “I’m not sleeping next to you.”
“I don’t have lice!” wailed Linda.
“Go next to Susan,” said Margaret.
“But she snores,” protested Linda.
“But she has lice,” protested Susan.
“Do not.”
“Do not.”
“Bedbug head.”
“Snory!”
Suddenly something scuttled across the floor.
“EEEEK!” squealed Soraya. “It’s a mouse!” She scrambled onto the dress-up chest. The lid sagged.
“It won’t hurt you,” said Margaret.
“Yeah,” said Susan.
“Eeeek!” squealed Linda, shrinking back.
The lid sagged even more.
Cree—eaaak went the chest.
Aaarrrrggghhh, thought Horrid Henry, trying to squash himself down before he was squished.
“Eeeek!” squealed Gurinder, scrambling onto the chest.
CREE—EAAAAAK! went the chest.
Errrrgh, thought Horrid Henry, pushing up against the sagging lid as hard as he could.
“I can’t sleep if there’s a…mouse,” said Gurinder. She looked around nervously. “What if it runs on top of my sleeping bag?”
Margaret sighed. “It’s only a mouse,” she said.
“I’m scared of mice,” whimpered Gurinder. “I’m leaving!” And she ran out of the tent, wailing.
“More food for the rest of us,” said Margaret, shrugging. “I say we feast now.”
“About time,” said Soraya.
“Let’s start with the Chocolate Fudge Chewies,” said Margaret, opening the Secret Club cookie tin. “Everyone can have two, except for me, I get four ’cause it’s my…”
Margaret peered into the tin. There were only a few crumbs inside.
“Who stole the cookies?” said Margaret.
“Wasn’t me,” said Susan.
“Wasn’t me,” said Soraya.
“Wasn’t me,” said Kate.
“Wasn’t me,” said Linda.
Tee-hee, thought Horrid Henry.
“One of you did, so no one is getting anything to eat until you admit it,” snapped Margaret.
“Meanie,” muttered Susan sourly.
“What did you say?” said Moody Margaret.
“Nothing,” said Susan.
“Then we’ll just have to wait for the culprit to come forward,” said Margaret, scowling. “Meanwhile, get in your sleeping bags. We’re going to tell scary stories in the dark. Who knows a good one?”
“I do,” said Susan.
“Not the story about the ghost kitty cat that drank up all the milk in your kitchen, is it?” said Margaret.
Susan scowled.
“Well, it’s a true scary story,” said Susan.
“I know a real scary story,” said Kung-Fu Kate. “It’s about this monster—”
“Mine’s better,” said Margaret. “It’s about a flesh-eating zombie that creeps around at night and rips off—”
“NOOOO,” wailed Linda. “I hate being scared. I’m calling my mom to come and get me.”
“No scaredy-cats allowed in the Secret Club,” said Margaret.
“I don’t care,” said Linda, flouncing out.
“It’s not a sleepover unless we tell ghost stories,” said Moody Margaret. “Turn off your flashlights. It won’t be scary unless we’re all sitting in the dark.”
Sniffle. Sniffle. Sniffle.
“I want to go home,” sniveled Soraya. “I’ve never slept away from home before…I want my mommy.”
“What a baby,” said Moody Margaret.
Horrid Henry was cramped and hot and uncomforta
There was a muffled creak.
Henry froze. Whoops. Henry prayed they hadn’t heard anything.
“…and the zombie crept inside the tent, gnashing its bloody teeth and sniffing the air for human flesh, hungry for more—”
Ow. His poor aching arm. Henry shifted position again.
Creak…
“What was that?” whispered Susan.
“What was what?” said Margaret.
“There was a…a…creak…” said Susan.
“The wind,” said Margaret. “Anyway, the zombie sneaked into the tent and—”
“You don’t think…” hissed Kate.
“Think what?” said Margaret.
“That the zombie…the zombie…”
I’m starving, thought Horrid Henry. I’ll just eat a few cookies really, really, really quietly—
Crunch. Crunch.
“What was that?” whispered Susan.
“What was what?” said Margaret. “You’re ruining the story.”
“That…crunching sound,” hissed Susan.
Horrid Henry gasped. What an idiot he was! Why hadn’t he thought of this before?
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
“Like someone…someone…crunching on…bones,” whispered Kung-Fu Kate.
“Someone…here…” whispered Susan.
Tap. Horrid Henry rapped on the underside of the lid.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
“I didn’t hear anything,” said Margaret loudly.
“It’s the zombie!” screamed Susan.
“He’s in here!” screamed Kate. AAAAARRRRRRRGHHHHHHH!”
“I’m going home!” screamed Susan and Kate. “MOMMMMMMMMMYYYY!” they wailed, running off.
Ha ha, thought Horrid Henry. His brilliant plan had worked!!! Tee-hee. He’d hop out, steal the rest of the feast and scoot home. Hopefully Mom and Dad—
YANK!
Suddenly the chest lid was flung open and a flashlight shone in his eyes.
Moody Margaret’s hideous face glared down at him.
“Gotcha!” said Moody Margaret. “Oh boy, are you in trouble. Just wait till I tell on you. Ha ha, Henry, you’re dead.”
Horrid Henry climbed out of the chest and brushed a few crumbs onto the rug.
“Just wait till I tell everyone at school about your sleepover,” said Horrid Henry. “How you were so mean and bossy everyone ran away.”
“Your parents will punish you forever,” said Moody Margaret.
“Your name will be mud forever,” said Horrid Henry. “Everyone will laugh at you and serves you right, Maggie Moo Moo.”
“Don’t call me that,” said Margaret, glaring.
“Call you what, Moo Moo?”
“All right,” said Margaret slowly. “I won’t tell on you if you give me two packs of Chocolate Fudge Chewies.”
“No way,” said Henry. “I won’t tell on you if you give me three packs of Chocolate Fudge Chewies.”
“Fine,” said Margaret. “Your parents are still up, I’ll tell them where you are right now. I wouldn’t want them to worry.”
“Go ahead,” said Henry. “I can’t wait until school tomorrow.”
Margaret scowled.
“Just this once,” said Horrid Henry. “I won’t tell on you if you won’t tell on me.”
“Just this once,” said Moody Margaret. “But never again.”
They glared at each other.
When he was king, thought Horrid Henry, anyone named Margaret would be catapulted over the walls into an oozy swamp. Meanwhile…on guard, Margaret. On guard. I will be avenged!
Bang! Crash! Kaboom!
Rude Ralph bounced on a chair and did his Tarzan impression.
Moody Margaret yanked Lazy Linda’s hair. Linda screamed.
Stone-Age Steven stomped around the room grunting “Ugg.”
“Rat about town
don’t need a gown.
Where I’m goin’
Only fangs’ll be showin,”
shrieked Horrid Henry.
“Quiet!” barked Miss Battle-Axe. “Settle down immediately.”
Ralph bounced.
Steven stomped.
Linda screamed.
Henry shrieked. He was the Killer Boy Rats new lead singer, blasting his music into the roaring crowd, hurling—
“HENRY, BE QUIET!” bellowed Miss Battle-Axe. “Or playtime is canceled. For everyone.”
Horrid Henry scowled. Why oh why did he have to come to school? Why didn’t the Killer Boy Rats start a school, where you’d do nothing but scream and stomp all day? Now that’s the sort of school everyone would want to go to. But no. He had to come here. When he was king all schools would just teach jousting and spying and Terminator Gladiator would be principal.
Henry looked at the clock. How could it be only 9:42? It felt like he’d been sitting here for ages. What he’d give to be lounging right now on the comfy black chair, eating chips and watching Hog House…
“Today we have a very exciting project,” said Miss Battle-Axe.
Henry groaned. Miss Battle-Axe’s idea of an exciting project and his were never the same. An exciting project would be building a time machine, or a “let’s see who can give Henry the most chocolate” competition, or counting how many times he could hit Miss Battle-Axe with a water balloon.
“We’ll be writing autobiographies,” said Miss Battle-Axe.
Ha. He knew it would be something boring. Horrid Henry hated writing. All that pushing a pen across a piece of paper. Writing always made his hand ache. Writing was hard, heavy work. Why did Miss Battle-Axe try to torture him every day? Didn’t she have anything better to do? Henry groaned again.
“An autobiography means the story of your life,” continued Miss Battle-Axe, glaring at him with her evil red eyes. “Everyone will write a page about themselves and all the interesting things they’ve done.”
Yawn. Could his life get any worse?
Write a page? A whole entire page? What could be more boring then writing on and on about himself—
Wait a minute.
He got to write…about himself? The world’s most fascinating boy? He could write for hours about himself! Days. Weeks. Years. Hold on…what was batty old Miss Battle-Axe saying now?
“…the really exciting part is that our autobiographies will be published in the local newspaper next week.”
Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh wow! His autobiography would be published!
This was his chance to tell the world all about being Lord High Excellent Majesty of the Purple Hand Gang. How he’d vanquished so many evil enemies. All the brilliant tricks he’d played on Peter. He’d write about the Mega-Mean Time Machine. And the Fangmangler. And the millions of times he’d defeated the Secret Club and squished Moody Margaret to a pulp! And oh yes, he’d be sure to include the time he’d turned his one line in the school play into a starring part and scored the winning goal in the class soccer game. But one page would barely cover one day in his life. He needed hundreds of pages…no, thousands of pages to write about just some of his top triumphs.
Where to begin?
“Let’s start with you, Clare,” burbled Miss Battle-Axe. “What would you put in your autobiography?”
Clare beamed. “I walked when I was four months old, learned to read when I was two, did long division when I was three, built my first telescope when I was four, composed a symphony—”
“Thank you, Clare, I’m sure everyone will look forward to learning more about you,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Steven. What will—”
“Can’t we just get started?” shouted Henry. “I’ve got masses to write.”
“As I was saying, before I was so RUDELY interrupted,” said Miss Battle-Axe, glaring, “Steven, what will you be writing about in your autobiography?”
“Being a caveman,” grunted Stone-Age Steven. “Uggg.”
“Fascinating,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Bert! What’s interesting about your life?”
“I dunno,” said Beefy Bert.
“Right, then, everyone get to work,” said Miss Battle-Axe, fixing Horrid Henry with her basilisk stare.
Horrid Henry wrote until his hand ached. But he’d barely got to the time he tricked Margaret into eating glop before Miss Battle-Axe ordered everyone to stop.
“But I haven’t finished!” shouted Horrid Henry.
“Tough,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Now, before we send these autobiographies to the newspaper, I’d like a few of you to read yours aloud to the class. William, let’s start with you.”
Weepy William burst into tears. “I don’t want to go first,” he wailed, dabbing his eyes with some toilet paper.
“Read,” said Miss Battle-Axe.
WILLIAM’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY
I was born. I cried. A few years later my brother, Neil, was born. I cried. In school Toby broke my pencil. Margaret picked me last. When we had to build the Parthenon Henry took all my paper and then when I got some more it was dirty. I had to play a blade of grass in the Nativity play. I cried. I lost every race on Sports Day. I cried. Then I got lice. On the school trip to the Ice Cream Factory I peed in my pants. I cried. Nothing else has ever happened to me.
“Who’s next?” asked Miss Battle-Axe.
Horrid Henry’s hand shot up. Miss Battle-Axe looked as if a zombie had just walked across her grave. Horrid Henry never put his hand up.
“Linda,” said Miss Battle-Axe.
Lazy Linda woke up and yawned.
LINDA’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY
I’ve had many nice beds in my life. First was my Moses basket. Then my cot. Then my little bed. Then my great big sleigh bed. Then my princess bed with the curtains and the yellow headboard. I’ve
also had a lot of quilts. First my quilt had ducks on it. Then I got a new soft one with big fluffy clouds. Oooh, I am sleepy just thinking about it…
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