Horrid Henry's Christmas

by Francesca Simon

  HORRID HENRY’S CHRISTMAS

  Meet HORRID HENRY the laugh-out-loud worldwide sensation!

  * Over 15 million copies sold in 27 countries and counting

  * # 1 chapter book series in the UK

  * Francesca Simon is the only American author to ever win the Galaxy British Book Awards Children’s Book of the Year (past winners include J.K. Rowling, Philip Pullman, and Eoin Colfer).

  “Horrid Henry is a fabulous antihero…a modern comic classic.” —Guardian

  “Wonderfully appealing to girls and boys alike, a precious rarity at this age.” —Judith Woods, Times

  “The best children’s comic writer.”

  —Amanda Craig, The Times

  “ I love the Horrid Henry books by Francesca Simon. They have lots of funny bits in. And Henry always gets into trouble!” —Mia, age 6, BBC Learning Is Fun

  “My two boys love this book, and I have actually had tears running down my face and had to stop reading because of laughing so hard.” —T. Franklin, Parent

  “It’s easy to see why Horrid Henry is the bestselling character for five- to eight-year-olds.” —Liverpool Echo

  “Francesca Simon’s truly horrific little boy is a monstrously enjoyable creation. Parents love them because Henry makes their own little darlings seem like angels.” —Guardian Children’s Books Supplement

  “I have tried out the Horrid Henry books with groups of children as a parent, as a babysitter, and as a teacher. Children love to either hear them read aloud or to read them themselves.” —Danielle Hall, Teacher

  “ A flicker of recognition must pass through most teachers and parents when they read Horrid Henry. There’s a tiny bit of him in all of us.” —Nancy Astee, Child Education

  “As a teacher…it’s great to get a series of books my class loves. They go mad for Horrid Henry.” —A teacher

  “Henry is a beguiling hero who has entranced millions of reluctant readers.” —Herald

  “An absolutely fantastic series a d surely a winner with all children. Long live Francesca Simo and her brilliant books! More, more please!”

  —A parent

  “Laugh-out-loud reading for both adults and children alike.” —A parent

  “ Horrid Henry certainly lives up to his name, and his antics are everything you hope your own child will avoid—which is precisely why younger children so enjoy these tales.”

  —Independent on Sunday

  “Henry might be unbelievably naughty, totally wicked, and utterly horrid, but he is frequently credited with converting the most reluctant readers into enthusiastic ones…superb in its simplicity.” —Liverpool Echo

  “Will make you laugh out loud.”

  —Sunday Times

  “Parents reading them aloud may be consoled to discover that Henry can always be relied upon to behave worse than any of their own offspring.” —Independent

  “ What is brilliant about the books is that Henry never does anything that is subversive. She creates an aura of supreme naughtiness (of which children are in awe) but points out that he operates within a safe and secure world… eminently readable books.” —Emily Turner, Angels and Urchins

  “Inventive and funny, with appeal for boys and girls alike, and super illustrations by Tony Ross.”

  —Jewish Chronicle

  “Accompanied by fantastic black-and-white drawings, the book is a joy to read. Horrid Henry has an irresistible appeal to everyone—child and adult alike! He is the child everyone is familiar with—irritating, annoying, but you still cannot help laughing when he gets into yet another scrape. Not quite a devil in disguise but you cannot help wondering at times! No wonder he is so popular!”

  —Angela Youngman

  Horrid Henry by Francesca Simon

  Horrid Henry

  Horrid Henry Tricks the Tooth Fairy

  Horrid Henry and the Mega-Mean Time Machine

  Horrid Henry’s Stinkbomb

  Horrid Henry and the Mummy’s Curse

  Horrid Henry and the Soccer Fiend

  HORRID HENRY'S CHRISTMAS

  Francesca Simon

  Illustrated by Tony Ross

  Text © Francesca Simon 2006

  Internal illustrations © Tony Ross 2006

  Cover illustration © Tony Ross 2008

  Cover and internal design © 2009 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 meansincluding 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

  www.jabberwockykids.com

  Originally published in Great Britain in 2006 by Orion Children’s Books.

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the publisher.

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  VP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For the one and only Miranda Richardson

  CONTENTS

  1 Horrid Henry’s Christmas Play

  2 Horrid Henry’s Christmas Presents

  3 Horrid Henry’s Ambush

  4 Horrid Henry’s Christmas Lunch

  1

  HORRID HENRY’S CHRISTMAS PLAY

  A cold dark day in November

  (37 days till Christmas)

  Horrid Henry slumped on the carpet and willed the clock to go faster. Only five more minutes to home time! Already Henry could taste those chips he’d be sneaking from the cupboard.

  Miss Battle-Axe droned on about school lunches (yuck), the new drinking fountain blah blah blah, math homework blah blah blah, the school Christmas play blah blah …what? Did Miss Battle-Axe say …Christmas play? Horrid Henry sat up.

  “This is a brand-new play with singing and dancing,” continued Miss Battle-Axe. “And both the older and the younger children are taking part this year.”

  Singing! Dancing! Showing off in front of the whole school! Years ago, when Henry was in kindergarten, he’d played eighth sheep in the nativity play and had snatched the baby from the manger and refused to hand him back. Henry hoped Miss Battle-Axe wouldn’t remember.

  Because Henry had to play the lead. He had to. Who else but Henry could be an all-singing, all-dancing Joseph?

  “I want to be Mary!” shouted every girl in the class.

  “I want to be a wise man!” shouted Rude Ralph.

  “I want to be a sheep!” shouted Anxious Andrew.

  “I want to be Joseph!” shouted Horrid Henry.

  “No, me!” shouted Jazzy Jim.

  “Me!” shouted Brainy Brian.

  “Quiet!” shrieked Miss Battle-Axe. “I’m the director, and my decision about who will act which part is final. I’ve cast the play as follows: Margaret. You will be Mary.” She handed her a thick script.

  Moody Margaret whooped with joy. All the other girls glared at her.

  “Susan, front legs of the donkey; Linda, hind legs; cows, Fiona and Clare. Blades of grass—” Miss Battle-Axe continued assigning parts.

  Pick me for Joseph, pick me for Joseph, Horrid Henry begged silently. Who better than the best actor in the school to play the starring part?

  “I’m a sheep, I’
m a sheep, I’m a beautiful sheep!” warbled Singing Soraya.

  “I’m a shepherd!” beamed Jolly Josh. “I’m an angel,” trilled Magic Martha.

  “I’m a blade of grass,” sobbed Weepy William.

  “Joseph will be played by—”

  “ME!” screamed Henry.

  “Me!” screamed New Nick, Greedy

  Graham, Dizzy Dave, and Aerobic Al. “—Peter,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “From Miss Lovely’s class.”

  Horrid Henry felt as if he’d been slugged in the stomach. Perfect Peter? His younger brother? Perfect Peter gets the starring part?

  “It’s not fair!” howled Horrid Henry. Miss Battle-Axe glared at him.

  “Henry, you’re—” Miss Battle-Axe consulted her list. Please not a blade of grass, please not a blade of grass, prayed Horrid Henry, shrinking. That would be just like Miss Battle-Axe, to humiliate him. Anything but that—

  “—the innkeeper.”

  The innkeeper! Horrid Henry sat up, beaming. How stupid he’d been: the innkeeper must be the starring part.

  Henry could see himself now, polishing glasses, throwing darts, pouring out big foaming Fizzywizz drinks to all his happy customers while singing a song about the joys of innkeeping. Then he’d get into a nice long argument about why there was no room at the inn, and finally, the chance to slam the door in Moody Margaret’s face after he’d pushed her away. Wow. Maybe he’d even get a second song. “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Pop on the Wall” would fit right into the story: he’d sing and dance while knocking his less talented classmates off a wall. Wouldn’t that be fun!

  Miss Battle-Axe handed a page to Henry. “Your script,” she said.

  Henry was puzzled. Surely there were some pages missing?

  He read:

  (Joseph knocks. The innkeeper opens the door.)

  JOSEPH: Is there any room at the inn? INNKEEPER: No.

  (The innkeeper shuts the door.)

  Horrid Henry turned over the page.

  It was blank. He held it up to the light.

  There was no secret writing. That was it.

  His entire part was one line. One stupid puny line. Not even a line, a word. “No.”

  Where was his song? Where was his dance with the bottles and the guests at the inn? How could he, Horrid Henry, the best actor in the class (and indeed, the world) be given just one word in the school play? Even the donkeys got a song.

  Worse, after he said his one word, Perfect Peter and Moody Margaret got to yack for hours about mangers and wise men and shepherds and sheep, and then sing a duet, while he, Henry, hung around behind the hay with the blades of grass.

  It was so unfair!

  He should be the star of the show, not his stupid worm of a brother. Why on earth was Peter cast as Joseph anyway? He was a terrible actor. He couldn’t sing, he just squeaked like a squished toad. And why was Margaret playing Mary? Now she’d never stop bragging and swaggering.

  AAARRRRGGGGHHHH!

  “Isn’t it exciting!” said Mom.

  “Isn’t it thrilling!” said Dad. “Our little boy, the star of the show.”

  “Well done, Peter,” said Mom.

  “We’re so proud of you,” said Dad. Perfect Peter smiled modestly.

  “Of course I’m not really the star,” he said, “Everyone’s important, even little parts like the blades of grass and the innkeeper.”

  Horrid Henry pounced. He was a Great White shark lunging for the kill.

  “AAAARRRRGGGHH!” squealed Peter. “Henry bit me!”

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

  “Henry! Go to your room!” snapped Dad.

  Horrid Henry stomped upstairs and slammed the door. How could he bear the humiliation of playing the innkeeper when Peter was the star? He’d just have to force Peter to switch roles with him. Henry was sure he could find a way to persuade Peter, but persuading Miss Battle-Axe was a different matter. Miss Battle-Axe had a mean, horrible way of never doing what Henry wanted.

  Maybe he could trick Peter into leaving the show. Yes! And then nobly offer to replace him.

  But unfortunately, there was no guarantee Miss Battle-Axe would give Henry Peter’s role. She’d probably just replace Peter with Goody-Goody Gordon. He was stuck.

  And then Horrid Henry had a brilliant, spectacular idea. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? If he couldn’t play a bigger part, he’d just have to make his part bigger. For instance, he could scream “No.” That would get a reaction. Or he could bellow “No,” and then hit Joseph. I’m an angry innkeeper, thought Horrid Henry, and I hate guests coming to my inn. Certainly smelly ones like Joseph. Or he could shout “No,” hit Joseph, then rob him. I’m a robber innkeeper, thought Henry. Or, I’m a robber pretending to be an innkeeper. That would liven up the play a bit. Maybe he could be a French robber innkeeper, shout “Non,” and rob Mary and Joseph. Or he was a French robber pirate innkeeper, so he could shout “Non,” tie Mary and Joseph up, and make them walk the plank. Hmmm, thought Horrid Henry. Maybe my part won’t be so small. After all, the innkeeper was the most important character.

  December 12th

  (only 13 more days till Christmas)

  Rehearsals had been going on forever. Horrid Henry spent most of his time slumping in a chair. He’d never seen such a boring play. Naturally he’d done everything he could to improve it.

  “Can’t I add a dance?” asked Henry.

  “No,” snapped Miss Battle-Axe.

  “Can’t I add a teeny weeny-little song?” Henry pleaded.

  “No!” said Miss Battle-Axe.

  “But how does the innkeeper know there’s no room?” said Henry. “I think I should—”

  Miss Battle-Axe glared at him with her red eyes.

  “One more word from you, Henry, and you’ll change places with Linda,” snapped Miss Battle-Axe. “Blades of grass, let’s try again . . .”

  Eeek! An innkeeper with one word was infinitely better than being invisible as the hind legs of a donkey. Still—it was so unfair. He was only trying to help.

  December 22nd

  (only 3 more days till Christmas!)

  Showtime! Not a dish towel was to be found in any local shop. Moms and dads had been up all night frantically sewing costumes. Now the waiting and the rehearsing were over.

  Everyone lined up on stage behind the curtain. Peter and Margaret waited on the side to make their big entrance as Mary and Joseph.

  “Isn’t it exciting, Henry, being in a real play?” whispered Peter.

  “NO,” snarled Henry.

  “Places, everyone, for the opening song,” hissed Miss Battle-Axe. “Now remember, don’t worry if you make a little mistake: just carry on and no one will notice.”

  “But I still think I should have an argument with Mary and Joseph about whether there’s room,” said Henry. “Shouldn’t I at least check to see—”

  “No!” snapped Miss Battle-Axe, glaring at him. “If I hear another peep from you, Henry, you will sit behind the bales of hay and Jim will play your part. Blades of grass! Line up with the donkeys! Sheep! Get ready to baaa …Bert! Are you a sheep or a blade of grass?”

  “I dunno,” said Beefy Bert.

  Mrs. Oddbod went to the front of the stage. “Welcome everyone, moms and dads, boys and girls, to our new Christmas play, a little different from previous years. We hope you all enjoy a brand-new show!”

  Miss Battle-Axe started the CD player. The music played. The curtain rose. The audience stamped and cheered. Stars twinkled. Cows mooed. Horses neighed. Sheep baa’ed. Cameras flashed.

  Horrid Henry stood in the wings and watched the shepherds do their Highland dance. He still hadn’t decided for sure how he was going to play his part. There were so many possibilities. It was so hard to choose.

  Finally, Henry’s big moment arrived.

  He strode across the stage and waited behind the closed inn door for Mary and Joseph.

  The innkeeper stepped forward and opened the door. There was Moody Mar
garet, simpering away as Mary, and Perfect Peter looking full of himself as Joseph.

  “Is there any room at the inn?” asked Joseph.

  Good question, thought Horrid Henry. His mind was blank. He’d thought of so many great things he could say that what he was supposed to say had just gone straight out of his head.

  “Is there any room at the inn?” repeated Joseph loudly.

  “Yes,” said the innkeeper. “Come on in.”

  Joseph looked at Mary.

  Mary looked at Joseph.

  The audience murmured.

  Oops, thought Horrid Henry. Now he remembered. He’d been supposed to say no. Oh well, the show must go on.

  The innkeeper grabbed Mary and Joseph’s sleeves and yanked them through the door. “Come on in, I haven’t got all day.”

  “ …But …but …the inn’s full,” said Mary.

  “No it isn’t,” said the innkeeper.

  “Is too.”

  “Is not. It’s my inn and I should know. This is the best inn in Bethlehem, we’ve got TVs and beds, and—” the innkeeper paused for a moment. What did inns have in them? “—and computers!”

  Mary glared at the innkeeper.

  The innkeeper glared at Mary.

  Miss Battle-Axe gestured frantically from the wings.

  “This inn looks full to me,” said Mary firmly. “Come on Joseph, let’s go to the stable.”

  “Oh, don’t go there, you’ll get fleas,” said the innkeeper.

  “So?” said Mary.

  “I love fleas,” said Joseph weakly.

  “And it’s full of manure.”

  “So are you,” snapped Mary.

  “Don’t be horrid, Mary,” said the innkeeper severely. “Now sit down and rest your weary bones and I’ll sing you a song.” And the innkeeper started singing: