Horrid Henry and the Abominable Snowman
Read Horrid Henry and the Abominable Snowman Online
Authors: Francesca Simon,Tony Ross
Text © Francesca Simon 2007
Internal illustrations © Tony Ross 2007
Cover illustration © Tony Ross 2008
Cover and internal design © 2010 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 means including 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 even
ts 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
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Originally published in Great Britain in 2007 by Orion Children’s Books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.
Source of Production: Versa Press, East Peoria, Illinois, USA
Date of Production: July 2010
Run Number: 12933
For my niece, Ava Rose
Moody Margaret took aim.
Thwack!
A snowball whizzed past and smacked Sour Susan in the face.
“AAAAARRGGHHH!” shrieked Susan.
“Ha ha, got you,” said Margaret.
“You big meanie,” howled Susan, scooping up a fistful of snow and hurling it at Margaret.
Thwack!
Susan’s snowball smacked Moody Margaret in the face.
“OWWWW!” screamed Margaret. “You’ve blinded me.”
“Good!” screamed Susan.
“I hate you!” shouted Margaret, shoving Susan.
“I hate you more!” shouted Susan, pushing Margaret.
Splat! Margaret toppled into the snow.
Splat! Susan toppled into the snow.
“I’m going home to build my own snowman,” sobbed Susan.
“Fine. I’ll win without you,” said Margaret.
“Will not!”
“Will too! I’m going to win, copycat,” shrieked Margaret.
“I’m going to win,” shrieked Susan. “I kept my best ideas secret.”
“Win? Win what?” demanded Horrid Henry, stomping down his front steps in his snow boots and swaggering over. Henry could hear the word win from miles away.
“Haven’t you heard about the
competition?” said Sour Susan. “The prize is—”
“Shut up! Don’t tell him,” shouted Moody Margaret, packing snow onto her snowman’s head.
Win? Competition? Prize? Horrid Henry’s ears quivered. What secret were they trying to keep from him? Well, not for long. Horrid Henry was an expert at extracting information.
“Oh, the competition. I know all about that,” lied Horrid Henry. “Hey, great snowman,” he added, strolling casually over to Margaret’s snowman and pretending to admire her work.
Now, what should he do? Torture? Margaret’s ponytail was always a tempting target. And snow down her sweater would make her talk.
What about blackmail? He could spread some great rumors about Margaret at school. Or…
“Tell me about the competition or the ice guy gets it,” said Horrid Henry suddenly, leaping over to the snowman and putting his hands around its neck.
“You wouldn’t dare,” gasped Moody Margaret.
Henry’s mittened hands got ready to push.
“Bye bye, head,” hissed Horrid Henry. “Nice knowing you.”
Margaret’s snowman wobbled.
“Stop!” screamed Margaret. “I’ll tell you. It doesn’t matter ’cause you’ll never ever win.”
“Keep talking,” said Horrid Henry warily, watching out in case Susan tried to ambush him from behind.
“Frosty Freeze is having a best snowman competition,” said Moody Margaret, glaring. “The winner gets a year’s free supply of ice cream. The judges will decide tomorrow morning. Now get away from my snowman.”
Horrid Henry walked off in a daze, his jaw dropping. Margaret and Susan pelted him with snowballs but Henry didn’t even notice. Free ice cream for a year direct from the Frosty Freeze Ice Cream factory. Oh wow! Horrid Henry couldn’t believe it. Mom and Dad were so mean and horrible they hardly ever let him have ice cream. And when they did, they never ever
let him put on his own hot fudge sauce and whipped cream and sprinkles. Or even scoop the ice cream himself. Oh no.
Well, when he won the Best Snowman Competition they couldn’t stop him from gorging on Chunky Chocolate Fab Fudge Caramel Delight or Vanilla Whip Tutti-Frutti Toffee Treat. Oh boy! Henry could taste that glorious ice cream now. He’d live on ice cream. He’d bathe in ice cream. He’d sleep in ice cream. Everyone from school would turn up at his house when the Frosty Freeze truck arrived bringing his weekly barrels. No matter how much they begged, Horrid Henry would send them all away. No way was he sharing a drop of his precious ice cream with anyone.
And all he had to do was build the best snowman in the neighborhood. Pah! Henry’s was sure to be the winner. He would build the biggest snowman of all. And not just a snowman. A snowman with claws and horns and fangs. A vampire-demon-monster snowman. An Abominable Snowman. Yes!
Henry watched Margaret and Susan rolling snow and packing their saggy snowman. Ha. Snow heap, more like.
“You’ll never win with that,” jeered Horrid Henry. “Your snowman is pathetic.”
“Better than yours,” snapped Margaret.
Horrid Henry rolled his eyes.
“Obviously, because I haven’t started mine yet.”
“We’ve got a big head start on you, so ha ha ha,” said Susan. “We’re building a ballerina snowgirl.”
“Shut up, Susan,” screamed Margaret.
A ballerina snowgirl? What a stupid idea. If that was the best they could do, Henry was sure to win.
“Mine will be the biggest, the best, the most gigantic snowman ever seen,” said Horrid Henry. “And much better than your stupid snow dwarf.”
“Fat chance,” sneered Margaret.
“Yeah, Henry,” sneered Susan. “Ours is the best.”
“No way,” said Horrid Henry, starting to roll a gigantic ball of snow for Abominable’s big belly. There was no time to lose.
Up the path, down the path, across the garden, down the side, back and forth, back and forth, Horrid Henry rolled the biggest ball of snow ever seen.
“Henry, can I build a snowman with you?” came a little voice.
“No,” said Henry, starting to carve out some clawed feet.
“Oh please,” said Peter. “We could build a great big one together. Like a bunny snowman, or a—”
“No!” said Henry. “It’s my snowman. Build your own.”
“Moooommmm!” wailed Peter. “Henry won’t let me build a snowman with him.”
“Don’t be horrid, Henry,” said Mom. “Why don’t you build one together?”
“NO!!!” said Horrid Henry. He wanted to make his own snowman.
If he built a snowman with his stupid worm brother, he’d have to share the prize. Well, no way. He wanted all that ice cream for himself. And his Abominable Snowman was sure to be the best. Why share a prize when you didn’t have to?
“Get away from my snowman, Peter,” hissed Henry.
Perfect Peter sniveled. Then he started to roll a tiny ball of snow.
“And get your own snow,” said Henry. “All this is mine.”
“Mooooom!” wailed Peter. “Henry’s hogging all the snow.”
* * *
“We’re done,” trilled Moody Margaret. “Beat this if you can.”
Horrid Henry looked at Margaret and Susan’s snowgirl, complete with a big pink tutu wound around the waist. It was as big as Margaret.
