Horrid Henry and the Abominable Snowman (3 page)

Horrid Henry was bored. Horrid Henry was fed up. He’d been banned from the computer for rampaging through Our Town Museum. He’d been banned from watching TV just because he was caught watching a teeny tiny bit extra after he’d been told to switch it off right after Mutant Max. Could he help it if an exciting new series about a rebel robot had started right after? How would he know if it were any good unless he watched some of it?

It was completely unfair and all Peter’s fault for telling on him, and Mom and Dad were the meanest, most horrible parents in the world.

And now he was stuck indoors, all day long, with absolutely nothing to do.

The rain splattered down. The house was gray. The world was gray. The universe was gray.

“I’m bored!” wailed Horrid Henry.

“Read a book,” said Mom.

“Do your homework,” said Dad.

“NO!” said Horrid Henry.

“Then tidy your room,” said Mom.

“Unload the dishwasher,” said Dad.

“Empty the garbage,” said Mom.

“NO WAY!” shrieked Horrid Henry. What was he, a slave? Better keep out of his parents’ way or they’d come up with even more horrible things for him to do.

Horrid Henry stomped up to his boring bedroom and slammed the door. Uggh. He hated all his toys. He hated all his music. He hated all his games.

UGGGHHHHHH! What could he do?

Aha.

He could always check to see what Peter was up to.

Perfect Peter was sitting in his room arranging stamps in his stamp album.

“Peter is a baby, Peter is a baby,” jeered Horrid Henry, sticking his head around the door.

“Don’t call me baby,” said Perfect Peter.

“OK, duke of poop,” said Henry.

“Don’t call me duke!” shrieked Peter.

“OK, poopsicle,” said Henry.

“MOOOOM!” wailed Peter. “Henry called me poopsicle!”

“Don’t be horrid, Henry!” shouted Mom. “Stop calling your brother names.”

Horrid Henry smiled sweetly at Peter.

“OK, Peter, ’cause I’m so nice, I’ll let you make a list of ten names that you don’t want to be called,” said Henry. “And it will only cost you $1.”

A dollar! Perfect Peter could not believe his ears. Peter would pay much more than that never to be called poopsicle again.

“Is this a trick, Henry?” said Peter.

“No,” said Henry. “How dare you? I make you a good offer, and you accuse me. Well, just for that—”

“Wait,” said Peter. “I accept.” He handed Henry a dollar bill. At last, all those horrid names would be banned. Henry would never call him duke of poop again.

Peter got out a piece of paper and a pencil.

Now, let’s see, what to put on the list, thought Peter. Poopsicle, for a start. And I hate being called baby and diaper face and duke of poop. Peter wrote and wrote and wrote.

“OK, Henry, here’s the list,” said Peter.

Horrid Henry scanned the list. “Fine, stinky pants,” said Henry. “Sorry, I meant poopy pants. Or was it smelly diaper?”

“MOOOMM!” wailed Peter. “Henry’s calling me names!”

“Henry!” screamed Mom. “For the last time, can’t you leave your brother alone?”

Horrid Henry considered. Could he leave that worm alone?

“Peter is a frog, Peter is a frog,” chanted Henry.

“MOOOOOOMMMMM!” screamed Peter.

“That’s it, Henry!” shouted Mom. “No allowance for a week. Go to your room and stay there.”

“Fine!” shrieked Henry. “You’ll all be sorry when I’m dead.” He stomped down the hall and slammed his bedroom door as hard as he could. Why were his parents so mean and horrible? He was hardly bothering Peter at all. Peter was a frog. Henry was only telling the truth.

Boy would they be sorry when he’d died of boredom stuck up here.

If only we’d let him watch a little extra TV, Mom would wail. Would that have been so terrible?

If only we hadn’t made him do any chores, Dad would sob.

Why didn’t I let Henry call me names, Peter would howl. After all, I do have smelly pants.

And now it’s too late and we’re sooooooo sorry, they would shriek.

But wait. Would they be sorry? Peter would grab his room. And all his best toys. His archenemy Stuck-Up Steve could come over and snatch anything he wanted, even his skeleton bank and Goo-Shooter. Peter could invade the Purple Hand fort and Henry couldn’t stop him. Moody Margaret could hop over the wall and steal his flag. And his cookies. And his Dungeon Drink Kit. Even his…Waterblaster.

NOOOOOO!!!

Horrid Henry went pale. He had to stop those greedy thieves. But how?

I could come back and haunt them, thought Horrid Henry. Yes! That would teach those grave robbers not to mess with me.

“OOOOOOO, get out of my rooooooooooom, you horrrrrrrible toooooooooooad,” he would moan at Peter.

“Touch my Goooooooo-shoooooter and you’ll be morphed into ectoplasm,” he’d groan spookily from under Stuck-Up Steve’s bed. Ha! That would show him.

Or he’d pop out from inside Moody Margaret’s closet.

“Giiiiive Henrrrrry’s toyyyys back, you mis-er-a-ble sliiiiiimy snake,” he would rasp. That would teach her a thing or two.