Horrid Henry and the Scary Sitter (5 page)

“Stop it,” muttered Rebecca.

Henry shimmied back and forth in front of the TV, blocking her view and singing along as loudly as he could.

“DA DOO, DA DOO DA,” warbled Henry.

“I’m warning you,” hissed Rebecca.

Perfect Peter walked in. He had already put on his blue bunny pajamas, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair. He held a game of Chinese Checkers in his hand.

“Rebecca, will you play a game with me before I go to bed?” asked Peter.

“NO!” roared Rebecca. “I’m trying to watch TV. Shut up and go away.”

Perfect Peter leapt back.

“But I thought—since I was all ready for bed—” he stammered.

“I’ve got better things to do than to play with you,” snarled Rebecca. “Now go to bed this minute, both of you.”

“But it’s not my bedtime for hours,” protested Henry. “I want to watch Mutant Max.”

“Or mine,” said Perfect Peter timidly. “There’s this nature program—”

“GO!” howled Rebecca.

“NO!” howled Henry.

“RAAAAA!” roared Rabid Rebecca.

Horrid Henry did not know how it happened. It was as if fiery dragon’s breath had blasted him upstairs.

Somehow, he was in his pajamas, in bed, and it was only seven o’clock.

Rabid Rebecca switched off the light. “Don’t even think of moving from that bed,” she hissed. “If I see you, or hear you, or even smell you, you’ll be sorry you were born. I’ll stay downstairs, you stay upstairs, and that way no one will get hurt.” Then she marched out of the room and slammed the door.

Horrid Henry was so shocked he could not move. He, Horrid Henry, the bulldozer of babysitters, the terror of teachers, the bully of brothers, was in bed, lights out, at seven o’clock.

Seven o’clock! Two whole hours before his bedtime! This was an outrage! He could hear Moody Margaret shrieking next door. He could hear Toddler Tom zooming around on his tricycle. No one went to bed at seven o’clock. Not even toddlers!

Worst of all, he was thirsty. So what if she told me to stay in bed, thought Horrid Henry. I’m thirsty. I’m going to go downstairs and get myself a glass of water. It’s my house and I’ll do what I want.

Horrid Henry did not move.

I’m dying of thirst here, thought Henry. Mom and Dad will come home

and I’ll be a dried out old stick insect, and boy will she be in trouble.

Horrid Henry still did not move. Go on, feet, urged Henry, let’s just step on down and get a little ol’ glass of water. So what if that scary sitter said he had to stay in bed. What could she do to him?

She could chop off my head and bounce it down the stairs, thought Henry.

Eeek.

Well, let her try.

Horrid Henry remembered who he was. The boy who’d sent teachers shrieking from the classroom. The boy who’d destroyed the Demon Dinner Lady. The boy who had run away from home and almost reached the Congo.

I will get up and get a drink of water, he thought.

Sneak. Sneak. Sneak.

Horrid Henry crept to the bedroom door.

Slowly he opened it a crack.

Creak.

Then slowly, slowly, he opened the door a bit more and slipped out.

ARGHHHHHH!

There was Rabid Rebecca sitting at the top of the stairs.

It’s a trap, thought Henry. She was lying in wait for me. I’m dead, I’m finished, they’ll find my bones in the morning.

Horrid Henry dashed back inside his room and awaited his doom.

Silence.

What was going on? Why hadn’t Rebecca torn him apart limb from limb?

Horrid Henry opened his door a fraction and peeped out.

Rabid Rebecca was still sitting huddled at the top of the stairs. She did not move. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead.

“Spi–spi–spider,” she whispered. She pointed at a big, hairy spider in front of her with a trembling hand.

“It’s huge,” said Henry. “Really hairy and horrible and wriggly and—”

“STOP!” squealed Rebecca. “Help me, Henry,” she begged.

Horrid Henry was not the fearless leader of a pirate gang for nothing.

“If I risk my life and get rid of the spider, can I watch Mutant Max?” asked Henry.

“Yes,” said Rebecca.

“And stay up ’til my parents come home?”

“Yes,” said Rebecca.

“And eat all the ice cream in the fridge?”

“YES!” shrieked Rebecca. “Just get rid of that—that—”

“Deal,” said Horrid Henry.

He dashed to his room and grabbed a jar.

Rabid Rebecca hid her eyes as Horrid Henry scooped up the spider. What a beauty!

“It’s gone,” said Henry.

Rebecca opened her beady red eyes.

“Right, back to bed, you little brat!”

“What?” said Henry.

“Bed. Now!” screeched Rebecca.

“But we agreed…” said Henry.

“Tough,” said Rebecca. “That was then.”

“Traitor,” said Henry.

He whipped out the spider jar from behind his back and unscrewed the lid.

“On guard!” he said.

“AAEEEE!” whimpered Rebecca.

Horrid Henry advanced menacingly toward her.

“NOOOOOOO!” wailed Rebecca, stepping back.

“Now get in that room and stay there,” ordered Henry. “Or else.”

Rabid Rebecca skedaddled into the bathroom and locked the door.

“If I see you or hear you or even smell you, you’ll be sorry you were born,” said Henry.

“I already am,” said Rabid Rebecca.