Horrid Henry Wakes the Dead (2 page)

Horrid Henry strolled into the sitting room. Peter clutched tightly onto the armrests in case Henry tried to push him off.

“I got the comfy black chair first,” said Peter.

“Okay,” said Horrid Henry, sitting down on the sofa. “So let’s watch something.”

Peter looked at Henry suspiciously.

“Where’s the remote?” said Peter.

“I dunno,” said Horrid Henry. “Where did you put it?”

“I didn’t put it anywhere,” said Peter.

“You had it last,” said Henry.

“No I didn’t,” said Peter.

“Did too,” said Henry.

“Did not,” said Peter.

Perfect Peter sat on the comfy black chair. Horrid Henry sat on the sofa.

“Have you seen it anywhere?” said Peter.

“No,” said Henry. “You’ll just have to look for it, won’t you?”

Peter eyed Henry warily.

“I’m waiting,” said Horrid Henry.

Perfect Peter didn’t know what to do. If he got up from the chair to look for the remote, Henry would jump into it and there was no way Henry would decide to watch
Cooking Cuties
, even though today they were showing how to make your own granola.

On the other hand, there wasn’t much point sitting in the chair if he didn’t have the remote.

Henry sat.

Peter sat.

“You know, Peter, you can turn on the TV without the remote,” said Henry casually.

Peter brightened. “You can?”

“Sure,” said Henry. “You just press that big black button on the left.”

Peter stared suspiciously at the button. Henry must think he was an idiot. He could see Henry’s plan from miles away. The moment Peter left the comfy black chair Henry would jump on it.

“You press it,” said Peter.

“Okay,” said Henry agreeably. He sauntered to the TV and pressed the “on” button.

BOOM! CRASH! WALLOP!

“Des-troy! Des-troy!” bellowed Mutant Max.

“Go mutants!” shouted Horrid Henry, bouncing up and down.

Perfect Peter sat frozen in the chair.

“But I want to watch
Sing-Along with Susie!
” wailed Peter. “She’s teaching a song about raindrops and roses.”

“So find the remote,” said Horrid Henry.

“I can’t,” said Peter.

“Tough,” said Horrid Henry. “Pulverize! Destroy! Destroy!”

Tee-hee.

What a fantastic day, sighed Horrid Henry happily. He’d watched every single one of
his
best shows and Peter hadn’t watched a single one of
his
. And now
Hog House
was on. Could life get any better?

Dad staggered into the living room. “Ahh, a little relaxation in front of the TV,” sighed Dad. “Henry, turn off that horrible show. I want to watch the news.”

“Shhh!” said Horrid Henry. How dare Dad interrupt him?

“Henry…” said Dad.

“I can’t,” said Horrid Henry. “No remote.”

“What do you mean, no remote?” said Dad.

“It’s gone,” said Henry.

“What do you mean, gone?” said Mom.

“Henry lost it,” said Peter.

“Did not,” snapped Henry.

“Did too,” said Peter.

“DID NOT!” bellowed Henry. “Now be quiet, I’m trying to watch.”

Mom marched over to the TV and switched it off.

“The TV stays off until the remote is found,” said Mom.

“But I didn’t lose it!” wailed Peter.

“Neither did I,” said Horrid Henry. This wasn’t a lie, as he
hadn’t
lost it.

Rats. Maybe it was time for the TV remote to make a miraculous return…

Sneak.

Sneak.

Sneak.

Mom and Dad were in the kitchen. Perfect Peter was practicing his cello.

Horrid Henry crept to the toy cupboard and opened it.

The bucket of blocks was gone.

Huh?

Henry searched frantically in the cupboard, hurling out jigsaw puzzles, board games, and half-empty paint bottles. The blocks were definitely gone.

Yikes. Horrid Henry felt a chill down his spine. He was dead. He was doomed.

Unless Mom had moved the blocks somewhere. Of course. Phew. He wasn’t dead yet.

Mom walked into the living room.

“Mom,” said Henry casually, “I wanted to build a castle with those old blocks but when I went to get them from the cupboard they were gone.”

Mom stared at him. “You haven’t played with those blocks in years, Henry. I cleaned out of all the baby toys today and gave them to charity.”

Charity? Charity? That meant the remote was gone for good. He would be in trouble. Big, big trouble. He was doomed…NOT!

Without the clicker, the TV would be useless. Mom and Dad would
have
to buy a new one. Yes! A bigger, better, fantastic one with twenty-five surround-sound speakers and a mega-whopper 10-foot super-sized screen!

“You know, Mom, we wouldn’t have any arguments if we all had our
own
TVs,” said Henry. Yes! In fact, if he had two in his bedroom, and a third one to spare in case one of them ever broke, he’d never argue about the TV again.

Mom sighed. “Just find the remote,” she said. “It must be here somewhere.”

“But our TV is so old,” said Henry.

“It’s fine,” said Dad.

“It’s horrible,” said Henry.

“We’ll see,” said Mom.

New TV here I come, thought Horrid Henry happily.

Mom sat down on the sofa and opened her book.

Dad sat down on the sofa and opened his book.

Peter sat down on the sofa and opened his book.

“You know,” said Mom, “it’s lovely and peaceful without the TV.”

“Yes,” said Dad.

“No squabbling,” said Mom.

“No screaming,” said Dad.

“Tons of time to read good books,” said Mom.

They smiled at each other.

“I think we should be a TV-free home from now on,” said Dad.

“Me too,” said Mom.

“That’s a great idea,” said Perfect Peter. “More time to do homework.”

“What??” screamed Horrid Henry. He thought his heart would stop. No TV? No TV? “NOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

BANG! ZAP! KER-POW!

“Go mutants!” yelped Horrid Henry, bouncing up and down in the comfy black chair.

Mom and Dad had resisted buying a new TV for two long, hard, horrible weeks. Finally they’d given in. Of course they hadn’t bought a big mega-whopper super-duper TV. Oh no. They’d bought the teeniest, tiniest TV they could.

Still. It was a
bit
bigger than the old one. And the remote could always go missing again…

Yack yack yack yack yack.

Horrid Henry’s legs ached. His head ached. His bottom really ached. How much longer would he have to sit on this hard wooden floor and listen to Mrs. Oddbod twitter on about hanging up coats and no running in the corridors and walking down staircases on the right-hand side? Why were school assemblies so boring? If he were principal, assemblies would be about the best TV shows, competitions for gruesome grub recipes, and speed-eating contests.

Yack. Yack. Yack. Yack. Yack.

Zoom…Zoom…Squawk! Horrid Henry’s hawk swooped and scooped up Mrs. Oddbod in his fearsome beak.

Chomp.

Chomp.

Ch—Wait a minute. What was she saying?

“School elections will be held next week,” said Mrs. Oddbod. “For the first time ever you’ll be electing a School Council President. Now I want everyone to think of someone they believe would make an outstanding president. Someone who will make important decisions that will affect everyone, someone worthy of this high office, someone who will represent this school…”

Horrid Henry snorted. School elections? Phooey! Who’d want to be School Council President? All that responsibility…all that power…all that glory…Wait. What was he thinking? Who
wouldn’t
want to be?

Imagine, being president! He’d be king, emperor, Lord High Master of the Universe! He’d make Mrs. Oddbod walk the plank. He’d send Miss Battle-Axe to be a galley slave. He’d make playtime last for five hours. He’d ban all salad and vegetables from school lunches and just serve candy! And Fizzywizz drinks! And everyone would have to bow down to him as they entered the school! And give him chocolate every day.

President Henry. His Honor, President Henry. It had a nice ring. So did King Henry. Emperor Henry would be even better though. He’d change his title as soon as he got the throne.

And all he had to do was win the election.

Shout!

Shriek!

“Silence!” screeched Mrs. Oddbod. “Any more noise and playtime will be canceled!”

Huumph, that was one thing that would never happen when he was School President. In fact, he’d make it a rule that anyone who put their hand up in class would get sent to him for punishment. There’d only be shouting out in
his
school.

“Put up your hand if you wish to nominate someone,” said Mrs. Oddbod.

Sour Susan’s hand shot up. “I nominate Margaret,” she said.

“I accept!” yelled Margaret, preening.

Horrid Henry choked. Margaret? Bossyboots Margaret,
president
? She’d be a disaster, a horrible, grumpy, grouchy, moody disaster. Henry would never hear the end of it. Her head would swell so much it would burst. She’d be swaggering all over the place, ordering everyone around, boasting, bossing, showing off…

Horrid Henry’s hand shot up. “I nominate…me!” he shrieked.

“You?” said Mrs. Oddbod coldly.

“Me,” said Horrid Henry.

“I second it,” shouted Rude Ralph.

Henry beamed at Ralph. He’d make Ralph his grand vizier. Or maybe Lord High Executioner.

“Any more nominations?” said Mrs. Oddbod. She looked unhappy. “Come on, Bert, what would you do to improve the school?”

“I dunno,” said Bert.

“Clare?” said Mrs. Oddbod.

“More fractions!” said Clare.

Horrid Henry caught Ralph’s eye.

“Boo!” yelled Ralph. “Down with Clare!”

“Yeah, boo!” yelled Dizzy Dave.

“Boo!” hissed Horrid Henry.

“Last chance to nominate anyone else,” said Mrs. Oddbod desperately.

Silence.

“All right,” said Mrs. Oddbod, “you have two candidates for president. Posters can be displayed beginning tomorrow. Speeches the day after tomorrow. Good luck to both candidates.”

Horrid Henry glared at Moody Margaret.

Moody Margaret glared at Horrid Henry.

I’ll beat that grumpface frog if it’s the last thing I do, thought Horrid Henry.

I’ll beat that pongy pants pimple if it’s the last thing I do, thought Moody Margaret.

“Vote Margaret! Margaret for president!” trilled Sour Susan the next day, as she and Margaret handed out leaflets during playtime.

“Ha ha, Henry, I’m going to win, and you’re not!” chanted Margaret, sticking out her tongue.

“Yeah Henry, Margaret’s going to win,” said Sour Susan.

“Oh yeah?” said Henry. Wait till she saw his fantastic campaign posters with the big picture of King Henry the Horrible.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Horrid Henry.

He’d better start campaigning at once. Now, whose votes could he count on?

Ralph’s for sure. And, uh…um…uhmmmm…Ralph.

Toby
might
vote for him but he’d probably have to beg. Hmmm. Two votes were not enough to win. He’d have to get more support. Well, no time like the present to remind everyone what a great guy he was.

Zippy Zoe zipped past. Horrid Henry smiled at her. Zoe stopped dead.

“Why are you smiling at me, Henry?” said Zippy Zoe. She checked to see if she’d come to school wearing pajamas or if her jumper had a big hole.

“Just because it’s so nice to see you,” said Horrid Henry. “Will you vote for me for president?”

Zoe stared at him. “Margaret gave me a pencil with her name on it,” said Zoe. “And a sticker. What will
you
give me?”

Give? Give? Horrid Henry liked getting. He did not like giving. So Margaret was bribing people, was she? Well, two could play at that game. He’d bring tons of candy into school tomorrow and hand them out to everyone who promised to vote for him. That would guarantee victory! And he’d make sure that everyone had to give
him
candy after he’d won.

Anxious Andrew walked by wearing a “Margaret for President’ sticker.

“Oooh, Andrew, I wouldn’t vote for her,” said Henry. “Do you know what she’s planning to do?” Henry whispered in Andrew’s ear. Andrew gasped.

“No,” said Andrew.

“Yes,” said Henry. “And ban chips, too. You know what an old bossyboots Margaret is.”

Henry handed him a leaflet.