Horrid Henry's Christmas (7 page)

belched the whoopee cushions.

“What is going on in here?” shrieked Mom, glaring.

“Nothing,” said Horrid Henry, as he lay sprawled on the floor soaking wet and tangled up in threads and wires and rope. “I heard a noise downstairs so I got up to check,” he added innocently.

“Tree’s fallen over,” called Dad. “Must have been overloaded. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”

“Get back to bed, Henry,” said Mom wearily. “And don’t touch your stocking till morning.”

Henry looked. And gasped. His stocking was stuffed and bulging. That mean old sneak, thought Horrid Henry indignantly. How did he do it? How had he escaped the traps?

Watch out Santa Claus, thought Horrid Henry. I’ll get you next year.

“Oh, handkerchiefs, just what I wanted,” said Perfect Peter. “Thank you
so
much.”

“Not handkerchiefs
again
,” moaned Horrid Henry, throwing the hankies aside and ripping the paper off the next present in his pile.

“Don’t tear the wrapping paper!” squeaked Perfect Peter.

Horrid Henry ripped open the present and groaned.

Yuck (a pen, pencil, and ruler). Yuck (a dictionary). Yuck (gloves). OK ($15—should have been a lot more). Eeew (a pink bow tie from Aunt Ruby). Eeew (mints). Yum (huge tin of chocolates). Good (five more knights for his army). Very good (a subscription to Gross-Out Fan Club) …

And (very very good) a Terminator Gladiator trident …and . . .

And …where was the rest?

“Is that it?” shrieked Henry.

“You haven’t opened my present, Henry,” said Peter. “I hope you like it.”

Horrid Henry tore off the wrapping. It was a Manners with Maggie calendar.

“Ugh, gross,” said Henry. “No thank you.”

“Henry!” said Mom. “That’s no way to receive a present.”

“I don’t care,” moaned Horrid Henry. “Where’s my Zapatron Hip-Hop dinosaur? And where’s the rest of the Terminator Gladiator fighting kit? I wanted everything, not just the trident.”

“Maybe next year,” said Mom.

“But I want it now!” howled Henry.

“Henry, you know that ‘I want doesn’t get’,” said Peter. “Isn’t that right, Mom?”

“It certainly is,” said Mom. “And I haven’t heard you say thank you, Henry.”

Horrid Henry glared at Peter and sprang. He was a hornet stinging a worm to death.

“WAAAAAAH!” wailed Peter.

“Henry! Stop it or—”

“They’re here!” shouted Horrid Henry, leaping up and abandoning his prey. “That means more presents!”

“Wait, Henry,” said Mom.

But too late. Henry raced to the door and flung it open.

There stood Granny and Grandpa, Prissy Polly, Pimply Paul, and Vomiting Vera.

“Gimme my presents!” he shrieked, snatching a bag of brightly wrapped gifts out of Granny’s hand and spilling them on the floor. Now, where were the ones with his name on them?

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” said Mom brightly. “Henry, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not being rude,” said Henry. “I just want my presents. Great, money!” said Henry, beaming. “Thanks, Granny! But couldn’t you add a few dollars and—”

“Henry, don’t be horrid!” snapped Dad.

“Let the guests take off their coats,” said Mom.

“Bleeeeech,” said Vomiting Vera, throwing up on Paul.

“Eeeeek,” said Polly.

All the grown-ups gathered in the living room to open their gifts.

“Peter, thank you so much for the perfume, it’s my favorite,” said Granny.

“I know,” said Peter.

“And what a lovely comic, Henry,” said Granny. “Mutant Max is my . . . um …favorite.”

“Thank you, Henry,” said Grandpa. “This comic looks very …interesting.”

“I’ll have it back when you’ve finished with it,” said Henry.

“Henry!” said Mom, glaring.

For some reason Polly didn’t look delighted with her present.

“Eeeek!” squeaked Polly. “This soap has …hairs in it.” She pulled out a long black one.

“That came free,” said Horrid Henry.

“We’re getting you toothpaste next year, you little brat,” muttered Pimply Paul under his breath.

Honestly, there was no pleasing some people, thought Horrid Henry indignantly. He’d given Paul a great bar of soap, and he didn’t seem thrilled. So much for it’s the thought that counts.

“A poem,” said Mom. “Henry, how lovely.”

“Read it out loud,” said Grandpa.

“Dear old wrinkly Mom
Don’t be glum ’
Cause you’ve got a fat tum
And an even bigger…”

“Maybe later,” said Mom.

“Another poem,” said Dad. “Great!”

“Let’s hear it,” said Granny.

“Dear old baldy Dad—

…and so forth,” said Dad, folding Henry’s poem quickly.

“Oh,” said Polly, staring at the crystal frog vase Mom and Dad had given her.