Free Horrid Henry Rocks by Francesca Simon Page A

“Bony Boil” song. Henry must have sneaked a Skullbanger CD inside the Daffy case. How dare he? How dare he? Peter would storm straight downstairs and tell Mom. Henry would get into big trouble. Big, big trouble.
    Then Peter paused. There was the teeny-tiny possibility that Peter had mixed them up by mistake…No. He needed absolute proof of Henry’s horridness. He’d do his homework, then have a good look around Henry’s room to see if his Daffy CD was hidden there.
    Peter glanced at his to-do list pinned on his bulletin board. When he’d written it that morning it read:

    The list now read:

    At the bottom someone had added:

    Well, here was proof! He was going to go straight down and tell on Henry.
    â€œMom! Henry was in my room again. He scribbled all over my to-do list.”
    â€œHenry!” screamed Mom. “I am sick and tired of this! Keep out of your brother’s bedroom! This is your last warning! No playing on the computer for a week!”
    SNEAK. SNEAK. SNEAK.
    Horrid Henry slipped inside the enemy’s bedroom. He’d pay Peter back for getting him banned from the computer.
    There was Peter’s cello. Ha! It only took a moment to unwind all the strings. Now, what else, what else? He could switch around Peter’s underpants and sock drawers.
    No! Even better. Quickly Henry undid all of Peter’s socks and mismatched them. Who said socks should match?

    Tee hee. Peter would go crazy when he found out he was wearing one Sammy the Snail sock with one Daffy sock. Then Henry snatched Bunnykins off Peter’s bed and crept out.
    SNEAK. SNEAK. SNEAK.
    Perfect Peter crept down the hall and stood outside Henry’s bedroom, holding a muddy twig. His heart was pounding. Peter knew he was strictly forbidden to go into Henry’s room without permission. But Henry kept breaking that rule. So why shouldn’t he?
    Squaring his shoulders, Peter tiptoed in.
    CRUNCH.
    CRUNCH.
    CRUNCH.
    Henry’s room was a pigsty, thought Perfect Peter, wading through broken knights, crumpled candy wrappers, dirty clothes, ripped comics, and muddy shoes.
    Mr. Kill. He’d steal Mr. Kill. Ha! Serve Henry right. And he’d put the muddy twig in Henry’s bed. Serve him double right. Perfect Peter grabbed Mr. Kill, shoved the twig in Henry’s bed, and dashed back to his room.
    And screamed.
    Fluff Puff wasn’t just turned the wrong way, he was—gone! Henry must have stolen him. And Lambykins was gone

    too. And Squish. Peter only had seven sheep left.

    And where was his Bunnykins? He wasn’t on the bed where he belonged. No!!!!!! This was the last straw. This was war.
    The coast was clear. Peter always took forever in the bath. Horrid Henry slipped into the worm’s room.
    He’d pay Peter back for stealing Mr. Kill. There he was, shoved in the back of Peter’s closet, where Peter always hid things he didn’t want Henry to find. Well, ha ha ha, thought Horrid Henry, rescuing Mr. Kill.
    Now what to do, what to do? Horrid Henry scooped up all of Peter’s remaining sheep and shoved them inside Peter’s pillowcase.

    What else? Henry glanced round Peter’s immaculate room. He could mess it up. Nah, thought Henry. Peter loved tidying. He could—aha.
    Peter had pinned drawings all over the wall above his bed. Henry surveyed them. Shame, thought Henry, that Peter’s pictures were all so dull. I mean, really, “My Family,” and “My Bunnykins.” Horrid Henry climbed on Peter’s bed to reach the drawings.
    Poor Peter, thought Horrid Henry. What a terrible artist he was. No wonder he was such a smelly toad if he had to look at such awful pictures all the time. Perhaps Henry could improve them…
    Now, let’s see, thought Horrid Henry, getting out some crayons. Drawing a crown on my head would be a big improvement. There! That livens things up. And a big red nose on Peter would help too, thought Henry, drawing