FRANCESCA SIMON

FRANCESCA SIMON SPENT HER CHILDHOOD ON THE BEACH IN CALIFORNIA AND STARTED WRITING STORIES AT THE AGE OF EIGHT. SHE WROTE HER FIRST HORRID HENRY BOOK IN 1994. HORRID HENRY HAS GONE ON TO CONQUER THE GLOBE; HIS ADVENTURES HAVE SOLD MILLIONS OF COPIES WORLDWIDE.

FRANCESCA HAS WON THE CHILDREN’S BOOK OF THE YEAR AWARD AND IN 2009 WAS AWARDED A GOLD BLUE PETER BADGE. SHE WAS ALSO A TRUSTEE OF THE WORLD BOOK DAY CHARITY FOR SIX YEARS.

FRANCESCA LIVES IN NORTH LONDON WITH HER FAMILY.

WWW.FRANCESCASIMON.COM WWW.HORRIDHENRY.CO.UK @SIMON_FRANCESCA

TONY ROSS

TONY ROSS WAS BORN IN LONDON AND STUDIED AT THE LIVERPOOL SCHOOL OF ART AND DESIGN. HE HAS WORKED AS A CARTOONIST, A GRAPHIC DESIGNER, AN ADVERTISING ART DIRECTOR AND A UNIVERSITY LECTURER.

TONY IS ONE OF THE MOST POPULAR AND SUCCESSFUL CHILDREN’S ILLUSTRATORS OF ALL TIME, BEST KNOWN FOR ILLUSTRATING HORRID HENRY AND THE WORKS OF DAVID WALLIAMS, AS WELL AS HIS OWN HUGELY POPULAR SERIES, THE LITTLE PRINCESS. HE LIVES IN MACCLESFIELD.

www.hachettechildrens.co.uk

CONTENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TITLE PAGE

MEET THE GANG

STORY 1

HORRID HENRY’S THANK YOU LETTER

STORY 2

HORRID HENRY TRICKING THE TOOTH FAIRY

STORY 3

HORRID HENRY GOES TO WORK

STORY 4

HORRID HENRY’S AUTHOR VISIT

STORY 5

HORRID HENRY’S SICK DAY

STORY 6

HORRID HENRY FOOTBALL FIEND

STORY 7

HORRID HENRY AND THE ZOOM OF DOOM

STORY 8

HORRID HENRY’S SCHOOL FAIR

STORY 9

HORRID HENRY BANK ROBBER

STORY 10

HORRID HENRY NIGHTMARE!

STORY 11

HORRID HENRY TRICKS AND TREATS

STORY 12

HORRID HENRY’S AMBUSH

TITLE SCRAMBLE

SPOOKY CROSSWORD

SPIRAL WORDSEARCH

ANSWERS

COLLECT ALL THE HORRID HENRY STORYBOOKS!

COPYRIGHT

Ahh! This was the life! A sofa, a telly, a bag of crisps. Horrid Henry sighed happily.

“Henry!” shouted Mum from the kitchen. “Are you watching ?”

Henry blocked his ears. Nothing was going to interrupt his new favourite TV programme, Terminator Gladiator.

“Answer me, Henry!” shouted Mum. “Have you written your THANK YOU letters?”

“NO!” bellowed Henry.

“WHY NOT?” screamed Mum.

“Because I haven’t,” said Henry. “I’m busy.” Couldn’t she leave him alone for two seconds?

Mum MARCHED into the room and switched off the TV.

“Hey!” said Henry. “I’m watching Terminator Gladiator.”

“Too bad,” said Mum. “I told you, no TV until you’ve written your THANK YOU letters.”

“It’s not fair!” wailed Henry.

“I’ve written all my thank you letters,” said Perfect Peter.

“Well done, Peter,” said Mum. “Thank goodness of my children has .”

Peter smiled modestly. “I always write mine the moment I unwrap a present. I’m a good boy, aren’t I?”

“The best,” said Mum.

“Oh, shut up, Peter,” snarled Henry.

“Mum! Henry told me to shut up!” said Peter.

“Stop being HORRID, Henry. You will write to Aunt Ruby, Great-Aunt Greta and Grandma now.”

“Now?” moaned Henry. “Can’t I do it later?”

“When’s later?” said Dad.

“LATER!” said Henry. Why wouldn’t they stop nagging him about those STUPID letters?

Horrid Henry HATED writing thank you letters. Why should he waste his precious time saying THANK YOU for presents? Time he could be spending reading comics, or watching . But no. He would barely unwrap a present before Mum started nagging. She even expected him to write to Great-Aunt Greta and thank her for the Baby Poopie Pants doll. Great-Aunt Greta for one did NOT deserve a THANK YOU letter.

This year Aunt Ruby had sent him a HIDEOUS lime green cardigan. Why should he thank her for that? True, Grandma had given him £15, which was great. But then Mum had to spoil it by making him write her a letter too. Henry HATED writing letters for nice presents every bit as much as he HATED writing them for horrible ones.

“You have to write THANK YOU letters,” said Dad.

“But why?” said Henry.

“Because it’s ,” said Dad.

“Because people have spent time and money on you,” said Mum.

So what? thought Horrid Henry. Grown-ups had loads of time to do whatever they wanted. No one told them, stop watching and write a THANK YOU letter. Oh no. They could do it whenever they felt like it. Or not even do it at all.

And adults had tons of money compared to him. Why shouldn’t they spend it buying him presents?

“All you have to do is write one page,” said Dad. “What’s the BIG deal?”

Henry stared at him. Did Dad have no idea how long it would take him to write one whole page? Hours and hours and hours.

“You’re the meanest, most HORRIBLE parents in the world and I HATE YOU!” shrieked Horrid Henry.

“Go to your room, Henry!” shouted Dad.

“And don’t come down until you’ve written those letters,” shouted Mum. “I am sick and tired of arguing about this.”

Horrid Henry stomped upstairs.

Well, no way was he writing any THANK YOU letters. He’d rather STARVE. He’d rather DIE. He’d stay in his room for a month. A year. One day Mum and Dad would come up to check on him and all they’d find would be a few BONES. Then they’d be sorry.

Actually, knowing them, they’d probably just moan about the . And then Peter would be all happy because he’d get Henry’s room and Henry’s room was bigger.

Well, no way would he give them the satisfaction. All right, thought Horrid Henry. Dad said to write one page. Henry would write one page. In his BIGGEST, most GIGANTIC handwriting, Henry wrote:

That certainly filled a whole page, thought Horrid Henry.

Mum came into the room.

“Have you written your letters yet?”

“Yes,” lied Henry.

Mum glanced over his shoulder.

“HENRY!” said Mum. “That is not a proper thank you letter.”

“Yes it is,” snarled Henry. “Dad said to write one page so I wrote one page.”

“Write five sentences,” said Mum.

Five sentences? Five whole sentences? It was completely impossible for anyone to write so much. His hand would fall off.

“That’s way too much,” wailed Henry.

“No until you write your letters,” said Mum, leaving the room.

Horrid Henry stuck out his tongue. He had the meanest, most HORRIBLE parents in the world. When he was king any parent who even whispered the words “THANK YOU letter” would get fed to the crocodiles.

They wanted five sentences? He’d give them five sentences. Henry picked up his pencil and scrawled:

Dear Aunt Ruby,

No thank you for the horrible present. It is the worst present I have ever had.

Anyway, didn’t some old Roman say it was better to give than to receive? So in fact, you should be writing me a thank you letter.

Henry

P.S. Next time just sent money.

There! Five whole sentences. Perfect, thought Horrid Henry. Mum said he had to write a five-sentence THANK YOU letter. She never said it had to be a THANK YOU letter. Suddenly Henry felt quite cheerful. He folded the letter and popped it in the stamped envelope Mum had given him.

One down. Two to go.

In fact, Aunt Ruby’s No THANK YOU letter would do just fine for Great-Aunt Greta. He’d just substitute Great-Aunt Greta’s name for Aunt Ruby’s and copy the rest.

. Another letter was done.

Now, Grandma. She had sent money so he’d have to write something .

“Thank you for the money, blah blah blah, best present I’ve ever received, blah blah blah, next year send more money, £15 isn’t very much, Ralph got £20 from HIS grandma, blah blah blah.”

What a WASTE, thought Horrid Henry as he signed it and put it in the envelope, to spend so much time on a letter, only to have to write the same old thing all over again next year.

And then suddenly Horrid Henry had a idea. Why had he never thought of this before? He would be RICH, RICH, RICH. “There goes money-bags Henry,” kids would WHISPER enviously, as he swaggered down the street followed by Peter lugging a hundred videos for Henry to watch in his mansion on one of his . Mum and Dad and Peter would be living in their HoVEL somewhere, and if they were very, very to him Henry might let them watch one of his SMALLER TVs for fifteen minutes or so once a month.

Henry was going to start a business. A business guaranteed to make him RICH. “Step right up, step right up,” said Horrid Henry. He was wearing a sign saying: HENRY’S THANK YOU LETTERS. “Personal letters written just for you.”

A small crowd of children gathered round him.

“I’ll write all your THANK YOU letters for you,” said Henry. “All you have to do is to give me a stamped, addressed envelope and tell me what present you got. I’ll do the rest.”

“How much for a THANK YOU letter?” asked Kung-Fu Kate.

“£1,” said Henry.

“No way,” said Greedy Graham.

“99p,” said Henry.

“Forget it,” said Lazy Linda.

“Okay, 50p,” said Henry. “And two for 75p.”

“Done,” said Linda.

Henry opened his notebook. “And what were the presents?” he asked

Linda made a face. “Handkerchiefs,” she spat. “And a .”

“I can do a ‘NO THANK YOU’ letter,” said Henry. “I’m very good at those.”

Linda considered.

“Tempting,” she said, “but then MEAN Uncle John won’t send something better next time.”

Business was brisk. Dave bought three. Ralph bought four “NO THANK YOUS”. Even Moody Margaret bought one. , thought Horrid Henry. His pockets were jingle-jangling with cash. Now all he had to do was to write seventeen letters. Henry tried not to think about that.

The moment he got home from school Henry went straight to his room. Right, to work, thought Henry. His heart sank as he looked at the blank pages. All those letters! He would be here for WEEKS. Why had he ever set up a letter-writing business?

But then Horrid Henry thought. True, he’d promised a personal letter but how would Linda’s aunt ever find out that Margaret’s granny had received the same one? She wouldn’t! If he used the computer, it would be a CINCH. And it would be a letter sent personally, thought Henry, because I am a person and I will personally print it out and send it. All he’d have to do was to write the names at the top and to sign them. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy.

Then again, all that signing. And writing all those names at the top. And separating the THANK YOU letters from the NO THANK YOU ones.

Maybe there was a better way.

Horrid Henry sat down at the computer and typed:

Dear Sir or Madam,

That should cover everyone, thought Henry, and I won’t have to write anyone’s name.

Thank you/No thank you for the

a) wonderful

b) horrible

c) disgusting

present. I really loved it/hated it.In fact, it is the best present/worst present I have ever received. I played with it/broke it/ate it/spent it/threw it in the bin straight away. Next time just send lots of money.

Best wishes/worst wishes,

Now, how to sign it? Aha, thought Henry.

Your friend or relative.

Perfect, thought Horrid Henry. Sir or Madam knows whether they deserve a THANK YOU or a NO THANK YOU letter. Let them do some work for a change and tick the correct answers.

Out SPEWED seventeen letters. It only took a moment to stuff them in the envelopes. He’d pop the letters in the postbox on the way to school.

Had an easier way to become a millionaire ever been invented, thought Horrid Henry, as he turned on the telly.

It was two weeks after Henry set up “HENRY’S THANK YOU LETTERS”.

Horrid Henry opened the door.

A group of Henry’s customers stood there, waving pieces of paper and SHoUTING.

“My granny sent the letter back and now I can’t watch for a week,” wailed Moody Margaret.

“I’M GROUNDED!” screamed Aerobic Al.

“I have to go SWIMMING!” screamed Lazy Linda.

“No ” yelped Greedy Graham.

“No pocket money!” screamed Rude Ralph.

“AND IT’S ALL YoUR FAuLT!” they shouted.

Horrid Henry glared at his angry customers. He was outraged. After all his hard work, this was the thanks he got?

“Too bad!” said Horrid Henry as he slammed the door. Honestly, there was no pleasing some people.

“Henry,” said Mum. “I just had the strangest phone call from Aunt Ruby . . .”