Bloody Horowitz

Table of Contents

 

Henry tried to sleep but he couldn't. Though he pulled the duvet over his head, the chill still got in. He could feel it around his neck, creeping down his spine. He was annoyed with himself. This was supposed to be his night of triumph. Maybe he should have gone out and bought himself a drink . . . or several. He had committed murder and gotten away with it! Surely that was something to celebrate.

“Henry . . .”

The voice came as a whisper out of the darkness. He had dreamed it, of course. It was a ghost voice, like something out of a horror film, rising up from a swamp or out of a ruined castle. Only, how could he have dreamed it when he wasn't yet asleep?

“Henry . . .” The whisper came again, louder this time and filled with venom. . . .

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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

 

Copyright © Anthony Horowitz, 2010

All rights reserved

 

THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE PHILOMEL BOOKS EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Horowitz, Anthony, 1955–Bloody Horowitz / Anthony Horowitz. v. cm.
Contents: Why horror has no place in children's books—The man who killed
Darren Shan—Bet your life—You have arrived—The cobra—Robo-Nanny—Bad dream—My
bloody French exchange—sheBay—Are you sitting comfortably?—Plugged in—Power—
The X Train—Seven cuts.

ISBN : 978-1-101-54344-3

1. Horror tales, English. 2. Children's stories, English. [1. Horror stories. 2. Short stories.]
I. Title.
PZ7.H7875BI 2010 [Fic]—dc22 2009044748

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

Text set in 11-point Palatino

 

 

 

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

by PROFESSOR WENDY GROOLING

 

 

 

Yes, we want young people to read. But do we ever ask ourselves
what
we want young people to read?

It is undoubtedly true that the success of the Harry Potter books has led to what many would call a “golden age” of reading. I, myself, am a great admirer of many of the new wave of children's writers and in particular Philip Pullman (a lovely, wise man), Geraldine McCaughrean (so warm and delightful!) and David Almond (a genius . . . nothing more to be said). And let's spare a thought for dear J. K. Rowling herself. It's all too often forgotten that she has single-handedly taught an entire generation the value of reading, and what is so wonderful is that she has asked for absolutely nothing in return, except for a few billion dollars.

But the question we have to ask ourselves is—are all books of equal value? On the one hand, we have Alice who has such cheerful and blood-free adventures in Wonderland with the white rabbit and the naughty Knave of Hearts. But on the other, there are books like
Bloody Horowitz
(what a rude title!), which seem to delight in cruelty and bloodshed. And so we have to ask: Are there perhaps some authors who are just leaping on the bandwagon, writing books that, far from educating or enlightening, are more likely to harm a vulnerable mind?

As you will have gathered if you have read this far—and I very much hope you have—I am thinking, in particular, of horror writers.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm no fuddy-duddy. Indeed, in the past I have been described as a friend of horror or, so to speak, a bloody-buddy. But it seems to me that we are in waters that can become too easily muddy. But if I may put it simply, and in capital letters, IS HORROR GOOD FOR CHILDREN? And here is my answer: No, no, no, no, no.

It is well known that children have a much more active imagination than adults. You or I may be scared of, for example, spiders. I am so scared of finding a spider in the bath that I haven't actually had a bath for twenty-seven years. But the point is, we can live with this. Because we are adults, we know how to make the correct judgments. But let us consider the description of a spider in a book. Perhaps a spider crawling out of the eye of a rotting corpse, lingering for a moment on the white, glistening cheek before scampering forward to begin feasting on what remains of the decomposing flesh . . . That sort of description could do permanent damage to a young mind.

Films like
Beyond the Grave
and
Zombie Stranglers
come with a little letter attached to them—R—which means that they cannot be seen by anyone under seventeen. Books, unfortunately, do not have this protection. Indeed, many quite reputable publishers will make their covers as gruesome as possible to attract younger and younger children, driven only by their desire to sell books. I have to say, these people make my blood boil, and if I had my way I would sneak into their offices in the middle of the night with twenty gallons of gasoline and set the whole building ablaze. But first I would make sure that the publishers, and the writers, were tied to their chairs, unable to move, so they would be able to see the flames approaching and, in their last moments before they died in hideous agony, perhaps they would begin to regret their irresponsible behavior.

Of course, publishers would argue they are only giving children what they want. But do children know what they want? They are, after all, only children. They play computer games and they run around shouting all the time. Really, they don't know anything at all.

So I am shocked, really quite shocked, when I visit well-known bookshops and see them advertising horror stories in departments that are clearly designed to be for children. What do they think they're doing? Don't they realize there are likely to be children as young as six or seven on the premises, innocently searching for Postman Pat or Fireman Sam? And while I'm on that subject, I might mention that these books have sold millions of copies without any severed limbs, exploding eyeballs or blood jetting out of severed arteries. As far as I can recall, Postman Pat has never once been savaged by a rabid dog, while Fireman Sam has also never been called upon to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a victim with hideous third-degree burns.

How do our bookshops get away with this? I think I would be perfectly justified in concealing a small meat-ax in my handbag and attacking the shop assistants, perhaps lopping off a few of their fingers or toes. That would teach them to corrupt our young people.

I would certainly like to kill Anthony Horowitz. Yes, I know that would mean no more Alex Rider books (although I'm sure Charlie Higson could be persuaded to write some if he was paid enough money), but it would also mean no more of his repellent horror stories. Now that I come to think of it, there are quite a lot of writers I would like to kill. That man who does the Goosebumps series for a start, although they're so badly written that maybe I'd let him get away with a good spanking.

And although there are many who might think I'm being a bit extreme, maybe it would be a good idea to start murdering children too. I could stand outside the bookshop, and if I spot anyone under the age of eighteen buying a book that is not suitable for them, I could follow them home with a huge net and then throw them into a swimming pool filled with poison. In fact, I've got an even better idea. We cannot allow young brains to be corrupted. Much better to saw off the tops of their heads and scoop them out with a spoon or, alternatively, insert a fishhook up their little noses and pull them out that way, a method used, incidentally, by the ancient Egyptians.

Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill . . .

Professor Wendy Grooling is herself a successful children's author and a world expert on teenage literature. She is also the founder of Read This or Die, a charity that encourages young people to discover new books. This article originally appeared in
Straight Talk, Straitjackets,
the house magazine of Fairfields, the East Suffolk Maximum Security Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Looking back, Henry Parker could honestly say that he never wanted to hurt anyone. Certainly it never occurred to him that he would one day plan and then execute the perfect murder of an internationally well-known children's author . . . even if that was what actually happened. To begin with, all Henry wanted to do was write.

Even as a boy he had dreamed of being a writer. No, not just a writer, but an Author with a capital A—published, with a fan club, his book in every bookshop window, his photograph in the Sunday newspapers and a great pile of money in the bank. And what sort of writing was going to make his name and put that name on the front of a million books?

Henry loved horror. To him, the only good story was one that had people dying, knives cutting into flesh, brains exploding and blood dripping from every paragraph. In “Verbal Abuse,” written when he was just sixteen years old and still at school, a boy was actually crucified by his Latin teacher for talking in class, while another work, “Tooth Decay,” told of a Birmingham dentist being torn to shreds by one of his patients, who turned out to be a werewolf.