Authors: Francesca Simon
Text © Francesca Simon 2009
Cover and internal illustrations © Tony Ross 2009
Cover and internal design © 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
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Fax: (630) 961-2168
Originally published in Great Britain in 2009 by Orion Children’s Books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.
Source of Production: Versa Press, East Peoria, Illinois, USA
Date of Production: June 2011
Run Number: 15469
Horrid Henry pushed through the front door. Perfect Peter squeezed past him and ran inside.
“Hey!” screamed Horrid Henry, dashing after him. “Get back here, worm.”
“Noooo!” squealed Perfect Peter, running as fast as his little legs would carry him.
Henry grabbed Peter’s shirt, then hurtled past him into the living room. Yippee! He was going to get the comfy black chair first. Almost there, almost there, almost…and then Horrid Henry skidded on a sock and slipped. Peter pounded past and dived onto the comfy black chair. Panting and gasping, he snatched the remote control. Click!
“All together now! Who’s a silly Billy?” trilled the world’s most annoying goat.
“Billy!” sang out Perfect Peter.
It had happened again. Just as Henry was looking forward to resting his weary bones on the comfy black chair after another long, hard, terrible day at school and watching
, Peter had somehow managed to nab the chair first. It was so unfair.
The rule in Henry’s house was that whoever was sitting in the comfy black chair decided what to watch on TV. And there was Peter, smiling and singing along with Silly Billy, the revolting singing goat who thought he was a clown.
Henry’s parents were so mean and horrible, they only had one teeny tiny TV in the whole, entire house. It was so minuscule Henry practically had to watch it using a magnifying glass. And so old you practically had to kick it to turn it on. Everyone else he knew had tons of TVs. Rude Ralph had five ginormous ones all to himself. At least, that’s what Ralph said.
All too often there were at least two great shows on at the same time. How was Henry supposed to choose between
? If only he could watch two TVs simultaneously, wouldn’t life be wonderful?
Even worse, Mom, Dad, and Peter had their own smelly shows
wanted to watch. And not great shows like
. Oh no. Mom and Dad liked watching…news. Documentaries. Opera. Perfect Peter liked nature shows. And revolting baby shows like
Daffy and her Dancing Daisies
. Uggghh! How did he end up in this family? When would his real parents, the King and Queen, come and fetch him and take him to the palace where he could watch whatever he wanted all day?
When he grew up and became King Henry the Horrible, he’d have three TVs in every room, including the bathrooms.
But until that happy day, he was stuck at home slugging it out with Peter. He
spend the afternoon watching
Sammy the Snail
Horrid Henry pounced and snatched the remote. CLICK!
“…and the black knight lowers his visor…”
“Give it to me,” shrieked Peter.
“No,” said Henry.
“But I’ve got the chair,” wailed Peter.
“So?” said Henry, waving the clicker at him. “If you want the remote you’ll have to come and get it.”
Peter hesitated. Henry dangled the remote just out of reach.
Perfect Peter slipped off the comfy black chair and grabbed for the remote. Horrid Henry ducked, swerved, and jumped onto the empty chair.
“…And the knights are advancing toward one another, lances poised…”
“MOOOOMMMM!” squealed Peter. “Henry snatched the remote!”
“Did not, wibble pants.”
“Don’t call me wibble pants,” cried Peter.
“Okay, stinky poo poo,” said Henry.
“Don’t call me stinky poo poo,” shrieked Peter.
“Okay, wibble bibble,” said Horrid Henry.
“MOOOOOMMM!” wailed Peter. “Henry’s calling me names!”
“Henry! Stop being horrid,” shouted Mom.
“I’m just trying to watch TV in peace!” screamed Henry. “Peter’s annoying me.”
,” whined Peter. “He pushed me off the chair.”
“Liar,” said Henry. “You fell off.”
“MOOOMMMMMM!” screamed Peter.
Mom ran in, and grabbed the remote.
Click! The screen went black.
“I’ve had it with you boys fighting over the TV,” shouted Mom. “No TV for the rest of the day.”
“But…but…” said Perfect Peter.
“But…but…” said Horrid Henry.
“No buts,” said Mom.
“It’s not fair!” wailed Henry and Peter.
Horrid Henry paced up and down his room, whacking his teddy, Mr. Kill, on the bedpost every time he walked past.
He had to find a way to make sure he watched the shows
wanted to watch. He just had to. He’d have to get up at the crack of dawn. There was no other way.
And then Horrid Henry had a brilliant, spectacular idea. What an idiot he’d been. All those months he’d missed his fantastic shows…Well, never ever again.
It was the middle of the night. Horrid Henry crept down the stairs as quietly as he could and tiptoed into the living room, shutting the door behind him. There was the TV, grumbling in the corner. “Why is no one watching me?” moaned the TV. “C’mon, Henry.”
But for once Henry didn’t listen. He had something much more important to do.
He crept to the comfy black chair and fumbled in the dark. Now, where was the remote? Aha! There it was. As usual, it had fallen between the seat cushion and the armrest. Henry grabbed it. Quick as a flash, he switched the TV over to the channel for
. Then he tiptoed to the toy cupboard and hid the remote control deep inside a bucket of multicolored blocks that no one had played with for years.
Tee-hee, thought Horrid Henry.
Why should he have to get up to grab the comfy black chair hours before his shows started when he could sleep in, saunter downstairs whenever he felt like it, and be master of the TV? Whoever was sitting in the chair could be in charge of the TV all they wanted. But without the TV remote, no one would be watching anything.
Perfect Peter stretched out on the comfy black chair. Hurrah. Served Henry right for being so mean to him. Peter had gotten downstairs first. Now he could watch what
wanted all morning.
Peter reached for the remote control. It wasn’t on the armrest. It wasn’t on the headrest. Had it slipped between the armrest and the cushion? No. He felt around the back. No. He looked under the chair. Nothing. He looked behind the chair. Where was it?