Horrid Henry and the Abominable Snowman (5 page)

So, how would Dad’s music system look in his bedroom? And where could he put Mom’s clock radio? Henry had always liked the chiming clock on their mantelpiece and the picture of the blackbird. Better go and check to see where he could put them.

Henry went into Mom and Dad’s room and grabbed an armload of stuff. He staggered to his bedroom and dumped everything on the floor, then went back for a second helping.

Stumbling and staggering under his heavy burden, Horrid Henry swayed down the hall and crashed into Dad.

“What are you doing?” said Dad, staring. “That’s mine.”

“And those are mine,” said Mom.

“What is going on?” shrieked Mom and Dad.

“I was just checking how all this stuff will look in my room when you’re in the old people’s home,” said Horrid Henry.

“I’m not there yet,” said Mom.

“Put everything back,” said Dad.

Horrid Henry scowled. Here he was, just trying to think ahead, and he gets told off.

“Well, just for that I won’t leave you any of my knights in my will,” said Henry.

Honestly, some people were so selfish.

“Watch out, Gurinder! You’re smearing your nail polish,” screeched Moody Margaret. “Violet! Don’t touch your face—you’re spoiling all my hard work. Susan! Sit still.”

“I am sitting still,” said Sour Susan. “Stop pulling my hair.”

“I’m not pulling your hair,” hissed Margaret. “I’m styling it.”

“Ouch!” squealed Susan. “You’re hurting me.”

“I am not, crybaby.”

“I’m not a crybaby,” howled Susan.

Moody Margaret sighed loudly.

“Not everyone can be naturally beautiful like me. Some people”—she glared at Susan—“have to work at it.”

“You’re not beautiful,” said Sour Susan, snorting.

“I am too,” said Margaret, primping herself.

“Are not,” said Susan. “On the ugly scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being the ugliest, wartiest toad, you’re a 2.”

“Huh!” said Margaret. “Well, you’re so ugly you’re minus 1. They don’t have an ugly enough scale for you.”

“I want my money back!” shrieked Susan.

“No way!” shrieked Margaret. “Now sit down and shut up.”

Across the wall in the next garden, deep inside the branches hiding the top secret entrance of the Purple Hand fort, a master spy pricked up his ears.

Money? Had he heard the word money
?

What was going on next door?

Horrid Henry zipped out of his fort and dashed to the low wall separating his yard from Margaret’s. Then he stared. And stared some more. He’d seen many weird things in his life. But nothing as weird as this.

Moody Margaret, Sour Susan, Lazy Linda, Vain Violet, and Gorgeous Gurinder were sitting in Margaret’s garden. Susan had rollers tangling her pink hair. Violet had blue mascara all over her face. Linda was covered in gold glitter. There was spilled nail polish, face powder, and broken lipstick all over Margaret’s patio.

Horrid Henry burst out laughing.

“Are you playing clowns?” said Henry.

“Huh, shows how much you know, Henry,” said Margaret. “I’m doing makeovers.”

“What’s that?” said Henry.

“It’s when you change how people look, dummy,” said Margaret.

“I knew that,” lied Henry. “I just wanted to see if you did.”

Margaret waved a flyer in his face.

Makeovers? Makeovers? What an incredibly stupid idea. Who’d pay to have a moody old grouch like Margaret smear gunk all over their face? Ha! No one.

Horrid Henry started laughing and pointing.

Vain Violet looked like a demon with red and blue and purple gloop all over her face. Gorgeous Gurinder looked as if a paint pot had been poured down her cheeks. Linda’s hair looked as if she’d been struck by lightning.

But Violet wasn’t screaming and yanking Margaret’s hair out. Instead she handed Margaret—money.

“Thanks, Margaret, I look amazing,” said Vain Violet, admiring herself in the mirror. Henry waited for the mirror to crack.

It didn’t.

“Thanks, Margaret,” said Gurinder. “I look so fantastic I hardly recognize myself.” And she also handed Margaret a dollar.

Two whole dollars? Were they mad?

“Are you getting ready for the Monster’s Ball?” jeered Henry.

“Shut up, Henry,” said Vain Violet.

“Shut up, Henry,” said Gorgeous Gurinder.

“You’re just jealous because I’m going to be rich and you’re not,” said Margaret. “Nah nah ne nah nah.”

“Why don’t we give Henry a makeover?” said Violet.

“Good idea,” said Moody Margaret. “He could sure use one.”

“Yeah,” said Sour Susan.

Horrid Henry took a step back.

Margaret advanced toward him wielding nail polish and a hairbrush. Violet followed clutching a lipstick, hair dye, and other instruments of torture.

Yikes! Horrid Henry dashed back to the safety of his fort as fast as he could, trying to ignore the horrible, cackling laughter.

He sat on his Purple Hand throne and scarfed some extra tasty chocolate cookies from the secret stash he’d swiped from Margaret yesterday. Makeovers! Ha! How dumb could you get? Trust a pea-brained grouch like Margaret to come up with such a stupid idea. Who in their right mind would want a makeover?

On the other hand…

Horrid Henry had actually seen Margaret being paid. And good money, too, just for smearing some colored gunk onto people’s faces and yanking their hair around.

Hmmmm.

Horrid Henry started to think. Maybe Margaret did have a little eensy-weensy teeny-tiny bit of a good idea. And, naturally, anything she could do, Henry could do much, much better. Margaret obviously didn’t know the first thing about makeovers, so why should she make all that money, thought Horrid Henry indignantly. He’d steal—no, borrow—her idea and do it better. Much much better. He’d make people look really fantastic.

Henry’s Makeovers. Henry’s Marvelous Makeovers. Henry’s Miraculous Makeovers.

He’d be rich! With some false teeth and a red marker he could turn Miss Battle-Axe into a vampire. Mrs. Oddbod could be a perfect Dracula. And wouldn’t Stuck-Up Steve be improved after a short visit from the Makeover Magician? Even Aunt Ruby wouldn’t recognize him when Henry had finished. Tee-hee.

First, he needed supplies. That was easy: Mom had tons of gunk for smearing all over her face. And if he ran out he could always use crayons and glue.