Henry Huggins Novels & Stories

The minutes Miriam had left, Henry trudged towards the children's sections to notice a nicely made wristwatch with cartoonish characters. "Hey, do you like that?" The voice of Christain filled the air, making Henry twirl around to see who exactly it was. "Are you a big fan of spiderman?" Christian asked. "No, I love Batman more," Henry told him. "Nice, what's your name?" Christian asked. "Henry, who are you talking to?" The voice of Miriam spoke as she trudged towards her son. "Christian?" She called, stunned. "Miriam?" He responded softly and calmly.

I looked down and kept eating the eggs, hot dogs, and toast I'd made that morning. Mrs. Harper was right. When you lived alone, there was no point making a big meal. Simple was enough. *** Days kept slipping by. Halfway through the month, my phone buzzed with a random number. I answered. Jenny. "Sarah, it's me." Same soft little voice. I almost hung up. Then she hit me with it. "Henry was in a car accident. Do you want to come see him?"

There was nothing in the bedroom which could be of any help so she remained at her place. Although she was surprised by Henry's behavior tonight. In her drunken state, Henry didn’t try to force himself on her when she clearly felt his heat and remembered his touch on her. But then he didn’t go further and withdrew his fingers in the middle of the way. She looked confused by his actions, but one thing was definitely confirmed he was indeed Henry Ford, the mafia leader in the past. And the reason for his becoming the wealthiest man in NYC is still unknown. She moved a little and wanted to be away from his touch and warmth when in his sleep he tightened his grip on her and she had no choice but

"I rarely joke about things like this, Nathan." "Maverick 'Maybe' Rockwell? The hockey captain?" My voice cracked slightly, my usual composure slipping. "Sir, the guy has his face on banners outside the stadium. He has a literal fan club and he's a partying freak, disruptive, and quite frankly, his crowd is exactly what I spend my entire life avoiding."

Still staring blankly at the older man, he paused almost a full minute before he said anything. "Do you know why I have come here?" he said at last in a voice that was as flat and emotionless as his stare. Henry noticed that he had an American accent. He felt a momentary crazy impulse to make a joke, to answer something like: You've come to read the water-meter. Or: You've come to read the gas-meter. That would be better! Oh yes, the gas meter: that would be suitably sick! But he didn't say anything. Instead he merely nodded.

As I opened the door I popped one pill and then I started to feel more in control of my emotions. Then I switched on the TV and I saw him... the man whom I used to call dad... who is not my dad... who just used me... "Today Mr. Henry Jones is arrested by police. He was hiding in an old villa in the jungle. Mr. Jones has been running away from the law for three years now. He will be presented in court as soon as possible." They read and I gulped another pill.

Henry asked Mrs Collins "Stop the van! maybe the kid might know where my son is just stop the van." Henry parked and the head of those five men get down, he was a bit worried and walked up to Henry and Mrs Collins. "Just tell me why we have been stopping since morning! it getting dark already and the sun is about to set don't tell me, you want the zombies to meet and get us killed because I don't understand you two!" "Look Henry I told you we shouldn't have helped them imagine how he's talking to us after saving his life with his friends unbelievable!" "Wait, young man, my name is Henry and this is my friend Doctor Mrs Collins, she has been searching for her son for a long time now.."

How do I fix this mess? “Come, cutie. Your father's name is Harry. He once lived here in New York, but now he’s far away,” Evelyn answered instead, crouching to Henry's level and giving him a hug just above his chest. How relieved I was to see she helped me. A lump had formed in my throat when he asked those questions, and my mouth parted in disbelief. No words were coming out, and I could tell he read meaning into it. Henry was a very smart kid—I would have thought he got that from his father, if I hadn’t been with him for the three whole years of my life.

Heron surly demanded, his breathing becoming heavier, exhaling steam through the receiver. “It’s …..” I don’t remember his name, so I sweetly asked him, “It’s been a long time since I saw you but I can’t recall your name.” “Henry, the comic fanatic.” He apprised to jog my memory. With full delight, his cheeks and eyebrows swelled. “Oh, I remember now.” I exclaimed as I vetted his features, removing the phone from my ears, “You have grown a lot. You were so scrawny when we were younger and now you have biceps and muscles. Totally matured.”

Age: 26 Occupation: Chef Personality: Passionate, creative, focused, friendly Interests: cooking, gardens, wine, people Dislikes: instant/take-out meals, picky eaters, introverts Frequency: Approximately once a week Henry Weston considers himself the "chef of the mansion." He will spend most of his day in the kitchen experimenting with different cuisines. Any chef hired should be sent home this day as Henry hates his position to be challenged. Always have a couple "favorite foods" prepared in your mind. He often asks what meals you would prefer and simply stating you have no preference will only end in disaster. Despite this, Henry is incredibly friendly and believes the only thing that can