Cuckoo Clock of Doom Page 3

  “Cereal!” Mom said. “Don’t you want something special, like pancakes?”

  I scratched my head. “Well, sure. Pancakes would be great.”

  This was a little strange. Usually if I woke up late, Mom said I had to fix my own breakfast. And why should I want something special, anyway?

  Mom mixed a fresh batch of pancake batter. “Don’t go in the garage, Michael! Whatever you do, don’t go in the garage!” She hopped up and down, all excited. Just as if it were my birthday again.

  Weird.

  “… there’s a huge mound of trash in there,” Mom was saying. “It really stinks. It smells so bad, you could get sick from it!”

  “Mom, what’s with the trash story?” I asked. “I didn’t believe it the first time.”

  “Just don’t go into the garage,” she repeated.

  Why was she saying this to me? Why was she acting so weird?

  Dad excused himself, saying, “I’ve got a few important chores to do,” in a strange, jolly way.

  I shrugged and tried to eat my breakfast in peace. But after breakfast I passed through the dining room. Somebody had decorated it with crepe paper. One strand had been torn down.

  Weird. Totally weird.

  Dad came into the room, toolbox in hand. He picked up the torn piece of crepe paper and started to tape it back up again.

  “Why won’t this crepe paper stay up?” he asked.

  “Dad,” I said. “Why are you covering the dining room with crepe paper?”

  Dad smiled. “Because it’s your birthday, of course! Every birthday party needs crepe paper. Now, I bet you can’t wait to see your present, right?”

  I stared at him.

  What’s going on here? I wondered.

  Mom and Dad led me to the garage. Tara followed. They all acted as if they were really going to give me a birthday present.

  Dad opened the garage door.

  There it was. The bike.

  It was perfectly shiny and new-looking. No scratches anywhere.

  That must be the surprise, I thought. They figured out a way to get rid of the scratch somehow. Or maybe they got me another new bike!

  “Do you like it?” Mom asked.

  “It’s awesome!” I replied.

  Tara said, “Cool bike, Mike. Mom, I want one of these for my birthday.”

  Then she jumped up on the seat. The bike fell over on her. When we pulled it up, it had a big scratch on it.

  Mom cried, “Tara! Are you hurt?”

  I couldn’t believe it. What a nightmare!

  It was happening all over again. Exactly as it had happened on my birthday.

  What’s going on?

  “What’s wrong, Michael?” Dad asked. “Don’t you like the bike?”

  What could I say? I felt sick. I felt so confused.

  Then it dawned on me.

  It must have been my wish, I thought.

  My birthday wish.

  After Tara tripped me and I fell on my cake, I wished I could go back in time and start my birthday all over again.

  Somehow my wish came true.

  Wow! I thought. This is kind of cool.

  “Let’s go inside,” Mom said. “The party guests will be here soon.”

  The party?

  Oh, no.

  Please, no!

  Do I have to live through that horrible party again?

  Yes.

  Yes, I had to live through the whole horrible nightmare again.

  My friends all showed up, just like the first time.

  I heard Tara say the awful words, “Hey, Mona. You know, Michael really likes you.”

  Mona said, “He does?”

  You already knew that, Mona, I thought. Tara told you four days ago.

  You were standing in that very same spot. Wearing those same pink overalls.

  Mona, Ceecee, and Rosie cracked up.

  I panicked. This can’t go on, I thought.

  My mother came in, carrying a tray of soda. I grabbed her.

  “Mom,” I begged. “Please take Tara away. Shut her up in her room or something!”

  “Michael, why? Your sister wants to have fun, too.”

  “Mom — please!”

  “Oh, Michael, you’re being silly. Be nice to Tara. She won’t bother you. She’s just a little girl.”

  Mom left the room, stranding me with Tara and my friends.

  She couldn’t save me.

  No one could.

  I showed the guys my new bike. Henry said, “Hey, what’s this big scratch?”

  When we got back to the living room, there were all my presents, opened by Tara.

  “Look what Mona gave you, Michael!” Tara shouted.

  I know, I know, I thought. A CD. With great love songs on it.

  “I’ve heard there are some great love songs on it,” Tara repeated.

  Everybody laughed.

  It was just as bad as before.

  No. Worse. Because I could see it all coming. And I couldn’t stop it.

  Could I?

  “Michael,” Mom called. “Come into the kitchen, please. It’s time for the birthday cake!”

  Here’s the test, I thought, dragging myself into the kitchen.

  I’ll carry in the cake — but this time I won’t trip.

  I know Tara is going to try and trip me. I won’t let her.

  I won’t make a fool of myself this time.

  I don’t have to. I don’t have to repeat everything the same way.

  Do I?

  I stood in the kitchen, staring at the cake. I could hear my friends laughing and talking in the dining room. Tara was in there, too.

  I knew she was standing just beyond the dining room door, waiting. Waiting to stick out her foot and trip me. Waiting to make me fall on my face and embarrass myself all over again.

  Not this time.

  I carefully picked up the cake in both hands. I started toward the dining room.

  Mom followed, just as before.

  I stopped in front of the entrance to the dining room. I glanced down.

  No sign of Tara’s foot.

  Carefully, watching closely, I stepped through the door. One step.

  So far, so good.

  Another step. I stood inside the dining room now.

  I’d made it! All I had to do was get to the table, about five steps away, and I’d be safe.

  I took another step forward. Another.

  Then I felt a tug on my foot.

  Tara reached out from under the table.

  So that was where she’d been hiding. I knew it now. But it was too late.

  Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Like in a dream.

  I heard an evil giggle.

  She grabbed my foot.

  Oh, no, I thought. It’s happened.

  I lost my balance.

  As I fell, I turned my head and glanced back.

  Tara sat under that table, smirking at me.

  I wanted to kill her.

  But first I had to fall on my face on a cake.

  The cake flew out of my arms. I turned my head again.

  Splat!

  Everybody gasped with laughter. I sat up and wiped the frosting from my eyes.

  Mona leaned over the table, laughing harder than anybody.

  The second time was more embarrassing than the first.

  I sat on the floor, my face covered with cake, thinking, How could I have been so stupid?

  Why did I have to make that wish?

  I’ll never wish for anything ever again.

  I cleaned myself up and managed to survive the rest of the party. When I went to bed that night, I thought, At least it’s over.

  I switched off the light and pulled the covers up high.

  It’s over, I repeated. I’ll go to sleep, and everything will be back to normal in the morning.

  I shut my eyes and fell asleep. But in my dreams, all night long, I saw scenes from my horrible birthday party. The nightmare party became a real nightmare. />
  There was Tara, telling Mona that I liked her. Mona’s face loomed up large in my dreams, laughing, laughing. Ceecee and Rosie and the guys, all laughing right in my face.

  I tripped and fell on top of the cake, over and over again.

  I tossed and turned. Each dream was scarier than the last. Soon my friends looked like horrible monsters. And Tara was the most horrible of all. Her features melted into a blur as she laughed and laughed at me.

  Wake up, I told myself. Wake up!

  I dragged myself out of the nightmare world. I sat up in bed, in a cold sweat.

  The room was still dark. I glanced at the clock.

  Three o’clock in the morning.

  I can’t sleep, I thought miserably. I can’t calm down.

  I’ve got to tell Mom and Dad what happened. Maybe they can help.

  Maybe they can make me feel better.

  I climbed out of bed and hurried down the dark hall to their room. Their door was open a crack.

  I pushed it open.

  “Mom? Dad? Are you awake?”

  Dad rolled over and grunted, “Huh?”

  I shook Mom’s shoulder. “Mom?”

  Mom stirred. “What is it, Michael?” she whispered. She sat up and grabbed the alarm clock. In the clock’s dim blue glow I saw her squint, trying to read the time.

  “It’s three o’clock!” she cried.

  Dad snorted and sat up suddenly. “Huh? What?”

  “Mom, you’ve got to listen to me!” I whispered. “Something creepy happened today. Didn’t you notice it?”

  “Michael, what is this —”

  “My birthday,” I explained. “Tara ruined my birthday, and I wished I could have it all over again. I wanted to make it better. But I never thought the wish would come true! Then, today, it was my birthday again! And everything happened exactly the same. It was horrible!”

  Dad rubbed his eyes. “That you, Michael?”

  Mom patted him. “Go back to sleep, dear. Michael’s just had a bad dream.”

  “No, Mom,” I cried. “It wasn’t a dream. It was real! My birthday happened twice! You were there, both times. Don’t you understand?”

  “Listen, Michael,” Mom began. I heard impatience in her voice. “I know you’re excited about your birthday, but it’s two days away. Only two days to go — then it will be your birthday at last! Okay? So go back to bed now and get some sleep.”

  She kissed me good night. “Only two days till your birthday. Sweet dreams.”

  I staggered back to bed, my head spinning.

  Two days until my birthday?

  Hadn’t I just lived through my birthday — twice?

  I switched on the reading lamp and stared at the date on my watch. February third, it said.

  My birthday is February fifth. My birthday was two days away.

  Could it be true? Was time going backward?

  No, I thought. I must be going nuts.

  I shook my head hard. I slapped myself a few times. Going back in time. I laughed at the idea.

  It’s impossible, I thought. Get a hold of yourself, Michael.

  All I did was wish to celebrate my birthday over again — once.

  I didn’t wish to repeat my twelfth birthday for the rest of my life!

  But if that’s what’s happening, why is it now two days before my birthday? Why isn’t it just the night before?

  Maybe time really is going backward, I thought. Maybe this has nothing to do with my wish.

  But, then — why is this happening to me?

  I racked my brains.

  The clock. Dad’s cuckoo clock.

  I twisted the cuckoo’s head backward … went to bed … and when I woke up, time had gone backward.

  Could that be it? Did I do this?

  Is Dad’s clock really magic?

  Maybe I shouldn’t have turned that stupid bird backward, I decided. It figures — I try to get Tara in trouble, and end up getting myself into a horrible mess.

  Well, if that is what happened, it’s easy enough to fix.

  I’ll just go downstairs and turn the cuckoo’s head back around.

  I tiptoed out of my room and down the stairs. My parents had probably fallen back to sleep already, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  I definitely didn’t want Dad to catch me fooling around with his precious clock.

  My feet hit the cold, bare floor of the foyer. I crept into the den. I switched on a lamp.

  I glanced around the room.

  The cuckoo clock was gone!

  “No!” I cried.

  Had the clock been stolen?

  Without the clock, how could I fix everything? How could I turn the bird’s head around and make my life go forward again?

  I raced upstairs. I didn’t care who I woke up now.

  “Mom! Dad!” I yelled. I burst into their room and shook Mom awake again.

  “Michael, what is it?” She sounded furious. “It’s the middle of the night. We’re trying to get some sleep!”

  Let them be angry, I thought. This was way more important.

  “The cuckoo clock! It’s gone!”

  Dad rolled over. “What? Huh?”

  “Michael, you’ve had another nightmare,” Mom assured me.

  “It’s not a nightmare, Mom — it’s true! Go downstairs and see for yourself! There’s no cuckoo clock in the den!”

  “Michael — listen to me. It was a dream.” Mom’s voice was firm. “We don’t own a cuckoo clock. We never did.”

  I staggered backward.

  “It’s just a dream. A bad dream,” she said.

  “But Dad bought it….”

  I stopped.

  I understood now.

  The date was February third. Two days before my birthday.

  And five days before Dad bought the cuckoo clock.

  We were traveling back in time. Dad hadn’t bought the clock yet.

  I felt sick.

  Mom said, “Michael, are you all right?” She climbed out of bed and pressed the back of her hand against my forehead.

  “You feel a little warm,” she said, nicer now that she thought I might be sick. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. I’ll bet you have a fever — and that’s why you’re having all these nightmares.”

  Dad grunted again. “What? Sick?”

  “I’ll take care of it, Herman,” Mom whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

  She guided me back to bed. She thought I was sick.

  But I knew the truth.

  I had made time move backward. And the clock was gone.

  How would I fix things now?

  * * *

  By the time I got to the kitchen the next morning, Mom, Dad, and Tara had already eaten.

  “Hurry up, Michael,” Dad said. “You’ll be late.”

  Being late for school didn’t seem to matter much at the moment.

  “Dad, please sit down for a second,” I pleaded. “Just for a minute. It’s important.”

  Dad sat, impatiently, on the edge of a kitchen chair. “Michael, what is it?”

  “Mom, are you listening?” I asked.

  “Sure, honey,” Mom said. She put the milk in the refrigerator and busily wiped off the counter.

  “This is going to sound weird,” I began. “But I’m not kidding.”

  I paused. Dad waited. I could tell by the tension in his face he expected me to say something totally dopey.

  I didn’t disappoint him.

  “Dad, time is going backward. Every day I wake up — and it’s an earlier day than the last!”

  Dad’s face dropped. “Michael, you have a wonderful imagination, but I’m really running late. Can we talk about it when I get home from work tonight? Or why don’t you write it down? You know I love reading science fiction stories.”

  “But, Dad —”

  Mom said, “Did somebody remember to feed the cat?”

  “I did it,” Tara said. “Even though it’s supposed to be Michael’s job.”

  �
��Thanks, Tara,” Mom said. “Let’s hit the road, everybody.”

  I grabbed a muffin as Mom hustled us out the door.

  They’re too busy to understand right now, I reasoned as I hurried to school. Tonight, at dinner, when I have more time to explain …

  I had lots of time to think about my problem during school. I’d lived through this day before, too. I’d already done all the work, heard all the lessons, eaten the lousy lunch.

  When my math teacher, Mr. Parker, turned his back to the class, I knew what would happen next. I predicted it to the second. Kevin Flowers threw an eraser at him and hit him smack on the back of his black pants.

  Now Mr. Parker is going to turn around … I thought, watching Mr. Parker.

  He turned around.

  … now he’ll yell at Kevin …

  Mr. Parker shouted, “Kevin Flowers — to the principal’s office, now!”

  … now Kevin will start yelling his head off.

  “How do you know it was me!” Kevin yelled. “You didn’t see me do anything!”

  The rest of the scene happened as I remembered it. Mr. Parker cowered a bit — Kevin is pretty big — but told Kevin to go to the principal’s office again. Kevin kicked over an empty chair and threw his books across the room.

  It was all so boring.

  After school, I found Tara in the den, teasing Bubba. She lifted his hind legs and made him walk on his front paws.

  “Tara, stop it!” I cried. I tried to take Bubba away from her. She let the cat go. Bubba meowed and scratched me across the arm.

  “Ow!” I dropped Bubba. He ran away.

  It felt very familiar. And painful.

  “Michael, what were you doing to that cat?” Mom demanded.

  “Nothing! He scratched me!”

  “Stop teasing him, and he won’t scratch you,” Mom scolded.

  The doorbell rang.

  Oh, no.

  Mona, Ceecee, and Rosie. The Frog Prince.

  The underwear.

  I can’t let it happen.

  But my feet started taking me upstairs. I was walking like a robot to my room.

  Why am I doing this? I asked myself.

  I’ll get out my frog costume. The zipper will be stuck.

  Tara will open the door, and I’ll be standing there in my underpants.

  Mona will laugh her head off. I’ll want to sink through the floor.

  I know all this will happen.

  So why am I doing it?