28 - The Cuckoo Clock of Doom (4 page)

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
clock radio. 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 backwards?

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 backwards, 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 backwards… went to bed… and when I woke
up, time had gone backwards.

Could that be it? Did
I
do this?

Is Dad’s clock really magic?

Maybe I shouldn’t have turned that stupid bird backwards, 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 backwards.

“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 backwards. 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 backwards. Every day I wake up—and it’s an earlier day
than the last!”

Dad’s face drooped. “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?

Can’t I stop myself?

Don’t go upstairs, I begged myself. Don’t go to your room.

You don’t
have
to do this.

There must be a way to stop it, to control it.

I forced myself to turn around. I walked back down the steps. I sat down on
the third step.

Tara answered the door, and soon the girls stood before me in the foyer.

Okay, I thought. I’m controlling it. Already things are happening differently
from before.

“Michael, where’s your costume?” Mona asked. “I really want to see what your
costume looks like.”

“Uh, no you don’t,” I said, shrinking a little. “It’s really ugly, and I
don’t want to scare you girls—”

“Don’t be a jerk, Michael,” Ceecee said. “Why would we be scared by a stupid
frog costume?”

“And, anyway, I want to rehearse with it,” Mona added. “I don’t want to see the costume for the first time onstage. I’ll
need to be prepared for it. I need to practice with the costume—and you in
it.”

“Come on, Michael,” Tara put in. “Show them the costume. I want to see it,
too.”

I flashed her a dirty look. I knew what she had in mind.

“No,” I insisted. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Mona demanded.

“I just can’t.”

“He’s shy!” Rosie exclaimed.

“He’s embarrassed,” Tara added.

“No, it’s not that,” I said. “It’s just that… it’s awfully hot in that
costume, and—”

Mona leaned close to me. I smelled something sweet, like strawberries. It
must’ve been the shampoo she used. “Come on, Michael,” she said. “For me?”

“No.”

She stamped her foot. “I won’t rehearse our scenes unless you put on that
costume!”

I sighed. I didn’t see any way out of it.

Mona wouldn’t leave me alone until I put on that frog costume.

I gave in. “Okay.”

“Hurray!” Tara cried. I gave her another dirty look.

All right, I thought. I may have to put on the costume. But that doesn’t mean
the girls have to see me in my underwear.

I can still keep that from happening.

I trudged up to my room. But this time, I locked the door.

Now
try to embarrass me, Tara, I thought. You can’t outsmart Michael
Webster. No way.

The door was locked. I felt sure I was safe.

I took off my jeans and my shirt. I dragged the frog costume out of the
closet.