Free 28 - The Cuckoo Clock of Doom by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)

will work,
and I’ll go back to being twelve again…
    …or else it won’t work. And then what?
    Then I’ll disappear. Vanish in time. Forever.
    I waited.
    “I’m so sorry,” Dad said to the shopkeeper. “I hope the baby didn’t damage
the clock.”
    The muscles in my neck tensed.
    Nothing was happening. Nothing.
    I waited another minute.
    The shopkeeper inspected the clock. “Everything seems okay,” he told Dad.
“But he changed the year. I’ll have to change it back.”
    “NO!” I wailed. “No! Don’t!”
    “That boy could use a little discipline, if you ask me,” the shopkeeper said.
    He reached his hand around the side of the clock and started to set back the
year.

 
 
24
     
     
    “Nooo!” I wailed. “Nooo!”
    That’s it, I realized. I’m doomed. I’m a goner.
    But the shopkeeper never touched the button.
    A bright white light flashed. I felt dizzy, stunned. I blinked. And blinked
again.
    Several seconds passed before I could see anything.
    I felt cool, damp air. I smelled a musty odor. A garage smell.
    “Michael? Do you like it?” Dad’s voice.
    I blinked. My eyes adjusted. I saw Dad and Mom. Looking older. Looking normal.
    We were standing in the garage. Dad was holding a shiny new 21-speed bike.
    Mom frowned. “Michael, are you feeling all right?”
    They were giving me the bike. It was my birthday!
    The clock worked! I’d brought myself back to the present!
    Almost to the present. Up to my twelfth birthday.
    Close enough.
    I felt so happy, I thought I’d explode.
    I threw myself at Mom and hugged her hard. Then I hugged Dad.
    “Wow,” Dad gushed. “I guess you really do like the bike!”
    I grinned. “I love it!” I exclaimed. “I love everything! I love the whole
world!”
    Mainly, I loved being twelve again. I could walk! I could talk! I could ride
the bus by myself!
    Whoa! Wait a minute, I thought. It’s my birthday.
    Don’t tell me I have to live through it again.
    I tensed my shoulders and steeled myself for the horrible day to come.
    It’s worth it, I told myself. It’s worth it if it means time will go forward
again, the way it’s supposed to.
    I knew too well what would happen next.
    Tara.
    She’d try to get on my bike. The bike would fall over and get scratched.
    Okay, Tara, I thought. I’m ready. Come and do your worst.
    I waited.
    Tara didn’t come.
    In fact, she didn’t seem to be around at all.
    She wasn’t in the garage. No sign of her.
    Mom and Dad oohed and ahhed over the bike. They didn’t act as
if anything was wrong. Or anyone was missing.
    “Where’s Tara?” I asked them.
    They looked up.
    “Who?” They stared at me.
    “Did you invite her to your party?” Mom asked. “I don’t remember sending an
invitation to a Tara.”
    Dad grinned at me. “Tara? Is that some girl you have a crush on, Michael?”
    “No,” I answered, turning red.
    It was as if they’d never heard of Tara. Never heard of their own daughter.
    “You’d better go upstairs and get ready for your party, Michael,” Mom
suggested. “The kids will be here soon.”
    “Okay.” I stumbled into the house, dazed.
    “Tara?” I called.
    Silence.
    Could she be hiding somewhere?
    I searched through the house. Then I checked her room. I threw open the door.
I expected to see a messy, all-pink girl’s room with a white canopy bed.
    Instead, I saw two twin beds, neatly made with plaid covers. A chair. An empty closet. No personal stuff.
    Not Tara’s room.
    A guest room.
    Wow. I was amazed.
    No Tara. Tara doesn’t exist.
    How did that happen?
    I wandered into the den, looking for the cuckoo clock.
    It wasn’t there.
    For a second, I felt a shock of fear. Then I calmed down.
    Oh, yeah, I remembered. We don’t have the clock yet. Not on my birthday. Dad
bought it a couple of days later.
    But I still didn’t understand. What had happened to my little sister? Where
was Tara?
     
    My friends arrived for the party. We played CDs and ate tortilla chips.
Ceecee pulled me into