Disclaimer: I do not own Goosebumps/The Cuckoo Clock of Doom or any of RL Stine's original characters. I do not own the original idea for this fic, I am writing this fic on a request for retro mania. I only own a few of my own original ideas that are in here. I also used the original book as a guide, and put in a few episode references.

I Hope you enjoy! (and reviews are always welcome!)

Chapter 11

When I went to school the next morning, I wasn't sure what day it was. It was getting hard to keep track. My classes, my lunch, the stuff my friends said all seemed familiar. But nothing unusual happened. It could have been any day of the school year. I went to all of my classes as usual.

Before my last class began, a funny feeling crept over me.

A bad feeling.

This day didn't end well.

But I waited to see what would happen.

We got into groups. We did our work. We collected our packs. It hit me when Tommy came in and whispered something to my teacher.

Today that that day.

I knew what was coming and this time, I didn't even try to stop it.

After class, Kendra Flores yelled, "Where's my phone?"

Tommy the Terrible has done it again!

"Nobody leaves until we find that phone!" Kendra yelled.

I shut my eyes and handed over my pack.

I knew what was coming, might as well get it over with.

Getting pounded to a pulp by Kendra Flores hurt a lot.

But at least the pain didn't last long.

The next morning when I woke up, it was all gone. The pain, the scabs, the bruises, everything. "What day is it today?" I wondered.

It must be a few days before Kendra beat me up. I hope I won't have to live through that a third time.

But what will happen today?

As I walked to school, I searched for clues. I tried to remember what had happened a day or two before I got beat up.

A math test? Maybe. I hoped not.

But at least it would be easier this time around. I could even try to remember what the problems were and look up all the answers before the test!

I was a little late today.

Did that mean something? Would I get into trouble?

My homeroom teacher, Mr. Jacobson, had closed the classroom door. I opened it.

The classroom was already full. Mr. Jacobson didn't look up when I walked in.

"I must not be that late," I thought.

I started for the back of the room, where I usually sit. As I passed through the rows of desks, I glanced at the other kids.

"Who's that girl?" I wondered, staring at a blonde girl that I'd never seen before.

Then I noticed a guy with three piercings. I'd never seen him before, either.

I stared at all the faces in the classroom. None of the kids looked familiar.

"What's going on?" I wondered, feeling panic choke my throat.

Where's my class?

Mr. Jacobson finally turned around and stared at me.

"Hey," the blond girl asked loudly. "What's a third-grader doing in here?"

Everybody laughed but I couldn't understand why.

A third-grader? Who was he talking about? I didn't see any third-graders.

"You're in the wrong classroom, young lady," Mr. Jacobson said to me.

He opened the door, showing me the way out. "I think your room is downstairs on the second floor," he added.

"Thanks," I said.

I didn't know what he was talking about. But I decided to go along with it. He shut the door behind and I could hear the kids laughing behind it.

I hurried down the hall to the bathroom. I needed to splash some cold water on my face. Maybe that would help.

I turned on the cold water tap and glanced in the mirror, very quickly.

The mirror seemed a little higher than usual. I washed my hands in the cold water and splashed some on my face. The sink seemed higher, too.

Strange.

Am I in the right school? I glanced in the mirror again and got the shock of my life.

Was that me?

I looked so young. I even had the awful bangs that I wore when I was in third-grade.

I've got my third-grade hair. My third-grade clothes. My third-grade body.

But my tenth-grade brain.

Third grade. That means I've slipped back four years in one night.

My whole body started to tremble. I grabbed on to the sink to steady myself.

I was suddenly paralyzed with fear.

Things were speeding up. Now I lost whole years in one night!

How old will I be when I wake up tomorrow?

Time was going backward faster and faster and I still hadn't found a way to stop it.

I shut off the water and dried my face with a paper towel. I didn't know what to do. I was so frightened, I couldn't think straight.

I walked back to my third-grade classroom.

First, I glanced through the window of the classroom door.

There she was, Mrs. Harris, my old third-grade teacher. I'd know that helmet of silver hair anywhere.

And I knew, as soon as I saw her, that I really had gone back in time four years. Because old Mrs. Harris shouldn't have been in school that day. She'd retired a few years ago. She had retired before, but came back to teach for a few more years before she left for good.

I opened the door and stepped into the classroom. Mrs. Harris didn't bat an eye.

"Take a seat, Michael," she commanded.

She never mentioned the fact that I was late. Mrs. Harris always liked me.

I checked out the other kids in the class.

I saw Josie, Alma, Jojo, and Manny, all little third-graders now.

Manny had his hair a little longer. Jojo wore her shiny hair in two braids. Alma wore hers in one of those stupid side ponytails at the top of her head. Josie didn't have pimples on her forehead, I noticed. Hailey had a Spiderman sticker on the back of her hand.

It was my class all right.

I sat down at an empty desk in the back. My old desk. Right next to Ryan.

I glanced at him. He was picking his nose.

Gross.

I forgot about the things that third-graders had to go through.

"Michelle, we're on page 22 in your spelling book," Mrs. Harris informed me. I reached inside the desk and found my spelling book. I opened it to page 22.

"These are the words you'll need to know for tomorrow's spelling test," Mrs. Harris announced. She wrote the words on the board, even though we could read them right there in the spelling book: Taste, sense, grandmother, easy, happiness.

"Man," Ryan whispered to me. "These words are tough. Look how many letters there are in grandmother!"

I didn't know what to say to him. I hadn't had a spelling test since 7th grade. After 8th grade, we didn't take them anymore. We started focusing on things like old literature. A word like "grandmother" wasn't a big challenge for me anymore.

I zoned out for most of the day. I'd always wished school were easier, but not this easy. It was so babyish and boring.

Lunch and recess were even worse. Josie chewed up a banana and stuck her tongue out at me. Ryan painted his face with chocolate pudding.

Finally the school day ended and dragged my little third-grade body home.

When I opened the front door, I heard a horrible yelp. Bubble, just a puppy now, raced past me and out the door.

Tommy toddled after him.

"Leave him alone!" I scolded.

"You're dumb," he replied.

I stared at Tommy. He was four years old.

I tried to remember: Had I liked him better when he was four?

"Give me a piggyback!" he cried, tugging on my backpack.

"Get off me," I said.

My pack dropped to the floor. I stooped to pick it up and he grabbed a hunk of my hair and yanked it.

"Ow!" I screamed.

Tommy laughed.

"That hurt!" I yelled, and shoved him, just as Mother stepped into the foyer.

She rushed to Tommy's side.

"Michelle, don't shove your brother. He's only a little boy!"

I stormed off to my room to think.

No, I hadn't liked Tommy better when he was four. He was as much of a brat as ever. Tommy was born a brat, and he'd never grow out of it, I knew. He'd be a brat for the rest of his life, driving me crazy even when we're old.

"If we ever get to be old," I thought with a shudder.

We'll never grow up at this rate.

What am I going to do?

I've slipped back in time four years! If I don't do something fast, I'll be a baby again. And then what?

A cold shiver ran down my back.

And then what? I asked myself.

Will I disappear completely?