It was three days later. Michelle and Tommy were in the living room, staring at the large, ornate cuckoo clock their father had bought. He'd bene admiring it for a while, but had never had enough money to buy it until now.
"There was a discount," he had explained. "I think because it's so close after Christmas. Lots of shops have discounts then."
"Do we really need to put it here?" their mother asked, staring at it with distaste. "It looks so out of place."
"Don't be ridiculous, Sharon. It looks just right. I always thought that part of the living room was too bare."
He saw Michelle and Tommy staring and grew stern. "Listen carefully, you two. You are not to touch the clock. It's very old and valuable, and I don't want you messing with it."
"Yeah, Michelle," said Tommy, sticking his tongue out at her. She responded by kicking him in the leg.
"Michelle, don't kick your brother," scolded Mrs. Webster. "He's much smaller than you. You could really hurt him."
"That goes for both of you," said Mr. Webster sternly. "Understood?"
"Yes, Dad," echoed Michelle and Tommy.
Their father's voice took on a more lighthearted tone. "You know, there's a rumor that the clock has a curse on it."
"What kind of curse?" asked Michelle, slightly intrigued.
"A Christmas curse. I can't remember exactly what it's about, but it has something to do with messing with it causing the curse to activate. And it only happens in the month of December."
"Like now!" said Tommy
"So that's even more of a reason not to touch it."
"Only a moron would believe that," declared Tommy derisively. "A moron like Michelle."
"Herman, I wish you wouldn't tell the kids these crazy, wild stories," said Mrs. Webster disapprovingly. "It just encourages their imagination. Especially Michelle. She's always exaggerating, making a bigger deal of things than they are."
Michelle's jaw dropped open. "Me? But–"
"Michelle, please. I know Tommy can annoy you, but he's just a little boy. He can't help it. If you were more patient and spent more time with him, you might find yourself liking him."
Tommy stuck his tongue out at her again.
Mr. Webster checked his watch. "It's about time for dinner."
As they headed to the den, Tommy stomped on Michelle's foot. "Ouch!" she yelped.
Mr. Webster turned around. "What's wrong?"
"Tommy stomped on my foot."
"Oh, is that all? He couldn't have hurt you much. He's much smaller than you are."
When they were settled at the table, Michelle poked her food around on her plate, making no attempt to eat it.. It was some kind of salad. One of those super healthy ones her mom was so fond of, with 90% lettuce and 10% vegetables, and not a drizzle of dreasing. Their mother was a total health freak. She'd been trying to encourage the trest of the family to be as well, and they had begrudgingly agreed to try eating like her for a week.
Michelle wasn't against the idea of nutrition, but there was healthy eating and then there was whatever this salad was. She couldn't wait until the week was over. Evidently, neither could her father or brother.
"You know, dear," said Mr. Webster, "this salad's fine, but it'd taste really good with some dressing.
Mrs. Webster shook her head. "Don't you know dressing is the unhealthiest part of the salad? Lots of salads would be much less healthy with it."
"Michelle could use a diet, if you ask me," said Tommy, making a face at her.
"Shut up," snapped Michelle.
"Michelle, don't say things like that at the table," scolded Mrs. Webster. "Especially not in response to such childish insults. You should be mature enough to ignore them."
After dinner was over (which Michelle may or may not have dumped the majority of in the bin when her mother's back was turned), their parents headed for their bedroom while Tommy headed to the living room. He stopped in front of the clock, inspecting it.
"Tommy, what are you doing?" asked Michelle, following him. "You know you're not allowed to touch the clock."
"I'm not going to. I'm just looking at it." He stepped closer. "Where's the bird, anyway? I heard all cuckoo clocks are supposed to have one." He reached upwards and started fumbling with the bulbs.
"Tommy, no–" Before Michelle could say more, a hideous yellow bird popped out of the little doors, squawking, before going back in. Michelle jumped backwards and yelped in surprise while Tommy giggled.
They heard footsteps as their father ran to the living room, alerted by the bird's noise. He stared at the clock. "What happened?" He sternly surveyed the two siblings. "It's not supposed to go off at this hour, is it?"
"Tommy was playing with it," Michelle accused suddenly. She knew it was childish, but she didn't want to get in trouble, even though she likely knew accusing him wouldn't work.
To her surprise, her father turned his stern gaze to Tommy. "Is that true?"
Michelle knew that usually Tommy would've lied, but their father looked so stern that it must've intimidated him into telling the truth. "Well, yeah... but only a little! I just wanted to see how it worked."
Mr. Webster bent down to his level. "Listen, young man. That clock is not a toy. It's expensive and valuable, and if I catch you touching it again, there will be trouble. Understood?"
Tommy looked too surprised to reply for a few seconds. His parents rarely scolded him for anything. "Yes, Dad."
Wow, thought Michelle. Dad must really love the clock to scold darling Tommy for touching it.
Suddenly, an idea crawled into her mind...