Bobby always loved to go to his grandparents for vacation. Not because they lived in Florida, although he did hate the northern winters, but because of the cuckoo clock hanging on the living room wall. A feeling of comfort came over him every time Bobby would stair at it.
One night while lying in bed awake and listening to the ticking of the clock, Bobby swore it said his name when the cuckoo came out at the top of the hour. Bobby could’ve heard what he thought, and nobody was awake to hear, or didn’t hear. Bobby slapped his face to see if he was awake. He was.
Bobby got out of bed and quietly padded to the living room. He stopped in front of the clock and just gazed at it.
“Did you say my name?” he whispered as loud as he could.
The cuckoo bird came out, but didn’t make a sound. Bobby inched closer to the clock, feeling he was being watched.
In a soft whisper he heard, “I’m watching over you,” the plastic bird went inside the clock.
Bobby scampered back to the bedroom. He lifted up the covers to get into bed, and found a small picture of his little brother, Micheal, who died of pneumonia two years earlier.
Bobby clutched the picture as he drifted off to sleep.