Okay, so I know it isn't Mal Du Siecle, but I just had to write this. I can't remember in which, but in a chapter of Mal Du Siecle I referenced Coraline and Wybie attending a movie when they were kids, and I loved the idea. So did another person, who pleaded with me to write this. Thus, Zombie Carnage was born. Please do enjoy, as Mal Du Siecle could take a while. And don't hesitate to request things.

"Oh. My. Gosh."

A devious, youthful smile passed across the thin pink lips belonging to Coraline Jones. From behind the double-sheet newspaper she smirked, snaking her hand around to skilfully draw in a piece of toast. She munched on it dramatically, letting her pupils actively flit across the lines of grey writing. They glanced at the picture every now and then; it was the perfect example of understated monochrome art. Dropping the barricade that separated her from the open breakfast table, she folded it with the picture topside, and slid it gracefully past the cluster of preserves and next to her mother's plate.

Mel glanced down at it lazily, and then returned her tired gaze to the blaring computer screen. "No."

"But, mom!" Coraline howled with anguish.

"But, mom, nothing Coraline," Mel replied. "It's a restricted movie. You can't get in."

"But it's gonna be the best movie ever!" Coraline retorted. She gingerly placed her toast back on the plate, prodding it away from her. "Wybie's going."

"Hm," Coraline's mother sniffed. Her fingers danced rapidly across the keyboard, her eyes still firmly glued to the ever-increasing mound of droning text. "I thought you didn't like Wybie."

"He's okay, mom. Really."

"I see. And even if I did take you - which I'm not going to - " Mel glared at Coraline harshly, scraping the hopeful smile from her daughter's face. " – You wouldn't get in."

"Oh, come on! Please!"

"Coraline, for the last time, I'm not taking you to see that dumb movie! Wait until it comes out on DVD."

Coraline groaned savagely, and swung her legs out from underneath the table. Gathering her slick black jacket in her arms, her fingers lingered on the shiny kitchen doorknob. "Not even if we – "

" – No."

"You're evil."

Mel smiled deviously, tap-tap-tapping away profusely. "And don't you forget it. Remember to put your boots on."

Outside, the rain had given in to Coraline's sour mood. Thick, freezing grey clouds swirled and ebbed overhead as she tromped out into the garden. A refined black shape eased along next to her, making her leg tingle pleasantly as it batted at her knee with its tail.

"Good morning, you," she said lazily, hoisting the animal up into her arms. She continued on her trek into the woods, with the old black cat resting meekly across her shoulder and torso like a furry sash. Its body vibrated as low, deep purrs rumbled up its throat. Coraline scratched behind its ears.

A familiar spluttering roar echoed among the trees. Out of the gloom leered two white flickering eyes, followed by a monstrous rusting body. On the worn metal stallion's back was positively the least menacing spectre of them all, who, as Coraline often thought, could be the Four Horsemen's useless lame brother. Conquest, War, Famine, Death and Jerkwad. Coraline chuckled, and halted. The slightly lame masked marauder came skidding to a halt a few feet from where she was standing, dowsing her with mud and grit, and causing the alarmed cat to leap from her grasp and scamper behind a soggy old tree stump. With one swift movement, Wybie Lovat revealed his face from behind the tri-view welding mask. He grinned at her.

"We meet again, C-Coraline Jones."

"Indeed," Coraline smiled, and sauntered over to where Wybie was struggling to lean his home-made pedal-powered motorbike against a gnarled old tree. She nimbly grasped the handlebars as it almost crushed the boy; he brushed her hand with his skeletal gloves gratefully.

"So," he began, resting against at the base of the tree. The cat slid out from behind its protective stump, and affectionately flopped into its lap. "What'd your mom say?"

Coraline loudly expelled a grunt of exasperation and discomfort, falling through time and space to land on the ground next to Wybie and the cat. She lay her sapphire hair amongst the soft, scratchy undergrowth and blinked up that them.

"She said no. Just like that. Flat out, no."

Wybie grunted. "So'd my gramma. She thinks it's too v-violent."

Coraline threw her arms into the air and made violent strangulation gestures above her head, before forcing herself to take a deep breath, and relax. She turned to Wybie. "They just don't understand! This is Revenge of the Living Dead Five: Zombie Carnage to the Max! In 3D!" The last three syllables were punched out so ferociously, it was as if she were stabbing them each in their theoretical hearts.

"We have to get in. We can't j-just miss this one."

"Wash me away with your surging river of ideas."

Both kids sat in silence, pondering. Coraline tore off her left glove, and ran her exposed hand up her neck. The warmth her skin provided calmed her down immensely.

Wybie sat with the cat, tickling behind its ears. It purred softly, moulding itself into the dips and bumps of his crossed legs. That is, until Coraline sprung from the ground and accidentally whacked it in the face.

Then that smile, that devious, fierce, childish goofy grin, crept its way from the corners of her mouth and painted itself across her cheeks. "I've got it!"

"Mom? Mom? Watcha doin' there, mom? Is it interesting? Are you having fun, mom?" Coraline had kept this up for the past half hour. She had been sitting across from her mother at the polished kitchen table, occasionally peering over the top of the computer screen as she continued her long-winded stream of annoyance. Mel had been coping fairly well; Coraline had expected her to give in within two minutes of the first time she had sat down. But now, her poker face was beginning to crumble, and one eye twitched menacingly as a burst of white hot rage surged around her head. Coraline grasped the pressure point, and reclined back in the creaking old chair. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, making sure to bang the two front legs down on the tiles as loud as she possibly could, and then wrench them like nails down a chalkboard as she rocked back again.

"Mom… Mom… Hey, Mo-"

"Coraline!" Mel slammed her fists down on the keyboard, and Coraline froze in mid rock. After a few moments of stressful, awkward silence, she dropped her chair down with a clatter, just for emphasis. Her mother breathed heavily into cupped hands.

"Coraline…" she tried so hard to suppress the rage in her tone, but it sat there. She took another deep breath, and lowered the screen of her computer. Coraline's sly grin loomed over the top. "Can you please… just find something to do? I'm really busy."

"But mom…" Coraline whined. Her voice oozed with triumphant sarcasm. "I'm sooo bored! I have nothing to do!"

"I know where this is going. You are not going to that stupid movie."

"What movie?"

Mel groaned. "Don't play dumb. That zombie film you wouldn't shut up about for weeks."

"Oh, that movie. Yeah, I'm over it."

"Then leave me alone."

Mel pushed her screen back up, eclipsing Coraline's eager face. But Coraline slammed her palm into the soft, snappable plastic and stared at her mother. She wasn't about to be brushed off so easily.

"You know, there's other things on at the theatre, mom."

"Oh yeah? Ask your dad to take you."

Coraline made a low hissing noise, trapping her lip underneath her top row of teeth. Mel raised a sceptical eyebrow. "What's the problem, Coraline?"

"I asked dad," she replied smoothly. "He's busy. Really, really busy."

"And so am I."

"Yeah, but he got his licence suspended."

Mel flicked Coraline's hand off her computer, and pushed the unit aside. She folded her arms, and drummed her finger angrily on the soft white wool that adorned her torso. "Coraline," she hissed. "I know what you're hinting at. And there's no way I'm taking you all the way into town because you can't be resourceful."

"Fine, mom. That's okay." Coraline got out of her chair. And gave her mother a half-hearted hug. She swung her body across the kitchen like a rag doll, and slipped on her luminescent Wellington boots. Behind her, she heard the scrape of plastic against the table, and the abrupt continuation of that tap-tap-tapping on the light, glossy keyboard. But all was not lost.

"I guess," Coraline sung, glancing over her shoulder at her mother. Mel was already absorbed in her work, her furrowed brow highlighted by the green glow expelled from the screen. If she had acknowledged Coraline's presence, she would have noticed the rejuvenation of that arrogant, triumphant grin. "I guess I'm just going to have to tag along on Wybie's bike."

That was all it took. In a flash, Mel has slammed her computer closed, propelled herself across the room, bundled up her trench coat and her car keys, and grabbed Coraline by the collar. She drew her face close, and scowled at her daughter.

"Here's the deal," she breathed. "Never in a million years will you get on that death trap, do you hear me?" Coraline tried to speak, but her stunned tongue lay paralyzed between her teeth. "You pay for your own ticket, and I will not pick you up if they don't let you in. If you get kicked out, I will not pick you up. You will wait in the rain until the film is finished. What time does it finish?"

"S…s-seven-"

"-I will pick you up at seven. Get your friend and get in the car. Pronto."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

Mel released her gargoyle's grip on Coraline's jumper, and the petrified girl scampered out into the rain. As her heart eased and the terror subsided, and she pounded on Wybie's front door, that self-satisfied pride of out-witting her mother washed around her. Two whole hours of zombie carnage lay ahead, and she was going to enjoy every second of it.

The comfortable old beetle screeched to a halt outside the cinema. The little flashing lights chased each other around the magnetic letters on the board overhead, advertising all the films that were playing that afternoon. On the far left read, "Living Dead V", and then next to it, in big red letters, "Restricted". Wybie and Coraline hopped out of the back seat, and stood on the curb, as Coraline held a brief conversation with her mother.

"Seven. No earlier. You hear me, Coraline?"

Coraline rolled her eyes. "Yes, mom. I heard you. Bye."

"Have a nice time. Don't get into any trouble."

Then her mother rolled up the window, pulled out of the parking zone, and disappeared into the onslaught of water from above. Coraline grinned at Wybie, and handed him a pair of 3D glasses from her pocket.

"What did you tell your grandma?" she asked casually as they bolted out of the rain.

"I t-told her we were going out for icecream." He replied. "She thinks I'm taking you on a d-date."

Coraline guffawed, clutching Wybie's lop-sided shoulder for support. She looked up into his eyes, and through the tears of absolute hysteria, she noted his cheeks had turned the most hilarious shade of magenta.

"Sorry," she said, stifling the thorough amusement that was scratching at her diaphragm. "Wait… this isn't a date, is it?"

Wybie bit his lip, and dropped his gaze. Coraline watched the corners of his mouth twitch; he was fighting with all his might against a radiant grin that wanted more than anything to bear itself to her. But he won against it, and substituted that crooked smile for a weak half-moon smirk. "N-no," he said softly. "That would be weird."

Coraline grinned, and looped her arm around his. "Good," she said chirpily. "Could you imagine that? It would be super weird!"

"Y-yeah," Wybie mumbled as she dragged him towards the ticket booth. The fact of the matter was, he could imagine it. But it wasn't going to spoil a perfectly awesome evening of blood, guts and cheesy special effects.

But the acne-ridden lanky bespectacled teenager at the ticket booth would. "Sixteen and up," he remarked monotonously in his shaky, scratchy voice.

Coraline and Wybie loitered around the theatre doors, scowling at the dorky old ticket master in his impenetrable fortress. He glanced back over at them every now and then, bearing his metal clad teeth. Wybie grimaced.

"Wh-what're we gonna do now?" he asked neither himself nor Coraline in particular.

Coraline looked thoughtful for a moment, and then her skinny, damp shoulders fell about her. "I honestly have no idea."

"We could just go to the arcade, or get icecream?" Wybie suggested weakly. Coraline snorted.

"No way! I am not giving up so easily. Dungeon Keeper over there can't keep me from the most epic film of the year."

"But how are we meant to get in? He's seen us now!"

She was silent for a moment. Her infa red hazel eyes darted across the scene before them, surveying every possible option. Then they were fixed. "Target acquired." She whispered decidedly.

Wybie followed her gaze to the group of gaggling, giggling teenagers. There were about eight of them all together: girls gossiping and whispering as they clung to the broad shoulders of slick-smiling boys in their letter jackets. And Wybie knew exactly what Coraline was planning on doing. "No way."

Coraline landed an annoyed punch on his left shoulder. "Grow a backbone, Why-Were-You-Born!" she exclaimed. "Do you want to see this damn movie or not? For free, no less?"

"W-well, yeah, but-"

"-But what?"

"Well… what if we get caught?"

Coraline put a reassuring hand on Wybie's shoulder, and smiled at him earnestly. "We won't get caught. Not if we're careful."

Wybie groaned, and pleaded with her silently, but it was really no use. Not now she had decided on a course of action. "Ehh… okay!" he said, defeated. "But if we get caught, it's all your f-fault."

As each teen bought their ticket in turn, Wybie and Coraline edged closer to the gigantic golden doors, which were guarded by a single pimply-faced girl in her creased red vest. Coraline dragged Wybie by the wrist, keeping a firm unyielding grasp with her nails hooked into his skin. And as the loud group of older kids piled their way into the theatre, she tugged him forcefully right into the middle of the group. They didn't notice, and neither did the usher. And so they slipped easily through to the gates of heaven. Into the brightly-lit hallway with rich scarlet carpet beneath their feet, and a glass-topped counter adorned with rich golden popcorn and enticing, sugary treats. The two children parted from the group, and disappeared into the shadows.

"Right," said Coraline urgently. "You go in and find us some seats. Be careful the usher doesn't see you. I'm gonna go get us some popcorn."

Wybie glowered at her, before slipping away and into the light. He ran awkwardly up the hallway, sticking out like a leprosy-ridden thumb amongst the jubilant, colourful moviegoers. But his thick black jacket proved useful as he managed to fade, unnoticed, into the black abyss of the screening room.

Coraline sauntered over to the candy bar and stared up at the attendee. She didn't pay any attention whatsoever to Coraline; two white cables tapered down from her ears and disappeared into the firm grasp of her brutally short black fingernails. Coraline drummed her own cerulean ones on the warm glass top, and cleared her throat loudly. The girl pulled out her earphones, allowing a tiny muffled racket of agonized screaming and wild drumming to issue from them. She raised a pencil-drawn eyebrow at Coraline. "Yeah?"

"A small box of popcorn, a bag of Reece's Pieces, and a large Coke."

The girl sniffed, and lazily gathered up Coraline's order. She slammed it down on the bench, and peered at the fuming girl. "Eight-fifty."

Coraline slid a crisp ten-dollar note over the counter, and the girl snatched it up between her claws. The register popped open, and she lazily threw a dollar-fifty down. It clinked and clattered noisily, before Coraline scooped it up. She didn't bother saying thank-you as she turned her back on the clerk and headed for the open cinema doors.

Wybie was nestled in the back row, crouched so low that at first Coraline couldn't see him. His mop of stagnant brown hair rested against the plush red seats, and as he slowly drew up in the seat; his location became slightly more obvious. She grinned at him, and bounded up the felt-covered steps and joined him in the middle of the row.

"This is gonna be so awesome!" she whispered. Wybie smiled back at her, and took the plastic straw she held out to him. He stabbed the plastic lid that prevented the Coke from spilling everywhere, and took a long, spluttering sip. "It better be worth it," he hissed back. "If my gramma finds out about this, I'm so d-dead."

"Relax!" Coraline reclined in her seat, propping her muddy red canvas sneakers on the seat in front. The other inhabitants of the theatre were far down the front, buzzing excitedly amongst themselves, and a particular couple were entwined so that neither Coraline nor Wybie could exactly tell where one's mouth ended and the other's began. "We're gonna have so much fun."

"Ssh," he warned her, as the lights all around began to recede. Suddenly, the entire theatre was plunged into darkness, except for the rectangular beam of light that shone just above Coraline and Wybie's heads. Then the screen was illuminated, warning them of the strong themes that awaited them. Coraline slipped her hand into Wybie's.

As the film delved further and further into itself, and the 3D vision scraped at their eyes, Coraline's harsh grip on his hand grew tighter and tighter still. Within the first half-hour both their faces had been permanently moulded into grotesque grimaces of utter disgust.

"No, no, that belongs inside his chest!"

"Bones aren't meant to b-break there, are they?"

"For the love of all that is holy, don't put your head in there!"

"No, not the b-bear trap!"

"Is that… rubber tubing on the floor? I can't tell. There's too much blood."

And then they couldn't take it anymore. As the enraged flesh-eating demon skinned the helpless, soft-skinned young woman with his teeth, Coraline and Wybie simply cracked. The girl dashed down the aisle, with one hand firmly against her welded jaws. Wybie bolted after her, leaving a battlefield of discarded popcorn in his wake. Neither of them particularly paid attention to the howling ticket master as they burst into the freezing humidity of the street, clinging to each other for support. Pale, shaking hands were clamped over mouths: if even of them dared laugh, they would surely projectile-vomit all over the pavement. So they collapsed, sniggering, tangled around each other beneath the neon letters.

Coraline seized the air in her lungs, and let it circulate slowly. After a minute, the hot stinging vomit had subsided and retreated into the depths of her stomach, and she felt safe to open her mouth.

"If I even so much as have to look at a pizza ever, ever again… I'm gonna hurl my lungs up."

Wybie rapidly swallowed a mouthful of burning, vinegary tar and massaged his sickly green face. "Don't even t-talk about pizza…" he mumbled. "…It reminds me of that bit with the ch-cheese grater."

Coraline lurched forward and shoved her tongue against clenched teeth, as the world spun and her intestines frothed. Both she and Wybie groaned in unison and gazed up at the ominous crying clouds.

"What time is it?" Wybie asked. Coraline flicked up the sleeve of her striped sweater and followed the hands on her Transformers wristwatch.

"Hah. Five-thirty-five." She gurgled. "An hour and a half to kill. What do we do?"

Wybie stumbled to his feet, leaning awkwardly against the wall for support. The harsh light of day was fading, and the throng of people thinning. Around him, the street teetered and tipped and quaked, before Coraline wrenched herself vertical with the aid of his cold, rigid arm.

"We could always go to the arcade. I th-think I have my power card on me." He suggested fuzzily.

Coraline nodded slowly, slipping her thin, gangly arm around his waist. With a millennium between each uneasy step, the two began to make their way up the scarcely-populated street and through the easing rain, as each droplet shattered lamely on the cobblestones.

"Hey," she chirped in her warm, sarcastic tone. "Now we have all this time on our hands, how about you be dashing and treat me to an ice cream?"

Wybie suddenly wretched and catapulted himself to the sopping pavement, clutching his stomach protectively. "Oh… God…" he spat, fighting profusely against his gut.

Coraline stood over him, smiling that mischievous, all-knowing smile her loving mother had passed down to her. "Yeah," she cooed slyly. "All that cream, curdling and churning, round and round and round. Can you picture it, Wybourne? The curdling and the churning?"

"Shut up, Jonesy!" he hollered weakly through her throng of maniacal cackling. It was coming again, the dizzying foul digestive acid, and this time, it was able to pass swiftly through the barriers of his teeth, then his lips, and Wybie expelled his angry stomach contents into the nearest ornate plant pot.

"That," said Coraline, expressly shielding her sensitive nostrils from the hideous insult that rattled away at them, "Is truly disgusting. I'm never gonna kiss you now."

Wybie stared up at her repulsed, teasing face, to which he raised a puzzled eyebrow. Kiss, did she say? Kiss? Oh god, she hadn't found out, had she? Apparently not, Wybie decided, as her soft expressive features crinkled into an earnest, amused grin. She yanked him violently from his home on the pavement, and coiled a supportive grip around his arm. She guided him gently down the cobblestones, and towards the neon techno pulse of blaring lights and dance machines that disturbed the otherwise serene placidity of Ashland's main street.

"You…" said he, staring at her privately content expression, "Are so weird."