A is for adventures – the kind that you fear
When other's intentions are often unclear.
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Coraline had nightmares about the beldam. Her tricks. Her evilness. Her personality.
It wasn't just that. It was the sheer pain of going through something that hit her full in the face, pulled her in and subsequently tried to kill her. Not a very nice experience for an eleven year old. Very … traumatic, even, if you will.
She looked at the door in the living room, wondering if it had all been a dream. If it had been, well too bad. That was that. But it had been real, she knew. It would always be real. Nothing gaped and glared at her like a single small door. Or buttons, for that matter, she frowned.
Coraline ate her breakfast cereal and went off to school. Wybourne was waiting, his usually friendly face carved into a mask of disbelief. Actually, no, make that a face of someone who has just seen a doll with button eyes on his porch. She asked him what was wrong, and he showed her a little doll, explaining that it had been left on his porch ... wait, what?
The young girl opened her mouth and stared at the doll, then re-hinged her jaw and stomped away, swearing to murder a certain button-eyed beldam.
Wybie seemed wordless for once, and, like a klutz, followed her – and all the while a watchful Bombay cat hissed. He had sincerely hoped that the beldam had been finished. Oh, well.
Never stop hoping, Cat.
Never...