"It isn't happening, this cannot be happening… wake up Coraline! Damnit, wake up!"
Coraline Jones flung herself about the dimly-lit open space that parodied her childhood bedroom, while the cloudless sky winked and beckoned her with its numerous silver eyes. The bureau had been forced against the wall and locked tight; the mirror wasn't to be trusted. Instead of the tall, slender woman with the dark circles under her eyes Coraline had accepted as her reflection, it showed a little girl with an imagination as wild as her hair colour.
She continued to pace back and forth, anxiously tugging the soft, baggy sweater over her scrawny little legs. The blurred memories and the suppressed anguish rushed up her throat, coated in the unpleasant saltiness of a child's tears. In hushed, frantic whispers, Coraline repeatedly told herself that it wasn't real, because it wasn't possible. But the message wouldn't penetrate, and the truth inhabited her consciousness triumphantly. It was indeed real, and it wasn't going to go away, no matter how long she thought against it.
Her eyelids glued to one another, Coraline wrenched open the freshly painted dresser. A sliver of light floated across her vision; that shifty mirror was glinting in the moonlight, praying for her to acknowledge her situation. She instead blindly turned her back on the traitor, and let her eyes flutter open and adjust to the dark. She groped through the various garments strung upon the interior metal rod, and feeling a short wave of security as she plucked from the sea of beautiful clothing, a clean, shiny yellow rain coat. She tossed it behind her onto the floor, and continued to dive through the dresser's contents until she found the most plain, comfortable, conservative outfit that sat in there. The old striped sweater smelt of the fabric softener her mother used to use, and the jeans hadn't been pressed; just the way she liked them.
Coraline dressed in silence, keeping her attention firmly swayed from the mirror behind her. Her bare feet stood on the unnaturally warm polished floor, toes wriggling and open to attack. Next to the tall, enchanting canopy bed was a stout bedside table; Coraline flung the top drawer open and held up a pair of clean, soft green socks for inspection, before sliding onto the edge of the decorative sculpture of a bed to tug them onto her feet. She sat there against the bedpost for a few uncomfortable minutes; uncomfortable partly because of the twisting, winding shape carved into the post, but predominantly because of the dreamy, unclear silence that rested upon the room. Below the glitter-coated boards that shone and twinkled in the freezing silver moonlight, Coraline could hear Her humming; a long-drawn, lamenting tune that seemed to have mass. It crept up through the cracks and bound her mind to the bed, whispering for her to not move a muscle, to wait for the vocal chords from whence it came to slither on up the stairs just past that big white door, dragging the rest of the body with them. But Coraline knew she couldn't let that happen.
Crossing the room perched on her toes, she noiselessly made it to her bedroom door. She curled her fingers around the knob, and eased it open, stepping aside as it slowly swung across the space where she had been standing. There lay the hall: deserted and exposed, dark and dreary. The only light was of the moon behind her, and the warm orange glow creeping up the stairs. The ambient sounds of the kitchen below danced up the banister, a healthy crackling of cooking fat in a pan and that slow, gentle, whispering humming. Coraline took graceful, light steps toward the staircase, and the warm light crept up her body. Each foot she put on the next step down felt like each toe was adorned with elaborate lead trinkets; it was an agonizingly slow decent. At last, she reached the landing, and the kitchen was alive behind a slightly-ajar door.
The warm, inviting scent of breakfast cooking wafted out into the hall, floating around Coraline's head, dizzying and enticing. She shook the smell away ferociously, and advanced towards the kitchen. Her warm, fuzzy socks toed the line of light issuing from behind the door, and her entire body swayed out of the beam as if it would burn her at the touch. Coraline thrust her arm out in front of her, pushing the door further into the room. She didn't burn. But the scene before her was all too familiar, and it was sickening. A wonderfully attractive, curvaceous woman worked merrily at the old stovetop, flitting, humming as she did her work. Behind her was an elaborately-set kitchen table with a place for one: a place for Coraline. The scene was surreal, and a little painful. It triggered something deep down inside the now young girl, a place that had been thrust into the shadows to gather dust and cobwebs for almost twenty years. It roared into life like the rusty old water heater, and she propelled onwards into the sickening kitchen scene.
"Why!?" she screeched, slamming her hand into the Other Mother's shoulder and wheeling her around. The cheap parody of her real mother stared down at her, that glossy red smile alarmed and menacing. Coraline recoiled slightly, but immediately gathered her gusto. That smile wasn't going to stay there for long. "What did you do?! Why am I like this?"
The Other Mother simply smiled, and giggled carelessly. She returned to flip the succulent bacon sizzling away in the pan, and then redirected her attention back to the fuming girl. "Well, hello to you too, Coraline," she sung. "It's been a while since you last came home; I thought you'd forgotten about us. But my!" she raised her hands, the cheerful chicken-shaped oven glove dangling from her left. "You don't look a single day older than when I last saw you."
Coraline scowled, and one by one, popped her knuckles loudly. "That's the problem," she hissed. "What the hell did you do? How did you even get back?!"
"Oh, I have my ways," said the Other Mother, bright and cheery as a tulip on the first day of spring. She dropped her left arm, the oven glove disappearing somewhere behind her on the shiny counters. Her right arm remained up, however, and she drew it closer to Coraline's face for her to observe.
A long, silky black glove defended the arm from her eyes; it snaked all the way up and disappeared under the sleeve of her black chiffon blouse. The material shone in the light, and highlighted every lump and curve. Coraline cocked her head to one side, and noticed that just at the wrist, the beldam's hand was slightly off-centred. Long, even lumps of stitching seemed to bind the two pieces of flesh together. The fingers wriggled like long, thin caterpillars under the glove, before it dropped below her eye line. The round, gleaming buttons sewn neatly to a glowing face peered at her then. Although they were nothing more than plastic discs, behind the holes were the flames of self-righteous triumph held within the beldam. Coraline bit her lip.
"I'm sure you're aware of how a cockroach can live for a prolonged period of time without its head?" the Other Mother queried lightly. Coraline simply nodded, never taking her eyes off those deep black abysses. "Well, everything can mend in time, providing its environment suits. And down there, in the dark and wet, the needles may grow rusty but they'll always be able to serve their purpose. Providing they have thread, of course." The Other Mother observed Coraline's quizzical expression, then plainly stated her case. "You left a blanket down there with me, dear," she whispered through her merrily clenched teeth. "And though my fingers were slow and old, they managed to weave themselves back together."
Coraline was dumbfounded. How… how did she get out? "And… the hand still got out?"
"Oh, it took a while!" the Other Mother exclaimed. Her tongue dripped with poison as she loaded the bacon onto a plate, and efficiently cracked an egg into the fizzling pan. "It was a long climb, but if you persevere, you can accomplish anything. Now, wash up and sit down. Breakfast's nearly ready."
"No, I'm not done talking yet!" Coraline yelled. The Other Mother looked slightly taken aback, but as she tended to the eggs, her eyebrows raised and her smile resurfaced.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," spat the feisty little girl, drumming her fingers on the counter to her left. "What did you do to me? How did you do it? This like a nightmare!"
"The rules of time are very strict," the voice so much like her mother's drifted off into the starry night. It faded to a whisper, as the other mother leaned in a little closer towards her ear. "But in my world," it said, "It's different. I can break the rules as I please."
Coraline pulled away, and hastily pushed past the monster to stare out of the window. Outside, not a sound, not a movement existed. All was placid and silver, as the round full moon beamed down upon the scene. The garden shone and glistened with life, and the woods slept and shivered in the still night air. Then she remembered.
"Wybie!" she screamed, whirling around to face the back of the Other Mother. "What did you do with him!? I want to see him!"
The beldam wheeled around, crisp white crockery in hand. It was laden with perfect, delicious steaming food, and as she set it down gently on the ruby placemat she beamed at Coraline. "Now, darling," she said. "Your friend was just as tired as you were after your trip home, so your father escorted him home. I assure you, he's perfectly alright."
"Home?" Coraline asked. "You let him back across?"
"Oh, goodness no!" The Other Mother let out a short, tinkling laugh, delighting in the fact that the girl had put forward such an impossible idea. Coraline shivered. The woman continued. "His grandmother has been waiting to see him for a long time, so he went back to her. You can see him later, but you need to eat your breakfast first."
Coraline smirked at her, and looked from the plate to the hideous red-lipped grimace of the beast that was standing before her. It was menacing, seeing it again. After all that had been said and done so long ago, Coraline had thought she was finally able to rest easy knowing she was in no danger. But it seemed she had been shaken from her delusional slumber, and here before her stood the waking world. But she wasn't scared; the witch had her weaknesses, and they certainly wouldn't be restricted to her arm. Coraline was going to find them, and rest easy once again. But she needed Wybie.
"Gee, I'm really not hungry," she sang, skipping around the table and perching by the door. "I'll just go outside and play now, as we kids do."
"But Coraline – "
" – Have a nice time," Coraline interrupted, pulling together the buttons on her yellow rain coat. She could see, at the end of the hall, her swampers perched by the doormat, cheerfully awaiting her to slip her feet inside them. Keeping them waiting for just one more moment, she swung back around the doorframe, and grinned sarcastically at the Other Mother. "Do get used to being alone," she said, "Because it won't be long before all you have is yourself."
The beldam didn't try to stop Coraline as she flitted down the hall and burst into the open air, and Coraline suddenly felt alleviated. The dark foreboding was lurking all around, and she knew sooner or later the moment of truth would be forced upon her. But she diminished the feeling with her inner lantern of hope, and used it to carry her onwards as her bright little rain boots crunched the soil of the newly-rejuvenated earth. Everything looked so new and freshly-wrapped: above her some bright lights shimmered and beckoned into the Amazing Mr B's jumping mice circus, and off in her peripheral vision was the automated flash and hum of an orchestra warming up in the regal red theatre. Everything was bright and cheery and enticing, and it had once ensnared her childish self. But now Coraline was older, at least on the inside. She saw the world in black and white, and all the shades of grey in between. She was wise, and she was level. She wasn't a kid anymore, no matter how contradictory her outward appearance was.
Dropping each foot onto the driveway, Coraline skipped into the tiny world of hers. Her eyes scanned the grounds, watching the hasty backdrop of the trees disappear across the horizon. Her legs carried her up the path and down towards the outer reaches of the property, where Wybie's house usually stood. Sure enough, there it was, nestled among the trees. It no longer looked old and battered, but it had erupted into life. The porch was adorned with various odd bits and bobs, contraptions and gizmos. The boards were fresh and sturdy, and the front door was polished an attractive. Coraline dared to blemish it as she rapped persistently across its shiny, sanded surface.
There was silence behind the door for some time; Coraline dared to trap her soft coat of hair between the wood and her ear as she concentrated, scanning for signs of life on the inside. All she could hear was the blood rushing around her skull, and was quite startled when the door gave way and she almost toppled to the hearth. Straightening herself up, her eyes drew level with a younger, more sprightly Miss Lovat. Her shiny black button eyes peered at Coraline expectantly; they weren't harsh and domineering, more curious and strained. Her old lips curled into a friendly, tired smile, causing her weathered old skin to wrinkle further. She was just as Coraline remembered.
"Hi, Miss Lovat," said the girl politely.
Wybie's grandmother's smile broadened. "Hello, Coraline," she replied. "I assume you'll want to see Wybourne?"
"If you don't mind, ma'am."
"Maybe you'll do him some good; he won't let me in his room."
Coraline raised her thin brown eyebrows in concern. Sure, it was all new and strange to him, but wouldn't he be happy in the slightest to see his grandmother, or the imprint from his memory, alive and walking? She wondered as she followed the old woman through the warmly-decorated house, if the Other Mother had indeed harmed him. Her heart worked overtime, slamming into her ribcage and sending tremors all across her skeleton. Up the stairs she trooped behind Miss Lovat, who moved so fluidly and without the creaks of old age. Finally, at the top of the stairs, they stood on the tight dim landing, and the old woman tapped on the first door on the left with her old wrinkled knuckles.
"Wybourne?" she called. "You have a visitor."
A hurried thumping and scrambling was heard from behind Wybie's bedroom door, then a tight click issued from the door itself. Miss Lovat tried to turn the doorknob, but to no avail. "Wybourne!" she called, slightly more forcefully. "This girl's come all the way to see you. The least you can do is talk to her!"
"G-go away!" floated his unsteady voice from the crack under the door. "I don't w-want you to see me!"
Miss Lovat glanced apologetically at Coraline. "I'm sorry about him, dear," she said. "He's being so rude."
"It's okay, ma'am," Coraline replied, suppressing the frustration that threatened to rip through her skin at any second. "Please, let me have a try."
Miss Lovat nodded, and Coraline gently edged past her. She pressed her scrawny body against the door, raised her left fist, and let loose a cacophony of hostile bangs.
"Wybie!" she bellowed, her head pressed against the wood. It smelled of fresh paint; the fumes were stifling at such immediate proximity. But the drowsier Coraline felt, the more loudly and forcefully she hammered. "You get over here and unlock this door right now or so help me; I will climb onto your roof and smash the window!"
There was silence, at least on Wybie's side, as Coraline continued to pound on the door. Miss Lovat had retreated downstairs and out of sight; Coraline was aware she was just a puppet sewn by the beldam, but she still felt sorry for the woman. Like the poor old Wybie who lived without a tongue, she had a kind heart.
Coraline stopped knocking for a second, and clamped her eyes shut, concentrating all her brain power on her eardrums. She projected her hearing to the other side of the door, where she could envision Wybie pressed against the door much in the same way she was. The thought reminded her of an old horror film she'd once watched, where a girl was being chased by a zombie. Her and Wybie had snuck into the cinema behind a huge group of teenagers back when they were twelve; they'd come out about halfway through green-faced and wretching. It brought a smile to Coraline's face, remembering how dizzy they had both felt, clutching onto each other for fear of falling over, and not daring to laugh for fear of expelling vomit all over the sidewalk. Good times.
Then, she heard it. That gentle click of the old rusty lock, and then a scattering of feet. Coraline straightened herself up, and gently pushed the door open.
The room was pitch black; the curtains were drawn against the big silver moon, and every light had blinked out of existence. Coraline pressed her right hand against the wall, running it up and down against the door frame, searching for a light switch. Finally she found it, and applied downward pressure onto the cold plastic notch. It abruptly levered in its bed, and the harsh light flooded the room. And there was Wybie. Not super tall, super lanky Wybie that Coraline had been familiar with not hours ago, but hunch-backed, five-foot-two, twelve-year-old stalker Wybie, about six months prior to a mouth full of metal. He shied away from the light, huddled in the corner of this puzzling, bizarre room of his. A black sheet was pulled up around him, shrouding his face and half his body completely from view. Coraline searched for his eyes, but they did not meet. So, two fingers still on the light switch, she tossed it back up again.
The room was consumed by darkness, and guided only by her superlative hearing; Coraline got down on her hands and knees, and began a slow steady crawl in Wybie's general direction. She drew closer and closer, and she heard his rapid, uneasy breathing quicken still. She could sense him right there in front of her, and so Coraline lurched back on her knees, propped up by her feet. Her skinny child's arms extended out in front of her, and brushed the boiling beetroot skin of Wybie's face. He repulsed at her touch, but she quickly found him again, and forcefully clamped her freezing hands against his cheeks. She heard him draw in a startled gasp of air, and it seemed he had stopped breathing as she began to blindly run her fingers about his face. They locked into his hair and tousled it playfully, before drawing closer towards the strong bridge of his nose. Her fingers curled lightly against his cheeks, Coraline ran the tip of her thumb along Wybie's bottom eyelid. Yes, they were still there. She breathed a sigh of relief; his round, dark, curious eyes were untouched in their sockets.
Suddenly, her hands jerked away, and locked themselves firmly on his upper arms, she tugged Wybie to his feet, and dragged his protesting body towards the doorway, With one arm looped underneath both his armpits, Coraline reached up and yanked down at the light switch, plunging to the floor and dragging Wybie down with her. He landed heavily on her stomach, still flailing and kicking, but he didn't make a sound. The light rendered them both dazed for several long seconds, before Coraline let her eyes adjust. Wybie stopped kicking, and instead tried to retreat back to the sheet that had been dragged halfway across the room. Coraline, who still had a decent grip on him, pulled his torso back towards hers. He lay, defenceless, half across her stomach. There was nothing to shield his face, and now Coraline drew his eyes to meet hers. They lay there, just staring.
"You too, huh?" Coraline smiled awkwardly, propping herself up on her elbows. Wybie, who had now realised just where he was lying, scrambled off of her, and sat with his knees clamped to his chest, staring at her. Finally, he spoke.
"Th-this is just… weird…" he whispered. "I hate looking like this."
Coraline laughed dryly; that random expression of bitter contempt was alien to her child's voice box. It was something she often did when asked about her book. It was an old, dry laugh. "You and me both," was its accompaniment. "I mean, look at us – we're pre-pubescent!"
Wybie laughed too, only he sounded so much more genuine. There was that smile again, the one that Coraline had missed so much. "So…" said he, "I guess you're not j-just a nut job after all."
"Hey!" Coraline threw herself forward, and landed a swift punch to Wybie's right shoulder. He rubbed it meekly, as she stared him down. "You were there that night," she reminded him. "You saw that hand; it almost threw you down a well for God's sake!"
"I always thought it was just some k-kooky dream."
"Yeah, well, you thought wrong!" Coraline gestured out the window, and Wybie followed in the general direction of her harsh gaze. "The hand got out of the well, and now it's back on that evil witch's arm. She brought us here, and she sent us all the way back twenty freakin' years!"
"Calm down, Jonesey," Wybie said slowly. "D-don't get carried away. We need to find a way home first."
"If you haven't guessed already, there aren't too many of those!" Coraline ranted. "God, I'm eleven years old, and I'm having wicked nicotine cravings!" She laced her fingers into her hair, and ruffled it fiercely. Wybie stared at her.
"W-well, if you got outta here before, there's b-bound to be some way of getting free. What about the way we came?"
"Through the door?" Coraline mused. "No, it's locked. And the Other Mother has the key."
Wybie thought for a moment, but the harsh clockwork of his brain drew no conclusions. Shakily, he drew to his feet, and staggered across to the tiny skylight window above a polished desk adorned with various insects in jars. He turned to Coraline, who in turn picked herself up, and grinned at her. "Hey," he said. "I don't wanna stay here much longer, if that's okay with you. I-I think we should start looking."
By the time it had begun to rain, they had been moving for some time. Coraline and Wybie had together searched the small, isolated world for any signs of an escape, but to no avail. If the world were normal, the sky above would be grey and a golden border would be appearing just behind the trees amongst which they were standing. But, being a fabricated web of lights and hollowness, the stars never grew tired, and were never abolished by dark grey cloud (that by right should be there). Or would it really look like that? Coraline had lost track of time; here, time and logic held no meaning against the malicious sorcery that oozed from every molecule. Tiny, perfect droplets descended upon them from the blackness that drew above and all around them, and the ground began to grow sodden and filthy. Coraline grumbled as a harsh onslaught of rain trickled down her face; she was being summoned back to the house.
"I was just thinking," Wybie struggled to keep up with his friend as she took harsh, uneven steps back the way they had come. She mumbled in acknowledgement, but kept her eyes set on the glittering roof of the Pink Palace. "Can… can she.. It… you know.."
Coraline stopped in her tracks, and leaned against the nearest crooked tree. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, wound her right leg across to her left, and pursed her lips at Wybie. "Can she, what?"
Wybie wrung his hands, avoiding her harsh, probing glare. She began to drum her spindly fingers on the wrist of her other hand, a hybrid gesture of boredom and the disapproval of his wasting so much precious time. Finally, he dropped his head, and pursued onwards past her towards the house. Just as his lopsided shoulder brushed hers, her arm flung out and barricaded his path. Following the soaking yellow gleam from her fingertips, to her shoulder, up her soft white neck and weaving up the harshly beautiful regions of her face, his nervous eyes met with hers.
"Out with it, Wybie."
"I-It's nothing." He tried to step around her outstretched arm, but in a colourful, obscure blur she had whipped around him and was now firmly planted in his path, hands on hips and playfully determined.
"It totally isn't nothing," she smirked. "Anything could be helpful right about now."
Wybie leaned back and stared at the artificial star scape above them, only to have his head ushered down to its neutral stance as the freezing rain pelted his face, causing him to splutter and gag. Coraline looked at him, a half-smile twinkling on the corners of her mouth, but her eyes were beady and devoid of emotion. Wybie could tell that if he tried to evade her again, he'd acquire another glowing bruise.
"I… it's pretty stupid, but…" he stammered.
"Come on!" she egged him on, encouraging the flow of his thoughts from his furry, disoriented brain down and across his tongue. Wybie looked at her pleadingly, then lowered his voice to an almost incomprehensible whisper.
"Can she… can the witch die?"
Coraline's smiled immediately vanished, and the guard of her arms fell to her sides. She whirled around away from Wybie, and her straight legs carried her onwards, her torso bending and snaking, like a scarecrow sways when untethered from his support. Her voice was distant and dreamy; with a razor-sharp edge should anyone dare examine her words too carefully. "I… thought I'd finished her off before," said she. "But I guess I was wrong. Maybe… maybe she can't die after all."
"I wouldn't be so sure," this voice was neither Coraline's nor Wybie's and both children were alarmed at its disembodied contribution to the conversation. Coraline froze, her leg suspended in mid-air. She slowly dropped it, using the momentum to spin around on the spot. Wybie's face was ghostly white, the nerve below his eye dancing and twitching uncontrollably. For a moment, they both wondered whether the monster had been spying on them all this time. But each breathed a sigh of long-awaited relief when a crooked shadow danced across the waving trees, two azure orbs resting upon its strong cheekbones. The cat looked down on their expressions with aloof amusement, and leapt gracefully onto the ground between the still, silent duo. "Magic, after all, is unpredictable."
"The cat is t-t-talking!" Wybie looked horrifically at the animal, who stared at him back with a look of pure mirth on its haggard features. Dignified and calculating as it was, the way it tapped its tail impatiently against the gnarled roots of the tree said plainly, 'well, duh'. Coraline, who silently said a word of thanks to whoever was responsible for the cat's being here, edged closer to the animal, comforted by the knowing security of its voice. She hadn't heard it since that incident, understandably, but she often used it as a conscience to overpower the ill-put-together thoughts of her own. She smiled warmly at the cat, and in turn it staggered over to her, quaking and arching its spine against her legs.
"Good to see you again, cat," she said, lifting it into her arms.
"That cat…. It j-just…." Wybie pointed at the animal, silently accusing it of being some kind of demon. "It can't… it never…." But he knew as well as the cat knew himself, that its twisted feline vocal chords could indeed extract the tones and sounds of the human alphabet. Even though the boy had never physically heard the smooth, jazzy voice of the cat, he was sure he had imagined it somewhere. The cat stared at him, and he dropped his hand.
"Hello, Wybourne," it purred as Coraline's nails rubbed gently at the soft fur behind its ears. "I can't exactly pretend I'm ecstatic to find either of you here – I'd have thought you learned from your mistake." The cat nudged Coraline's chest with its head, and stared up at her with its all-knowing, all-seeing eyes. She smiled down at it apologetically.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "But duty calls."
"Hey," Wybie, who had overcome the initial shock of the talking cat, had drawn closer into the social circle. He now addressed the animal, who looked at him just as Coraline had done.
"Yes?" it said in its old, wise voice.
"You said something before…" began Wybie. "About m-magic. What did you mean?"
"Hey, yeah. Do you know something?" Coraline agreed, repositioning her arms slightly. The cat quivered in her grip, and then leapt from her cradle, landing swiftly on the ground. Both humans blessed it with their full attention.
"Indeed." The cat licked its paw, and gently washed behind its chewed, droopy ear. Finally, it began to speak. "Listen closely, for I am supplying you with vital information. To understand the present situation, you must first know the past, and that is a long, intricate tale."
"So, tell us," Coraline asked. The cat glared at her.
"I asked you to listen, not interrupt." It said. Coraline bowed her head, and mumbled an apology. The cat continued. "The beldam, I imagine you've gathered, is not human. Humans have souls, and no creature such as that can manipulate and devour the way she can with the burden of compassion and conscience."
Wybie took slow, long strides to stand beside Coraline. She grabbed his arm supportively, and urged him to listen to the cat. The rain grew heavier still as the conversation delved darker, and each participant was drawn into the moment.
"Something you must understand," the cat said darkly, "Is that every being, even I, even the rats that lurk about in the shadows, were brought into the world with a soul. The same goes for the beldam; she was once a child, just like you, although that was a long, long time ago.
"Her and I are as old as each other. I remember the day I first saw her; she was no older than you, possibly younger. A sweet child, with a large, bright mind. Her parents had bought me as a gift for their only child, and I was her sole companion. I was her comfort when her parents could not be, and until the end of her childhood she depended upon me. She loved me.
"This child had a gift, and it made her more than human. It was a blessing bestowed unto her by neither parent, but it was truly fabulous. She was special; she could charm and cast and fabricate anything, manipulate the world around her, animate lifeless objects. When she was alone, she could create friends from the light that filtered in her bedroom window. Her parents knew of the gift; but did not approve. Because back in our time, such powers were seen as marks of evil. So that is why they were drawn all the way out here, into the middle of nowhere. To shelter their only child from the accusing eyes of others, to keep her in isolation. That was about the time that she created this world, that we're standing in.
"She filled it with everything that had once made her happy: the friends she had left behind, a beautiful landscape filled with endless joys and comforts, and a house all of her own. It was all hers, and it went on and on, and she was happy there.
"Then, when she began to transition into an adult, something went horribly wrong. One afternoon, without warning, her pre-occupied parents left her behind. She remained in that house, discarded and forgotten, for days on end, and in time even I could not keep her warm. Her parents never did return for her; I always suspected that the power their child possessed grew too much of a burden. And as a result of their disappearance, the beldam's heart turned to ice and shattered.
"Her beautiful, complex mind receded into the shadows that drifted at its borders, and she grew less and less like her old self. Everything inside and out began to waste away, and fragments of her placid existence fizzled and died like the light of a candle. She began to contort into a hideous monster. With each passing day, more and more of her true self began to lose itself within her wild, unloving shell. She began to create small animals in her world and set them loose across the dying fields of nettles, and when she caught them she'd pin them down and relish in their screeching pleas as a white hot needle pierced their eyes. Once done, she'd set them free again, disoriented and afraid, blinded and course, unable to live much longer. With buttons for eyes.
"Her cruel disposition became her life, and soon the beldam would not leave the world she had created. She discarded her harsh reality and threw me out of it, for I reminded her too greatly of her parents. I remember fleeing the world with a needle embedded in my face, just below my eye, and the sickening screams of my former master echoing down the magical hallway after me. And for centuries I drifted around the woods, never dying, and all the while feeling the beast's wrath leak from every particle.
"Years later, the settlers came to this land, and built over the wreckage of the beldam's world. I could feel her writhing in their as the slow labour concealed her invisible haven, and the idle tantrum she had been consumed with for so long was finally erupting. I watched from the trees as family after family inhabited the home, and I did try to warn the children that were called by her web. They too were just animals to her, just insignificant toys she took pleasure inflicting terror on. I tried to show them the way back home, tried to deter them from her path, but the ignorance and greed and gullibility of the young souls were too weak. They became prey for the monster that had become.
"And then there was you, Coraline. You, who refused to be enticed by her endless beckoning. The fuel you denied her by not succumbing to her almost put her in the grave. Alas, love and determination alone cannot defeat the blackest of arts. You buried her key and her hand in a place not created by man, a place where she could survive and regenerate. And now that she has healed, she has reverted to her old ways. The little girl that had come waltzing into her trap not a week ago has given her new strength, and now that she has just rejuvenated she's out for you. Both of you.
"She has more strength than before, and she is determined to consume you."
The cat stood, and broke the transfixed enchantment he had cast upon Coraline and Wybie. They looked uncertainly on as the animal arched its back, and made its way back up to the tree top. "I must away," it said, "For she is now aware of my presence in this universe. But remember," warned the cat. "Every beast has its weakness." With that, the animal slinked into the shadows, and was lost among them.
