Prenderghast Puzzle

Stuk 8: Mind Your Head

April 8th, 1936

Victoria has calmed down since last night's screaming fit, and little Melina has been removed from her care. I shudder to think what could be wrong with her; she seems to think the child has stolen something. The scissors, as well as all silverware and sharp objects, have been removed from her room as a precaution.

My poor son-in-law remains in shock at her wife's behavior. We all are, truly. I had known she was rebellious—she has been off since she was told she couldn't inherit—but this is something deeper. I do not wish to see her incarcerated for madness, but I see the gleam in her eyes.

Henry in particular is looking further.

December 18th, 1941

She did not take our advice well. Henry was pushed down the stairwell last night, and has yet to come to. Victoria is threatening to divorce Joshua, but she's shouting such lunacies that I can scarcely believe anyone would take her seriously. Melina and Josephine are with David in the nursery; I think the girls are still worried for his health. David has been healing well from her attack, but the early infection still sends Melina in particular into sobbing hysterics. Bless those girls—they received all the heart their mother missed.

If Victoria does not like the idea of a sanatorium, I certainly couldn't hope to believe she'd react to Henry's notes well. Luckily, she's only torn apart the library—the servants are keeping a watch on the doors, and it doesn't seem like she's thought to check the Observatory.

Coraline had isolated these two entries—the ones that alarmed her the most—taken their pictures, and texted them to Wybie. Underneath the pictures, Coraline sent him: '1936? scissors? sanatorium? WHAT?'

Wybie didn't get back until two hours later, which Coraline spent frantically searching the book for any evidence to counter her growing disturbia. 'Sorry, out for Sunday breakfast with grandma's knitting club. Geeze, sounds like heavy stuff. What are these?'

'pieces from my nanas logs.'

'Yeesh, creepy much?'

Coraline didn't respond to that, so Wybie texted again: 'So what am I supposed to do with these?'

Coraline spent a lot of time wondering that exact thing. 'i just need you to talk i cant think straight.'

'Umm… ok, so, Victoria's your grandma's name, right?'

'yup.'

'So she's crazy.'

'apparently. make a joke. i dare you.'

The next text was a bit delayed. 'Of course I wouldn't do that.'

Coraline practically snorted. She was about to reply, but received another text. 'How old is your mom!?'

'finally got there.'

'I'm serious! That's crazy!'

'and weve *already* been *there.*'

'No, this is seriously crazy! your mom should be ancient!'

Wow, thought Coraline. Wybie's messing up his perfect grammar streak. This must've really unnerved him, then.

'thats not the only weird thing.'

'But it is the weirdest! Your mom's like a freaking highlander!'

Not wanting to respond—and not knowing how—Coraline stared at the keys on her phone, trying to decide what to type, until Wybie beat her too it.

'Sounds like there's something in the observatory, then. Those *notes*.'

Ah, so Wybie finally learned when to take a hint when Coraline didn't want to talk about something. 'i thought so too.'

'And "she has been off since she was told she couldn't inherit." So what, did she have a brother or something? They usually got preference over girls back then.'

'none that i can find. i found a tapestry with a family tree on it in this room in the attic but its got moth holes all over it. her book doesnt mention any though.'

'Maybe it's like what's happening with you and your mom.'Wybie had found it fascinating, the fact that the Coraline's Nana's will was skipping both her daughter and granddaughter. Since Coraline had broken the news to him, he'd been googling all sorts of inheritance laws and traditions, new and old. So far he'd found nothing.

'you think she couldnt inherit back then for the same reason my mom cant now?'

'It'd make sense. I just thought it was because your great-grandmother hated them, but this makes it sound like she was unqualified or something. I'd check the Observatory for whatever this 'Henry' left first, though.'

'nana theo wrote me a letter. i found it on my bed.'

'What? And you didn't tell me?'

'i couldnt get anything from it except more stupidly vague phrases. but she did say that I was 'suited to inheriting' or something like that and she used inheritance and 'sacred duty' like they were the same thing.'

Coraline leafed through the papers in front of her; there were few tables in the Master's Hall, and she was covering the entirety of one with books.

'Anything else you haven't told me?'

'there was a little golden ball with the letter hanging from a lanyard. i think it was egyptian. im not wearing it because it was so bright it hurt.'

'Oh, are your eyes acting up again?'

'define acting up. theyre always like that now. and no before you tell me to: i am not taking the eye drops. they make my eyes itch.'

'Fine, fine, I won't lecture you about proper bodily health. Don't blame me when you go blind. Just, when you get to the observatory, if you can still see, could you send me some pictures of whatever you find? And that family tree. Oh, and that golden ball if you can, I might be able to identify it. Better yet, just email me everything.'

'whatever why-born.'

AN: Yeah, so, Coraline has an eye condition. She's not colorblind, per say, but her eyes don't register darkness and light like ours. This has pretty much been foreshadowed since Coraline's stuks began—special mention goes out to the carriage ride, in which Coraline describes the Sun as blue and the sky as white/gold; this was pretty much the most obvious hint, but not by any means the only one. Her mother got her treated for this eye problem when she was younger, and the good doctor immediately identified the problem, and now she's rebelling against the meds because (take it from someone with ADHD) meds suck. Always.

I got the idea from the interesting use of light in Coraline: certain backgrounds and things, particularly in the Other World, interacted with light and color in strange ways: the raw void made of unshaped world that Coraline walks into with the cat is pure, pure white and glowing, the walls when the wallpaper peels glow green, the room behind the mirror that should be total darkness glows itself, even without the ghost children, the tool she's given to find the souls doesn't make the ghost eyes glow—they do that without it—but instead mute every other glowing thing into grey, and whenever she's in the real world and the door to the Other World is open, the house takes on weird colors and the sky turns to a purple swirling void. I get that this was because it's the other world, but it's fun to play around with the idea of unreliable visuals from a protagonist.

Next Time: Two Interludes - a second in Act 3, and a first in Act 1, to end the day.