Another Coraline
a fanfiction

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Chapter 2

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The wheels of Wybie's bike bumped and shuddered over the gravel drive, but he hardly noticed. Take three, he thought, gripping the handlebars tightly. Gotta get it right this time…

The Pink Palace came into view through the trees as he took a wide swerve around the familiar bend in the road. It looked just the same as always…except for one little detail. There was a patrol car parked by the front steps.

Wybie braked hard, then swung off the bike and cut the motor. He walked it quietly around the side yard, among the bushes. He had no beef with the police, but a few of the local cops nursed serious steak buffets about him and his homemade bikes. There was nothing technically illegal about them, but he was still likely to get a lecture if the wrong officer happened to be behind the wheel when Wybie motored by.

As luck would have it, he hadn't gotten far before a woman in a blue uniform let herself out at the front door, climbed into the driver's seat and fired up the patrol car. Wybie pulled his bike a little further behind the safety of a leafless rosebush and watched the taillights vanish into the trees.

Leaving the bike, he sprinted across the lawn and up the front steps to knock. Something was definitely weird today.

Running footsteps sounded inside the house, and the front door was suddenly jerked open. "Cora—"

Mel Jones' face was bright with worry and hope, but her expression faltered and faded at the sight of him. "Oh," she said. "Hi, Wybie."

Wybie gave her an uncertain smile. "Hi, Mrs. Jones," he said.

"Have you seen Coraline?" she asked. Her fingers were knotted nervously up in each other.

"Uh…no?" Wybie said. "I came to see if she's okay, she wasn't in school…"

"I know," Mrs. Jones said. She hesitated, then added absently, "Why don't you c'mon in? I've got the kettle on." She was already turning away. He'd seen her this distracted a few times before, usually when she and Mr. Jones were working through the last week before a deadline, but the lines of stress and fear on her face were new and disturbing. "How's your grandmother?"

"Uh, pretty much the same as always," he said, following her inside. She didn't seem capable of walking at less than a hurried trot, as if she was trying to stay slightly ahead of something. "Mrs. Jones?"

"That's great, that's wonderful. So, coffee or tea?" When she turned around, teabags in one hand and a can of instant coffee in the other, there was a bright smile fixed on her face. Wybie winced. He wasn't a tea fan, but he'd tried the Jones' idea of coffee before.

"Tea's fine," he said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. "Mrs. Jones—"

"Tea for two, then," she said, busying herself fetching down cups. "I hope you don't mind it black, we drank all the green last week…" Halfway through pouring the hot water, she stopped as if a thought had occurred, and set down the kettle. "When was the last time you saw her?"

The uneasy feeling in Wybie's stomach congealed. "Not, uh…not since yesterday night?" he said, twisting his gloved hands in the hem of his jacket. "I didn't see her in class today, so I…I came to check if she was sick or something, but none of the teachers knew what was going on and she's not picking up her phone…"

Mrs. Jones had turned back to the tea-pouring, but her hand rested on the handle of the kettle without lifting it. Her shoulders slumped slightly. "She wasn't in her bed this morning," she said. "We…we thought she might have gone to your house, but we called your grandmother..."

"How about the Bobinskies?" Wybie said. "I know she's been—"

"They haven't seen her," Mrs. Jones interrupted, heavily. "Neither have the…ladies downstairs. We called the police, and they…they said not to panic just yet. It's pretty normal for girls her age to sneak out, or even run away for a day or two…"

Wybie blinked. "Wow," he said. "Is that…safe?"

Mrs. Jones slid his mug across the table and sat down next to him. Her head hung as if it was too heavy for her neck.

"Not really," she said, and took a listless sip of her tea—then grimaced, flaring up in frustration. "Why would she do this? She just got into her top school! I thought she'd be excited, not…"

Wybie stared into his tea and gulped. No way it had anything to do with their stupid argument…right?

Mrs. Jones shoved away her mug and stood, pacing towards the window. "I'm getting the neighbors together as soon as Charlie gets home," she said. She was wringing her hands absently again. Wybie suspected his grandma would prescribe chamomile tea and a nice lie-down. Maybe it was just as well Mrs. Lovat didn't get out much these days—he had nothing but the highest respect for Mrs. Jones, but he wouldn't bet a nickel on the chances of anyone trying to administer tea to her in this state. "The police are putting out a report or something, but I think the people who know her best have the best chance of guessing where she'd go."

"I could help," Wybie suggested, raising his hand. If Jonesy was honestly hiding somewhere, he had a few ideas as to where she might be.

Mrs. Jones stopped pacing long enough to give him a warm, genuine smile. "That would be wonderful, Wybie. Oh!" she exclaimed. "In that case, could you do me a favor?"

Wybie nodded solemnly. "Anything you need, Mrs. Jones."

How, Wybie wondered grimly, did he get himself into these things?

"Miriam!" his hostess shouted, sitting in an armchair that had obviously once been plush. "Where in heaven's name are those cakes?!"

"I haven't seen a snake in years, April!" Miss Forcible bellowed back from the kitchen. "What did the young gentleman say he wanted? Jasmine tea?"

"Yes, I'm asking you!" Miss Spink exclaimed, almost as exasperated as she was hard of hearing. "Our guest has been waiting long enough! He's a growing boy, you know!" Leaning forward, she gave Wybie a conspiratorial wink. "Deaf as a post, you know, the poor old dear. Hasn't an inkling what anybody says anymore."

Wybie was trying not to gawk at her medicine-pink dressing gown. He couldn't remember ever being this pleased to see one of the Misses' old Scotties; the dog drooling all over his boots was giving him a great excuse to look down. "That's, um…that's too bad," he said, lamely. "My grandma says loud music ruins your hearing, actually, I don't know how much research there is on it but she always makes me turn down my stereo—"

"Everything's ready, April!" Miss Forcible sailed into the room like a schooner, preceded by a silver tea-tray and her dressing-gowned bosom, in that order. Wybie gawked helplessly for a moment, then managed to drag his gaze up to the wall behind her. The stuffed dogs were less disturbing. Barely.

Setting the tray on the coffee table, Miss Forcible whisked the silver bell off a tray of cakes with a flourish. "Let there be tea!" She dropped a heavily made-up wink at Wybie and settled herself comfortably at the other end of the sofa. "Now then, what did you say you were here for? It's been such a while since we've had a handsome young thing around the place." She gave a contralto chuckle, and fluffed at the ends of her wig. Wybie squirmed.

"Oh, stop that at once, Miriam," Miss Spink scolded her, picking up a steaming scone and juggling it from hand to hand to cool it. "The poor boy's about to hide between the settee cushions! And you'd nearly fit, too, dearie," she added, pushing the cake tray towards Wybie. "Help yourself, there's a love, before they get cold."

Wybie gingerly picked up a scone. He'd never tried the Misses' baking, but he'd heard a few things from Coraline….oh. Right.

"It's about Coraline," he started, but Miss Spink burst in immediately.

"Ooh, come for a bit of advice, have we?" she exclaimed, pressing her hands together in delight. Crumbs pattered into her lap.

"Don't be daft, April, the girl's vanished," Miss Forcible snapped. "We heard all about it from her mother this morning, don't you remember?"

"Well, yes," Miss Spink sighed, "but one can always hope…in any case, child, what about her? Has she been found?"

"That's, um…that's the thing," Wybie said, struggling to keep the thread of the conversation straight. He had no idea where to look; his gaze bounced from one alarming sight to the next until his eyes felt like two ping-pong balls. "Her, uh…her mother says we're supposed to…we're going to assemble a search party. She figures maybe we could figure out where she might've run off to, and…track her down?" He took a bite of the scone, then sputtered and coughed, reaching for his teacup as the floury dough sucked the moisture from his mouth.

"Oh, excellent!" Miss Forcible enthused. "April, they're mounting a search! Calling in the cavalry!" Snatching up her cane, she waved it in the air, narrowly missing a few stuffed Scotties on the shelf behind her. "Tally-ho!"

"So we're to join in, are we?" Miss Spink looked equally delighted at the prospect, hauling herself to her feet to lean on her walker and smile merrily at him. "Seek her, and bring her hither?"

"Uh…yeah?" Wybie hazarded a guess through a mouthful of tea and crumbs. "Mrs. Jones said maybe you could search downtown, since you know most of the shopkeepers."

Miss Forcible was halfway to the door already. "Never fear, then! We will hunt her everywhere, swifter than the moon's sphere!" She patted her wig, making sure the blond strands were all in place. "Just let me fetch a cardigan!"

Wybie gulped down the last of his scone and heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks for the tea, Miss Spink," he said, unfolding his lanky body from the low sofa with some difficulty. She dimpled up at him.

"Always nice to have a bit of adventure, isn't it?" she said. "Provided it all turns out well in the end." Her eyes sobered a bit. "How's her mother? She was a bit distraught this morning."

"I think she's…holding up," Wybie said.

"Perhaps we'll have to bring by some scones later," Miss Spink mused.

Wybie swallowed. "That, uh…that'd be really nice of you," he said. "I'm sure she'd be…amazed. Listen, I should really get going…"

"Oh, don't mind us, dear!" she said, waving him along. "Ladies at our toilette, we never can be rushed, as you know! Or you will, anyway. Just give it a few years," she added with a private chuckle.

Wybie took that as his cue, and made a beeline for the door, hopping over a dog or two on the way out. The door slammed behind him with a jingle.

"'Just go and ask the Misses to help, would you?' Guh!" Slouching across the yard, Wybie sucked scone crumbs from between his teeth and tried to spit them into the grass. They clung like putty.

The kitchen door was closed and locked, but a handwritten note had been taped to the front door. Gone to the police station. Search party assembling in the kitchen at 5pm. –Mel and Charlie

Wybie pulled back his sleeve and glanced at his watch. Four forty-five. He could wait around and join the adults, but…somehow he doubted Coraline was anywhere downtown. Knowing her, she'd have wandered off someplace quiet to sulk and think.

The treetops waved gently in the breeze. Wybie sighed, and clumped back down the stairs, heading for the path down the hill.

Dead spring grass rustled to each side of the path as he meandered along. Letting himself in at the garden gate, he crossed the old cobbles and out into the woods. The battered pines loomed overhead.

"Where are you hiding?" he muttered, peering off into the long grass. "This is completely typical for you, you know that? Flipping out over nothing, making a big deal out of everything…"

He sighed, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. The skull patch she'd given him for his last birthday winked up at him, stitched onto the pocket with awkward, uneven black stitches. Wybie stared morosely back at it.

"You'd better be all right," he muttered, and picked up the pace, headed for the deep woods. It was only a scattering of trees here, but further in, he knew Coraline had a few places she liked to sit and read in the summertime. He'd tracked her down more than once after an argument…

Halfway across the clearing, something made him pause. Wybie glanced back over his shoulder. The little ring of toadstools stood quietly in the sunshine.

"No way," he muttered…but, geez, what if she was? The thought made his blood run cold; he turned back in a hurry.

It was a waste of time. The old well was the same as ever; the layer of dirt that covered the lid lay smooth and undisturbed. Not even a footprint. Wybie crouched down for a closer look, just to be sure, then sighed with relief. He gave one of the toadstools a pat and stood.

The woods were silent, except for the papery rustle of dry-needled branches brushing each other in the wind and the wet crunch of his feet in last year's leaves. Wybie swiveled his head constantly as he walked, staring into every shadow and listening as hard as he could.

"Hello?" he shouted, cupping his gloved hands around his mouth. "Jonesy?"

The trees whispered in the breeze. He cleared his throat, uneasily, and tried again.

"Jonesy, I know you're out here somewhere! This is a really bad idea, okay? You're freaking your parents out, and…and you're freaking me out a little, too, so just ollie oxen-free, already!"

Still nothing. Just the trees, and the sky, and the dead grass, and him.

Wybie sighed, dropping his arms to his side. "C'mon, Coraline…" he muttered.

A twig cracked, somewhere in the shrubbery nearby.

"Hey!" Wybie cried, whirling around to face an overgrown stand of rhododendron bushes. He gave it a dubious look, then sighed and struggled through, trying to keep twigs from snarling in his hair and failing miserably. "Hang on—ack!" he shouted, hopping on one foot. The other was firmly tangled in the bush. Grabbing his leg in both hands, he pulled, and managed to stumble free.

"Dammit, don't run off!" he called, getting his balance and feeling like an idiot. With his luck, it'd be a squirrel—

No. There was a girl sitting in the clearing, with an open book cradled in her crossed legs. Dark green hair, pulled back in a stubby ponytail. A striped shirt. Battered jeans, with a dragonfly on the pocket.

"Jonesy!" Wybie cried, feeling a rush of relief so strong it startled him. He ran toward her. "What are you doing out here? Your parents are freaking out! C'mon, we've gotta get back to the Palace quick and tell everybody you're…!"

The girl got to her feet, and turned.

Wybie's feet stumbled to a dead stop.

"Whoa!" His eyes went wide. "Oh, geez…"

This…person…was the spit and image of the Coraline he knew. But this Coraline had no bright brown eyes: just a shiny black button sewn into each empty socket.

Wybie took a wary step back, then another. "You're...not Coraline. Are you?"

The button-eyed stranger shook her head, slowly. There was something mournful in her expression. She looked…lost. Confused. A dozen of the real Coraline's stories came rushing back to Wybie, wrapped up in the smell of red tulips and the puckery aftertaste of lemonade: stories of buttons and bugs and a white sky that unraveled, and another, quieter Wybie with sad black eyes.

"You're the other Coraline. Right?" he guessed.

"Yes," she whispered, clutching her book tightly.

Wybie shivered; she sounded like Coraline, all right, but her voice was so soft that he could hardly make out the words. It was hard to tell where the buttons were looking, but her face was turned towards him. She tilted her head quizzically, reminding him a little of his cat.

"Wybie?" she said, and smiled.

"Uh…yeah," Wybie said. "How did you…"

She said nothing. The smile didn't waver, but her button eyes gleamed brightly.

Wybie scratched the back of his neck. "That's, uh…wow. Kinda…spooky." He swallowed. "So…um, actually, I was just looking for Cor…for the other Coraline."

The other Coraline tilted her head the other way. There was something a little unnerving about eyes that never blinked.

"I mean the other other Coraline," Wybie corrected himself. "You know. This world's Coraline? She went missing last night…hey." Pieces were falling into place around the edges, but the middle of the puzzle was still empty. "Should I be checking behind that creepy door?"

"No," the other Coraline shook her head, and glanced warily in the direction of the house. The way her fingers tightened around her book was almost…hunted.

"Did you…get away from her?" Wybie asked. He remembered the things Coraline had told him about the Other Mother, and how she treated her creations, all too well—he didn't like to think of another Coraline, even a fake one, going through that hell.

The other Coraline bit her lip. "Yes…"

"Geez," Wybie said. "I'm glad. I wouldn't wish her on anybody." He paused. "Do you know where Coraline is?"

She tilted her head back the other way. "Coraline?"

"Yes! Coraline!" Wybie pressed, getting a little annoyed. What exactly had they just been talking about? He held up a hand at head height. "She's got green hair, about yay tall, looks just like you except for the buttons?"

The other Coraline looked puzzled, and said nothing. Wybie let out a sigh, and gave his hair an exasperated tug—it wasn't really made for running fingers through.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

She gestured to her own chest, questioningly.

"Yeah, you," Wybie said. "You only say one word at a time. Can't you, you know, string a couple together?"

Her shoulders slumped, and the slim little hand lifted to her throat. "No…"

"Oh." Wybie gulped. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" He tugged awkwardly at his collar. "Well, if it makes you feel better, Jonesy says I talk enough for two people. So I guess I could kinda make up for it?"

It wasn't much of a joke, but the smile that broke across her face was like sunshine. She even had that familiar crooked tooth on one side. Wybie's heart squeezed painfully, as he remembered what he was supposed to be looking for.

"Hey, if you don't know where she is, do you know where she might be?"

The other Coraline shrugged.

"Great." Wybie glared at the dirt, as if it ought to have the answers that she didn't. "But it's got something to do with your world, right? It's got to, or you wouldn't be here."

She hesitated, then nodded.

Well, that was something. "Could you help me look for her?"

That got a reaction. The bright smile shone out again, and she tucked her book under one arm and held out a hand to him. Hesitantly, Wybie reached out and took it. It was completely swallowed up by his dirty glove, but she didn't seem to mind. Were Jonesy's hands really that small? Had he never noticed because she always acted so big?

Knowing her, she'd be doing just fine, wherever she was.

But still, he needed to know she was okay. And so did her parents.

"Here," the other Coraline said, beaming at him, and led him off down the path, into the woods. Hope rising in his heart, he followed her.

Consciousness had drifted in and out for…minutes? hours? She'd lost track long ago. In the end, it was her own shivering that woke her.

Coraline forced open bleary eyes and let out a tiny moan. What was going on? Where was she…? It was as dark as a tomb.

She flexed sore fingers, and shoved a strand of sopping hair out of her eyes. She was curled in a numb ball against a damp wall, up to her waist in chilly water, and cold. Oh, god was she cold. Freezing, and wet, and sore, and…was that slime? She shifted position, trying to—

"Ahh! Oh—god!"

The pain that shot up her leg as she tried to move it was tooth-cracking. Coraline doubled over, clutching at her thigh. Her head swam in dizzy circles, and she gritted her teeth, careful not to move again as she rode out the wave of shock.

Eventually, the sensation dulled. Very gingerly, she loosened her grip and traced her fingertips down the injured leg, over her knee and down her shin… "Ow!" Sucking in her breath, she lightly pressed the spot and felt the throbbing ache of heavy swelling. Even the cold couldn't numb this.

"Perfect," she muttered, drawing up her other leg and slumping her forehead onto her knee. "I couldn't have my first broken leg at the skating rink, nooo. It had to be at the bottom of a—"

The memories rushed back in one horrible burst. Prying up the lid of the well, calling into the darkness…and then…

"Hello?!" Coraline shouted, frantically. "Is anybody there?! Help! I'm down here! Hello! Mom? Dad?! Anybody?! Hello-o-o!"

She flailed around with both arms, but touched nothing but the muddy wall behind her, and nothing reached back from the darkness. If there was anything in here with her, it wasn't making its move just yet. Shivering, she curled into as much of a ball as she could without moving her leg.

"Well, great," she muttered. "Just where I wanted to spend my weekend. Fifty feet underground." Peering up, she squinted, wondering if the hole in the lid would be visible as a speck of light.

There was nothing overhead but shadows.

Suddenly the walls of the well seemed to be pressing in around her in the pitch blackness. Coraline whimpered, feeling her throat closing up…then winced and shook her head, hard. "Oh, no. Now is not the time for hysterics," she lectured herself; the sound of any human voice was reassuring, even her own. "Somebody's going to come looking sooner or later. I just have to…wait this out."

Hunkering down, she pulled the damp sweater more snugly around her shoulders and rested her cheek on her folded arms. Her pajamas were wet through, but better than nothing.

"I hate waiting," she mumbled, and closed her eyes, letting her own exhaustion drag her away from the pain for a while.

"….is it my hoodie?"

"No."

"The patch on my hoodie?"

The other Coraline giggled, giving Wybie a teasing look. She was awfully expressive for a girl with buttons for eyes. "No," she said, half scolding him.

Wybie pondered for a second. They were on their way back to the Palace, with the light of the sunset stretching orange fingers across the sky overhead, and she was beating him hollow at every game he suggested to pass the time.

Trying to name animals starting with odd letters or guess something black, as it turned out, was less nerve-wracking than thinking about the hours they'd spent searching. They'd covered half the forest at least, twig by twig, including most of Coraline's favorite spots; but it would be dark soon and she was still nowhere to be found.

Wybie clung to the hope that he'd get back to the Joneses' and find a triumphant search party in the kitchen and a grouchy, well-scolded Coraline sulking in her bedroom. Grounded was infinitely better than gone.

"Is it your eyes?" he guessed, pushing the morbid thought away. "Wait, no, you can't spy your own eyes."

The other Coraline laughed again. "No."

Wybie made a face. "Fine, I give up. What is it?"

Looking as pleased with herself as a cat in the canary cage, she flipped open the book in her hands and pointed at a page.

"There."

"Huh?" Wybie leaned over her shoulder. The fairy tale illustrated on it was something about a lion fighting a dragon. He had a funny feeling he'd seen it before. "How does that count as something black?"

She pointed again with her fingertip. "There!"

The light dawned.

"What, the print?" he said. She covered a smile with her free hand, and he started to laugh, too. "Hey! That's cheating!"

"Winning," she corrected him, and shut the book again. Wybie squinted at the cover. It definitely looked familiar.

"That's Coraline's, isn't it?" he said. He reached for it, and the other Coraline reluctantly handed it over. The pages were rippled with moisture exposure, but that was nothing new. One of Coraline's favorite reading spots was an old crate someone had left in the woods, and she had a bad habit of stashing books in it when she was in a hurry.

"Forgotten," the other Coraline said, with a shrug.

Wybie handed it back. "Nah, she just left it for a while. She does that. You should put it back when you're done with it, though. She hates it when people take her stuff."

They were nearly out of the trees by now, and he could see the roof of the Palace over the hill, and his bike parked behind the bushes at the edge of the cliff.

The other Coraline's gaze seemed to pause on it, too.

"Red," she declared, and Wybie snorted.

"Too easy. You spy my bike." He grinned. "Want a closer look?"

She nodded. About to lead the way up the cliff, Wybie stopped at the thought of the psychological effect she would probably have on Coraline's parents, and reconsidered.

"Actually, why don't you wait here? I'll bring the bike around," he said, and jogged off up the grassy path.

Disentangling his bike from the bushes wasn't too hard; he was jogging down again in no time, wheeling it along by the handlebars. The other Coraline waited patiently, sitting on the tree stump by the old well with her chin propped in her hands.

"Here," he said, stopping the bike for her inspection. "It's not like there's much to her, really, she's a pretty hardcore junkyard Frankenstein, but one of these days—"

"Ooh." She interrupted him, getting up to run reverent hands over the gleaming metal. If she noticed the rusty spots he hadn't been able to sand off and paint over, she didn't seem to care. "You?" She pointed at him, and made a gesture like a hand turning a tool in midair.

"M…oh, you mean did I make it?" Wybie grinned sheepishly; her innocent awe was kind of gratifying. "Yeah, Mr. Bard gives me old parts and stuff. Scrap heap junk, mostly, it's nothing special..."

"Amazing," she murmured, tracing the outline of one of the painted stripes with her fingertip, as gently as if she was afraid it might smear. Wybie felt his cheeks flush hot, and ducked his head.

"Yeah, well," he said, grabbing the handlebars and quickly wheeling the bike a step or two away, out from under her touch. Her hands reached wistfully after it, like a baby with a favorite toy. "It took a while to, y'know, uh, painting all the…hey, look, it's getting really dark! I—I should go."

Her face fell instantly, and he felt a twinge of conscience.

"We can search the rest of the woods tomorrow, okay?" he suggested, and was gratified to see her cheer up again. "It's a weekend, so we'll have all day. How's that?"

She nodded happily. "Great!"

"O…okay, then." What brought on all that enthusiasm, anyway? Wybie blinked, perplexed, then collected himself and got onto the bike. He pointed to the spokes of the back wheel, where Coraline usually stood when she hitched a ride somewhere. "Climb on."

The other Coraline hung back.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked. "You can't sleep in the woods."

She shook her head.

"C'mon, it's fine. Jonesy does this all the time. You can hold on to my shoulders."

She looked hopefully up the hill at the Pink Palace. Wybie winced.

"Oh, no. Listen, whatever you do, you can not go up there. Okay? If her parents see you, they're gonna freak the hell out. They won't understand."

She was still staring wistfully up the hill.

Wybie sighed. "Look, just trust me on this. It's a bad idea. You can sleep at my place, I'll sneak you in." The other Coraline shook her head again. "Well, you have to sleep somewhere," he pointed out.

"No," she said.

Wybie blinked. "No, what?"
"No," she repeated, and mimed laying her head on her folded hands, then shook her head again.

"Wait," Wybie said. "You don't sleep?"

"No," she said.

He let that sink in for a second. "So, what, you're just going to stay out here? All night?"

"Yes," she agreed.

It was Wybie's turn to stare. He'd more or less figured she wasn't human, but this was just…strange.

"Okay," he said, reluctantly, after a moment. "If you say so. I guess I'll meet you here?"

She smiled at him, and nodded.

"Right. So…let me know if you figure anything out, or remember anything, or have any ideas, or…" He cleared his throat. "Uh. See you tomorrow?"

"Goodbye," she whispered.

Wybie revved up the motor, then kicked it into gear. He peeled a donut around the clearing, to get up some momentum, and then accelerated up the hill hard enough to throw a cloud of dust into the air behind him. The well and the girl, her hair still fluttering in the wind of his passage, dwindled away into nothing as he sped away. In moments, he was up and over the hill with a bounce and a crashing of tires on underbrush.

Geez, he thought, leaning low over the handlebars to keep his hair clear of branches. This was getting weirder and weirder.

He wished intensely that Coraline was there, not just for the sake of having her there, but to give him a clue on what to do about this quiet new her. She'd be bound to have a million ideas—some of them would even be good.

Passing the Palace, he saw a light in the Joneses' kitchen window and slowed the bike, hopefully. Someone's silhouette was just visible through the gauzy curtains, illuminated by the light inside.

Wybie swerved in a little closer and hit the brakes, then kicked out a foot to stop the bike completely and stood up, peering inside.

It was Mrs. Jones, sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. A taller, thinner shape—Mr. Jones—walked up behind her, resting his hands gently on the back of her chair, and she turned around and buried her face in her husband's shirt. Her shoulders heaved convulsively; he knelt and wrapped his arms around her.

Wybie gulped and turned away quickly. There was a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. He fired up his bike again, and sped off up the drive, as if enough velocity could blow away the confusion fogging up his brain…

Coraline shifted in her sleep, frowning. Stupid, noisy motor. When was Wybie going to—

She jolted awake, her entire body giving a jerk of shock, and cried out as her leg spasmed with pain from the sudden movement. She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the pain. She knew that sputtery, shop-monster purr like the sound of her own voice.

"Wybie!" she screamed, gasping for breath. "Wybie, oh, thank god! Turn that thing off! It's me, Coraline!"

The motor roared overhead, muffled by the thick layer of earth and the closed lid. Coraline cupped her hands around her mouth, trying to struggle up onto her good leg as if a few feet's approach to the surface could amplify her cries. "I'm down here! Wybie,come on! Listen! Come oooon!"

The sound swelled, and for a beautiful moment Coraline's world shone. Then it crested, and started to recede into the distance.

"Oh, god," she whispered. "No. No! Come back! Wybie, I'm right here! Wybie!" She finally managed to surge to her feet and stretched out her hands, pleading...

The last echoes faded. Coraline let out a scream of frustration and collapsed back into the shallow water with a splash, barely remembering to favor her leg. All the same, she saw stars, and grimaced, pounding both fists into the mud. Cold water splattered her face. "No! NO!"

It seemed like she sat there for ages, breathing heavily. Water dripped from her chin. Then, the softest of sounds filtered into her consciousness.

The echo of a footfall.

Coraline froze, straining her ears to listen. "Hello?" she called, tentatively.

The sound came again, then again, faint but unmistakable this time. Someone was walking on the lid.

"Help!" Coraline shouted, desperate. "Please help! I'm at the bottom of the well! Mom? Dad?"

The footsteps paused. Coraline held her breath.

Whoever it was, they quietly walked away.

"What?! Wait!" Coraline cried. "Come back! I said 'help'!"

Nothing answered her but the musical drip-drop of water.

"Oh, god," she spat, bitterly. "I hate this. This is…I wish this was a nightmare."

On top of everything, now she had a burning, impossible desire to kick something. Plunging both hands into the water, she groped around for something to throw instead. Maybe she could even dislodge the lid a little. Get some light in here…

Her fingers brushed stone, and she groped at it, but it was much too big for her purposes. Still, she dug her fingers into the mud, struggling to pry it loose out of sheer annoyance. Something soft, like waterweed, floated in the water around it and tangled with her hands. With a growl, she grabbed a handful of the stuff and yanked it loose. What on earth could grow in a place like this? Irritated, she rubbed it between her fingers.

It felt…woven.

Coraline's rage cooled. Carefully, she swished the stuff in the water, washing away the caked dirt. She felt it hesitantly, already half sure of what the wash would prove.

Soft cotton threads, rotted away after years underwater, snapped at the touch of her fingers.

"My old blanket," she whispered. A sick feeling rising in the pit of her stomach, she thrust her hands into the water again, roiling and splashing it around as she felt her way across the muddy bottom. Her fingers touched and recoiled from slime, the remains of dead leaves, the empty shells of insects, and more fragments of ruined cloth.

"Come on, where is it?" she whispered, pulling up handfuls of mud and stones and letting them plop back into the shallow water. "It has to be here somewhere…"

She tore chunks of blanket apart, rolled the stone over with a splash and felt under it. Nothing.

There was no key.

"Oh, god," Coraline whispered, pressing muddy fingers over her mouth.

And there was no sign of the remains of the hand.

-