Coraline

couldn’t truly make anything, decided Coraline. She could only twist and copy and distort things that already existed.
    And then Coraline found herself wondering why the other mother would have placed a snowglobe on the drawing-room mantelpiece; a place that, in her world, was quite bare.
    And once she had asked herself the question, she began to understand the answer.
    Then the voice came again, and her train of thought was gone.
    ‘Come here, little girl. I know what you want, little girl.’ It was a rustling voice, scratchy and dry. It made Coraline think of some kind of enormous dead insect. Which was silly, she knew. How could a dead thing, especially a dead insect, have a voice?
    She walked through several rooms with low, slanting ceilings until she came to the final room. It was a bedroom, and the other crazy old man upstairs sat at the far end of the room, in the near-darkness, bundled up in his coat and hat. As Coraline entered he began to talk. ‘Nothing’s changed, little girl,’ he said, his voice sounding like the noise dry leaves make as they rustle across a pavement. ‘And what if you do everything you swore you would? What then? Nothing’s changed. You’ll go home. You’ll be bored. You’ll be ignored. No one will listen to you, not really listen to you. You’re too clever and too quiet for them to understand. They don’t even get your name right.
    ‘Stay here with us,’ said the voice from the figure at the end of the room. ‘We will listen to you and play with you and laugh with you. Your other mother will build whole worlds for you to explore, and tear them down every night when you are done. Every day will be better and brighter than the one that went before. Remember the toybox? How much better would a world be built just like that, and all for you?’
    ‘And will there be grey, wet days where I just don’t know what to do and there’s nothing to read or to watch and nowhere to go and the day drags on for ever?’ asked Coraline.
    From the shadows, the man said, ‘Never.’
    ‘And will there be awful meals, with food made from recipes, with garlic and tarragon and broad beans in?’ asked Coraline.
    ‘Every meal will be a thing of joy,’ whispered the voice from under the old man’s hat. ‘Nothing will pass your lips that does not entirely delight you.’
    ‘And could I have Day-Glo green gloves to wear, and yellow wellington boots in the shape of frogs?’ asked Coraline.
    ‘Frogs, ducks, rhinos, octopuses – whatever you desire. The world will be built new for you every morning. If you stay here, you can have whatever you want.’
    Coraline sighed. ‘You really don’t understand, do you?’ she said. ‘I don’t want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted? Just like that, and it didn’t mean anything. What then?’
    ‘I don’t understand,’ said the whispery voice.
    ‘Of course you don’t understand,’ she said, raising the stone with the hole in it to her eye. ‘You’re just a bad copy she made of the crazy old man upstairs.’
    There was a glow coming from the raincoat of the man, at about chest height. Through the hole in the stone the glow twinkled and shone blue-white as any star. She wished she had a stick or something to poke him with; she had no wish to get any closer to the shadowy man at the end of the room.
    ‘Not even that any more,’ said the dead, whispery voice.
    Coraline took a step closer to the man, and he fell apart. Black rats leapt from the sleeves and from under the coat and hat, a score or more of them, red eyes shining in the dark. They chittered and they fled. The coat fluttered and fell heavily to the floor. The hat rolled into one corner of the room.
    Coraline reached out her hand and pulled the coat open. It was empty, although it was greasy to the touch. There was no sign of the final glass marble in it. She scanned the room, squinting through the hole in the stone, and caught sight of something that twinkled and burned like a star, at floor level, by the doorway. It was being carried in the forepaws of the largest black rat. As she looked, it slipped away.
    The other rats watched her from the corners of the room as she ran after it.
    Now, rats can run faster than people, especially over short distances. But a large black rat holding a marble in its two front paws is no match for a determined girl (even if she is small for her age) moving at a run.