Another Coraline: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Adding a window seat to her room had been a stroke of genius, Coraline decided.  It was a cozy spot to sit and read a book, but it was still big enough to accommodate her skinny frame and the huge knitted comforter Miss Spink had given her for her sixteenth birthday if she bunched them both up into a ball.  For that matter, it gave her great access to the fogged-up window.

Carefully, she traced out a new entry at the bottom of her "con" list.

No more window seat.

Her fingertip squeaked against the wet glass, and she flicked water off it as she sat back to survey her work.  The lists stretched from the highest she could reach, almost down to the wooden sill.  Outside, the Oregon rain beat loudly against the panes.

"I'm running out of window," she muttered.  A thought occurred, and she leaned over to the "pro" list.

Bigger windows in my dorm?  No, that was only speculation.  She smeared a finger through it, leaving a wobbly worm of clean glass behind.

"Coraline!"

The shout from downstairs pierced the quiet room.  Coraline's jerk of surprise dragged her finger halfway across the pane, spoiling two "pro"s and a "con".

"Coraline Jones!  There's mail for you!"

The front door slammed, and Coraline heard the echo of footsteps rushing across the kitchen floor.  She sighed, and slapped both hands against the window panes, dragging them straight down through her lists to obliterate the dripping, foggy letters.

Then she swung her bare feet onto the carpet and stalked for the stairs with the haughty dignity of a queen.  The knitted throw trailed along the floor behind her.

Out of habit, she hopped down the stairs two and three at a time, careful not to land on the hem of her makeshift cloak.  The door to her father's office didn't quite muffle the excited conversation going on inside.  Coraline wrinkled her nose and headed into the kitchen.

It wasn't hard to spot the reason for all the commotion.  A fat, overstuffed manila envelope lay in the middle of the otherwise bare kitchen table.  Coraline crossed to it and picked it up, weighing it in both hands.  Turning it over, she read the return address and traced a finger around the boldface logo on the mailing label.

Then, making up her mind, she tucked the envelope under her arm and shrugged off the blanket, leaving it in a heap on the floor.  Her swampers were waiting by the front door, and she stepped into them hurriedly, grabbing her raincoat and an umbrella from the battered old can on the porch.

"I'm going out!" she shouted over her shoulder, and slammed the door behind her.

The rain hammered on her umbrella as soon as she snapped it open, drowning out her mother's calls after her through the kitchen window.  Coraline raised an arm and waved, but kept trotting down the drive.



It wasn't a particularly long walk into town.  Coraline shoved the envelope under her raincoat to keep it dry and meandered down the road at her own pace, cutting across a few weedy parking lots, splashing through puddles, and picking her way over the broken pavement in the alley behind the automotive shop.

Navigating the gap in the fence behind the garage was second nature by now.  She furled her umbrella and edged through sideways, clutching the envelope protectively to her chest.

In the yard, a man in a stained gray coverall was dragging a tire off a heap of scrap.  He spotted her and waved.  "Hello, Coraline!"

"Hey, Henry!" she shouted back.  The ground was half-flooded with mud puddles. She edged around the worst of them, dodging what was left of a stripped-down truck.  "Where's-"

"Lovat's inside," Henry called, grunting under the weight of the tire.  "We've got a tight lineup today.  Try not to borrow him for too long, hey?"

Coraline stuck out her tongue at him.  He laughed and heaved the tire onto a cart, then waved her inside.

"Go on, kiddo.  Tell him he's got ten minutes or it comes out of his lunch."

She trotted inside, dripping a trail of rainwater on the cement floor behind her.

It wasn't especially hard to find Wybie.  The steel-toed boots, for one thing, were impossible to miss, sticking out from under a car halfway across the garage.  For another thing, the bangings and mutterings issuing from under the car were audible even over the drumming of the rain on the roof.  Coraline smiled.  She hung her umbrella on the doorknob, and strolled leisurely over.

"Reinventing the wheel?" she said, bending down to peer under the chassis.

Battered gloves grasped the edge of the bumper, and Wybie hauled himself out with a clatter of dolly wheels, grinning broadly up at her.

"Jonesy!  I thought Mr. Bard told you to quit sneaking around here!"

"Henry likes me," Coraline retorted, nudging him in the side with her boot.  "He thinks I'm a good influence."

Wybie snorted.  "Shows what he knows."

"Oh, get up," Coraline said, offering him a hand.  "I've got to talk to you."

He took her hand obligingly, greasy gloves and all.  Coraline braced herself and dragged him to his feet.  He'd lost most of his puppy fat over the years, but his face was still comfortably round and given to shy smiles, and his posture just about as awful as ever.

"You seriously need to lose some weight, Wybie," she teased him, pulling him along by the arm.  He stumbled in her wake, but didn't bother protesting-after seven years, he was quite used to being manhandled.

"Hey, are you kidding?  This is all muscle."  He flexed his free arm at her, and Coraline snorted.  Then they were out the front door, and the first cold drops of rain struck her face.  She laughed and spun out into it, letting go of Wybie to throw her arms wide and embrace the wet sky.

Standing in the doorway, Wybie watched her with a smile.  "You never change, do you?" he said.

Coraline's feet faltered.  Twirling to a stop, she opened her eyes.  The parking lot was empty and gray, rain blowing across it in misty sheets.

"I wish," she said.

Trudging back to him, she leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.  "So, how's the job going, part-timer?"

"Uh…okay, I guess," he shrugged.  "Mr. Bard says he'd pay me full-time next year if I'm still around, but I told him Grandma'd throw a fit."  Wybie adjusted his coverall cuffs, a little self-consciously, and looked up at her.  "So…what's the big news, Jonesy?"

Coraline took a breath.  "Well…I got a letter from Metro."

Wybie opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Well?" he said, after a moment.  "Fat or thin?"

Uncrossing her arms, she let the envelope fall into her hands and held it out.  "Morbid," she said, with a faint quirk of a smile.

Wybie whistled, taking it from her to heft the weight of it.  "Man.  That's a lot of paperwork."  Raindrops glistened on his dark curls as he handed it back, before it could get too wet.  "So…you're in, huh?"

"I guess," Coraline said, blankly.

Wybie blinked.  "That's, uh…that's great, Jonesy," he said, trying for a smile.  "I mean…that's the school you wanted, right?"

"Well…yeah," Coraline said. She'd been hoping for more of a reaction, but Wybie was being unusually hard to read. "So-o-o…" she said, stretching out the syllable as long as she could. "What do you think I should do?"

Wybie tilted his head. "Why are you asking me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "Well, you're just gonna do whatever you want anyway, right? So why bother asking?"

Coraline stamped her foot, shocked and a little hurt. "Hey, that's not true! I listen to you!"

"Name one time you've ever not done something because I said it was a bad idea," he challenged her.

Coraline thought back. And then back some more. "I quit jumping on the well," she said, finally.

Wybie groaned. "Jonesy, you stomp on the well every time we check the lid," he pointed out.

"But I stopped jumping on it!" she insisted. "Anyway, so do you!"

"Because you always do it first!"

"You know what?" Coraline snapped. "Forget I asked!" How could he accuse her of not caring what he thought? "I bet you'd have a great opinion for me if you could go home and ask your grandma first!" she scoffed.

"What's she got to do with it?"

"All you ever do is what she says." Coraline rolled her eyes. "I bet you're going to that community college because she said it was a good idea."

Wybie's gaze dropped uncomfortably to his boots. "Well, yeah," he admitted. "But…we can't really afford a big school right now. I can transfer my credits-"

Coraline's temper flared. "Yeah, well, I'm going to a real school!" she snapped.

Shock brought Wybie's chin up, followed by embarrassment and anger. "Fine!" he snapped back, startling her. "Do what you want! I think Metro is the perfect school for you and you should definitely go there and it doesn't bug me at all! That's what you want me to say, right? So go!" He made a shooing gesture with one arm. "Move five states away, why should I care?"

"Why should you?"

"I don't know, you tell me!"

Coraline glared. "What, like your grandma?"

"I-what?" Wybie fumbled. "No! I don't-"

"You know, maybe I would listen to you if you ever had anything to say!" Coraline imitated a flapping mouth with one hand. "You talk and talk and talk, Wybie, but you never say anything!"

"What are you still hanging around with me for, then?" Wybie yanked the door open and took a step inside. He waved his other arm at her. "Don't you have letters to mail? Metro's waiting!"

"I'm glad somebody is!" Coraline cried. "It's not like anybody around here would miss me!" She shoved herself away from the wall and stomped off across the parking lot, clutching the envelope tightly to her heart.

"I'm glad somebody is!" Coraline cried.  "It's not like anybody around here would miss me!"  Angrily, she shoved herself away from the wall, and stomped off across the parking lot, clutching the envelope tightly to her heart.

Wybie watched her go, the anger in his eyes fading wistfully away.  His shoulders slumped as the bright yellow raincoat disappeared around the corner and into the rain.

"Idiot," he muttered to himself, rubbing his temple, and slouched back inside.



The trouble with walking home angry was that you forgot to think.  Coraline didn't realize until she started to take off her coat that she'd neglected to put the envelope back under her jacket.  Wearily, she peeled each soggy sheet away from its fellows and spread them out on the table to dry.

Her father bustled around the kitchen, mixing up dinner and cheerfully humming to himself.

"Spaghetti is from China, but Italians make it best…ants can make an anthill, and monkeys make a mess…!"

The whistle of the teakettle split the air.  Coraline clapped her hands over her ears and grimaced.  A few drops splashed onto the stovetop with violent hisses.

"Whoops!" said her father, and snatched for the kettle, lifting it quickly off the burner before it could boil over.  "Close one," he chuckled.  "So, what'll it be, college girl?  Tea?  Coffee?  Apple cider?"

Coraline moaned and thumped her forehead down on the table.

Charlie Jones considered that and smiled, wryly.  "Coffee it is, then.  What's wrong, pumpkin?" he asked, pouring out steaming water into three mugs.

"I don't know," Coraline mumbled against the linoleum.  Her breath fluttered the damp layers of paperwork.  "Everything."

Her father stood for a moment, looking at her, then set the kettle down carefully on a trivet and pulled up a chair next to his daughter.  He gave her stubby ponytail a playful, gentle tug.  "Everything?  That's a lot of trouble for just one Coraline.  You want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Coraline muttered.

"Oh." After a moment of quiet sitting, he got up and went to fetch the coffee.  Coraline hauled herself upright with a groan, burying both hands in her hair.

"It's just, this whole college thing, and-and being so far away, and I'm not going to know my way around or anybody, and I just want some time to think but Mom's all, how's the application going, Coraline?  I can proofread your essay, Coraline!  You got a letter, Coraline!  You'd better get your forms in A.S.A.P., Coraline Jones, or you can kiss a scholarship goodbye!  Gah!"  She ground her teeth.  "And then today, Wybie starts in-"

"Wybie?" her father said, hiding a smile as he set her coffee down in front of her.  "What's he got to do with it?"

"That's what I'd like to know!"  Coraline pulled at her bangs with both hands.  "Every time I try to talk about school, he clams right up!  And today, I go tell him I got accepted, right?  And he acts like I'm…like I'm some kind of leper!"

"That bad, huh?"

"Well…"  Coraline released her hair, picked up the hot mug and gingerly sipped the contents.  Dad's instant coffee.   Blech.  She forced down a swallow-it was warm, anyway.  "Maybe not quite that bad.  But he sure wasn't happy for me, I can tell you that much."

"Maybe he's having trouble showing it," her father suggested. Stirring busily at his own coffee with a spoon, he added, "You two have been friends for a long time. I'd be surprised if he didn't miss you."

Coraline stared into the depths of her mug. Her own face stared back, distorted and dark. After some of the things she'd just said to him, it wouldn't surprise her much at all. "I'm gonna miss him, too," she mumbled. Her mouth felt bitter and dry-she put the mug down and pushed it away. "And you, and Mom, and the kids at school, and-and Miss Spink and Miss Forcible…"

Darn it, why were her eyes tearing over? Why now? Why over the batty downstairs neighbors and a state full of giant slugs and rain, rain, rain? Coraline swiped at her nose with the back of her hand, hunkering down in her chair.

"Alright, what's for dinner?"

The front door banged open, and Mel Jones swept into the kitchen, shrugging out of her coat.  Spotting the remaining mug on the counter, she made a beeline for it.

"Coffee!  Fantastic, that is exactly what I needed."  Taking a gulp, she made a face, then knocked back another for good measure and went to her daughter.  "How's my girl?"

"Welcome home, Mom," Coraline muttered into her hands.

Her mother leaned over her shoulder, surveying the scattered papers on the table.  "Do my eyes deceive me?  You actually got started on your paperwork!  Coraline, I am so proud of-"

Snatching up a paper with her free hand, she flinched, the corners of her mouth turning sharply down.  "These are soaking wet!  Coraline, what on earth?"

"I didn't mean to!" Coraline cried.  "I just forgot my umbrella at Bard's Autos, and-"

"Is that where you ran off to?" her mother said, her eyes narrowing.  She crossed her arms.  "You know, Mr. Bard called me the other day, and-"

"He doesn't care if I visit!" Coraline interrupted her, exasperated.  "He told me himself, Mom!  As long as I stay out of the way-"

"Well, I'm still not comfortable with you wandering around all those power tools," her mother grumbled, delicately paging through the damp paperwork.  Coraline groaned.

"Mom, I'm not ten years old," she said.  "I'm going to college next fall, remember?"

"Well, you're not going anywhere if you don't get these forms in," her mother said, raising an eyebrow at her.  "You know, Coraline, if you want any chance at a scholarship…"

"Geez!" Coraline yelled, throwing up her arms.  "I get it, okay?  Paperwork, good!  Procrastination, bad!  Hey, if you want me gone so much, maybe you can do my paperwork!  God!"  She shoved herself away from the table, chair legs scraping loudly.  Pausing just long enough to snatch up her coffee mug, she stormed out of the room and up the stairs.  The kitchen door swung shut behind her.

Mel Jones stared after her.  "What was that about?" she asked her husband.

Charlie sighed.  "Separation anxiety…I think.  Drink your mud while it's hot, Boss.  You can try again tomorrow."



Coraline thumped down her mug on the bedside table and flung herself across her bed, hard enough to make the springs creak.  Burying her head in her arms, she let out an exasperated growl.  What was wrong with everyone?  Wasn't there one person who'd be sorry to see her go?

Something rapped lightly on the window, and Coraline propped herself up on her elbows, turning to look.

"Aha!  Hello, Coraline!"

Skinny arms waved from outside the window, and an upside-down face beamed in at her through the foggy glass and a thatch of wiry whiskers.  Coraline cracked a smile and climbed off the bed.  Her neighbor's acrobatic habits had gotten a little unsettling as she grew, but they'd come to an understanding over a set of nice, thick curtains.

"Hey, Mr. B," she said, hauling the old window up with some effort.  Cool wind blew in, but the rain had slacked off.  "What's up?"

"Not so much, not so much," Mr. Bobinsky said, kicking away from the wall to hang from the sill by his fingertips, and commencing a set of chin-ups as he spoke.  "Raz, dva, tree…I hope I am not interrupting a, how you say…a naptime?"

Coraline shook her head.  "No, I was just thinking."  She leaned out the window to peer down at him.  "How's the Little B doing?"

With a grunt of effort, Mr. Bobinsky pulled himself up to grin at her, nose-to-nose.  His whiskery face glowed with pride.

"He kicks, Coraline!  He kicks like horse!" he jubilated.  "Mrs. B, she says to me, 'Oh, Mr. B, truly this child, he is a Bobinsky!'"

Coraline covered a giggle with her hand.  A few years back, Mr. Bobinsky had amazed the entire Pink Palace by presenting them with not a mouse circus, but a Mrs. Bobinsky: a skinny, bony-elbowed acquaintance from the old country.  According to them, she'd been a prima ballerina once, but her most impressive feats over the years had been imposing cozy domesticity on the shambles of the upstairs apartment and unleashing such a stream of Russian profanity upon the Misses Spink and Forcible for venturing out of the basement in their robes and curlers that she'd almost completely broken them of the habit.

Sometime this summer, formidable Mrs. B was due to astonish the Palace again, this time as a mother.  Coraline was a little wary of the woman, who made amazing pancakes but shouted and threw things when her English wasn't up to expressing her opinions.  Still, she couldn't help being eagerly curious about how a baby Bobinsky would look.

Not that she'd get to spend much time with him-or her.  By the time she came home for Christmas, the Little B would be crawling.  Coraline sighed, and propped her chin in her hands.

"Raz, dva, tree…" Mr. Bobinsky finished his set, and flipped nimbly up, crouching on the windowsill.  "But, Coraline, you do not look happy.  What is wrong?"

Coraline traced a circle on the sill with one finger.  "Nothing, really," she admitted.  "Just…thinking about Little B.  He's gonna grow up fast, isn't he?"

Mr. Bobinsky beamed.  "Fast, yes!  Fast, and big, and strongest child in country!"  He paused.  "But, why this is problem?"

"I just…wish I could be there to see it," Coraline said.

Her neighbor tilted his head, frowning.  Then his face cleared.  "Aha!  I see problem," he declared.  "Is very simple, Coraline.  Leetle B is to be here, and you, you will be far away, yes?"

Coraline sighed.  "Maybe.  I haven't decided yet."

"Aah, but always in here!" Mr. Bobinsky slapped a hand against his chest, making his medal jingle.  "Never will you leave our hearts.  I tell my Leetle B about you, Coraline."

It was cold comfort.  What good was being 'in people's hearts', anyway?  She wanted to be the Little B's friend, not his bedtime story.

"Thanks, Mr. B," she mumbled, and forced a smile.  "I'll see you later, 'kay?"

Mr. Bobinsky sketched her a salute.  "Do svidaniya, Coraline!  And hey-don't worry!"  He sprang up from his crouch, grabbing for the gutters outside, and with a few scuffling, long-legged kicks, he vanished from sight.

Coraline crossed back to her bed, flopping down listlessly.  "Easy for you to say," she muttered, and shut her eyes.  She felt so…tired.  It wouldn't hurt to relax a while, would it?

Of course not.  She sighed, and let her worries slide away…



Shadows lay thick around her bedroom.  Coraline stirred, and stretched sore muscles, sleepily trying to remember what had woken her.

"Ew," she muttered, plucking at her sleeve.  Sleeping in her clothes.  No wonder she felt sore.  According to the clock, it was past ten already-glancing at the door, she saw a plate of dinner had been left inside to get cold.  Wonderful.  And she'd drooled on the comforter…

Something tapped lightly at the window.  Coraline frowned, and sat up.

"Mr. B?" she said.

No answer.  Carefully, she climbed out of bed and padded across the floor, towards the dark window.  "Hello?  Is anybody there?"

Something smacked against the glass, inches from her face.  Coraline leaped back with a shriek.  Wildly, she looked around the room for something she could use as a weapon-

The voice outside was muffled, but familiar.  "Jonesy?"

Coraline let out an exasperated groan.  "Oh, great."

Another stick bounced off the window.  Stomping over, Coraline heaved it open, just in time for a twig to sail through.  She dodged it, barely.

"Would you cut that out?  Geez!"

Wybie scuffed one steel-toed boot in the driveway gravel.  "Uh…hey, Jo-er, Coraline," he said, and made a valiant attempt at a smile.  "You okay?  You, uh…I heard a yell."

"I was sleeping," Coraline said, flatly.  "And then somebody threw a stick at my head."

"Oh."  Wybie swallowed.  "Sorry about that."

"What do you want, anyway?" Coraline knew she was picking another fight, but she couldn't seem to shut up. Why wasn't he mad at her? It would be so much easier if he was here to yell at her for being crazy.

He tilted his head, quizzically.  "Is, uh…is this a bad time?  You don't seem like you're in a…talking mood.  I mean, maybe I'm reading you wrong, but, look, you don't have to talk to me if you don't want, I know you're probably busy with forms and stuff-"

"Gahh!"  Coraline ducked back inside and slammed the window.

Wybie froze, one hand held up in mid-gesture.  "Or, maybe not."

The window made no reply.  After a moment, he stooped for another twig and took careful aim.  It ricocheted off the glass, and the window shot open.

"What?" Coraline snapped, sticking her head out.

Wybie coughed.  "I just wanted to say, um…that it's your call.  Not mine."

She blinked.  "Huh?"

"About…you know, the school thing," he said, twisting at his gloves without looking at her.  "I mean, I was thinking, and I know I said it pretty badly, today…but Metro's a good school.  And you'd do great there.  So…you should go wherever you want."

Coraline's stomach sank.  She backed a step away from the window, then another.

"Well?"  He was looking up at her now, with his head still tilted to one side.  His expression was nervous, but his dear, daft posture was as familiar as her own face in the mirror.  "What're you gonna do?"

"I wish I knew," Coraline said, softly.  She reached out and slid the window shut, then pulled the curtain across it and turned away.

"Hey!  Jonesy?  Hello?"

She waited, her back turned to the curtains, but no more thrown projectiles rattled against the window.  After a while, she heard the sputtering roar of his bike motor start up, then fade into the distance.  Coraline sighed, wrapping her arms around herself.  The room felt colder, all of a sudden.

Shaking her head, she went to fetch her flannel pajamas.  It didn't take long to change, and then she crawled into bed, dragging the covers over her head.

Blocking out the world didn't block out the turmoil in her mind.  It seemed like everybody, even Wybie, thought she should be sallying out into the world, kicking butt and taking names and sparing not a thought for the places and people she was leaving.

Coraline squeezed her eyes shut and imagined moving a thousand miles away.  Leaving behind the Pink Palace, escaping her mother's warm arms and nagging reminders.  Never having to put up with her father's dumb little songs and awful cooking.  Making new friends, other serious students like her, instead of hunting frogs down at the creek with Wybie Lovat, cracking lame jokes and watching his shy, dorky smile light up his eyes.

A sharp pain pierced her stomach, and Coraline pushed the images away, balling up under the covers with a whimper.  Wasn't she supposed to be happy about going out on her own?  Was something wrong with her?

Growling, she kicked the covers away, struggling out of bed.  She wasn't getting any sleep this way.  Fresh air and a walk in the garden: that might help, at least.

She fetched an old sweater out of the closet.  It was a bulky thing too long in the arms, and she pulled it on over her pajamas, stepping carefully over the cold plate of dinner in the doorway.  Her bare feet made hardly a sound on the carpet as she hopped down the stairs, but she still tiptoed past her parents' room.  The last thing she wanted to deal with was a redux of maternal wrath.

Her swampers sat peacefully by the front door, caked in dry mud.  Coraline stepped into them, and quietly slipped outside.

The night air was cool, fluttering through her hair as she walked down the front steps.  Coraline took a deep breath of it, feeling like a fish in the clear sea.  The clouds were clearing away, leaving broad swathes of twinkling sky.  She closed her eyes and tilted her face up to catch the starlight with a smile.

A soft yowl caught her attention, and she looked around and spotted Wybie's old stray, weaving himself around the posts of the porch.  It had to be more than ten years old by now, but as far as Coraline could see, it was just as skinny, mangy, and ageless now as it had been when she moved in.

"Hello, Cat," she said, waving an arm at him.  The sleeve of her sweater flopped loosely.  "Come to give me some advice?  Everybody else is."

The cat cocked its head, and meowed.  Coraline snorted.

"Yeah, I know.  You're a cat.  What do you know about colleges?"  She shoved the trailing sweater sleeves up her arms and locked her fingers together behind her head, looking up at the sky.  A sliver of white moon glowed among the clouds.

"You probably know more than I do," she admitted.  "I know there's a whole world out there, and I want to explore it-I really do!  There's just so much I'd be leaving behind…"

With a swish of its tail, the cat leapt up onto the porch railing.  It hopped from there to the gutter, and trotted away over the roof and out of sight.

"Fair enough," Coraline said, ruefully.  "I'd probably bore me too, if I was you."

She wandered down the path and through the garden gate, passing the first few blooming tulips and bending down to touch their petals.  Beads of water clung to her fingertips.  She wiped them clean on her sweater-front and strolled along the rise and fall of the stairs towards the little bridge, counting the number of steps it took her to climb them.  Four less than when they'd first moved here…

Coraline faltered mid-step, one hand on the railing of the bridge.  A shiver ran up her spine.  Quickly, she whirled around, staring at the moat.

No pumpkins.  No brilliant flowers.  Nothing.

Coraline let out a shaky breath, then turned away and hurried down the path out of the garden, not looking back.  There were some memories she tried not to dwell on, no matter how much she loved her home.  Some habits she had never quite broken.

Even if she had long since accepted the presence of that locked door, she still didn't like to sit alone in the living room, or turn her back on that particular wall.

Still shivering, Coraline pulled the sweater a little more closely around her shoulders.  The night wind had fallen still.  Even the black silhouettes of the trees stood unmoving against the sky.

Padding along the path, Coraline glanced back at the Palace.  Her own lit bedroom window winked back at her, golden and bright.  One turn around the old well and back, she decided, ought to be enough fresh air for one night.  Just the traditional old stroll.  The woods were dark and cold, and her warm bed was starting to sound awfully appealing.

The slope of ground under her feet was beginning to level out.  Coraline peered ahead through the gloom, and made out that familiar old tree stump, rearing from the dry earth.  She smiled a little, remembering.

It had started out as a nervous habit.  After what they'd been through, she and Wybie had figured they'd never want to go near the place again, but there was something…uneasy about that well.  One August night, after they'd accidentally scared a few years off each other's lives, then calmed down enough to compare excuses for being there after dark, they'd realized they were both coming by every few weeks to poke around.  The sheepishness wore off fast; and from then on, there was safety in numbers.

Check the lid for rot.  Look for marks in the dirt.  Drop a rock down the hole, and listen for a harmless splash.  As the years passed and fear faded into memory, it had devolved from a sacred catechism to a simple habit.

They hadn't run through the ritual in a while, come to think of it.  These days, they mostly met at the well for the sake of meeting.  Talking, swapping stupid jokes, showing off new possessions, making plans for great pizza or bad movies, copying off each others' notes from class…

"Psycho-stalker," Coraline murmured, with a smile.  "How did you end up being my best friend, anyway?"

Her smile slipped a little, remembering Wybie's hurt expression as she'd shouted out the window at him that evening.  She gave her head a shake, and crossed swiftly to the ragged circle of toadstools that marked the spot.

"I'm sorry, Wybie," she whispered.  "I guess you'll have to do this by yourself, next time."

Carefully, she stepped over the mushrooms and onto the lid of the well.  She lifted one boot and gently struck each board with her heel-they rang out sound and true.

"Check the lid for rot," she muttered.  "Done."  She made a fist and stuck out one finger, keeping count.  Then, bending down a little, she turned in a slow circle to peer at the edges of the lid.  Nothing disturbed the earth around the well but her own footprints.

"Look for marks in the dirt.  Check-a-roonie."  She extended another finger, and knelt to pick up a pebble, holding it over the hole in the lid and letting it drop.

"Listen for the splash…" she whispered, leaning down until her ear nearly touched the lid, and waited.

And waited.

"Huh?"  Coraline frowned, sitting up.  "That's…weird."  She fumbled for another, bigger stone, and dropped it in, listening intently.

Silence.

"What the…"

Had somebody blocked up the hole?  Filled it in, after she and Wybie let their old ritual slide?

Getting to her feet, Coraline looked around and spotted a fallen tree near the edge of the clearing.  It only took a moment to brace her boot on the trunk and wrench a branch free with a resounding crack.  She trotted back to the well, wedging the end of the branch firmly under the edge of the lid.

"Alright, well," she said, sternly.  "Let's see what the problem is."

Grabbing the branch in both hands, she levered down, hard.  The lid lifted free in a shower of rattling stones and dust, and Coraline dropped the branch to grab it, dragging it out of the way.

Stepping closer to the edge, she leaned over, hands propped on her knees.  "Hello?" she called, into the hollow darkness, and her own voice echoed back to her, softly:

"Hello…?"

"Did someone fill you up?"

"Up…?"

Coraline peered into the deepest shadows of the well, frowning intently.  There was definitely something reflecting the moonlight down there.  Something tiny and round.  No, two somethings…

They moved.

With a wild scrabbling and a shower of dislodged stones, a dark and long-limbed shape lunged up out of the abyss.  Its clutching fingers closed around Coraline's ankles, squeezing sharp through her clothes, and she screamed and threw herself back, landing in a heap.

"No!"

Coraline struggled wildly; one of her boots slipped off, and she rolled onto her stomach, kicking with her free leg in a desperate frenzy.

"Let me go!"  Her bare foot pounded something brittle and cold, once, twice-it jerked, but its grip didn't loosen.  She clawed at the ground, reaching out with both hands for something, anything to hold on to, but the damp earth slipped through her fingers, leaving parallel ruts behind as she was dragged inexorably backwards, towards…

"Oh, god," she gasped, as realization struck.  "No, no, don't-"

As if it had paused only to brace itself, the thing in the well gave a mighty heave, and the world slid out of sight.

Coraline had just enough time to grab helplessly at the air, to feel the wind of her fall and the stinging pain in her suddenly released ankle, to catch a desperate glimpse of a starry patch of sky spinning away, and a dark silhouette against it, leaning down-

She never heard the splash.