Free Coraline by Neil Gaiman Page B

lady, it comes to me that I certainly was a boy, now I do think on it. Oh, but you must hurry. There are two of us still to find, and the beldam is already angry with you for uncovering me.’
    If I’m going to do this , thought Coraline, I’m not going to do it in her clothes . She changed back into her pyjamas and her dressing gown and her slippers, leaving the grey sweater and the black jeans neatly folded up on the bed, the orange boots on the floor by the toy box.
    She put the marble into her dressing-gown pocket and walked out into the hall.
    Something stung her face and hands like sand blowing on a beach on a windy day. She covered her eyes, and pushed forward.
    The sand-stings got worse, and it got harder and harder to walk, as if she were pushing into the wind on a particularly blustery day. It was a vicious wind, and a cold one.
    She took a step backwards, the way she had come.
    ‘Oh, keep going,’ whispered a ghost-voice in her ear. ‘For the beldam is angry.’
    She stepped forward in the hallway, into another gust of wind, which stung her cheeks and face with invisible sand, sharp as needles, sharp as glass.
    ‘Play fair,’ shouted Coraline, into the wind.
    There was no reply, but the wind whipped about her one more time, petulantly, and then it dropped away, and was gone. As she passed the kitchen Coraline could hear, in the sudden silence, the drip-drip of the water from the leaking tap, or perhaps the other mother’s long fingernails tapping impatiently against the table. Coraline resisted the urge to look.
    In a couple of strides she reached the front door, and she walked outside.
    Coraline went down the steps and around the house until she reached the other Miss Spink and Miss Forcible’s flat. The lamps around the door were flickering on and off almost randomly now, spelling out no words that Coraline could understand. The door was closed. She was afraid it was locked, and she pushed on it with all her strength. First it stuck, then suddenly it gave, and, with a jerk, Coraline stumbled into the dark room beyond.
    Coraline closed one hand around the stone with the hole in it and walked forward into blackness. She expected to find a curtained anteroom, but there was nothing there. The room was dark. The theatre was empty. She moved ahead cautiously. Something rustled above her. She looked up into a deeper darkness, and as she did so her feet knocked against something. She reached down, picked up a torch, and clicked it on, sweeping the beam around the room.
    The theatre was derelict and abandoned. Chairs were broken on the floor, and old, dusty spiders’ webs draped the walls and hung from the rotten wood and the decomposing velvet hangings.
    Something rustled once again. Coraline directed her light beam upwards, towards the ceiling. There were things up there, hairless, jellyish. She thought they might once have had faces, might even once have been dogs; but no dogs had wings like bats, or could hang, like spiders, like bats, upside-down.
    The light startled the creatures, and one of them took to the air, its wings whirring heavily through the dust. Coraline ducked as it swooped close to her. It came to rest on a far wall, and it began to clamber, upside-down, back to the nest of the dog-bats upon the ceiling.
    Coraline raised the stone to her eye and she scanned the room through it, looking for something that glowed or glinted, a telltale sign that somewhere in this room was another hidden soul. She ran the beam of the torch about the room as she searched, the thick dust in the air making the light beam seem almost solid.
    There was something up on the back wall behind the ruined stage. It was greyish-white, twice the size of Coraline herself, and it was stuck to the back wall like a slug. Coraline took a deep breath. ‘I’m not afraid,’ she told herself. ‘I’m not.’ She did not believe herself, but she scrambled on to the old stage, fingers sinking into the rotting wood as she pulled