Коралина / Coraline

“And why was that?” asked the cat, although it sounded barely interested.

“Because,” she said, “when you're scared but you still do it anyway, that's brave.”

The candle cast huge, strange, flickering shadows along the wall. She heard something moving in the darkness—beside her or to one side of her, she could not tell. It seemed as if it was keeping pace with her, whatever it was.

“And that's why you're going back to her world, then?” said the cat. “Because your father once saved you from wasps?”

“Don't be silly,” said Coraline.

“How fortunate I am,” said the cat, “in having a traveling companion of such wisdom and intelligence.” Its tone remained sarcastic, but its fur was bristling, and its brush of a tail stuck up in the air.

Coraline was going to say something, like sorry or wasn't it a lot shorter walk last time? when the candle went out as suddenly as if it had been snuffed by someone's hand.

There was a scrabbling and a pattering, and Coraline could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. She put out one hand …and felt something wispy, like a spider's web, brush her hands and her face.

At the end of the corridor the electric light went on, blinding after the darkness. A woman stood, silhouetted by the light, a little ahead of Coraline.

“Coraline? Darling?” she called.

“Mum!” said Coraline, and she ran forward, eager and relieved.

“Darling,” said the woman. “Why did you ever run away from me?”

Coraline was too close to stop, and she felt the other mother's cold arms enfold her. She stood there, rigid and trembling as the other mother held her tightly.

“Where are my parents?” Coraline asked.

“We're here,” said her other mother, in a voice so close to her real mother's that Coraline could scarcely tell them apart.

Coraline pulled back, and the other mother let her go, with reluctance.

The other father, who had been sitting on a chair in the hallway, stood up and smiled. “Come on into the kitchen,” he said. “I'll make us a midnight snack.