Коралина / Coraline

The other side is the empty flat on the other side of the house, the one that's still for sale.”

She shut the door and put the string of keys back on top of the kitchen doorframe.

“You didn't lock it,” said Coraline.

Her mother shrugged. “Why should I lock it?” she asked. “It doesn't go anywhere.”

Coraline didn't say anything.

It was nearly dark outside now, and the rain was still coming down, pattering against the windows and blurring the lights of the cars in the street outside.

Coraline's father stopped working and made them all dinner.

Coraline was disgusted. “Daddy,” she said, “you've made a recipe again.”

“It's leek and potato stew with a tarragon garnish and melted Gruyère cheese,” he admitted.

Coraline sighed. Then she went to the freezer and got out some microwave chips and a microwave minipizza.

“You know I don't like recipes,” she told her father, while her dinner went around and around and the little red numbers on the microwave oven counted down to zero.

“If you tried it, maybe you'd like it,” said Coraline's father, but she shook her head.

That night, Coraline lay awake in her bed. The rain had stopped, and she was almost asleep when something went t-t-t-t-t-t. She sat up in bed.

Something went kreeee…

…aaaak

Coraline got out of bed and looked down the hall, but saw nothing strange. She walked down the hall. From her parents' bedroom came a low snoring—that was her father—and an occasional sleeping mutter—that was her mother.

Coraline wondered if she'd dreamed it, whatever it was.

Something moved.

It was little more than a shadow, and it scuttled down the darkened hall fast, like a little patch of night.

She hoped it wasn't a spider. Spiders made Coraline intensely uncomfortable.

The black shape went into the drawing room, and Coraline followed it a little nervously.

The room was dark. The only light came from the hall, and Coraline, who was standing in the doorway, cast a huge and distorted shadow onto the drawing room carpet—she looked like a thin giant woman.

Coraline was just wondering whether or not she ought to turn on the lights when she saw the black shape edge slowly out from beneath the sofa. It paused, and then dashed silently across the carpet toward the farthest corner of the room.

There was no furniture in that corner of the room.

Coraline turned on the light.

There was nothing in the corner.