Coraline

‘What if it was dinnertime?’ asked Coraline. ‘Wouldn’t you want to be called then?’ ‘Of course,’ said the cat. ‘But a simple cry of ‘Dinner!’ would do nicely. See? No need for names.’

hair was wriggling like lazy snakes on a warm day.

She might want something to eat as well. It’s hard to tell with creatures like that.’

‘Small world,’ said Coraline. ‘It’s big enough for her,’ said the cat. ‘Spiders’ webs only have to be large enough to catch flies.’

Coraline slept uneasily that night, waking from time to time to plot and plan and ponder, then falling back into sleep, never quite certain where her pondering ended and the dream began, one ear always open for the sound of something scratching at her windowpane or at her bedroom door.

Coraline had time to observe that the house itself was continuing to change, becoming less distinct, and flattening out, even as she raced down the stairs. It reminded her of a photograph of a house now, not the thing itself.

but then, back then, in with all the cuts and scrapes (her knees had had scabs on top of scabs) she had a feeling of achievement. She was learning something, doing something she had not known how to do before.

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?’

The light that came through the picture window was daylight, real golden late-afternoon daylight,