Gaiman, Neil Filmography

• A Dream of Flying
  2014, role: writer
• Neil Gaiman's We Can Get Them for You Wholesale
  2013, role: actor , character name: Himself - Narrator
• A Calendar of Tales: October Tale
  2013, role: writer
• Doctor Who Explained
  2013, role: actor , character name: Himself - Writer, Nightmare in Silver
• A Calendar of Tales: February Tale
  2013, role: writer
• Gahan Wilson: Born Dead, Still Weird
  2013, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Jay and Silent Bob's Super Groovy Cartoon Movie
  2013, role: actor , character name: Albert the Manservant
• Neil Gaiman's We Can Get Them for You Wholesale
  2013, role: writer
• Better Things: The Life and Choices of Jeffrey Catherine Jones
  2012, role: actor , character name: Himself
• The Lingerer
  2012, role: writer
• The Sandman
  2011, role: writer
• Nicholas Was
  2010, role: writer
• The People vs. George Lucas
  2010, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Secret Origin: The Story of DC Comics
  2010, role: actor , character name: Himself
• The 82nd Annual Academy Awards
  2010, role: writer
• Strange Powers: Stephin Merritt and the Magnetic Fields
  2010, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Nothing is True: Behind the Scenes of 'Stardust' with Neil Gaiman and Charles Vess
  2010, role: actor
• Neverwhere
  2009, role: writer
• Coraline: U-Control Picture in Picture
  2009, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Coraline: The Making of 'Coraline'
  2009, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Coraline
  2009, role: writer
• The Origins of Beowulf
  2008, role: actor , character name: Himself
• We Can Get Them for You Wholesale
  2008, role: writer
• Beasts of Burden Designing the Creatures of Beowulf
  2008, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Dreams with Sharp Teeth
  2008, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Gahan Wilson: Born Dead, Still Weird
  2008, role: actor , character name: Himself
• A Hero's Journey: The Making of Beowulf
  2008, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Lovecraft: Fear of the Unknown
  2008, role: actor , character name: Himself
• It Was a Dark and Silly Night
  2008, role: writer
• Thaco
  2008, role: actor , character name: Himself
• The Art of Beowulf
  2008, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Comic-Con 2007 Live
  2007, role: actor , character name: Himself
• In Search of Steve Ditko
  2007, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Will Eisner: Portrait of a Sequential Artist
  2007, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Beowulf
  2007, role: producer
• Stardust
  2007, role: producer
• Beowulf
  2007, role: writer
• Stardust
  2007, role: writer
• The Making of 'MirrorMask'
  2006, role: actor , character name: Himself
• American Scary
  2006, role: actor , character name: Himself - Author
• Books of Magic
  2006, role: writer
• Books of Magic
  2006, role: producer
• Downtown Film Fest
  2006, role: actor , character name: Himself
• Life, the Universe and Douglas Adams
  2005, role: actor , character name: Narrated by
• Shadows in the Dark: The Val Lewton Legacy
  2005, role: actor , character name: Himself
• MirrorMask
  2005, role: writer
• MirrorMask
  2005, role: writer
• The Last Dragon
  2004, role: miscellaneous crew
• 13 Nights of Fright with Neil Gaiman
  2004, role: actor , character name: Himself
• The Eldritch Influence: The Life, Vision, and Phenomenon of H.P. Lovecraft
  2003, role: actor , character name: Himself

Famous quotes by Neil Gaiman:

"It is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else will speak."

"Firstly, there is no such person as Death. Second, Death's this tall guy with a bone face, like a skeletal monk, with a scythe and an hourglass and a big white horse and a penchant for playing chess with Scandinavians. Third, he doesn't exist either."

"He had noticed that events were cowards: they didn't occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once."

"`Oh my God, Dad, my friends are coming over, you're not allowed to speak to them,'"

"God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of the players, (ie everybody), to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time."

"It's an America with strange mythic depths. I see it as a distorting mirror; a book of danger and secrets, of romance and magic. It's about the soul of America, really. What people brought to America; what found them when they came; and the things that lie sleeping beneath it all."

"Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly."

"I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing."

"I think the First Amendment is probably the most important thing that you have in this country. And I'm always horrified at the cavalier way that you (Americans) treat it."

"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."

"Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and adventures are the shadow truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes and forgotten."

"So I went out and bought myself a copy of the Writer and Artist Yearbook, bought lots of magazines and got on the phone and talked to editors about ideas for stories. Pretty soon I found myself hired to do interviews and articles and went off and did them."

"I think the short story is a very underrated art form. We know that novels deserve respect."

"It's not a bad thing for a writer not to feel at home. Writers - we're much more comfortable at parties standing in the corner watching everybody else having a good time than we are mingling."

"The short story is still like the novel's wayward younger brother, we know that it's not respectable - but I think that can also add to the glory of it."

"Write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly, and tell it as best you can. I'm not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter."

"And there never was an apple, in Adam's opinion, that wasn't worth the trouble you got into for eating it."

"So the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund is out there preserving and fighting for, and sometimes winning and sometimes losing, the fight for First Amendment rights in comics and, more generally, for freedom of speech."

"Also, I've already won all the awards."

"This is a work of fiction. All the characters in it, human and otherwise, are imaginary, excepting only certain of the fairy folk, whom it might be unwise to offend by casting doubts on their existence. Or lack thereof."

• Lyrics: play full screen play karaoke
• Track 04 - Neil Gaiman
• Track 03 - Neil Gaiman
• Track 02 - Neil Gaiman
• Track 01 - Neil Gaiman
• Instructions - Neil Gaiman
• Neil Gaiman - Neil Gaiman

The house looked exactly the same from the outside. Or almost exactly the same; around Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's door were blue and red lightbulbs that flashed on and off spelling out words, the lights chasing each other around the door. On and off, around and around. ASTOUNDING! was followed by A THEATRICAL and then TRIUMPH!!!
It was a sunny, cold day, exactly like the one she'd left.
There was a polite noise from behind her.
She turned round. Standing on the wall next to her was a large black cat, identical to the large black cat she'd seen in the grounds at home.
"Good afternoon," said the cat.
Its voice sounded like the voice at the back of Coraline's head, the voice she thought words in, but a man's voice, not a girl's.
"Hello," said Coraline. "I saw a cat like you in the garden at home. You must be the other cat."
The cat shook its head. "No," it said. I'm not the other anything. I'm me." It tipped its head on one side; green eyes glinted. "You people are spread all over the place. Cats, on the other hand, keep ourselves together. If you see what I mean."
"I suppose. But if you're the same cat I saw at home, how can you talk?"
Cats don't have shoulders, not like people do. But the cat shrugged, in one smooth movement that started at the tip of its tail and ended in a raised movement of its whiskers. "I can talk."
"Cats don't talk at home."
"No?" said the cat.
"No," said Coraline.
The cat leapt smoothly from the wall to the grass, near Coraline's feet. It stared up at her.
"Well, you're the expert on these things," said the cat drily. "After all, what would I know? I'm only a cat."
It began to walk away, head and tail held high and proud.
"Come back," said Coraline. "Please. I'm sorry. I really am."
The cat stopped walking, and sat down, and began to wash itself, thoughtfully, apparently unaware of Coraline's existence.
"We . . . We could be friends, you know," said Coraline.
"We could be rare specimens of an exotic breed of African dancing elephants," said the cat. "But we're not. At least," it added cattily, after darting a brief look at Coraline, "I'm not."
Coraline sighed.
"Please. What's your name?" Coraline asked the cat. "Look, I'm Coraline. Okay?"
The cat yawned slowly, carefully, revealing a mouth and tongue of astounding pinkness. "Cats don't have names," it said.
"No?" said Coraline.
"No," said the cat. "Now, you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names."
There was something irritatingly self-centred about the cat, Coraline decided. As if it were, in its opinion, the only thing in any world or place that could possibly be of any importance.
Half of her wanted to be very rude to it; the other half of her wanted to be polite and deferential. The polite half won.
"Please, what is this place?"
The cat glanced around briefly. "It's here," said the cat.
"I can see that. Well, how did you get here?"
"Like you did. I walked," said the cat. "Like this."
Coraline watched as the cat walked slowly across the lawn. It walked behind a tree, but didn't come out the other side. Coraline went over to the tree and looked behind it. The cat was gone.
She walked back towards the house. There was another polite noise from behind her. It was the cat.
"By the by," it said. "It was sensible of you to bring protection. I'd hang on to it, if I were you."
"Protection?"
"That's what I said," said the cat. "And anyway—"
It paused, and stared intently at something that wasn't there.
Then it went down into a low crouch and moved slowly forward, two or three steps. It seemed to be stalking an invisible mouse. Abruptly, it turned tail and dashed for the woods.
It vanished among the trees.
Coraline wondered what the cat had meant.
She also wondered whether cats could all talk where she came from and just chose not to, or whether they could only talk when they were here—wherever here was.
She walked down the brick steps to the Misses Spink and Forcible's front door. The blue and red lights flashed on and off.
The door was open, just slightly. She knocked on it, but her first knock made the door swing open, and Coraline went in.
She was in a dark room that smelled of dust and velvet. The door swung shut behind her, and the room was black. Coraline edged forward into a small anteroom. Her face brushed against something soft. It was cloth. She reached up her hand and pushed at the cloth. It parted.
She stood blinking on the other side of the velvet curtains, in a poorly lit theatre. Far away, at the edge of the room, was a high wooden stage, empty and bare, a dim spotlight shining on to it from above.
There were seats between Coraline and the stage. Rows and rows of seats. She heard a shuffling noise, and a light came towards her, swinging from side to side. When it was closer she saw the light was coming from a torch being carried in the mouth of a large black Scottie dog, its muzzle grey with age.
"Hello," said Coraline.
The dog put the torch down on the floor and looked up at her. "Right. Let's see your ticket," it said gruffly.
"Ticket?"
"That's what I said. Ticket. I haven't got all day, you know. You can't watch the show without a ticket."
Coraline sighed. "I don't have a ticket," she admitted.
"Another one," said the dog gloomily. "Come in here, bold as anything, 'Where's your ticket?' 'Haven't got one.' I don't know …" It shook its head, then shrugged. "Come on, then."
The dog picked up the torch in its mouth and trotted off into the dark. Coraline followed. When it got near to the front of the stage it stopped and shone the torch on to an empty seat. Coraline sat down and the dog wandered off.
As her eyes got used to the darkness she realised that the other inhabitants of the seats were also dogs.
There was a sudden hissing noise from behind the stage. Coraline decided it was the sound of a scratchy old record being put on to a record player. The hissing became the noise of trumpets, and Miss Spink and Forcible came on to the stage.
Miss Spink was riding a one-wheeled bicycle, and juggling balls. Miss Forcible skipped on behind her, holding a basket of flowers. She scattered the flower petals across the stage as she went. They reached the front of the stage, and Miss Spink leapt nimbly off the unicycle, and the two old women bowed low.
All the dogs thumped their tails and barked enthusiastically. Coraline clapped politely.
Then they unbuttoned their fluffy round coats and opened them. But their coats weren't all that opened: their faces opened, too, like empty shells, and out of the old empty fluffy round bodies stepped two young women. They were thin, and pale, and quite pretty, and had black-button eyes.
The new Miss Spink was wearing green tights and high brown boots that went most of the way up her legs. The new Miss Forcible wore a white dress and had flowers in her long yellow hair.
Coraline pressed back against her seat. Miss Spink left the stage, and the noise of trumpets squealed as the gramophone needle dug its way across the record and was pulled off.
"This is my favourite bit," whispered the little dog in the seat next to her.
The other Miss Forcible picked a knife out of a box on the corner of the stage. "Is this a dagger that I see before me?" she asked.
"Yes!" shouted all the little dogs. "It is!" Miss Forcible curtseyed, and all the dogs applauded again. Coraline didn't bother clapping this time.
Miss Spink came back on. She slapped her thigh, and all the little dogs woofed.
"And now," Miss Spink said, "Miriam and I proudly present a new and exciting addendum to our theatrical exposition. Do I see a volunteer?"
The little dog next to Coraline nudged her with its front paw. "That's you," it hissed.
Coraline stood up, and walked up the wooden steps to the stage.
"Can I have a big round of applause for the young volunteer?" asked Miss Spink. The dogs woofed and squealed and thumped their tails on the velvet seats.
"Now, Coraline," said Miss Spink. "What's your name?"
"Coraline," said Coraline.
"And we don't know each other, do we?"
Coraline looked at the thin young woman with black-button eyes and shook her head, slowly.
"Now," said the other Miss Spink, "stand over here." She led Coraline over to a board by the side of the stage, and put a balloon on top of Coraline's head.
Miss Spink walked over to Miss Forcible. She blindfolded Miss Forcible's button eyes with a black scarf and put the knife into her hands. Then she turned her round three or four times and pointed her at Coraline. Coraline held her breath and squeezed her fingers into two tight fists.
Miss Forcible threw the knife at the balloon. It popped loudly, and the knife stuck into the board just above Coraline's head and twanged there. Coraline breathed out.
The dogs went wild.
Miss Spink gave Coraline a very small box of chocolates and thanked her for being such a good sport. Coraline went back to her seat.
"You were very good," said the little dog.
"Thank you," said Coraline.
Misses Forcible and Spink began juggling with huge wooden clubs. Coraline opened the box of chocolates. The little dog looked at them longingly.
"Would you like one?" she asked it.
"Yes, please," whispered the dog. "Only not toffee ones. They make me drool."
"I thought chocolates weren't very good for dogs," she said, remembering something Miss Forcible had once told her.
"Maybe where you come from," whispered the little dog. "Here, it's all we eat."
Coraline couldn't see what the chocolates were, in the dark. She took an experimental bite of one which turned out to be coconut. Coraline didn't like coconut. She gave it to the dog. "Thank you," said the dog. "You're welcome," said Coraline. Miss Forcible and Miss Spink were doing some acting. Miss Forcible was sitting on a stepladder, and Miss Spink was standing at the bottom.
"What's in a name?" asked Miss Forcible. "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
"Have you got any more chocolates?" said the dog. Coraline gave the dog another chocolate.
"I know not how to tell thee who I am," said Miss Spink to Miss Forcible.
"This bit finishes soon," whispered the dog. "Then they start folk dancing."
"How long does this go on for?" asked Coraline. "The theatre?"
"All the time," said the dog. "For ever and always."
"Here," said Coraline. "Keep the chocolates."
"Thank you," said the dog. Coraline stood up.
"See you soon," said the dog.
"Bye," said Coraline. She walked out of the theatre and back into the garden. She had to blink her eyes at the daylight.
Her other parents were waiting for her in the garden, standing side by side. They were smiling.
"Did you have a nice time?" asked her other mother. "It was interesting," said Coraline. The three of them walked back up to Coraline's other house together. Coraline's other mother stroked Coraline's hair with her long white fingers. Coraline shook her head.
"Don't do that," said Coraline.
Her other mother took her hand away.
"So," said her other father. "Do you like it here?"
"I suppose," said Coraline. "It's much more interesting than at home." They went inside.
"I'm glad you like it," said Coraline's other mother. "Because we'd like to think that this is your home. You can stay here for ever and always. If you want to."
"Hmm," said Coraline. She put her hands in her pockets and thought about it. Her fingertips touched the stone that the real Misses Spink and Forcible had given her the day before, the stone with the hole in it. "If you want to stay," said her other father. "There's only one little thing we'll have to do, so you can stay here for ever and always."
They went into the kitchen. On a china plate on the kitchen table were a spool of black cotton and a long silver needle and, beside them, two large black buttons.
"I don't think so," said Coraline.
"Oh, but we want you to," said her other mother. "We want you to stay. And it's just a little thing."
"It won't hurt," said her other father.
Coraline knew that when grown-ups told you something wouldn't hurt it almost always did. She shook her head.
Her other mother smiled brightly and the hair on her head drifted like plants under the sea. "We only want what's best for you," she said.
She put her hand on Coraline's shoulder. Coraline backed away.
"I'm going now," said Coraline. She put her hands back in her pockets. Her fingers closed around the stone with the hole in.
Her other mother's hand scuttled off Coraline's shoulder like a frightened spider.
"If that's what you want," she said.
"Yes," said Coraline.
"We'll see you soon, though," said her other father. "When you come back."
"Um," said Coraline.
"And then we'll all be together as one big happy family," said her other mother. "For ever and always."
Coraline backed away. She turned and hurried into the drawing room and pulled open the door in the corner. There was no brick wall there now—just darkness; a night-black underground darkness that seemed as if things in it might be moving.
Coraline hesitated. She turned back. Her other mother and her other father were walking towards her, holding hands. They were looking at her with their black-button eyes. Or at least she thought they were looking at her. She couldn't be sure.
Her other mother reached out her free hand and beckoned gently with one white finger. Her pale lips mouthed, "Come back soon," although she said nothing aloud.
Coraline took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness, where strange voices whispered and distant winds howled. She became certain that there was something in the dark behind her: something very old and very slow. Her heart beat so hard and so loudly she was scared it would burst out of her chest. She closed her eyes against the dark.
Eventually she bumped into something, and opened her eyes, startled. She had bumped into an armchair, in her drawing room.
The open doorway behind her was blocked by rough red bricks.

The next day the sun shone, and Coraline's mother took her into the nearest large town to buy clothes for school. They dropped her father off at the railway station. He was going into London for the day to see some people.
Coraline waved him goodbye.
They went to the department store to buy the school clothes.
Coraline saw some Day-glo green gloves she liked a lot. Her mother refused to get them for her, preferring instead to buy white socks, navy-blue school underpants, four grey blouses, and a dark grey skirt.
"But Mum, everybody at school's got grey blouses and everything. Nobody’s got green gloves. I could be the only one."
Her mother ignored her; she was talking to the shop assistant. They were talking about which kind of pullover to get for Coraline, and were agreeing that the best thing to do would be to get one that was embarrassingly large and baggy, in the hope that one day she might grow into it.
Coraline wandered off, and looked at a display of Wellington boots shaped like frogs and ducks and rabbits.
Then she wandered back.
"Coraline? Oh, there you are. Where on earth were you?"
"I was kidnapped by aliens," said Coraline. "They came down from outer space with ray guns, but I fooled them by wearing a wig and laughing in a foreign accent, and I escaped."
"Yes, dear. Now, I think you could do with some more hairclips, don't you?"
"No."
"Well, let's say half a dozen, to be on the safe side," said her mother.
Coraline didn't say anything.
In the car on the way back home, Coraline said, "What's in the empty flat?"
"I don't know. Nothing, I expect. It probably looks like our flat before we moved in. Empty rooms."
"Do you think you could get into it from our flat?"
"Not unless you can walk through bricks, dear."
"Oh."
They got home around lunchtime. The sun was shining, although the day was cold. Coraline's mother looked in the fridge, and found a sad little tomato and a piece of cheese with green stuff growing on it. There was only a crust in the bread bin.
"I'd better dash down to the shops and get some fishfingers or something," said her mother. "Do you want to come?"
"No," said Coraline.
"Suit yourself," said her mother, and left. Then she came back and got her purse and car keys and went out again.
Coraline was bored.
She flipped through a book her mother was reading about native people in a distant country; how every day they would take pieces of white silk and draw on them in wax, then dip the silks in dye, then draw on them more in wax and dye them some more, then boil the wax out in hot water, and then, finally, throw the now-beautiful cloths on a fire and burn them to ashes.
It seemed particularly pointless to Coraline, but she hoped that the people enjoyed it.
She was still bored, and her mother wasn't yet home.
Coraline got a chair and pushed it over to the kitchen door. She climbed on to the chair, and reached up. She clambered down, and got a broom from the broom cupboard. She climbed back on the chair again, and reached up with the broom.
Chink.
She climbed down from the chair and picked up the keys. She smiled triumphantly. Then she leaned the broom against the wall and went into the drawing room.
The family did not use the drawing room. They had inherited the furniture from Coraline's grandmother, along with a wooden coffee table, a side table, a heavy glass ashtray and the oil painting of a bowl of fruit. Coraline could never work out why anyone would want to paint a bowl of fruit. Other than that, the room was empty: there were no knick-knacks on the mantelpiece, no statues or clocks; nothing that made it feel comfortable or lived-in.
The old black key felt colder than any of the others. She pushed it into the keyhole. It turned smoothly, with a satisfying clunk.
Coraline stopped and listened. She knew she was doing something wrong, and she was trying to listen for her mother coming back, but she heard nothing. Then Coraline put her hand on the doorknob and turned it; and, finally, she opened the door.
It opened on to a dark hallway. The bricks had gone, as if they'd never been there. There was a cold, musty smell coming through the open doorway: it smelled like something very old and very slow.
Coraline went through the door.
She wondered what the empty flat would be like—if that was where the corridor led.
Coraline walked down the corridor uneasily. There was something very familiar about it.
The carpet beneath her feet was the same carpet they had in their flat. The wallpaper was the same wallpaper they had. The picture hanging in the hall was the same that they had hanging in their hallway at home.
She knew where she was: she was in her own home. She hadn't left.
She shook her head, confused.
She stared at the picture hanging on the wall: no, it wasn't exactly the same. The picture they had in their own hallway showed a boy in old-fashioned clothes staring at some bubbles. But now the expression on his face was different—he was looking at the bubbles as if he was planning to do something very nasty indeed to them. And there was something peculiar about his eyes.
Coraline stared at his eyes, trying to work out what exactly was different.
She almost had it when somebody said, "Coraline?"
It sounded like her mother. Coraline went into the kitchen, where the voice had come from. A woman stood in the kitchen with her back to Coraline. She looked a little like Coraline's mother. Only …
Only her skin was white as paper.
Only she was taller and thinner.
Only her fingers were too long, and they never stopped moving, and her dark-red fingernails were curved and sharp.
"Coraline?" the woman said. "Is that you?"
And then she turned round. Her eyes were big black buttons.
"Lunchtime, Coraline," said the woman.
"Who are you?" asked Coraline.
"I'm your other mother," said the woman. "Go and tell your other father that lunch is ready." She opened the door of the oven. Suddenly Coraline realised how hungry she was. It smelled wonderful. "Well, go on."
Coraline went down the hall, to where her father's study was. She opened the door. There was a man in there, sitting at the keyboard, with his back to her. "Hello," said Coraline. "I-I mean, she said to say that lunch is ready."
The man turned round.
His eyes were buttons—big and black and shiny.
"Hello, Coraline," he said. "I'm starving."
He got up and went with her into the kitchen. They sat at the kitchen table and Coraline's other mother brought them lunch. A huge, golden-brown roasted chicken, fried potatoes, tiny green peas. Coraline shovelled the food into her mouth. It tasted wonderful.
"We've been waiting for you for a long time," said Coraline's other father.
"For me?"
"Yes," said the other mother. "It wasn't the same here without you. But we knew you'd arrive one day, and then we could be a proper family. Would you like some more chicken?"
It was the best chicken that Coraline had ever eaten. Her mother sometimes made chicken, but it was always out of packets, or frozen, and was very dry, and it never tasted of anything. When Coraline's father cooked chicken he bought real chicken, but he did strange things to it, like stewing it in wine, or stuffing it with prunes, or baking it in pastry, and Coraline would always refuse to touch it on principle.
She took some more chicken.
"I didn't know I had another mother," said Coraline cautiously.
"Of course you do. Everyone does," said the other mother, her black-button eyes gleaming. "After lunch I thought you might like to play in your room with the rats."
"The rats?"
"From upstairs."
Coraline had never seen a rat, except on television. She was quite looking forward to it. This was turning out to be a very interesting day after all.
After lunch her other parents did the washing-up, and Coraline went down the hall to her other bedroom.
It was different from her bedroom at home. For a start it was painted in an off-putting shade of green and a peculiar shade of pink.
Coraline decided that she wouldn't want to have to sleep in there; but that the colour scheme was an awful lot more interesting than the one in her own bedroom.
There were all sorts of remarkable things in there she'd never seen before: wind-up angels that fluttered around the bedroom like startled sparrows; books with pictures that writhed and crawled and shimmered; little dinosaur skulls that chattered their teeth as she passed. A whole toybox filled with wonderful toys.
This is more like it, thought Coraline. She looked out of the window. Outside, the view was the same one she saw from her own bedroom: trees, fields and, beyond them, on the horizon, distant purple hills.
Something black scurried across the floor and vanished under the bed. Coraline got down on her knees and looked under the bed. Fifty little red eyes stared back at her.
"Hello," said Coraline. "Are you the rats?"
They came out from under the bed, blinking their eyes in the light. They had short, soot-black fur, little red eyes, pink paws like tiny hands, and pink, hairless tails like long, smooth worms.
"Can you talk?" she asked.
The largest, blackest of the rats shook its head. It had an unpleasant sort of smile, Coraline thought.
"Well," asked Coraline, "what do you do?"
The rats formed a circle.
Then they began to climb on top of each other, carefully but swiftly, until they had formed a pyramid with the largest rat at the top.
The rats began to sing, in high, whispery voices,
We have teeth and we have tails We have tails, we have eyes We were here before you fell you will be here when we rise.
It wasn't a pretty song. Coraline was sure she'd heard it before, or something like it, although she was unable to remember exactly where.
Then the pyramid fell apart, and the rats scampered, fast and black, towards the door.
The other crazy old man upstairs was standing in the doorway, holding a tall black hat in his hands. The rats scampered up him, burrowing into his pockets, into his shirt, up his trouser-legs, down his neck.
The largest rat climbed on to the old man's shoulders, swung up on the long grey moustache, past the big black-button eyes, and on to the top of the man's head.
In seconds the only evidence that the rats were there at all were the restless lumps under the man's clothes, forever sliding from place to place across him; and there was still the largest rat, who stared down, with glittering red eyes, at Coraline from the man's head.
The old man put his hat on, and the last rat was gone.
"Hello, Coraline," said the other old man upstairs. "I heard you were here. It is time for the rats to have their dinner. But you can come up with me, if you like, and watch them feed."
There was something hungry in the old man's button eyes that made Coraline feel uncomfortable. "No, thank you," she said. "I'm going outside to explore."
The old man nodded, very slowly. Coraline could hear the rats whispering to each other, although she couldn't tell what they were saying.
She was not certain that she wanted to know what they were saying.
Her other parents stood in the kitchen doorway as she walked down the corridor, smiling identical smiles, and waving slowly. "Have a nice time outside," said her other mother.
"We'll just wait here for you to come back," said her other father.
When Coraline got to the front door, she turned back and looked at them. They were still watching her, and waving, and smiling.

The next day it had stopped raining, but a thick white fog had lowered over the house.
"I'm going for a walk," said Coraline.
"Don't go too far," said her mother. "And dress up warmly."
Coraline put on her blue coat with a hood, her red scarf and her yellow Wellington boots.
She went out.
Miss Spink was walking her dogs. "Hello, Caroline," said Miss Spink. "Rotten weather."
"Yes," said Coraline.
"I played Portia once," said Miss Spink. "Miss Forcible talks about her Ophelia, but it was my Portia they came to see. When we trod the boards."
Miss Spink was bundled up in pullovers and cardigans, so she seemed more small and circular than ever. She looked like a large, fluffy egg. She wore thick glasses that made her eyes seem huge.
"They used to send flowers to my dressing room. They did," she said.
"Who did?" asked Coraline.
Miss Spink looked around cautiously, looking first over one shoulder and then over the other, peering into the mist as though someone might be listening.
"Men," she whispered. Then she tugged the dogs to heel and waddled off back towards the house.
Coraline continued her walk.
She was three quarters of the way around the house when she saw Miss Forcible, standing at the door to the flat she shared with Miss Spink.
"Have you seen Miss Spink, Caroline?"
Coraline told her that she had, and that Miss Spink was out walking the dogs.
"I do hope she doesn't get lost; it'll bring on her shingles if she does, you'll see," said Miss Forcible. You'd have to be an explorer to find your way around in this fog."
"I'm an explorer," said Coraline.
"Of course you are, lovey," said Miss Forcible. "Don't get lost, now."
Coraline continued walking through the garden in grey mist. She always kept in sight of the house.
After about ten minutes of walking she found herself back where she had started.
The hair over her eyes was limp and wet, and her face felt damp.
"Ahoy! Caroline!" called the crazy old man upstairs.
"Oh, hello," said Coraline.
She could hardly see the old man through the mist.
He walked down the steps on the outside of the house that led up past Coraline's front door to the door of his flat. He walked down very slowly. Coraline waited at the bottom of the steps.
"The mice do not like the mist," he told her. "It makes their whiskers droop."
"I don't like the mist much, either," admitted Coraline.
The old man leaned down, so close that the bottom of his moustache tickled Coraline's ear. "The mice have a message for you," he whispered.
Coraline didn't know what to say.
"The message is this. Don't go through the door." He paused. "Does that mean anything to you?"
"No," said Coraline.
The old man shrugged. "They are funny, the mice. They get things wrong. They got your name wrong, you know. They kept saying Coraline. Not Caroline. Not Caroline at all."
He picked up a milk bottle from the bottom step, and started back up to his attic flat.
Coraline went indoors. Her mother was working in her study. Her mother's study smelt of flowers.
"What shall I do?" asked Coraline.
"When do you go back to school?" asked her mother.
"Next week," said Coraline.
"Hmph," said her mother. "I suppose I shall have to get you new school clothes. Remind me, dear, or else I'll forget," and she went back to typing things on the computer screen.
"What shall I do?" repeated Coraline.
"Draw something." Her mother passed her a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen.
Coraline tried drawing the mist. After ten minutes of drawing she still had a white sheet of paper with
M ST
written on it in one corner, in slightly wiggly letters. She grunted and passed it to her mother.
"Mm. Very modern, dear," said Coraline's mother.
Coraline crept into the drawing room and tried to open the old door in the corner. It was locked once more. She supposed her mother must have locked it again. She shrugged.
Coraline went to see her father.
He had his back to the door as he typed. "Go away," he said cheerfully as she walked in.
"I'm bored," she said.
"Learn how to tap-dance," he suggested, without turning round.
Coraline shook her head. "Why don't you play with me?" she asked.
"Busy," he said. "Working," he added. He still hadn't turned around to look at her. "Why don't you go and bother Miss Spink and Miss Forcible?"
Coraline put on her coat and pulled up her hood and went out of the house. She went down the steps. She rang the door of Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's flat. Coraline could hear a frenzied woofing as the Scottie dogs ran out into the hall. After a while Miss Spink opened the door.
"Oh, it's you, Caroline," she said. "Angus, Hamish, Bruce, down now, lovies. It's only Caroline. Come in, dear. Would you like a cup of tea?"
The flat smelt of furniture polish and dogs.
"Yes, please," said Coraline. Miss Spink led her into a dusty little room, which she called the parlour. On the walls were black and white photographs of pretty women, and theatre programmes in frames. Miss Forcible was sitting in one of the armchairs, knitting hard.
Miss Spink poured Coraline a cup of tea in a little pink bone-china cup with a saucer, and gave her a dry Garibaldi biscuit to go with it.
Miss Forcible looked at Miss Spink, picked up her knitting, and took a deep breath. "Anyway, April. As I was saying: you still have to admit, there's life in the old dog yet," she said.
"Miriam, dear, neither of us is as young as we were."
"Madame Arcati," replied Miss Forcible. "The nurse in Romeo. Lady Bracknell. Character parts. They can't retire you from the stage."
"Now, Miriam, we agreed," said Miss Spink.
Coraline wondered if they'd forgotten she was there. They weren't making much sense; she decided they were having an argument as old and comfortable as an armchair, the kind of argument that no one ever really wins or loses, but which can go on for ever, if both parties are willing.
She sipped her tea.
"I'll read the leaves, if you want," said Miss Spink to Coraline.
"Sorry?" said Coraline.
"The tea leaves, dear. I'll read your future."
Coraline passed Miss Spink her cup. Miss Spink peered short-sightedly at the black tea leaves in the bottom. She pursed her lips.
"You know, Caroline," she said after a while, "you are in terrible danger."
Miss Forcible snorted and put down her knitting. "Don't be silly, April. Stop scaring the girl. Your eyes are going. Pass me that cup, child."
Coraline carried the cup over to Miss Forcible. Miss Forcible looked into it carefully, and shook her head, and looked into it again.
"Oh dear," she said. "You were right, April. She is in danger."
"See, Miriam," said Miss Spink triumphantly. "My eyes are as good as they ever were …"
"What am I in danger from?" asked Coraline.
Misses Spink and Forcible stared at her blankly. "It didn't say," said Miss Spink. "Tea leaves aren't reliable for that kind of thing. Not really. They're good for generalities, but not for specifics."
"What should I do then?" asked Coraline, who was slightly alarmed by this.
"Don't wear green in your dressing room," suggested Miss Spink.
"Or mention the Scottish play," added Miss Forcible.
Coraline wondered why so few of the adults she had met made any sense. She sometimes wondered who they thought they were talking to.
"And be very, very careful," said Miss Spink. She got up from her armchair and went over to the fireplace. On the mantelpiece was a small jar, and Miss Spink took off the top of the jar and began to pull things out of it. There was a tiny china duck, a thimble, a strange little brass coin, two paperclips, and a stone with a hole in it.
She passed Coraline the stone with a hole in it.
"What's it for?" asked Coraline. The hole went all the way through the middle of the stone. She held it up to the window and looked through it.
"It might help," said Miss Spink. "They're good for bad things, sometimes."
Coraline put on her coat, said goodbye to Misses Spink and Forcible, and to the dogs, and went outside.
The mist hung like blindness around the house. She walked slowly to the steps up to her family's flat, and then stopped and looked around.
In the mist, it was a ghost-world. In danger? thought Coraline to herself. It sounded exciting. It didn't sound like a bad thing. Not really.

Coraline
Neil Gaiman
I started this for Holly
I finsished it for Maddy
Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist,
but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.
—G. K. Chesterton
CORALINE DISCOVERED THE DOOR a little while after they moved into the house.
It was a very old house—it had an attic under the roof and a cellar under the ground and an overgrown garden with huge old trees in it.
Coraline's family didn't own all of the house—it was too big for that. Instead they owned part of it.
There were other people who lived in the old house.
Miss Spink and Miss Forcible lived in the flat below Coraline's, on the ground floor. They were both old and round, and they lived in their flat with a number of ageing Highland terriers who had names like Hamish and Andrew and Jock. Once upon a time Miss Spink and Miss Forcible had been actresses, as Miss Spink told Coraline the first time she met her.
"You see, Caroline," Miss Spink said, getting Coraline's name wrong, "both myself and Miss Forcible were famous actresses, in our time. We trod the boards, luvvy. Oh, don't let Hamish eat the fruitcake, or he'll be up all night with his tummy."
"It's Coraline. Not Caroline. Coraline," said Coraline.
In the flat above Coraline's, under the roof, was a crazy old man with a big moustache. He told Coraline that he was training a mouse circus. He wouldn't let anyone see it.
"One day, little Caroline, when they are all ready, everyone in the whole world will see the wonders of my mouse circus. You ask me why you cannot see it now. Is that what you asked me?"
"No," said Coraline quietly, "I asked you not to call me Caroline. It's Coraline."
"The reason you cannot see the mouse circus," said the man upstairs, "is that the mice are not yet ready and rehearsed. Also, they refuse to play the songs I have written for them. All the songs I have written for the mice to play go oompah oompah. But the white mice will only play toodle oodle, like that. I am thinking of trying them on different types of cheese."
Coraline didn't think there really was a mouse circus. She thought the old man was probably making it up.
The day after they moved in, Coraline went exploring.
She explored the garden. It was a big garden: at the very back was an old tennis court, but no-one in the house played tennis and the fence around the court had holes in it and the net had mostly rotted away; there was an old rose garden, filled with stunted, flyblown rose-bushes; there was a rockery that was all rocks; there was a fairy ring, made of squidgy brown toadstools which smelled dreadful if you accidentally trod on them.
There was also a well. Miss Spink and Miss Forcible made a point of telling Coraline how dangerous the well was, on the first day Coraline's family moved in, and warned her to be sure she kept away from it. So Coraline set off to explore for it, so that she knew where it was, to keep away from it properly.
She found it on the third day, in an overgrown meadow beside the tennis court, behind a clump of trees—a low brick circle almost hidden in the high grass. The well had been covered up by wooden boards, to stop anyone falling in. There was a small knot-hole in one of the boards, and Coraline spent an afternoon dropping pebbles and acorns through the hole, and waiting, and counting, until she heard the plop as they hit the water, far below.
Coraline also explored for animals. She found a hedgehog, and a snake-skin (but no snake), and a rock that looked just like a frog, and a toad that looked just like a rock.
There was also a haughty black cat, who would sit on walls and tree stumps, and watch her; but would slip away if ever she went over to try to play with it.
That was how she spent her first two weeks in the house—exploring the garden and the grounds.
Her mother made her come back inside for dinner, and for lunch; and Coraline had to make sure she dressed up warm before she went out, for it was a very cold summer that year; but go out she did, exploring, every day until the day it rained, when Coraline had to stay inside.
"What should I do?" asked Coraline.
"Read a book," said her mother. "Watch a video. Play with your toys. Go and pester Miss Spink or Miss Forcible, or the crazy old man upstairs."
"No," said Coraline. "I don't want to do those things. I want to explore."
"I don't really mind what you do," said Coraline's mother, "as long as you don't make a mess."
Coraline went over to the window and watched the rain come down. It wasn't the kind of rain you could go out in, it was the other kind, the kind that threw itself down from the sky and splashed where it landed. It was rain that meant business, and currently its business was turning the garden into a muddy, wet soup.
Coraline had watched all the videos. She was bored with her toys, and she'd read all her books.
She turned on the television. She went from channel to channel to channel, but there was nothing on but men in suits talking about the stock market, and schools programmes. Eventually, she found something to watch: it was the last half of a natural history programme about something called protective coloration. She watched animals, birds and insects which disguised themselves as leaves or twigs or other animals to escape from things that could hurt them. She enjoyed it, but it ended too soon, and was followed by a programme about a cake factory.
It was time to talk to her father.
Coraline's father was home. Both of her parents worked, doing things on computers, which meant that they were home a lot of the time. Each of them had their own study.
"Hello, Coraline," he said when she came in, without turning round.
"Mmph," said Coraline. "It's raining."
"Yup," said her father. "It's bucketing down."
"No," said Coraline, "it's just raining. Can I go outside?"
"What does your mother say?"
"She says, 'You're not going out in weather like that, Coraline Jones'."
"Then, no."
"But I want to carry on exploring."
"Then explore the flat," suggested her father. "Look—here's a piece of paper and a pen. Count all the doors and windows. List everything blue. Mount an expedition to discover the hot-water tank. And leave me alone to work."
"Can I go into the drawing room?" The drawing room was where the Joneses kept the expensive (and uncomfortable) furniture Coraline's grandmother had left them when she died. Coraline wasn't allowed in there. Nobody went in there. It was only for best.
"If you don't make a mess. And you don't touch anything."
Coraline considered this carefully, then she took the paper and pen and went off to explore the inside of the flat.
She discovered the hot-water tank (it was in a cupboard in the kitchen).
She counted everything blue (153).
She counted the windows (21).
She counted the doors (14).
Of the doors that she found, thirteen opened and closed. The other, the big, carved, brown wooden door at the far corner of the drawing room, was locked.
She said to her mother, "Where does that door go?"
"Nowhere, dear."
"It has to go somewhere."
Her mother shook her head. "Look," she told Coraline.
She reached up, and took a string of keys from the top of the kitchen doorframe. She sorted through them carefully and selected the oldest, biggest, blackest, rustiest key. They went into the drawing room. She unlocked the door with the key.
The door swung open.
Her mother was right. The door didn't go anywhere. It opened on to a brick wall.
"When this place was just one house," said Coraline's mother, "that door went somewhere. When they turned the house into flats, they simply bricked it up. 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 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 Gruyére cheese," he admitted.
Coraline sighed. Then she went to the freezer and got out some microwave chips and a microwave mini-pizza.
"You know I don't like recipes," she told her father, while her dinner went round and round 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 hallway. 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 in, 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 on to the drawing-room carpet: she looked like a thin giant woman.
Coraline was just wondering whether or not she ought to turn on the light when she saw the black shape edge slowly out from beneath the sofa. It paused, and then dashed silently across the carpet towards 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. Nothing but the old door that opened on to the brick wall.
She was sure that her mother had shut the door, but now it was ever so slightly open. Just a crack. Coraline went over to it and looked in. There was nothing there—just a wall, built of red bricks.
Coraline closed the old wooden door, turned out the light, and went back to bed.
She dreamed of black shapes that slid from place to place, avoiding the light, until they were all gathered together under the moon. Little black shapes with little red eyes and sharp yellow teeth. They started to sing:
We are small but we are many
We are many, we are small
We were here before you rose
We will be here when you fall.
Their voices were high and whispery and slightly whiny. They made Coraline feel uncomfortable.

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never saw before.
Say "please" before you open the latch, go through, walk down the path.
A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted front door, as a knocker, do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.
Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat nothing.
However, if any creature tells you that it hungers, feed it.
If it tells you that it is dirty, clean it.
If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain.
From the back garden you will be able to see the wild wood.
The deep well you walk past leads to Winter's realm;
there is another land at the bottom of it.
If you turn around here, you can walk back, safely;
you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.
Once through the garden you will be in the wood.
The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under-growth.
Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She may ask for something;
give it to her. She will point the way to the castle.
Inside it are three princesses.
Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.
In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve months sit about a fire, warming their feet, exchanging tales.
They may do favors for you, if you are polite.
You may pick strawberries in December's frost.
Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where you are going.
The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-man will take you.
(The answer to his question is this: If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to leave the boat. Only tell him this from a safe distance.)
If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.
Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that
witches are often betrayed by their appetites;
dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;
hearts can be well-hidden, and you betray them with your tongue.
Do not be jealous of your sister.
Know that diamonds and roses are as uncomfortable when they tumble from one's lips as toads and frogs:
colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.
Remember your name.
Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.
Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn.
Trust dreams.
Trust your heart, and trust your story.
When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.
Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).
There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is why it will not stand.
When you reach the little house, the place your journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem much smaller than you remember.
Walk up the path, and through the garden gate you never saw before but once.
And then go home. Or make a home.

The next day it had stopped raining, but a thick white fog had lowered over the house.
"I'm going for a walk," said Coraline.
"Don't go too far," said her mother. "And dress up warmly."
Coraline put on her blue coat with a hood, her red scarf and her yellow Wellington boots.
She went out.
Miss Spink was walking her dogs. "Hello, Caroline," said Miss Spink. "Rotten weather."
"Yes," said Coraline.
"I played Portia once," said Miss Spink. "Miss Forcible talks about her Ophelia, but it was my Portia they came to see. When we trod the boards."
Miss Spink was bundled up in pullovers and cardigans, so she seemed more small and circular than ever. She looked like a large, fluffy egg. She wore thick glasses that made her eyes seem huge.
"They used to send flowers to my dressing room. They did," she said.
"Who did?" asked Coraline.
Miss Spink looked around cautiously, looking first over one shoulder and then over the other, peering into the mist as though someone might be listening.
"Men," she whispered. Then she tugged the dogs to heel and waddled off back towards the house.
Coraline continued her walk.
She was three quarters of the way around the house when she saw Miss Forcible, standing at the door to the flat she shared with Miss Spink.
"Have you seen Miss Spink, Caroline?"
Coraline told her that she had, and that Miss Spink was out walking the dogs.
"I do hope she doesn't get lost; it'll bring on her shingles if she does, you'll see," said Miss Forcible. You'd have to be an explorer to find your way around in this fog."
"I'm an explorer," said Coraline.
"Of course you are, lovey," said Miss Forcible. "Don't get lost, now."
Coraline continued walking through the garden in grey mist. She always kept in sight of the house.
After about ten minutes of walking she found herself back where she had started.
The hair over her eyes was limp and wet, and her face felt damp.
"Ahoy! Caroline!" called the crazy old man upstairs.
"Oh, hello," said Coraline.
She could hardly see the old man through the mist.
He walked down the steps on the outside of the house that led up past Coraline's front door to the door of his flat. He walked down very slowly. Coraline waited at the bottom of the steps.
"The mice do not like the mist," he told her. "It makes their whiskers droop."
"I don't like the mist much, either," admitted Coraline.
The old man leaned down, so close that the bottom of his moustache tickled Coraline's ear. "The mice have a message for you," he whispered.
Coraline didn't know what to say.
"The message is this. Don't go through the door." He paused. "Does that mean anything to you?"
"No," said Coraline.
The old man shrugged. "They are funny, the mice. They get things wrong. They got your name wrong, you know. They kept saying Coraline. Not Caroline. Not Caroline at all."
He picked up a milk bottle from the bottom step, and started back up to his attic flat.
Coraline went indoors. Her mother was working in her study. Her mother's study smelt of flowers.
"What shall I do?" asked Coraline.
"When do you go back to school?" asked her mother.
"Next week," said Coraline.
"Hmph," said her mother. "I suppose I shall have to get you new school clothes. Remind me, dear, or else I'll forget," and she went back to typing things on the computer screen.
"What shall I do?" repeated Coraline.
"Draw something." Her mother passed her a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen.
Coraline tried drawing the mist. After ten minutes of drawing she still had a white sheet of paper with
M ST
written on it in one corner, in slightly wiggly letters. She grunted and passed it to her mother.
"Mm. Very modern, dear," said Coraline's mother.
Coraline crept into the drawing room and tried to open the old door in the corner. It was locked once more. She supposed her mother must have locked it again. She shrugged.
Coraline went to see her father.
He had his back to the door as he typed. "Go away," he said cheerfully as she walked in.
"I'm bored," she said.
"Learn how to tap-dance," he suggested, without turning round.
Coraline shook her head. "Why don't you play with me?" she asked.
"Busy," he said. "Working," he added. He still hadn't turned around to look at her. "Why don't you go and bother Miss Spink and Miss Forcible?"
Coraline put on her coat and pulled up her hood and went out of the house. She went down the steps. She rang the door of Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's flat. Coraline could hear a frenzied woofing as the Scottie dogs ran out into the hall. After a while Miss Spink opened the door.
"Oh, it's you, Caroline," she said. "Angus, Hamish, Bruce, down now, lovies. It's only Caroline. Come in, dear. Would you like a cup of tea?"
The flat smelt of furniture polish and dogs.
"Yes, please," said Coraline. Miss Spink led her into a dusty little room, which she called the parlour. On the walls were black and white photographs of pretty women, and theatre programmes in frames. Miss Forcible was sitting in one of the armchairs, knitting hard.
Miss Spink poured Coraline a cup of tea in a little pink bone-china cup with a saucer, and gave her a dry Garibaldi biscuit to go with it.
Miss Forcible looked at Miss Spink, picked up her knitting, and took a deep breath. "Anyway, April. As I was saying: you still have to admit, there's life in the old dog yet," she said.
"Miriam, dear, neither of us is as young as we were."
"Madame Arcati," replied Miss Forcible. "The nurse in Romeo. Lady Bracknell. Character parts. They can't retire you from the stage."
"Now, Miriam, we agreed," said Miss Spink.
Coraline wondered if they'd forgotten she was there. They weren't making much sense; she decided they were having an argument as old and comfortable as an armchair, the kind of argument that no one ever really wins or loses, but which can go on for ever, if both parties are willing.
She sipped her tea.
"I'll read the leaves, if you want," said Miss Spink to Coraline.
"Sorry?" said Coraline.
"The tea leaves, dear. I'll read your future."
Coraline passed Miss Spink her cup. Miss Spink peered short-sightedly at the black tea leaves in the bottom. She pursed her lips.
"You know, Caroline," she said after a while, "you are in terrible danger."
Miss Forcible snorted and put down her knitting. "Don't be silly, April. Stop scaring the girl. Your eyes are going. Pass me that cup, child."
Coraline carried the cup over to Miss Forcible. Miss Forcible looked into it carefully, and shook her head, and looked into it again.
"Oh dear," she said. "You were right, April. She is in danger."
"See, Miriam," said Miss Spink triumphantly. "My eyes are as good as they ever were …"
"What am I in danger from?" asked Coraline.
Misses Spink and Forcible stared at her blankly. "It didn't say," said Miss Spink. "Tea leaves aren't reliable for that kind of thing. Not really. They're good for generalities, but not for specifics."
"What should I do then?" asked Coraline, who was slightly alarmed by this.
"Don't wear green in your dressing room," suggested Miss Spink.
"Or mention the Scottish play," added Miss Forcible.
Coraline wondered why so few of the adults she had met made any sense. She sometimes wondered who they thought they were talking to.
"And be very, very careful," said Miss Spink. She got up from her armchair and went over to the fireplace. On the mantelpiece was a small jar, and Miss Spink took off the top of the jar and began to pull things out of it. There was a tiny china duck, a thimble, a strange little brass coin, two paperclips, and a stone with a hole in it.
She passed Coraline the stone with a hole in it.
"What's it for?" asked Coraline. The hole went all the way through the middle of the stone. She held it up to the window and looked through it.
"It might help," said Miss Spink. "They're good for bad things, sometimes."
Coraline put on her coat, said goodbye to Misses Spink and Forcible, and to the dogs, and went outside.
The mist hung like blindness around the house. She walked slowly to the steps up to her family's flat, and then stopped and looked around.
In the mist, it was a ghost-world. In danger? thought Coraline to herself. It sounded exciting. It didn't sound like a bad thing. Not really.