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. Nothing but the old door that opened onto 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 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 whispering and slightly whiney. They made Coraline feel uncomfortable.
Then Coraline dreamed a few commercials, and after that she dreamed of nothing at all.
II.
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 over first one shoulder and then over the other, peering into the mists as though someone might be listening.
“Men,” she whispered. Then she tugged the dogs to heel and waddled off back toward 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, luvvy,” said Miss Forcible. “Don’t get lost, now.”
Coraline continued walking through the gardens in the gray 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, hullo,” 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 stairs.
“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 bottoms of his mustache 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 of the stairs and started back up to his attic flat.
Coraline went indoors. Her mother was working in her study. Her mother’s study smelled 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