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                                  假如我来世上一遭
一扇紧锁的门被打开了，这是一扇通往另一个世界的鬼魅之门。女孩考罗琳一走进去，就发现了潜伏在门后面的秘密：在这个房子里，她有另外一个“妈妈”，这个亲切的“妈妈”有一双黑纽扣眼睛，她要把她永远地留下来，在镜子后边，她还看到了三个迷失的灵魂，那都是被困在这里许多年的孩子了。为了逃出魔爪，为了拯救自己，逃回到门那边真正的妈妈身边，她必须运用自己的智慧了……
    尼尔·盖曼(Neil Caiman)是一名移居美国的英国作家。
相貌英俊的他也以称得上是一位当代奇才，其创作的领域横跨了幻想小说、科幻小说、恐怖小说、儿童小说、漫画以及歌词。他的作品不但部部畅销，更是获奖无数。恐怖小说大师作家[url=http://baike.baidu.com/view/181697.htm]斯蒂芬·金[/url]称赞他是一个“装满了故事的宝库”。他还被《文学传词词典》列为当今世界的十大后现代作家。他与多位画家合作的漫画系列《睡魔》（Sandman），以独特的黑色幽默风格风靡世界，是许多欧美漫画迷的最爱。他的小说《星尘》（Stardust）获创神奖、《[url=http://baike.baidu.com/view/981716.htm]美国众神[/url]》（American Gods）更是获得过星云奖、雨果奖等多项荣誉。[align=center] [/align][/td][/tr][/table]

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 aging 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 mustache. 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 rosebushes; 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. On the first day Coraline's family moved in, Miss Spink and Miss Forcible made a point of telling Coraline how dangerous the well was, and they 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 itproperly.     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 knothole 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 snakeskin(but no snake), and a rockthat looked just like a frog, and a toad that looked just like a rock.     There was also a haughty black cat, who sat on walls and tree stumps and watched her but slipped 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 orMiss 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 talkshows.Eventually, she found something to watch: it was the last half of a natural history program 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 program 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 touchanything.”     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 Gruyere cheese,“ he admitted.     Coraline sighed. Then she went to the freezer andgot 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 itwas.     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 gatheredtogether 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.     Then Coraline dreamed a few commercials, and after that she dreamed of nothing at all.

搬进宅子没多久，卡萝兰就发现了那扇门。     这是一幢很老很老的宅子。屋顶有个阁楼，地底下有个地窖，还有个长满杂草灌木的园子，园子里有几株很老很老的大树。      这幢宅子不是卡萝兰一家人的，因为它太大了。卡萝兰一家只拥有宅子的—部分。这幢老屋里还住着其他人家。    斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐住在一楼的一个套间里，就在卡萝兰家楼下。她们俩都是胖乎乎的老太婆，在套间里养了一大群岁数很大的高地小猎犬，起的都是哈米什、安德鲁、约克之类的男人名字。很久很久以前，斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐还当过演员哩。头一次见面，斯平克小姐 就告诉卡萝兰了。     “告诉你，卡罗琳，”斯平克小姐把卡萝兰的名字叫错了①。“我们年轻的时候，我和福斯波尔小姐都是很有名的演员。登台表演，宝贝儿。哟，别给哈米什吃水果蛋糕，不然晚上非闹肚子不可。”     “我叫卡萝兰，不是卡罗琳。卡萝兰。”卡萝兰说。     卡萝兰楼上的阁楼套间里住的是一个长着一把大胡子的疯老头儿。他告诉卡萝兰说，他在训练一个老鼠马戏团，可又不肯让别人看。     ①卡萝兰和卡罗琳字形接近，但卡罗琳这个名字更常见。     “总有一天，小卡罗琳，等它们准备好了，到那时，全世界都会看到这个奇迹：我的老鼠马戏团。嗯，你刚才是在问我为什么这会儿不能看，对不对?”     “不，”卡萝兰小声说，“我刚才说，请您别管我叫卡罗琳了。我叫卡萝兰。”     “为什么这会儿不能看？”住在楼上的老头儿说，“因为老鼠们还没准备好，没排练好。还有，它们不肯演奏我替它们写的曲子。我替它们写的曲子是这样的：‘嘣嚓嚓，嘣嚓嚓’，可小白鼠只肯演‘滴哒哒，滴哒哒’。就是这么回事儿。我打算换一种奶酪试试。”    卡萝兰不相信真有一个老鼠马戏团，她觉得老头儿在瞎编。    搬到这儿来的第二天，卡萝兰出发探险。     她探索了园子。这是一个很大的园子，园子后面部分是个破旧的网球场。这幢宅子里谁也不打网球，所以球场周围的围栏上面全是坑坑洞洞，球网也差不多全朽了；园子里有一个很老的玫瑰花圃，里面长满乱蓬蓬、脏兮兮的玫瑰丛：还有一座假山，全是石头；还有一个蘑菇圈，一圈 软塌塌的小蘑菇，要是不小心踩上它们，那种气味别提有多难闻了。          还有一口井。卡萝兰一家人搬进来头一天，斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐就反复告诫卡萝兰，说那口井是多么多么危险，千万离它远点儿。所以卡萝兰特意要去调查调查，这样才能好好避开它。    直到第三天，卡萝兰才发现了那口井。在网球场后的一片蒿草丛里，被一簇树档着。一圈儿砖砌的井栏，都快被草丛遮没了。井口盖着几块木板，免得有谁掉下去。其中一块木板上本来有个节疤，节疤脱落以后成了一个小窟窿。卡萝兰花了一个下午的时间往窟窿里扔石子儿、橡子。 扔进去一颗，等着，心里数着数，半天才能听见落进水里的噗通一声。          动物方面，卡萝兰也作了一番探索。她发现了一只刺猬，一卷蛇蜕(不是真正的蛇)，一块模样像癞蛤蟆的石头，一只模样像石头的癞蛤蟆。     还有一只态度非常傲慢的黑猫，蹲在墙头上、树桩上，眼睛盯着卡萝兰，可只要她走过去想跟它玩，它就会哧溜一下，溜得远远的。    搬进宅子的头两星期都是这么过的：探索园子，查看环境。    每到中饭和晚饭的时候，妈妈便会把她拉回家，还逼着她每次出门前都穿得暖暖和和的，因为今年夏天天气很凉。虽然麻烦，但卡萝兰总能出门，去园子里探险。就这样过了一天又一天，最后开始下雨了，卡萝兰只好待在屋里。    “我该干什么?”卡萝兰问。     “拿本书看，”妈妈说，“看盘录像，玩玩具。烦斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐去，或者楼上的疯老头儿也行。”    “不，”卡萝兰说，“我不想去。我想去探险。”    “做什么都行，”卡萝兰的妈妈说，“只要别弄得一身脏就好。”     卡萝兰走到窗户前，看着外面的雨。这不是那种可以出去玩水的小雨，是另外一种，跟天上往下倒水似的。水一着地，马上溅得到处都是。这是那种准备干点名堂出来的雨。眼下，它干出的名堂就是把好好的园子变成一汪稠稠的泥汤。     家里的录像卡萝兰全都看过，玩具也玩厌了，她的书也都读过了。她打开电视，一个一个换频道，所有频道里全是穿西装打领带的人说着股市里的事儿，要不就是对话节目。卡萝兰好不容易才找到一个可以看看的。是个讲大自然的节目，已经过了一半，说的是一种叫做保护色的东西 。她看着动物、鸟，还有昆虫，把自个儿打扮成树叶、树枝，或者扮成其他动物，用这种办法躲开它们的对头。挺好看的，可惜一会儿就完了。接下来的节目演的是点心工厂。       该找爸爸谈谈了。     卡萝兰的爸爸在家。她父母都在电脑上工作，也就是说，他们常常在家。爸爸妈妈各自有各自的书房。    “你好吗，卡萝兰?”爸爸埋头工作，没转过身。    “嗯，”卡萝兰说，“在下雨。”    “没错儿。”爸爸说，“瓢泼大雨。”    “才不是呢。”卡萝兰说，“就是一般的雨。我能出去玩儿吗?”     “妈妈怎么说?”    “她说，卡萝兰?琼斯，这种天气不许出门。”    “那么，不行。”    “可我想接着探险。”    “那就在屋子里探险吧。”爸爸给她出主意，“对了——这儿有一张纸，一枝笔。数数有多少扇门，多少扇窗户。把所有蓝颜色的东西记下来。再找找屋子的热水槽在哪儿。别打扰我工作。”    “我可以去客厅玩儿吗?”卡萝兰的奶奶死后，留给琼斯家一批贵重家具(用起来很不舒服).这些家具都放在客厅里。爸爸妈妈平时不许她去客厅，别人也不去。客厅只是个摆样子的地方。     “只要别弄得一团糟就行。还有，什么都别碰。”    卡萝兰想了想，然后拿起纸和笔，探索屋子去了。     她找到了热水槽(就藏在厨房的一个碗碟橱里).    她数了所有蓝颜色的东西(153).    她数了窗户(21).    她数了门(14).     所有这些门中，或开或关的一共十三扇。最后一扇在客厅里面的一个角落里，很大，雕着花纹，一扇褐色的木头门。这扇门紧紧锁着。     她问妈妈：“门后面是什么?”    “什么都没有。”    “总得有什么东西吧。”    妈妈摇摇头。“看看就知道了。”她对卡萝兰说。     她找了找，从厨房门框上取下串钥匙，在一大把钥匙中间仔细挑选，最后挑出最旧、最大、最黑、锈得最厉害的一把。她们俩走进客厅，妈妈用它打开了门。     门开了。     妈妈说得对。门后面什么都没有，打开后只有一堵砖墙。     “从前，这幢宅子里只有一家人。”卡萝兰的妈妈说，“那时候，这扇门通向别的地方。后来，他们把宅子改建成一个个套间，在这儿砌了一堵墙，把门封了。墙后面是一套空房间，在宅子的另一面，现在还没卖出去。”     她关上门，把那串钥匙放回厨房门框上。    “你没锁门。”卡萝兰说。     妈妈耸耸肩，“干吗锁?”她说，“门后面反正没东西。”    卡萝兰什么都没说。    外面已经快黑了。雨还在下个不停，打在窗户上，连外面街道上来来往往的车灯都看不清了。    卡萝兰的爸爸停下工作，替大家做晚饭。     卡萝兰一脸不高兴，“爸爸，”她说，“你又在按菜谱做菜。”    “韭菜马铃薯浓汤，加上一点香蒿叶和融化的瑞士奶酪。”爸爸承认了。    卡萝兰叹了口气，打开冰箱，拿出放在微波炉里加热后吃的薯条和小披萨饼。     “你明明知道，我不喜欢你按菜谱做的菜。”她对爸爸说。微波炉里，她的晚餐转呀转的，炉门上小小的红色数字不断倒数，最后变成零。     “你尝一尝，说不定喜欢吃呢。”卡萝兰的爸爸说，可她摇摇头。     那天晚上，卡萝兰躺在床上，好长时间睡不着。雨停了，她迷迷糊糊，正要睡着，忽然听见一阵轻轻的“嗒、嗒、嗒”。她从床上坐了起来。     有动静，“吱……”    “……嘎……”     卡萝兰下了床，望望外面的过道。什么都没有。她沿着过道向下走。从爸爸妈妈的卧室里传来低低的鼾声——那是爸爸，还有呜呜噜噜说梦话的声音——那是妈妈。    卡萝兰心想：刚才说不定是做梦，不知她梦见的是什么。     有东西动了一下。     影影绰绰的，但比影子更实在一点儿，从黑乎乎的过道一窜就下去了。一小片黑东西，嗖的一下。     她希望不是蜘蛛。卡萝兰特别不喜欢蜘蛛，一看到蜘蛛就紧张。    黑东西窜进客厅，卡萝兰跟在它后面，心里有点七上八下。     客厅里一片黑，只有外面的过道透进来的一点点光。卡萝兰站在门口，在客厅地毯上映出一道长长的、歪歪扭扭的影子，好像她是个又高又瘦的女人似的。    卡萝兰犹豫着，不知道应不应该打开灯。就在这时，她看见沙发脚下慢慢爬出一个黑东西。它停下来，然后，一点儿声音都没有，飞一样穿过地毯，冲向客厅最里面的角落。    客厅那个角落里什么家具都没有。    卡萝兰打开灯。    角落里什么都没有。空空荡荡，只有那扇后面是砖墙的旧门。     她记得很清楚，妈妈已经关上了那扇门。可现在，它开了一道缝。窄窄的一道缝。卡萝兰走到门边，朝里面张望。门里什么都没有，只有一堵墙，用红砖砌成的一堵砖墙。     卡萝兰合上那扇很旧的木头门，关了灯，回床上去了。     她梦见许多小小的黑东西，躲着灯光，从一个地方偷偷摸摸溜到另一个地方。最后，它们在月亮下面会合了。小小的黑东西，长着小小的红眼睛，一口尖尖的黄牙。    它们唱了起来。         我们个子小，数目可不少。     数目虽不少，个子还是小。     看着你一步一步爬起来，     还会瞧着你往下倒。          声音又尖又细，还有点气忿忿的，让卡萝兰觉得很不舒服。    接下来，卡萝兰梦见了几个电视上放的广告。再以后，她睡熟了，什么都没梦见。

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 M T S I —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 around.     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 downstairs. 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, luvvies. It's only Caroline. Comein, dear. Would you like a cup of tea?”     The flat smelled of furniture polish and dogs.     “Yes, please,” said Coraline. Miss Spink led her into a dusty little room, which she called the parlor. On the walls were black-and-white photographs of pretty women, and theater programs in frames. Miss Forcible was sitting in one of the armchairs, knitting hard.     They poured Coraline a cup of tea in a little pink bone china cup, with a saucer. They 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.”     “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 forever, 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 shortsightedly 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, 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 general, 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 the 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 paper clips 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 good-bye 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 stairs 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 went back upstairs, her fist closed tightly around her new stone.

第二天，雨停了。但屋顶上压着一层厚厚的白雾。 　　“我出去走走。”卡萝兰说。 　　“别跑太远。”妈妈说，“多穿些衣服。” 　　卡萝兰套上她那件带兜帽的蓝外套，围上红围巾，穿上她的黄色雨靴。她出门了。 　　斯平克小姐正在遛狗。“你好，卡罗琳。”斯平克小姐说，“天气真糟，对吗？” 　　“对。”卡萝兰说。 　　“我以前演过一次波西亚。”斯平克小姐说，“福斯波尔小姐总是唠唠叨叨说她演的奥菲莉亚①，可大家来看的是我演的波西亚。那时候，我们可是登台表演哩。” 　　【①波西亚：莎士比亚戏剧《威尼斯商人》的女主角；奥菲莉亚：莎剧《哈姆雷特》的女主角。】 　　斯平克小姐浑身上下被套衫、毛衣裹得严严实实的，显得比平时更矮小、更圆滚滚的，活像一只毛茸茸的大鸡蛋。她戴着一副厚厚的眼镜，两只眼睛被镜片放得老大。 　　“从前，他们经常往我的化装间送花。真的。”她说。 　　“谁送花？”卡萝兰问。 　　斯平克小姐小心地四下张望，先从一边肩膀朝后看，再从另一边肩膀。朝大雾里窥视着，生怕有人听见似的。 　　“男人。”她悄声说。然后，她把狗拽到脚跟前，摇摇摆摆朝宅子走去。 　　卡萝兰继续散步。 　　绕着宅子走到四分之三圈的地方，她瞧见了福斯波尔小姐。福斯波尔小姐站在她和斯平克小姐合住的套房门口。 　　“见过斯平克小姐吗，卡罗琳？” 　　卡萝兰说看见过，告诉她斯平克小姐遛狗去了。 　　“但愿她别迷路才好。真要走岔了，她非发神经不可。到时候你就知道了。”福斯波尔小姐说，“这么大的雾，除非是个探险家，谁也别想找着路。” 　　“我就是个探险家。”卡萝兰说。 　　“那还用说，宝贝儿。”福斯波尔小姐说，“小心别走丢了。” 　　卡萝兰继续在一片大雾里走着，一直走进园子里。 　　因为怕迷路，她随时瞧着宅子。绕着圈子走了十分钟后，她发现自己又回到了出发的地方。 　　眼睛上边的头发湿漉漉的，紧贴在脑门上。脸上也潮乎乎的。 　　“喂！卡罗琳！”楼上的疯老头儿吆喝道。 　　“哎！”卡萝兰答应着。 　　好大的雾，她简直看不见那个疯老头儿。 　　卡萝兰家的前门外有个楼梯，从屋外通向上面。老头儿从那截楼梯上走下来。他走得很慢。卡萝兰在楼梯脚下等着。 　　“老鼠们不喜欢雾。”他对她说，“潮气弄得它们的胡子都耷拉下来了。” 　　“我也一样，不大喜欢雾。”卡萝兰承认。 　　老头儿凑得很近，胡须尖挠得卡萝兰的耳朵直痒痒。“老鼠要我给你捎个信。”他悄声说。 　　卡萝兰不知道该说什么。 　　“口信是这样的：不要进那扇门。”他顿了顿，“你明白是什么意思吗？” 　　“不明白。”卡萝兰说。 　　老头儿耸耸肩，“它们都是怪家伙，我是说老鼠。颠三倒四的，总出错儿。你知道，连你的名字都念错了，老是管你叫卡萝兰。什么卡萝兰，卡罗琳才对嘛。” 　　他从楼梯脚下拿起牛奶瓶，重新沿着楼梯朝他的阁楼套间走去。 　　卡萝兰回了自己的家。妈妈正在她的书房工作，妈妈的书房里一股鲜花味儿。 　　“我该干什么？”卡萝兰问。 　　“你什么时候开学？”妈妈问。 　　“下星期。”卡萝兰说。 　　“晤，”妈妈说，“我想，应该给你置办几套新校服。亲爱的，一定记得提醒我，不然我记不住。”她回头面对电脑屏幕，又敲打起键盘来。 　　“我该干什么？”卡萝兰又问了一遍。 　　“画点儿什么吧。”妈妈递给她一张纸，一枝圆珠笔。 　　卡萝兰想把雾气画出来。画了十分钟以后，面前还是一张白纸，只有几个字母①，歪歪扭扭的，画在一个纸角里： 　　【①原文是分离的几个字母，组成“雾”（mist）这个词。】 　　雨 　　力 　　久 　　她不满意地哼哼着，把纸递给妈妈看。 　　“哟，亲爱的，挺现代派的嘛。”卡萝兰的妈妈说。 　　卡萝兰一步一步蹭进客厅，想打开角落里的那扇旧门。门又锁上了，估计是妈妈锁的。她耸了耸肩。 　　卡萝兰去找爸爸。 　　爸爸背对着门，忙着敲打键盘。“走开！”他高高兴兴地轰她。“好无聊。”她说。 　　“学学跳踢踏舞吧。”爸爸头都没回，又出了个主意。 　　卡萝兰摇摇头。“陪我玩好吗？”她问。 　　“忙。”他说，又补充了一句，“得工作呀。”他还是没转过头来，“干吗不去磨斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐，烦她们去？” 　　卡萝兰套上外套，拉下兜帽，出门了。她走下楼梯，按响斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐的门铃。 　　卡萝兰听见屋里的苏格兰小猎犬跑来跑去，汪汪乱叫。 　　过了一会儿，斯平克小姐打开房门。 　　“噢，是你呀，卡罗琳。”她说，“安古斯，哈米什，布鲁斯，好宝贝儿们，都坐下。不认识了，是卡罗琳呀。进来，进来，亲爱的。想喝杯茶吗?” 　　套间里一大股家具的油漆味，还有狗味儿。 　　“好的，谢谢您。”卡萝兰说。斯平克小姐领着她走进一个满是灰尘的房间，她管这儿叫起居室。墙上贴着漂亮女人的黑白照片，还有装在镜框里的戏院节目单。福斯波尔坐在一把扶手椅里，手里飞快地织毛线。 　　她们用一个粉红色的骨瓷小茶杯给她斟了一杯茶，加上方糖，还给了她一块干干的夹心饼干当茶食。 　　福斯波尔小姐瞅了斯平克小姐一眼，收拾着编织活儿，深深吸了一口气。“对了，阿普里尔，我是怎么说的来着?你不能不承认，老骨头也能蹦跶一阵子。” 　　“米里亚姆，亲爱的，咱们俩谁也不是当年的年轻姑娘了。” 　　“阿卡蒂夫人，”福斯波尔小姐回答说，“《罗密欧与朱丽叶》里的奶妈，布瑞克奈夫人②。这些都是很有性格的角色。你完全可以再一次走上舞台。” 　　【②都是著名戏剧中的人物。 】 　　“听着，米里亚姆，这个问题咱们早就达成了共识。”斯平克小姐说。卡萝兰心想，她们在说什么呀，是不是忘了她也在这儿。她想明白了，两位老太太争论的肯定是个她们说过许多许多次的老话题，就跟一把坐上去最舒服不过的老扶手椅一样。那种争论谁都不可能赢，也不可能输。还有，只要大家乐意，可以永永远远争论下去。 　　她喝着杯子里的茶。 　　“我会看茶叶，想让我替你看看吗?”斯平克小姐对卡萝兰说。 　　“什么?”卡萝兰问。 　　“茶叶，亲爱的。我会用它算命。” 　　卡萝兰把她的杯子递给斯平克小姐。近视的斯平克小姐把杯子凑在眼睛跟前，仔细看杯底黑黑的茶叶片。她噘起嘴唇。 　　“知道吗，卡罗琳，”过了一会儿，她说，“你有危险了，非常危险。” 　　福斯波尔小姐哼了一声，放下编织活儿。“别傻了，阿普里尔，别吓着小姑娘。你眼力不行了。孩子，杯子给我。” 　　卡萝兰把茶杯端给福斯波尔小姐。 　　福斯波尔小姐认真看着杯里的茶叶，摇摇头，又看了一遍。 　　“哎哟，天哪。”她说，“阿普里尔，你说得对。 　　她确实有危险。” 　　“怎么样，米里亚姆？”斯平克小姐胜利地说，“我的眼力跟从前一样好……” 　　“我有什么危险？”卡萝兰问。 　　斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐愣愣地瞪着她，“茶叶没告诉我们。”斯平克小姐说，“具体分析嘛，这方面，茶叶就不中用了。它们只能说个大概，不能详详细细讲明白。” 　　“那，我应该怎么办？”卡萝兰稍微有些担心了。 　　“别在化装间穿绿色衣服。”斯平克小姐建议，“也别演跟苏格兰有关的戏。”福斯波尔小姐补充说。 　　卡萝兰觉得太奇怪了：她遇上的大人怎么都这么糊涂？有时候，她真的搞不清楚：他们到底知不知道自己在跟谁说话？ 　　“还有，一定要非常、非常小心。”斯平克小姐说。 　　她从扶手椅里站起来，走到壁炉旁。壁炉架上搁着一个小罐子，斯平克小姐打开罐子盖，把里面的东西一件一件掏出来。有一个小小的瓷鸭子、一个顶针、一个样子很奇特的铜币、两个小夹子，最后是一块中间有个洞眼的石头。 　　她把带洞眼的石头交给卡萝兰。 　　“这是干什么用的？”卡萝兰问。 　　洞眼在石头正中，穿通了。她把石头凑到眼前，从洞眼里朝窗户外面看。 　　“说不定它会帮助你。”斯平克小姐说。“这种石头能帮你对付坏东西——有时候挺管用。” 　　卡萝兰套上外套，向斯平克小姐、福斯波尔小姐和小猎犬们说再见，然后走出宅子大门。 　　厚厚的雾把宅子整个裹起来了，像在周围围了一圈百叶帘。 　　卡萝兰慢慢爬上宅子外面的楼梯，走向爸爸妈妈的房间。走了一会儿，她停住脚步，四处张望着。 　　好大的雾，像随时可能钻出妖怪来。有危险？卡萝兰心里琢磨着。听上去好像挺有趣儿，一点儿也不坏。不算真的坏事。卡萝兰继续朝楼上爬去，小拳头里紧紧攥着她新得到的石头。

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 good-bye.     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 buy them for her,preferring instead to buy white socks, navy blue school underpants, four gray blouses, and a dark gray skirt.     “But Mum, everybody at school's got gray 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 sweater 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 hopes 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 hair clips, 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 fish fingers 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 onto the chair and reached up.She got down, then 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 knickknacks 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 her 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 figure 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 around. 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 realized 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 around.     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 shoveled 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 color scheme was an awful lot more interesting than her own bedroom.     There were all sorts of remarkable things in there she'd never seen before: windup 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 toy box 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, toward 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 onto the old man's shoulders, swung up on the long gray mustache, past the big black button eyes, and onto 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 shecould not 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.     Coraline walked outside, and down the steps.

第二天，太阳出来了。卡萝兰的妈妈带她去最近的大镇上买校服。爸爸中途下车，去火车站。他今天要去伦敦见几个人。 　　卡萝兰挥手对爸爸说再见，然后跟妈妈去镇上的商店买校服。卡萝兰看中了几副绿色的荧光手套，可妈妈不肯给她买。她想买的是白袜子、学校女生穿的海军蓝内衣裤、四件灰色衬衣、一件深灰色的短裙。 　　“妈妈，这些东西，灰衬衣什么的，学校里每个人都穿。没人有绿手套，只有我一个人有。” 　　妈妈不理她，忙着跟售货员说话。两个人商量应该给卡萝兰买哪种毛线衫，最后定下一种松松垮垮的，大得让人难堪。她们觉得等卡萝兰个子长高以后，这件衣服正合适。 　　卡萝兰逛来逛去，看放在架子上的一排雨靴。雨靴做成各种小动物的样子，有青蛙，有鸭子，有兔子。她又溜达回来。 　　“卡萝兰？哦，原来你在这儿。跑哪儿去了？” 　　“我刚才被外星人绑架了。”卡萝兰说，“他们是从外太空来的，拿着激光熗。可我还是把他们骗了。我戴上假发，装出外国口音哈哈笑，就逃出来了。” 　　“好啦，亲爱的。我觉得你应该多用几个发卡。你说呢？”“不。” 　　“好，咱们还是保险点，买半打。”妈妈说。 　　卡萝兰什么都没说。 　　开车回家的路上，卡萝兰问：“那套没人买的房子里有什么？” 　　“我不知道，估计什么都没有吧。多半跟咱们那套房子一样，我是说咱们刚刚搬进来的时候。几个空房间。” 　　“你能从咱们的套间进到那套房子里吗？” 　　“不能，除非你能穿过墙壁走过去，亲爱的。” 　　“噢。” 　　差不多到吃午饭的时候，她们回了家。太阳亮晃晃的，但天气还是很凉。卡萝兰的妈妈打开冰箱瞧了瞧，只找到一个小得可怜的番茄，一片上面长了一层绿东西的奶酪。面包篮里只剩下一个硬壳面包。 　　“我得赶紧去商店跑一趟，买点儿炸鱼条什么的。”妈妈说，“想一块儿去吗？” 　　“不想。”卡萝兰说。 　　“随你吧。”妈妈说完，走了。紧接着又回来了，拿上钱包和车钥匙，又出门了。 　　卡萝兰觉得无聊极了。 　　她胡乱翻着妈妈正在念的一本书，讲的是一个遥远国家的事。当地的人拿一块白布，用蜡在上面画画，再把画了画的布浸到染料里，然后用蜡在上面画更多的画，重新浸在染料里，最后把布放在热水里煮，把上面的蜡煮掉，拿出来以后就成了一块漂亮的料子。他们这才把这块料子放在火上，一把火烧成灰。卡萝兰觉得这么做简直没道理，她希望那些人做得开心。她还是无聊，妈妈又老是不回来。 　　卡萝兰把一把椅子推到厨房门边，站在椅子上伸手朝上够。够不着。她跳下椅子，从扫帚柜里拿出一把扫帚，重新爬上椅子，用扫帚朝门框上一扫。 　　哗啦。她爬下椅子，从地上拾起钥匙，胜利地笑了。接着，她把扫帚倚着墙边放好，走进客厅。 　　家里人根本不用这间客厅。这里的家具都是从卡萝兰的奶奶那儿继承来的。有一张木头咖啡桌，一张靠墙桌，一个沉甸甸的玻璃烟灰缸，还有一幅油画，画的是一碗水果。卡萝兰不明白为什么有人要画一碗水果。除了这些东西以外，这间房子空着。壁炉架上没有小摆设，没有雕像，没有钟，没有一点儿东西让人觉得舒服，想在这间屋子里住。 　　这是一把老钥匙，黑乎乎的，握在手里冰凉，比别的钥匙凉得多。她把钥匙插进锁孔。门锁发出让人高兴的喀嚓一声，顺顺当当打开了。卡萝兰停住脚步，竖起耳朵听。她知道不应该开这扇门，想听听妈妈回来没有。她什么动静都没听见。 　　卡萝兰这才伸手握住门把手，一转。门开了。 　　打开的房门后面是一条黑黢黢的过道，原来的砖墙连影子都瞧不见，好像从来没有那堵墙似的。过道里传来一股冷飕飕的霉味儿，闻着像一种非常非常老、动作非常非常慢的东西。卡萝兰走了进去。 　　她心想，不知那套空房间是什么样儿一如果这条过道真的通向那儿的话。卡萝兰提心吊胆地沿着过道向前走，总觉得这个地方十分熟悉。脚下铺着地毯，她自己房间里铺的地毯就是这一种；墙纸也是家里用的那种墙纸；过道墙壁上挂着画，和她家里挂在过道上的画一模一样。她知道她这是在什么地方：她在她自个儿的房间里。她哪儿都没去。她摇晃着脑袋，糊涂了。 　　她盯着墙上的画：不，跟家里挂的并不完全一样。 　　他们自家过道上的画上面是个男孩子，穿着老式衣服，盯着一串水泡出神。可在这里，他脸上的表情变了——他望着水泡，好像正打算对这些水泡干出什么非常坏的坏事似的。还有他的眼睛，总觉得有点不对劲。卡萝兰盯着他的眼睛，使劲琢磨到底是哪儿不对劲。 　　就在她刚要琢磨出来的时候，有人叫了一声，“卡萝兰？”声音像她的妈妈。 　　卡萝兰走进厨房，声音就是打这儿来的。一个女人站在厨房里，背对卡萝兰。背影有点像卡萝兰的妈妈，只是……只是，她的皮肤太白，白得像纸一样。 　　只是，她高了些，瘦了些。只是，她的指头长了些，不停地动弹。指甲是暗红色的，有点卷，尖尖的。 　　“卡萝兰，”那女人说，“是你吗？” 　　她转过身来。她的一双眼睛是两只又大又黑的纽扣。 　　“吃午饭了，卡萝兰。” 　　“你是谁？”卡萝兰问。 　　“我是你的另一个妈妈。”女人说，“去告诉你的另一个爸爸，说午饭做得了。”她打开烤箱门。 　　忽然间，卡萝兰发现自己饿坏了。味道真香啊。 　　“快去呀。” 　　卡萝兰沿着过道，朝爸爸书房的方向走。她推开房门。书房里有个男人，坐在键盘前，背对着她。 　　“你好，”卡萝兰说，“我——我是说，她说午饭做得了。” 　　那个男人转过身来。他的眼睛是两只纽扣，又大又黑，亮晶晶的。 　　“你好，卡萝兰。”他说，“我都快饿死了。” 　　他站起来，和她一块儿走进厨房。 　　他们在餐桌边坐下，卡萝兰的另一个妈妈端上午餐。一只很大的鸡，烤得黄铮铮的，配着炸马铃薯，煮小青豆。 　　卡萝兰大口大口吃着。好吃极了。 　　“我们一直在等你，等了好长时间。”卡萝兰的另一个爸爸说。 　　“等我？” 　　“对。”另一个妈妈说，“没有你，这儿不像个家的样子。可我们知道，你总有一天会来的，我们会组成一个非常好的家庭。再来点鸡肉？” 　　这是卡萝兰吃过的最好吃的烤鸡。她的妈妈有时候也做烤鸡，但鸡总是真空包装，要不就是冻鸡，肉干巴巴的，什么滋味都没有。要是换了卡萝兰的爸爸做菜，他会买真正的鸡，可做法稀奇古怪。比如把鸡放在葡萄酒里炖，往鸡肚子里塞李子，要不就是烤之前涂许多面粉。一般说来，卡萝兰碰都不要碰。 　　她又来了点鸡肉。 　　“我以前怎么不知道还有另一个妈妈？”卡萝兰小心地问。 　　“你当然知道，每个人都有另一个妈妈。”另一个妈妈说，黑纽扣眼睛一闪一闪的，“吃完午饭以后，你可以在你房间里和老鼠玩一会儿。” 　　“老鼠？” 　　“楼上的老鼠。” 　　卡萝兰只在电视上见过老鼠，从来没有当真见过一只。她巴不得能跟老鼠玩。看来，今天其实过得蛮有意思。 　　午饭吃完后，她的另一个爸爸妈妈洗碗碟，卡萝兰从过道回她的卧室。她的另一间卧室。 　　另一间卧室和家里的卧室不一样，比如，它的颜色是一种让人不太舒服的绿色，还带点怪里怪气的粉红。 　　卡萝兰想明白了，她不喜欢在这间屋子里睡觉。可这间卧室的颜色比她自己的卧室有意思多了。 　　这里好玩的东西多极了，她一辈子都没见过：拧上发条就能飞的小天使，在卧室里扑腾着，像吓得到处乱飞的麻雀；彩画书，书一动，上面的画就变来变去，动个不停；小小的恐龙脑袋，她一走过，两排牙齿就会叭地一下咬紧。还有一个大玩具盒，里面装满各种各样的有趣玩具。 　　有个黑东西飞快地跑过地板，钻进床底下不见了。 　　卡萝兰跪下来，朝床底下张望。五十只小小的红眼睛瞪着她。 　　“你们好，”卡萝兰说，“你们是老鼠吗？” 　　它们从床底下钻出来。外面太亮，它们一个个直眨巴眼睛。它们的毛短短的，黑黑的。长着小红眼睛。 　　粉红的小爪子和很小很小的手一样。背后拖着一根粉红色的尾巴，上面没长毛，像长长的、光溜溜的虫子。 　　“你们会说话吗？”她问。 　　个子最大、毛最黑的老鼠摇摇头。卡萝兰心想，它脸上的笑容真不讨人喜欢。 　　“那，”卡萝兰问，“你们会什么？” 　　老鼠们围成一个圈子。 　　然后，老鼠们玩起了叠罗汉，一些老鼠垫底，另一些爬到它们背上。老鼠们很小心，动作却一点也不慢。最后成了一座金字塔，那只最大的大老鼠站在塔顶。 　　它们唱了起来，声音又尖又细，颤巍巍的。 　　我们有牙齿，我们有尾巴。 　　我们有尾巴，我们有眼睛。 　　我们早来了，在你倒下前。 　　你就瞧着吧，瞧我们站起来。 　　这首歌不好听。卡萝兰肯定自己以前听过这首歌，或者是另外一首差不多的歌。可她记不起在哪儿听的。 　　就在这时，金字塔塌下来。老鼠们一哄而散，快极了，一片黑，朝门口跑去。 　　另一个楼上的疯老头儿站在门口，两手捧着一只黑色的高帽子。老鼠们乱哄哄爬到他身上，扎进他的口袋，溜进他的衬衣，拱上他的裤腿，钻入他的衣领。最大的那只爬上老头儿的肩膀，揪着他长长的灰白色大胡子，一荡，荡过那双又大又黑的纽扣眼睛，跳上老头儿头顶。老头儿把帽子朝头上一扣，大老鼠不见了。 　　“你好，卡萝兰。”另一个楼上的老头儿说，“我听说你来了。老鼠们该吃饭了，不过你可以跟我上去，瞧它们开饭。想去吗？” 　　老头儿的纽扣眼睛里一股馋痨劲儿，卡萝兰有点害怕。 　　“不，谢谢您。”她说，“我要去宅子外面探险。” 　　老头儿很慢很慢地点点头。卡萝兰听见老鼠们叽叽喳喳交头接耳，她听不懂它们在说什么。 　　她也不知道自己究竟想不想听懂它们在说什么。 　　她沿着过道向外走，她的另一个爸爸和妈妈站在厨房门口，脸上的笑容一模一样，慢慢地向她招手。 　　“去外头好好玩。”她的另一个妈妈说。 　　“我们就在这儿，等你回来。”她的另一个爸爸说。 　　卡萝兰走到大门口，回头一看，他们还站在那儿，脸上挂着笑，慢慢地向她招手。卡萝兰走出大门，走下楼梯。

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?” 　　"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. 　　 　　She was home.

第四章    从外面看，这幢宅子也和她家那幢宅子一模一样。     或者说，差不多一模一样：斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐的门上挂着许多红红蓝蓝的小灯泡，一闪一闪，拼出字来。灯光绕着房门跑，追来追去。一开一关，灯光跑了一圈又一圈。先拼出一个词：“神奇！”然后变成另一个词：“引人入胜”，最后变成：“辉煌！！！”    太阳很亮，天气很冷，跟她刚刚离开的家一样。     后面很有礼貌地轻轻咳了一声。     她转过身。旁边的墙头上蹲着一只大黑猫，正是她在自家园子里见过的那只猫。    “下午好。”猫说。     声音很怪，像直接在她的脑子里响，那些字眼好像是她自己想出来的。只不过是男人的声音，不是小女孩的。    “你好。”卡萝兰说，“我在家里的园子里也见过一只猫，跟你长得很像。你准是……他们这儿是怎么说的来着?另一只猫?”    猫摇摇头，“不。”它说，“我才不是什么另一个呢，我就是我。”它一偏脑袋，绿眼睛亮晶晶的，“人到处跑。我们猫不一样，守着一个地方不动窝。懂我的意思吗?”    “差不多吧。可是，如果你就是我在家里见过的那只猫，你怎么会说话?”    猫跟人不同，没有肩膀。可这只猫却耸了耸肩，先从尾巴梢动起，一下子就到了猫胡子。“我会说话。”     “我们家那儿的猫不会说话。”    “不会?”猫说。    “不会。”卡萝兰说。     猫轻轻一跳，从墙头跳到卡萝兰脚边的草丛里，吓了她一跳。    “唔，这些事，你是专家。”猫冷冷地说，“说到底，我懂什么?我只不过是只猫。”    它走开了，脑袋和尾巴高高翘着，傲慢极了。    “回来。”卡萝兰说，“你回来好吗?我错了，对不起。”     猫停下脚步，蹲下，开始细心地洗脸，不理睬卡萝兰。     “我们……你知道，我们可以交朋友。”卡萝兰说。     “我们还可以变成两只品种古怪的非洲大象呢。”    猫说，“可我们没有变成大象。”它扫了卡萝兰一眼，很快加上一句，“至少我没有。”     卡萝兰叹了口气。     “求你了。你叫什么名字?”卡萝兰问猫， “你瞧，我叫卡萝兰。”     猫慢慢地伸了个长长的懒腰，张开嘴打了个哈欠，露出漂亮的粉红色舌头。“猫没有名字。”它说。    “没有吗?”卡萝兰说。     “没有。”猫说，“告诉你，你们人有名字，因为你们不知道自个儿是谁。我们知道自个儿是谁，所以用不着名字。”    这只猫真让人生气，自高自大，卡萝兰心想。好像它觉得自个儿是全世界最重要的东西似的，除了它以外，别的什么都不重要。    她一半儿想骂它一顿，另一半儿又想对它客客气气。最后，客客气气这一半儿赢了。     “请问，这是什么地方?”    猫很快地四周瞧了瞧。“这个地方就是这里。”猫说。     “这我知道。嗯，你是怎么来这儿的?”    “跟你一样，走来的呗。”猫说，“就像这样。”     卡萝兰望着猫慢慢走过草坪，走到一棵树后不出来了。卡萝兰到树后一瞧，猫走了，不见了。    她回头朝宅子走去。后面很有礼貌地轻轻咳了一声。是那只猫。    “顺便说一句，”它说，“你有必要采取一点保护措施。要是换了我，我就会这么做。”    “保护?”     “我就是这么说的。”猫说，“再说——”     它不作声了，专心盯着一个卡萝兰看不见的东西看。    接着，它低低趴下，慢慢向前蹭，好像在跟踪一只看不见的老鼠。突然间，它尾巴一甩，猛地冲进树林。    钻进树丛不见了。    卡萝兰不知道猫究竟是什么意思。    她也不知道家那边的猫是不是也会说话，只不过不肯说。或许，它们只能在这里说话。也不知道这里究竟是哪里。 斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐的大门口有一段砖头台阶。卡萝兰走上台阶。门上的红蓝灯泡一开一关，闪个不停。     门没锁，开着一道窄缝。她在门上敲了敲。才敲一下，门就开了。卡萝兰走进屋。     这是个黑乎乎的房间，一股灰尘和天鹅绒的味儿。     房门在她身后合上，房间里一点光都没有。卡萝兰一步一步朝前挪，走进一个小房间，脸碰上了一件软乎乎的东西。是块布。她伸出手，一撩。布分开了。    她站在一幅天鹅绒布帘的另一面，直眨巴眼睛。这是个戏院，灯光很暗。房间另一头有个高高的木头戏台，上面光光的，什么都没有。戏台上面很高的地方有一盏聚光灯，灯光照在戏台上。    卡萝兰和戏台之间是戏院的座位，一排又一排。她听见脚步声，一道灯光晃呀晃地，朝她过来了。走近了才发现是个手电筒，叼在一只又大又黑的高地小猎犬嘴里。这只狗已经很老了，狗嘴一圈儿都变灰了。    “你好。”卡萝兰说。     狗把手电筒放在地板上，抬头望着她。“好了，给咱瞧瞧你的票。”它粗声粗气地说。     “票?”    “我就是这么说的。票。我可没时间跟你蘑菇。看戏不能没票。”    卡萝兰叹了口气。“我没有票。”她承认说。    “又来一个蹭戏的。”狗气恼地说，“大摇大摆走进来。 ‘你的票呢?’ ‘没有票。’拿你怎么办……”它摇着头，接着一耸肩，“进来吧。”    它叼起手电筒，迈着小碎步，走进黑影。卡萝兰跟着它走到戏台前。它停住脚步，电筒朝一个空座位一照。卡萝兰坐下，狗溜溜达达走开了。     过了一会儿，眼睛适应了黑乎乎的戏院。她发现别的座位坐的也是狗。    戏台上忽然响起一阵沙沙声。卡萝兰半天才听明白，这是留声机放出的老唱片的声音。沙沙声变成了一片呜里哇啦的喇叭声。斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐出现在戏台上。    斯平克小姐蹬着一辆只有一个轮子的自行车，手里抛着几个小球。福斯波尔小姐蹦蹦跳跳跟在后面，挽着个花篮，一路撒着花。她们来到戏台中间，斯平克小姐利索地跳下独轮自行车，两个老太太弯腰鞠了个大躬。     戏院的狗全都砰砰砰甩着尾巴，兴奋地汪汪叫。卡萝兰有礼貌地拍手鼓掌。     两个老太太裹着毛茸茸的大衣，圆滚滚的。她们解开纽扣，敞开大衣。敞开的不单是大衣，她们的脸也打开了，像两个用胖乎乎的老太婆做成的空壳。空壳里跳出两个年轻女人，瘦瘦的，白白的，挺漂亮。脸上是两双黑黑的纽扣眼睛。    新的斯平克小姐穿了一身绿色紧身衣，高高的褐色靴子，差不多整条腿都套进去了。新的福斯波尔小姐穿着白裙子，长长的黄头发上戴着花儿。    卡萝兰向后一仰，靠在椅背上。    斯平克小姐退场。哇啦哇啦的喇叭声越来越尖，像留声机的针头在唱片上使劲刮。喇叭声停下来。     “接下来是我最喜欢的节目。”旁边座位上的小狗悄声对她说。    另一个福斯波尔小姐从戏台角落的一个盒子里拿出一把刀。“在我眼前的是一把匕首吗?”她问。    “是！”小狗们汪汪大叫，“是！”     福斯波尔小姐行了个屈膝礼，小狗们重新欢呼起来。这一次，卡萝兰不想鼓掌。    斯平克小姐又回来了。她拍打着大腿，下面的汪汪声响成一片。     “现在，”斯平克小姐说，“米里亚姆和我将骄傲地向大家展示我们的新节目。有没有谁自愿登台?，，邻座的小狗用前爪推了推卡萝兰，“说你呢。”它嘶嘶地说。     卡萝兰站起来，踏着木梯子走上戏台。    “请大家为这位年轻的自愿者鼓掌！”斯平克小姐大声说。下面响起一片汪汪汪、咯咯咯，还有尾巴敲打天鹅绒椅垫的噗噗声。     “现在，卡萝兰，”斯平克小姐说，“请问你叫什么名字?”    “卡萝兰。”卡萝兰说。    “咱们从前没见过面，不认识，对吧?”    卡萝兰盯着这个瘦瘦的、脸上一双黑纽扣眼睛的年轻女人，慢慢摇了摇头。     “现在，”另一个斯平克小姐说，“请站过来。”     她领着卡萝兰站到戏台边的一块木板前面，把一个气球放在卡萝兰头顶。     斯平克小姐走到福斯波尔小姐身旁，用一块黑围巾蒙上福斯波尔小姐的纽扣眼睛，再把刀放在她手里。    接着，她把福斯波尔小姐转了三四圈，最后扶着她面对卡萝兰站好。卡萝兰屏住呼吸，两手紧紧握成两个拳头。     福斯波尔小姐嗖的一声，把刀掷向气球。气球砰的炸了，刀子紧贴卡萝兰的头，扎在木板上，晃晃悠悠的。卡萝兰这才吐出一口大气儿。    下面的狗乐得发疯。     斯平克小姐给了卡萝兰很小一盒巧克力，谢谢她，说她表现得真好。卡萝兰回到自己的座位上。     “你真棒。”邻座小狗说。    “谢谢。”卡萝兰说。    福斯波尔小姐和斯平克小姐开始把几只木瓶子朝空中扔，一边扔，一边接。卡萝兰打开巧克力盒。小狗望着盒子，满脸渴望。    “来一块?”她对小狗说。     “唷，太好了。”小狗低声说，“只是别要太妃糖。吃了太妃糖，我会淌口水，怎么都止不住。”    “我还以为狗不能吃巧克力呢。”她说。福斯波尔小姐有一次这么告诉她来着。     “你来的地方说不定真的不能吃。”小狗悄声说，“在这儿，我们只吃巧克力。”     没有灯光，卡萝兰看不清盒子里有哪几种巧克力。    她挑出一颗，试着咬一口，结果发现是可可巧克力。     卡萝兰不喜欢吃可可，她把这一颗送给小狗。     “谢谢你。”小狗说。    “不客气。”卡萝兰说。     福斯波尔小姐和斯平克小姐正在戏台上演一出什么戏。福斯波尔小姐坐在一架梯子上，斯平克小姐站在梯子下。     “名字本来是没有意义的；”福斯波尔小姐说，“我们叫做玫瑰的这一种花，要是换了个名字，它的香味还是同样的芬芳。①”     “巧克力还有吗?”小狗问。     ①莎士比亚戏剧《罗密欧与朱丽叶》，译文出自朱生豪译本。下同。    卡萝兰又给了它一块巧克力。    “我没法告诉你我叫什么名字。”斯平克小姐对福斯波尔小姐说。    “这一节不长，很快就完。”小狗低声说，“接下来她们会跳土风舞。”     “这地方开了多久?”卡萝兰问，“我是说戏院。”    “早就有了，”小狗说，“一直都有。”    “这儿，”卡萝兰说，“一盒都给你。”    “太谢谢了。”小狗说。卡萝兰站起来。    “待会儿见。”小狗说。     “再见。”卡萝兰说。她走出戏院，走进园子。外面好亮，她眨了好几下眼睛。     她的另一个爸爸和妈妈在园子里等她，肩并肩站着，脸上挂着笑。     “玩得开心吗?”她的另一个妈妈问。     “挺有意思的。”卡萝兰说。     三个人一块儿朝卡萝兰的另一个家走去。另一个妈妈用长长的指头抚着卡萝兰的头发。卡萝兰一晃脑袋，“不喜欢。”她说。     另一个妈妈的手拿开了。    “好了，”另一个爸爸说，“你喜欢这儿吗?”     “还行吧。”卡萝兰说，“比家里有趣多了。”    他们进了屋。     “你喜欢这儿，我真高兴。”卡萝兰的妈妈说，“我们喜欢把这儿当成你的家。只要你愿意，你可以一直待下去，永远不离开。”     “嗯。”卡萝兰说。她把两只手插进口袋里，好好想了想。她的手碰到了真正的斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐昨天送给她的那块中间带洞眼的小石头。     “要是你想留在这儿，”她的另一个爸爸说，“咱们只需要办一件小事。办完以后，你就可以一直留在这儿了。”    他们走进厨房。餐桌上摆着一个瓷盘，上面放着一卷黑色棉线，一根长长的银针。这两样东西旁边，是两颗又大又黑的纽扣。     “我不乐意。”    “噢，可我们希望这么做。”她的另一个妈妈说，“我们盼着你留下来。这只是一件很小的小事。”    “不疼。”她的另一个爸爸说。    卡萝兰知道，只要大人告诉你做什么事不疼，一准疼得要命。她摇了摇头。    她的另一个妈妈高兴地笑起来，她的头发晃来晃去，像长在海底、飘来飘去的海草。“我们做的一切都是为你好。”她说。    她伸出手，放在卡萝兰的肩膀上。卡萝兰向后退了一步。    “我要走了。”卡萝兰说，又把手插进口袋，握住那块有洞眼的石头。     另一个妈妈的手一下子从卡萝兰肩膀上拿开，慌里慌张的，像吓了一跳的蜘蛛。     “你真的想走?”她问。    “对。”卡萝兰说。    “那么，再见。用不了多久，咱们还会见面的。”     她的另一个爸爸说，“等你回来的时候。”     “嗯。”卡萝兰说。     “到时候，我们三个人就是一个开开心心的家。”    她的另一个妈妈说，“开开心心过日子，一直过下去。”     卡萝兰转身走了。拐一个弯，急急忙忙走进客厅，拉开角落里的门。这一次，门后面没有砖墙，只有一片黑。伸手不见五指，像埋在地底下那种黑。卡萝兰觉得里面有什么东西在动。     卡萝兰拿不定主意。她转过身。她的另一个妈妈和另一个爸爸正朝她走过来，两个人手拉着手，用他们的黑纽扣眼睛望着她。至少，卡萝兰觉得他们是在看她，她说不准。    她的另一个妈妈伸出那只空着的手，向她打招呼，一根白白的指头轻轻钩着。她白得像纸一样的嘴张开了，“记得不久回来呀。”可又好像没发出声音。     卡萝兰深深吸了一口气，鼓足勇气，踏进门去。一片黑暗中，好像有奇怪的声音，不住说着悄悄话，远处还有呜呜的风声。     她越来越肯定，就在她背后，一片漆黑中，有什么东西跟着她。一种非常非常老、动作非常非常慢的东西。她的心脏怦怦直跳，真响，她担心胸口会不会进开。她闭上眼睛，不看四周的黑暗。     最后，她一头碰上了什么。她睁开眼睛，吓了一跳。碰到的原来是一把扶手椅，放在她家的客厅里。     身后的过道刚才还开着，这会儿已经被一堵粗糙的红砖墙堵死了。    她回家了。

第五章 　　Coraline locked the door of the drawing room with the cold black key. 　　 　　She went back into the kitchen, and climbed on to a chair. She tried to put the bunch of keys back on top of the door again. She tried four or five times before she was forced to accept that she just wasn't big enough, and she put them down on the counter next to the door. 　　 　　Her mother still hadn't returned from her shopping expedition. 　　 　　Coraline went to the freezer and took out the spare loaf of frozen bread in the bottom compartment. She made herself some toast, with jam and peanut butter. She drank a glass of water. 　　 　　She waited for her parents to come back. 　　 　　When it began to get dark, Coraline microwaved herself a frozen pizza. 　　 　　Then Coraline watched television. She wondered why grown-ups gave themselves all the good programmes, with all the shouting and running around in. 　　 　　After a while she started yawning. Then she undressed, brushed her teeth and put herself to bed. 　　 　　In the morning she went into her parents' room, but their bed hadn't been slept in, and they weren't around. She ate tinned spaghetti for breakfast. 　　 　　For lunch she had a block of cooking chocolate and an apple. The apple was yellow and slightly shrivelled, but it tasted sweet and good. 　　 　　For tea she went down to see Misses Spink and Forcible. She had three digestive biscuits, a glass of limeade, and a cup of weak tea. The limeade was very interesting. It didn't taste anything like limes. It tasted bright green and vaguely chemical. Coraline liked it enormously. She wished they had it at home. 　　 　　"How are your dear mother and father?" asked Miss Spink. 　　 　　"Missing," said Coraline. "I haven't seen either of them since yesterday. I'm on my own. I think I've probably become a single child family." 　　 　　"Tell your mother that we found the Glasgow Empire press clippings we were telling her about. She seemed very interested when Miriam mentioned them to her." 　　 　　"She's vanished under mysterious circumstances," said Coraline, "and I believe my father has as well." 　　 　　"I'm afraid we'll be out all day tomorrow, Caroline lovey," said Miss Forcible. "We'll be staying with April's niece in Royal Tunbridge Wells." 　　 　　They showed Coraline a photographic album, with photographs of Miss Spink's niece in it, and then Coraline went home. 　　 　　She opened her money box and walked down to the supermarket. She bought two large bottles of limeade, a chocolate cake, and a new bag of apples, and went back home and ate them for dinner. 　　 　　She cleaned her teeth, and went into her father's office. She woke up his computer and wrote a story. 　　 　　CORALINE'S STORY 　　 　　THERE WAS A GIRL HER NAME WAS APPLE. 　　SHE USED TO DANCE A LOT. SHE DANCED 　　AND DANCED UNTIL HER FEET TURND 　　INTO SOSSAJES. THE END. 　　 　　She printed out the story and turned off the computer. 　　 　　Then she drew a picture of the little girl dancing underneath the words on the paper. 　　 　　She ran herself a bath with too much bubble bath in it, and the bubbles ran over the side and went all over the floor. She dried herself, and the floor as best she could, and went to bed. 　　 　　Coraline woke up in the night. She went into her parents' bedroom, but the bed was made and empty. The glowing green numbers on the digital clock glowed 3:12 a.m. 　　 　　All alone, in the middle of the night, Coraline began to cry. There was no other sound in the empty flat. 　　 　　She climbed into her parents' bed, and, after a while, she went back to sleep. 　　 　　Coraline was woken by cold paws batting her face. She opened her eyes. Big green eyes stared back at her. It was the cat. 　　 　　"Hello," said Coraline. "How did you get in?" 　　 　　The cat didn't say anything. Coraline got out of bed. She was wearing a long T-shirt and pyjama bottoms. "Have you come to tell me something?" 　　 　　The cat yawned, which made its eyes flash green. 　　 　　"Do you know where Mummy and Daddy are?" 　　 　　The cat blinked at her slowly. 　　 　　"Is that a yes?" 　　 　　The cat blinked again. Coraline decided that that was indeed a yes. "Will you take me to them?" 　　 　　The cat stared at her. Then it walked out into the hall. She followed. It walked the length of the corridor and stopped down at the very end, where a full-length mirror hung. The mirror had been, a long time before, the inside of a wardrobe door. It had been hanging there on the wall when they moved in, and, although Coraline's mother had spoken occasionally of replacing it with something newer, she never had. 　　 　　Coraline turned on the light in the hall. 　　 　　The mirror showed the corridor behind her; that was only to be expected. But also reflected in the mirror were her parents. They stood awkwardly in the reflection of the hall. They seemed sad and alone. As Coraline watched, they waved to her, slowly, with limp hands. Coraline's father had his arm around her mother. 　　 　　In the mirror Coraline's mother and father stared at her. Her father opened his mouth and said something, but she could hear nothing at all. Her mother breathed on the inside of the mirror-glass, and quickly, before the fog faded, she wrote: 　　 　　SU PLEH 　　 　　with the tip of her forefinger. The fog on the inside of the mirror faded, and so did her parents, and now the mirror reflected only the corridor, and Coraline, and the cat. 　　 　　"Where are they?" Coraline asked the cat. The cat made no reply, but Coraline could imagine its voice, dry as a dead fly on a windowsill in winter, saying, Well, where do you think they are? 　　 　　"They aren't going to come back, are they?" said Coraline. "Not under their own steam." 　　 　　The cat blinked at her. Coraline took it as a yes. 　　 　　"Right," said Coraline. "Then I suppose there is only one thing left to do." 　　 　　She walked into her father's study. She sat down at his desk. Then she picked up the telephone, and opened the phone book and called the local police station. 　　 　　"Police," said a gruff male voice. 　　 　　"Hello," she said. "My name is Coraline Jones." 　　 　　"You're up a bit after your bedtime, aren't you, young lady?" said the policeman. 　　 　　"Possibly," said Coraline, who was not going to be diverted, "but I am ringing to report a crime." 　　 　　"And what sort of crime would that be?" 　　 　　"Kidnapping. Grown-up-napping, really. My parents have been stolen away into a world on the other side of the mirror in our hall." 　　 　　"And do you know who stole them?" asked the police officer. Coraline could hear the smile in his voice, and she tried extra hard to sound like an adult might sound, to make him take her seriously. 　　 　　"I think my other mother has them both in her clutches. She may want to keep them and sew their eyes with black buttons, or she may simply have them in order to lure me back into reach of her fingers. I'm not sure." 　　 　　"Ah. The nefarious clutches of her fiendish fingers, is it?" he said. "Mm. You know what I suggest, Miss Jones?" 　　 　　"No," said Coraline. "What?" 　　 　　"You ask your mother to make you a big old mug of hot chocolate, and then give you a great big old hug. There's nothing like hot chocolate and a hug for making the nightmares go away. And if she starts to tell you off for waking her up at this time of night, why you tell her that that's what the policeman said." He had a deep, reassuring voice. Coraline was not reassured. 　　 　　"When I see her," said Coraline, "I shall tell her that." And she put down the telephone. 　　 　　The black cat, who had sat on the floor grooming its fur through this entire conversation, now stood up and led the way into the hall. 　　 　　Coraline went back into her bedroom and put on her blue dressing gown and her slippers. She looked under the sink for a torch, and found one, but the batteries had long since run down and it barely glowed with the faintest straw-coloured light. She put it down again and found a box of in-case-of-emergency white wax candles, and thrust one into a candlestick. She put an apple into each pocket. She picked up the ring of keys and took the old black key off the ring. 　　 　　She walked into the drawing room and looked at the door. She had the feeling that the door was looking back at her, which she knew was silly, and knew on a deeper level was somehow true. 　　 　　She went back into her bedroom, and rummaged in the pocket of her jeans. She found the stone with the hole in it, and put it into her dressing-gown pocket. 　　 　　She lit the candle wick with a match and watched it sputter and light, then she picked up the black key. It was cold in her hand. She put the key into the keyhole in the door, but did not turn it. 　　 　　"When I was a little girl," said Coraline to the cat, "when we lived in our old house, a long, long time ago, my dad took me for a walk on the wasteland between our house and the shops. 　　 　　"It wasn't the best place to go for a walk, really. There were all these things that people had thrown away back there-old cookers and broken dishes and dolls with no arms and no legs, and empty cans and broken bottles. Mum and Dad made me promise not to go exploring back there, because there were too many sharp things, and tetanus and such. 　　 　　"But I kept telling them I wanted to explore it. So one day my dad put on his big brown boots and his gloves and put my boots on me and my jeans and sweater, and we went for a walk. 　　 　　"We must have walked for about twenty minutes. We went down this hill, to the bottom of a gully, where a stream was, when my Dad suddenly said to me, "Coraline-run away. Up the hill. Now!" He said it in a tight sort of way, urgently, so I did. I ran away up the hill. Something hurt me on the back of my arm as I ran, but I kept running. 　　 　　"As I got to the top of the hill I heard somebody thundering up the hill behind me. It was my dad, charging like a rhino. When he reached me he picked me up in his arms and swept me over the edge of the hill. 　　 　　"And then we stopped and we puffed and we panted, and we looked back down the gully. 　　 　　"The air was alive with yellow wasps. We must have stepped on a wasps' nest in a rotten branch as we walked. And while I was running up the hill, my dad stayed and got stung, to give me time to run away. His glasses had fallen off when he ran. 　　 　　"I only had the one sting on the back of my arm. He had thirty-nine stings, all over him. We counted later, in the bath." 　　 　　The black cat began to wash its face and whiskers in a manner that indicated increasing impatience. Coraline reached down and stroked the back of its head and neck. The cat stood up, walked several paces until it was out of her reach, then it sat down and looked up at her again. 　　 　　"So," said Coraline, "later that afternoon my dad went back again to the wasteland, to get his glasses back. He said if he left it another day he wouldn't be able to remember where they'd fallen. 　　 　　"And soon he got home, wearing his glasses. He said that he wasn't scared when he was standing there and the wasps were stinging him and hurting him and he was watching me run away. Because he knew he had to give me enough time to run, or the wasps would have come after both of us." 　　 　　Coraline turned the key in the door. It turned with a loud clunk. 　　 　　The door swung open. 　　 　　There was no brick wall on the other side of the door: only darkness. A cold wind blew through the passageway. Coraline made no move to walk through the door. 　　 　　"And he said that wasn't brave of him, doing that, just standing there and being stung," said Coraline to the cat. "It wasn't brave because he wasn't scared: it was the only thing he could do. But going back again to get his glasses, when he knew the wasps were there, when he was really scared. That was brave." 　　 　　She took her first step down the dark corridor. 　　 　　She could smell dust and damp and mustiness. The cat padded along beside her. "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. "I'm going back for them because they are my parents. And if they noticed I was gone I'm sure they would do the same for me. You know you're talking again?" 　　 　　"How fortunate I am," said the cat, "in having a travelling 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. "We're here. We're ready to love you and play with you and feed you and make your life interesting." 　　 　　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. And you'll want something to drink-hot chocolate, perhaps?" 　　 　　Coraline walked down the hallway until she reached the mirror at the end. There was nothing reflected in it but a young girl in her dressing gown and slippers, who looked like she had recently been crying but whose eyes were real eyes, not black buttons, and who was holding tightly to a burned-out candle in a candlestick. 　　 　　She looked at the girl in the mirror and the girl in the mirror looked back at her. 　　 　　I will be brave, thought Coraline. No, I am brave. She put down the candlestick on the floor, then she turned round. The other mother and the other father were looking at her hungrily. 　　 　　"I don't need a snack," she said. "I have an apple. See?" And she took an apple from her dressing-gown pocket, then bit into it with relish and an enthusiasm that she did not really feel. 　　 　　The other father looked disappointed. The other mother smiled, showing a full set of teeth, and each of the teeth was a tiny bit too long. The lights in the hallway made her black-button eyes glitter and gleam. 　　 　　"You don't frighten me," said Coraline, although they did frighten her, very much. "I want my parents back." 　　 　　The world seemed to shimmer a little at the edges. 　　 　　"Whatever would I have done with your old parents? If they have left you, Coraline, it must be because they became bored with you, or tired. Now, I will never become bored with you, and I will never abandon you. You will always be safe here with me." The other mother's wet-looking black hair drifted around her head, like the tentacles of a creature in the deep ocean. 　　 　　"They weren't bored of me," said Coraline. "You're lying. You stole them." 　　 　　"Silly, silly Coraline. They are fine wherever they are." 　　 　　Coraline simply glared at the other mother. 　　 　　"I'll prove it," said the other mother, and brushed the surface of the mirror with her long white fingers. It clouded over, as if a dragon had breathed on it, and then it cleared. 　　 　　In the mirror it was daytime already. Coraline was looking at the hallway, all the way down to her front door. The door opened from the outside and Coraline's mother and father walked inside. They carried suitcases. 　　 　　"That was a fine holiday," said Coraline's father. 　　 　　"How nice it is, not to have Coraline any more," said her mother with a happy smile. "Now we can do all the things we always wanted to do, like go abroad, but were prevented from doing by having a little daughter." 　　 　　"And," said her father, "I take great comfort in knowing that her other mother will take better care of her than we ever could." 　　 　　The mirror fogged and faded and reflected the night once more. 　　 　　"See?" said her other mother. 　　 　　"No," said Coraline. "I don't see. And I don't believe it either." 　　 　　She hoped that what she had just seen was not real, but she was not as certain as she sounded. There was a tiny doubt inside her, like a maggot in an apple core. Then she looked up and saw the expression on her other mother's face: a flash of real anger, which crossed her face like summer lightning, and Coraline was sure in her heart that what she had seen in the mirror was no more than an illusion. 　　 　　Coraline sat down on the sofa and ate her apple. 　　 　　"Please," said her other mother. "Don't be difficult." She walked into the drawing room and clapped her hands twice. There was a rustling noise and a black rat appeared. It stared up at her. "Bring me the key," she said. 　　 　　The rat chittered, then it ran through the open door that led back to Coraline's own flat. 　　 　　The rat returned, dragging the key behind it. 　　 　　"Why don't you have your own key on this side?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　"There is only one key. Only one door," said the other father. 　　 　　"Hush," said the other mother. "You must not bother our darling Coraline's head with such trivialities." She put the key in the keyhole and twisted. The lock was stiff, but it clunked closed. 　　 　　She dropped the key into her apron pocket. 　　 　　Outside, the sky had begun to lighten to a luminous grey. 　　 　　"If we aren't going to have a midnight snack," said the other mother, "we still need our beauty sleep. I am going back to bed, Coraline. I would strongly suggest that you do the same." 　　 　　She placed her long white fingers on the shoulders of the other father, and she walked him out of the room. 　　 　　Coraline walked over to the door at the far corner of the drawing room. She tugged on it, but it was tightly locked. The door of her other parents' bedroom was now closed. 　　 　　She was indeed tired, but she did not want to sleep in the bedroom. She did not want to sleep under the same roof as her other mother. 　　 　　The front door was not locked. Coraline walked out into the dawn and down the stone steps. She sat down on the bottom step. It was cold. 　　 　　Something furry pushed itself against her side in one smooth, insinuating motion. Coraline jumped, then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw what it was. 　　 　　"Oh. It's you," she said to the black cat. 　　 　　"See?" said the cat. "It wasn't so hard recognising me, was it? Even without names." 　　 　　"Well, what if I wanted to call you?" 　　 　　The cat wrinkled its nose and managed to look unimpressed. "Calling cats," it confided, "tends to be a rather overrated activity. Might as well call a whirlwind." 　　 　　"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." 　　 　　"Why does she want me?" Coraline asked the cat. "Why does she want me to stay here with her?" 　　 　　"She wants something to love, I think," said the cat. "Something that isn't her. She might want something to eat as well. It's hard to tell with creatures like that." 　　 　　"Do you have any advice?" asked Coraline. The cat looked as if it were about to say something else sarcastic. Then it flicked its whiskers, and said, "Challenge her. There's no gua 　　"Do you have any advice?" asked Coraline. The cat looked as if it were about to say something else sarcastic. Then it flicked its whiskers, and said, "Challenge her. There's no guarantee she'll play fair, but her kind of thing loves games and challenges." 　　 　　"What kind of thing is that?" asked Coraline. But the cat made no answer, simply stretched, luxuriantly, and walked away. Then it stopped, and turned, and said, "I'd go inside if I were you. Get some sleep. You have a long day ahead of you." 　　 　　And then the cat was gone. Still, Coraline realised, it had a point. She crept back into the silent house, past the closed bedroom door beyond which the other mother and the other father . . . What? she wondered. Slept? Waited? And then it came to her that, should she open the bedroom door, she would find it empty, or, more precisely, that it was an empty room and it would remain empty until the exact moment that she opened the door. 　　 　　Somehow, that made it easier. Coraline walked into the green and pink parody of her own bedroom. She closed the door and hauled the toybox in front of it-it would not keep anyone out, but the noise somebody would make trying to dislodge it would wake her, she hoped. 　　 　　The toys in the toybox were still mostly asleep, and they stirred and muttered as she moved their box, and then they went back to sleep. Coraline checked under her bed, looking for rats, but there was nothing there. She took off her dressing gown and slippers and climbed into bed and fell asleep with barely enough time to reflect, as she did so, on what the cat could have meant by a challenge.

卡萝兰用那把冰冰凉的黑钥匙把客厅角落那扇门锁好。    她回到厨房，爬上椅子，想把那串钥匙重新放回门框上。试了四五次都不行，卡萝兰只好承认，她的个子就是不够高。最后，她把钥匙放在门边一张台子上。    去买东西的妈妈还没回来。    卡萝兰走到冰箱前，从底层格子里拿出剩下的一块冻面包。她给自己做了个吐司面包，涂上果酱和花生酱。吃完以后，她喝了一杯水。     她等着爸爸妈妈回来。     等呀等呀，天黑了。卡萝兰用微波炉热了一块冻披萨吃。    然后，卡萝兰看电视。她心想，大人真是的，把所有好节目都留给自己，不让小孩子看。电视里跑跑跳跳，吵吵闹闹，真好看。    过了一会儿，她开始打哈欠。卡萝兰脱了衣服，刷牙，上床睡觉。     天亮以后，她走进爸爸妈妈的卧室。床上整整齐齐的，没睡过。到处都找不着他们。卡萝兰的早饭吃的是罐头装的意大利细面条。    午饭吃了一大块巧克力，加上一个苹果。苹果黄了，有点蔫，味道倒是甜甜的，不错。     下午茶是在斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐那儿喝的。     吃了三块饼干，喝了一杯柠檬汽水，一杯很淡的茶。柠檬汽水真好玩，没有一点儿柠檬昧，只有蔬菜味，还有点儿药味。卡萝兰喜欢极了。家里要是也有柠檬汽水就好了。    “你的爸爸妈妈好吗?”斯平克小姐问。    “不见了。”卡萝兰说，“从昨天起就没见着他们。家里只有我一个。我猜我成了单亲——不，单子家庭了。”    “告诉你妈妈，说《格拉斯哥王国报》的剪报我们已经找到了。米里亚姆上次跟她聊起的时候，她好像挺感兴趣。”    “她神秘失踪了。”卡萝兰说，“我看，爸爸也神秘失踪了。”     “明天我们恐怕一整天不在家，卡罗琳宝贝儿。”    福斯波尔小姐说，“我们住阿普里尔的侄女家，在通布里奇。”    她们给卡萝兰看一本相集，里面有许多斯平克小姐的侄女的照片。看完之后，卡萝兰就回家了。     她打开她的存钱袋，取出钱，去了趟超市。她买了两大瓶柠檬汽水，一块巧克力饼，一袋苹果。回家以后，她拿这些当晚饭吃。     她漱了口，走进爸爸的书房，打开电脑，写了一篇小说。    卡萝兰的小说：从前有个女孩叫阿普里尔。她跳了很多舞。她跳啊跳啊后来脚都跳坏了完毕。    她把小说打印出来，关上电脑。然后，她又在句子下面画了一个跳舞的小女孩。    她放了一浴缸水，洗了个泡泡浴。浴液倒得太多，泡泡从浴缸里流出来，淌了一地。她把自己擦擦干，又试着擦干地板(做得不好，反正她尽力了).然后，卡萝兰上床睡觉。    半夜里，卡萝兰醒了。她走进爸爸妈妈的卧室，可床还是铺得好好的，上面一个人都没有。夜光数字钟上是几个绿色数字：3:12.深更半夜，又是一个人。卡萝兰哭了起来。除了她的哭声，空空的屋子里静悄悄的。     她爬上爸爸妈妈的大床，过了一会儿，卡萝兰睡着了。    凉冰冰的爪子拍打着她的脸，卡萝兰醒了。她睁开眼睛。一双大大的绿眼睛盯着她。是那只猫。    “你好，”卡萝兰说，“你是怎么进来的?”     猫不说话。卡萝兰下了床，她穿着一件长T恤，一条睡裤。“你来是想跟我说什么话吗?”    猫打了个哈欠，绿眼睛亮闪闪的。    “你知道我妈妈爸爸在哪儿吗?”    猫冲她眨了一下眼睛，眨得很慢。    “意思是——‘是’，对吧?”    猫又眨了一下眼睛。卡萝兰想，这肯定是个“是”。“你能带我去找他们吗?”     猫盯着她，然后，它走到过道上。卡萝兰跟着它。     猫一直走到过道尽头，那儿挂着一面一人高的镜子。很久以前，它本来镶在一个大衣柜柜门里面，后来才挪出来挂在墙上。卡萝兰一家搬进来时，这面镜子已经在那儿了。卡萝兰的妈妈常说要换一面新的，可一直没换。     卡萝兰打开过道灯。    镜子里照出她身后的过道。这谁都想得到。想不到的是，镜子里还有她的爸爸妈妈。他们站在镜子中的过道里，样子孤苦伶仃的。卡萝兰看见他们抬起手，无力地朝她慢慢挥着。卡萝兰爸爸的另一只手搂着妈妈的肩膀。    镜子里，卡萝兰的爸爸妈妈望着她。爸爸张开嘴，说了些什么。可她一点也听不见。妈妈在镜子上哈了口气，趁镜子另一面上的雾气没散，用手指写了几个字：救救我们虽然字是反的，但卡萝兰还是认了出来。镜子另一面的雾慢慢淡了，不见了。爸爸妈妈也一样。现在，映在镜子里 的只有过道、卡萝兰，还有猫。    “他们上哪儿去了?”卡萝兰问猫。猫没有回答，但卡萝兰想像得出它的声音，干巴巴的，像一只死苍蝇。这个嘛，你以为他们上哪儿去了?“他们不会回来了，对不对?”卡萝兰说，“光靠他们自己，他们回不来。”     猫眨了一下眼睛。卡萝兰认定它的意思是“对”。    “好吧，”卡萝兰说，“那么，我认为，只有一个办法。”     她走进爸爸的书房，坐在他的书桌后，然后拿起电话，打开电话簿，给本地的警察局打电话。     “警察局。”电话里传来一个男人声音。     “你好，”她说，“我的名字叫卡萝兰?琼斯。”    “小姑娘，这么晚了，你上床睡觉的时间该过了吧?”警察说。     “可能吧。”卡萝兰才不会被他岔过去呢，“我打电话是要报案的。”     “你要报哪种案子?”    “绑票，我是说绑爸爸妈妈。我的爸爸妈妈被偷走了，有人把他们绑架到我家过道镜子后面的世界去了。”    “偷爸爸妈妈的人是谁?你知道吗?”警察问。卡萝兰听得出来，警察的声音笑嘻嘻的。所以她格外努力，尽量像大人那样说话，好让警察重视她。    “我认为，抓走他们的是我的另一个妈妈。说不定她想扣住他们不放，给他们缝黑纽扣当眼睛，好把我引过去。我也不太清楚。”     “哦。落进了她那双邪恶的爪子里，对不对?”他说，“嗯，我倒有个主意，琼斯小姐。知道是什么主意吗?”     “不知道。”卡萝兰说，“是什么主意?”    “你去跟你妈妈说，让她给你做大大的一杯热巧克力，再好好抱抱你。热巧克力加抱抱，治噩梦百发百中。如果她让你走开，别这么晚打扰她睡觉，你就告诉她，这是警察说的。”他用一种很庄重的声音安慰她。    可卡萝兰不觉得安慰。     “看到她的时候，”卡萝兰说，“我一定告诉她。”她放下电话。     卡萝兰打电话的时候，那只黑猫一直蹲在地板上舔毛。这时，它站起来，领着她走进过道。    卡萝兰回到自己的房间，穿上她的蓝色睡袍，蹬上拖鞋。来到厨房后，她从柜子里找出一枝手电筒，可惜电池老早以前就用光了，只有一点点最淡的黄光。她放下手电筒，重新翻腾，找到一盒应急备用的白蜡烛。她拿出一根，插在蜡烛架上，又往每只衣袋里塞了一只苹果。卡萝兰拿 起钥匙串，从钥匙环上解下那把又旧又黑的钥匙。    她来到客厅，望着那扇门。她觉得那扇门好像在瞪着她。她知道这是个傻念头，但在心底里，她知道，这个傻念头是真的。     她回到自己的房间，在牛仔裤口袋里一阵乱翻。她找到了中间带洞眼的小石头，把它放进睡袍口袋。她走进客厅。     她划了一根火柴，点着蜡烛，望着火苗摇晃了几下，变亮了。她拿起那把黑钥匙。钥匙握在手里，凉冰冰的。她把钥匙插进门上的钥匙孔。转不动。    “我还是个小女孩的时候，”卡萝兰对猫说，“那是好久好久以前的事了，当时我们还住在我们的老房子里。有一次，爸爸带我出去散步，去我们家和商店中间的那块荒地。     “其实，荒地算不上散步的好地方。到处是别人扔了不要的东西：旧锅烂碗，缺胳膊少腿的玩具娃娃，空罐子，碎瓶子。妈妈爸爸要我保证不上那儿去探险，因为那儿的尖东西很多，怕得上破伤风什么的。    “可我老是跟他们说，我想去那儿探险。所以，有一天，爸爸穿上他那双褐色大靴子，戴上手套，也给我套上靴子、牛仔裤、厚衣服，然后去那儿走一趟。    “我们肯定走了二十多分钟。有座小山，我们下到山脚一条水沟边，里面有水。爸爸突然向我说，‘卡萝兰——快跑，跑上山。跑啊！’声音紧绷绷的，非常急，所以我撒腿就跑。跑着跑着，胳膊后面扎了一下，好痛，可我还是跑。     “我快跑到山头了，听见后面砰砰砰的，有人朝山头跑。是我爸爸，跑得跟犀牛一样猛。赶上我以后，他一把抱起我，一口气冲上山头。    “然后，我们停下来，呼哧呼哧直喘。我们朝山下那条水沟看。    “空中黄乎乎的，全是大马蜂。我们走的时候，准是踩上了哪段烂木头上的马蜂窝。我朝山上跑的时候，爸爸留在那儿没动，挨马蜂叮，让我有逃跑的时间。后来，他的眼镜都跑丢了。    “我只在胳膊后面被叮了一下。他被叮了三十九下，全身都是。我们挨个儿数过，在浴室数的。”     黑猫开始洗脸抹胡子，表示它不耐烦了。卡萝兰伸手下去，摸它的后脑、脖子。猫站起来，走了几步，走到她够不着的地方坐下，仰头望着她。    “那天下午，”卡萝兰说，“爸爸又回到那片荒地找他的眼镜。他说，再耽搁一天的话，他就想不起眼镜扔在什么地方了。     “没过多久，他回家了，戴着眼镜。他说，当时他站在那儿，马蜂叮他，疼极了，他看着我向上跑。可他不害怕。因为他知道，他得给我留出足够的逃跑时间，不然的话，马蜂叮的就是我们两个人。”    卡萝兰一拧门上的钥匙。很响的喀嚓一声，转动了。    门开了。    门后面没有砖墙，只有一片黑。里面的过道吹来一股风，冷飕飕的。    卡萝兰没有向前走。     “他说，他不是勇敢，站在那儿让马蜂叮他。”卡萝兰告诉猫，“不是勇敢，因为他并不害怕。他只能这么做。可第二次，他去取眼镜的时候，知道有马蜂，他很害怕。那一次才是勇敢。”    她朝黑洞洞的门里迈出第一步。     一股灰尘味儿、潮湿味儿、霉味儿。     猫走在她身边。     “为什么?”猫说，但好像并没有多大兴趣。    “因为，”她说，“你害怕一件事，可还是要去做，那才是勇敢。”    蜡烛光把他们的影子映在墙上，奇奇怪怪的影子，摇来晃去。她听见黑暗中有动静，就在她身边，要不就是在她身后。她说不清。不管是什么东西，它好像一路紧紧跟着她。    “所以你才会去她的世界?”猫说，“因为你爸爸以前救过你?”    “别傻了。”卡萝兰说，“我去救他们，因为他们是我的爸爸妈妈。要是他们发现我不见了，他们准会做同样的事儿。知道吗?你又开始说话了。”     “有这么聪明、这么智慧的一位旅伴，”猫说，“我真是幸运啊。”说话是讽刺的语气，可它的毛都立了起来，蓬蓬松松的大尾巴高高竖着。    卡萝兰正想说点什么，比如对不起，或者上次来的时候路好像没这么长。就在这时，蜡烛灭了。一下子就灭了，好像被谁用手掐灭了似的。    有声音，脚在地上蹭着走的声音。嚓啦嚓拉，叭嗒叭嗒。卡萝兰的心怦怦直跳。她伸出一只手……摸到什么细细的、黏糊糊的东西，像蜘蛛网，沾在她的手上脸上。    过道尽头，电灯亮了。在黑洞洞的过道里走了这么久，灯光刺得卡萝兰睁不开眼。灯光映出一个女人的剪影，就在卡萝兰前头不远。     “卡萝兰?亲爱的?”她说。    “妈妈！”卡萝兰喊起来，松了一口气，向前跑过去。     “亲爱的，”女人说，“上次你干吗离开这儿呀?”    卡萝兰已经跑近了，收不住脚，感到另一个妈妈冰冷的手抓住了她。她站在那儿，吓得动都不敢动，全身直哆嗦。另一个妈妈紧紧搂住她。     “我的爸爸妈妈在哪儿?”卡萝兰问。    “我们都在这儿。”她的另一个妈妈说。声音跟她真正的妈妈像极了，简直分不出来。“我们在这儿。我们什么都准备好了，会爱你，跟你玩，喂你吃好喝好，让你过得开开心心的。”    卡萝兰使劲一挣，另一个妈妈不太情愿地放开她。    另一个爸爸一直坐在过道的一把椅子里，他站起来，笑着说：“来，进厨房。”他说，“我给大家做点消夜。你准想喝点什么，热巧克力?”     卡萝兰走到过道尽头的镜子前。里面什么都没有，只有一个穿睡袍拖鞋的小姑娘，一看就知道刚刚哭过，但眼睛是真正的眼睛，不是黑纽扣，手里紧紧攥着一只蜡烛架，上面插着一根快点完的蜡烛。     她望着镜子里的小姑娘，镜子里的小姑娘望着她。    我一定要勇敢，卡萝兰想。不，我本来就勇敢。    她把蜡烛架放在地板上，转过身来。另一个妈妈和另一个爸爸盯着她，眼睛里一股馋痨劲儿。    “我不要消夜，”她说，“我有一个苹果。瞧见没?”她从睡袍口袋里掏出一个苹果，咬了一大口。好大的一口，其实她这会儿并不饿。     另一个爸爸好像很失望。另一个妈妈笑了，露出一嘴牙，每一颗牙都稍稍长了点儿。过道的灯光照在她眼睛上，两颗黑纽扣闪闪发亮。     “你们吓唬不了我。”卡萝兰说，其实他们把她吓坏了，“把我的爸爸妈妈还给我。”     这个世界的边边角角好像闪了一下，摇摇晃晃，有点儿模糊。    “我拿你从前的爸爸妈妈干什么?要是他们离开你，卡萝兰，肯定是不喜欢你，烦了，或者累了。可我呢，我永远不会觉得你烦，也永远不会离开你。在这儿，跟我在一起，你永远是安全的。”另一个妈妈的黑头发好像湿漉漉的，在脑袋后面摆来摆去，很像生活在海底的动物的触须。    “他们没觉得我烦。”卡萝兰说，“你撒谎。你把他们偷走了。”    “傻孩子，傻孩子。你从前的爸爸妈妈好好的没事，不管他们现在在哪儿。”    卡萝兰一句话都不说，瞪着另一个妈妈。     “我证明给你看。”另一个妈妈说，长长的、白乎乎的指头抹过镜面。镜面像蒙了一层雾，好像有头龙在上面喷了一口气儿似的。接着，雾气散开了。     镜子里是白天，卡萝兰看到了过道，还能一直看下去，连家里的大门都看得清清楚楚。大门从外面打开了，卡萝兰的爸爸妈妈走进来，手里提着旅行箱。     “这个假期过得真好。”卡萝兰的爸爸说。     “真好啊，再也没有卡萝兰了。”她的妈妈高高兴兴笑着说，“现在，我们一直想做的事儿都可以做了，比如去国外。从前因为有个小女儿，什么事都干不了。”    “还有，”她爸爸说，“我觉得很高兴，她的另一个妈妈会好好照顾她，比我们俩做得更好。”    镜子又蒙上雾气。雾散开以后，镜子里变成了晚上。    “看见了?”另一个妈妈说。    “没有。”卡萝兰说，“我什么都没看见。再说，我压根儿不相信。”     她希望刚才看到的不是真的。她说得很坚决，其实心里没把握。她心里总有一丁点儿怀疑，像苹果心里的一只小虫子。这时，她抬起头来，看见了另一个妈妈脸上的表情：一股怒火，从她脸上一下子闪过，像夏天打的闪电似的。这下子，卡萝兰放心了：刚才看到的根本不是真的，只 是假象。    卡萝兰在沙发上坐下，啃苹果。    “求你了，”另一个妈妈说，“别犯倔。”她走进客厅，拍了两下巴掌。传来一阵沙沙沙的声音，一只黑老鼠跑出来，“把钥匙拿给我。”她说。     老鼠吱吱叫了一声，跑进那扇通向卡萝兰原来的家的门。     老鼠回来了，身后拖着钥匙。     “你们这边怎么没有自个儿的钥匙?”卡萝兰问。     “因为只有一扇门呀，所以只有一把钥匙。”另一个爸爸说。    “住嘴。”另一个妈妈说，“不许用这些鸡毛蒜皮的小事烦我们的宝贝卡萝兰。”她把钥匙插进锁眼，一转。看样子，锁转得不灵光，但总算咔的一声锁上了。     她把钥匙放进自己的围裙口袋。    外面，天快亮了，灰蒙蒙的。     “不吃消夜的话，”另一个妈妈说，“天亮之前正好美美地再睡一觉。我回床上去了，卡萝兰。请你也上床睡觉吧。”    她把她长长的手指头放在另一个爸爸肩膀上，和他一起走出房间。    卡萝兰走到客厅角落的那扇门前，拉了一下，可门锁死了。另一个爸爸和妈妈的卧室门也关上了。     她累坏了，但又不想在卧室睡觉。她不想和她的另一个妈妈睡在一幢房子里。    大门没锁。外面已经有点亮光了，卡萝兰走出门，沿着石头台阶走下去，坐在最下面一级台阶上。真凉啊。    什么毛茸茸的东西一晃，在她腿上蹭了一下。卡萝兰吓得跳起来，接着才发现是什么。她松了口气。     “噢，原来是你呀。”她对那只黑猫说。     “瞧，”猫说，“认出我并不难嘛，对不对?就算没有名字，一样能认出我。”     “嗯，我想叫你的话，该怎么办?”    猫鼻子一皱，装出一副不在乎的模样。“叫我们猫，这个嘛，是有点麻烦。”它承认说，“你还不如冲着旋风叫唤呢。”     “要是开饭的时候到了呢?”卡萝兰说，“开饭的时候总得叫你一声吧。”    “当然，”猫说，“不过，好办。喊一声‘开饭了’就行。懂了吧?用不着名字。”    “她为什么想要我?”卡萝兰问猫，“为什么想让我留在这儿不走?”    “我想，她希望有一件可以爱的东西。”猫说，“除了她自己以外，别的什么东西。也可能想找点可以吃的。像她那种东西，很难说清她想干什么。”     “你有什么好主意吗?”卡萝兰问。     瞧猫的样子，它好像又准备说点刺人的话。接着，它抹了抹胡子，说：“向她挑战。她不一定会公公平平地玩，但她那一类东西都喜欢玩游戏，喜欢挑战。”     “哪一类东西?”卡萝兰问。    猫没有回答，只舒舒服服伸了个大懒腰，走开了。    走几步又停下来，转过头，说：“我要是你的话，我就进屋去。睡会儿觉。今天一天长着呢。”     说完，猫走了。卡萝兰想呀想呀，觉得它说得挺有道理。她爬起来，回到静悄悄的屋里，走过另一个妈妈和另一个爸爸的卧室……他们在里面干什么?睡觉?等待?她突然明白了：如果推开门，她准会发现里面空空的，一个人都没有；或者，说得更准确一点儿，这是一个空房间，但就在 她开门的那一眨眼工夫，里面就会变出人来。    不知为什么，想明白了这一点以后，卡萝兰反而觉得有了点把握。她走进自己那间颜色怪里怪气、绿中带红的卧室。她关上门，又用玩具盒子把门项上。这么一个盒子，当然谁都挡不住。但如果有人想进来，一碰到盒子，里面的玩具就会哗啦啦直响，把她惊醒。至少，她是这么希望 的。    玩具盒里的玩具大多还在睡觉。她搬动它们的盒子时，玩具们动弹起来，嘟嘟囔囔的，然后又接着睡觉。     卡萝兰看了看床铺底下，看有没有老鼠。床下什么都没有。她脱下睡袍和拖鞋，爬上床，脑袋一沾枕头就睡着了，连想想猫说的“挑战”是什么意思都没来得及。她本来打算好好想想的。

第六章 　　Coraline was woken by the mid-morning sun, full on her face. 　　 　　For a moment she felt utterly dislocated. She did not know where she was; she was not entirely sure who she was. It is astonishing just how much of what we are can be tied to the beds we wake up in in the morning, and it is astonishing how fragile that can be. 　　 　　Sometimes Coraline would forget who she was while she was daydreaming that she was exploring the Arctic, or the Amazon rainforest, or darkest Africa, and it was not until someone tapped her on the shoulder or said her name that Coraline would come back from a million miles away with a start, and all in a fraction of a second have to remember who she was, and what her name was, and that she was even there at all. 　　 　　Now there was sun on her face, and she was Coraline Jones. Yes. And then the green and pinkness of the room she was in, and the rustling of a large painted paper butterfly as it fluttered and beat its way about the ceiling, told her where she had woken up. 　　 　　She climbed out of the bed. She could not wear her pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers during the day, she decided, even if it meant wearing the other Coraline's clothes. (Was there an other Coraline? No, she decided, there wasn't. There was just her.) There were no proper clothes in the cupboard, though. They were more like dressing-up clothes or (she thought) the kind of clothes she would love to have hanging in her own wardrobe at home: there was a raggedy witch costume; a patched scarecrow costume; a future-warrior costume with little digital lights on it that glittered and blinked; a slinky evening dress all covered in feathers and mirrors. Finally, in a drawer, she found a pair of black jeans that seemed to be made of velvet night, and a grey sweater the colour of thick smoke with faint and tiny stars in the fabric which twinkled. 　　 　　She pulled on the jeans and the sweater. Then she put on a pair of bright-orange boots she found at the bottom of the cupboard. 　　 　　She took her last apple out of the pocket of her dressing gown, and then, from the same pocket, the stone with the hole in it. 　　 　　She put the stone into the pocket of her jeans, and it was as if her head had cleared a little. As if she had come out of some sort of a fog. 　　 　　She went into the kitchen, but it was deserted. 　　 　　Still, she was sure that there was someone in the flat. She walked down the hall until she reached her father's study, and discovered that it was occupied. 　　 　　"Where's the other mother?" she asked the other father. He was sitting in the study, at a desk which looked just like her father's, but he was not doing anything at all, not even reading gardening catalogues as her own father did when he was only pretending to be working. 　　 　　"Out," he told her. "Fixing the doors. There are some vermin problems." He seemed pleased to have somebody to talk to. 　　 　　"The rats, you mean?" 　　 　　"No, the rats are our friends. This is the other kind, big black fellow, with his tail high." 　　 　　"The cat, you mean?" 　　 　　"That's the one," said her other father. 　　 　　He looked less like her true father today. There was something slightly vague about his face-like bread dough that had begun to rise, smoothing out the bumps and cracks and depressions. 　　 　　"Really, I mustn't talk to you when she's not here," he said. "But don't you worry. She won't be gone often. I shall demonstrate our tender hospitality to you, such that you will not even think about ever going back." He closed his mouth and folded his hands in his lap. 　　 　　"So what am I to do now?" asked Coraline. The other father pointed to his lips. Silence. "If you won't even talk to me," said Coraline, "I am going exploring." 　　 　　"No point," said the other father. "There isn't anywhere but here. This is all she made: the house, the grounds, and the people in the house. She made it and she waited." Then he looked embarrassed and he put one finger to his lips again, as if he had just said too much. 　　 　　Coraline walked out of his study. She went into the drawing room, over to the old door, and she pulled it, rattled and shook it. No, it was locked fast, and the other mother had the key. 　　 　　She looked around the room. It was so familiar that was what made it feel so truly strange. Everything was exactly the same as she remembered: there was all her grandmother's strange-smelling furniture, there was the painting of the bowl of fruit (a bunch of grapes, two plums, a peach and an apple) hanging on the wall, there was the low wooden table with the lion's feet, and the empty fireplace which seemed to suck heat from the room. 　　 　　But there was something else, something she did not remember seeing before. A ball of glass, up on the mantelpiece. 　　 　　She went over to the fireplace, went up on tiptoes, and lifted it down. It was a snow-globe, with two little people in it. Coraline shook it and set the snow flying, white snow that glittered as it tumbled through the water. 　　 　　Then she put the snow-globe back on the mantelpiece, and carried on looking for her true parents and for a way out. 　　 　　She went out of the flat. Past the flashing-lights door, behind which the other Misses Spink and Forcible performed their show for ever, and set off into the woods. 　　 　　Where Coraline came from, once you were through the patch of trees, you saw nothing but the meadow and the old tennis court. In this place, the woods went on further, the trees becoming cruder and less tree-like the further you went. 　　 　　Pretty soon they seemed very approximate, like the idea of trees: a greyish-brown trunk below, a greenish splodge of something that might have been leaves above. 　　 　　Coraline wondered if the other mother wasn't interested in trees, or if she just hadn't bothered with this bit properly because nobody was expected to come out this far. 　　 　　She kept walking. 　　 　　And then the mist began. 　　 　　It was not damp, like a normal fog or mist. It was not cold and it was not warm. It felt to Coraline like she was walking into nothing. 　　 　　I'm an explorer, thought Coraline to herself. And I need all the ways out of here that I can get. So I shall keep walking. 　　 　　The world she was walking through was a pale nothingness, like a blank sheet of paper or an enormous, empty white room. It had no temperature, no smell, no texture and no taste. 　　 　　"It certainly isn't mist," thought Coraline, although she did not know what it was. For a moment she wondered if she might have gone blind. But no, she could see herself, plain as day. There was no ground beneath her feet, just a misty, milky whiteness. 　　 　　"And what do you think you're doing?" said a shape to one side of her. 　　 　　It took a few moments for her eyes to focus on it properly. She thought it might be some kind of lion, at first, some distance away from her; and then she thought it might be a mouse, close beside her. And then she knew what it was. 　　 　　"I'm exploring," Coraline told the cat. 　　 　　Its fur stood straight out from its body and its eyes were wide, while its tail was down and between its legs. It did not look a happy cat. 　　 　　"Bad place," said the cat. "If you want to call it a place, which I don't. What are you doing here?" 　　 　　"I'm exploring." 　　 　　"Nothing to find here," said the cat. "This is just the outside, the part of the place she hasn't bothered to create." 　　 　　"She?" 　　 　　"The one who says she's your other mother," said the cat. 　　 　　"What is she?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　The cat did not answer, just padded through the pale mist beside Coraline. 　　 　　Something began to appear in front of them, something high and towering and dark. 　　 　　"You were wrong!" she told the cat. "There is something there!" 　　 　　And then it took shape in the mist: a dark house, which loomed at them out of the formless whiteness. 　　 　　"But that's-" said Coraline. 　　 　　"The house you just left," agreed the cat. "Precisely." 　　 　　"Maybe I just got turned around in the mist," said Coraline. 　　 　　The cat curled the high tip of its tail into a question mark, and tipped its head on to one side. "You might have done," it said. "I certainly would not. Wrong, indeed." 　　 　　"But how can you walk away from something and still come back to it?" 　　 　　"Easy," said the cat. "Think of somebody walking around the world. You start out walking away from something and end up coming back to it." 　　 　　"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 shivered. 　　 　　"He said that she's fixing all the gates and the doors," she told the cat, "to keep you out." 　　 　　"She may try," said the cat, unimpressed. "Oh yes. She may try." They were standing under a clump of trees now, beside the house. These trees looked much more likely. "There's ways in and ways out of places like this that even she doesn't know about." 　　 　　"Did she make this place, then?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　"Made it, found it, what's the difference?" asked the cat. "Either way, she's had it a very long time. Hang on-" and it gave a shiver and a leap and before Coraline could blink the cat was sitting with its paw holding down a big black rat. "It's not that I like rats at the best of times," said the cat conversationally, as if nothing had happened, "but the rats in this place are all spies for her. She uses them as her eyes and hands …" and with that the cat let the rat go. 　　 　　It ran for almost a metre and then the cat, with one bound, was upon it, batting it hard with one sharp-clawed paw while holding it down with the other. "I love this bit," said the cat happily. "Want to see me do that again?" 　　 　　"No," said Coraline. "Why do you do it? You're torturing it." 　　 　　"Mm," said the cat. It let the rat go. 　　 　　The rat stumbled, dazed, for a few steps, then it began to run. With a blow of its paw, the cat knocked the rat into the air, and caught it in its mouth. 　　 　　"Stop it!" said Coraline. 　　 　　The cat dropped the rat between its two front paws. "There are those," it said with a sigh, in tones as smooth as oiled silk, "who have suggested that the tendency of a cat to play with its prey is a merciful one-after all, it permits the occasional funny little running snack to escape, from time to time. How often does your dinner get to escape?" 　　 　　And then it picked the rat up in its mouth and carried it off into the woods, behind a tree. 　　 　　Coraline walked back into the house. 　　 　　All was quiet and empty and deserted. Even her footsteps on the carpeted floor seemed loud. Dust motes hung in a beam of sunlight. 　　 　　At the far end of the hall was the mirror. She could see herself walking towards the mirror, looking, reflected, a little braver than she actually felt. There was nothing else there in the mirror. Just her, in the corridor. 　　 　　A hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up. The other mother stared down at Coraline with big black-button eyes. 　　 　　"Coraline, my darling," she said. "I thought we could play some games together this morning, now you're back from your walk. Hopscotch? Monopoly? Happy Families?" 　　 　　"You weren't in the mirror," said Coraline. 　　 　　The other mother smiled. "Mirrors," she said, "are never to be trusted. Now, what game shall we play?" 　　 　　Coraline shook her head. "I don't want to play with you," she said. "I want to go home and be with my real parents. I want you to let them go. To let us all go." 　　 　　The other mother shook her head, very slowly. "Sharper than a serpent's tooth," she said, "is a daughter's ingratitude. Still, the proudest spirit can be broken, with love." And her long white fingers waggled and caressed the air. 　　 　　"I have no plans to love you," said Coraline. "No matter what. You can't make me love you." 　　 　　"Let's talk about it," said the other mother, and she turned and walked into the sitting room. Coraline followed her. 　　 　　The other mother sat down on the big sofa. She picked up a brown handbag from beside the sofa, and took out a white, rustling, paper bag from inside it. 　　 　　She extended the hand with the paper bag in it to Coraline. "Would you like one?" she asked politely. 　　 　　Expecting it to be a toffee or a butterscotch ball, Coraline looked down. The bag was half-filled with large shiny blackbeetles, crawling over each other in their efforts to get out of the bag. 　　 　　"No," said Coraline. "I don't want one." 　　 　　"Suit yourself," said her other mother. She carefully picked out a particularly large and black beetle, pulled off its legs (which she dropped, neatly, into a big glass ashtray on the small table beside the sofa), and popped the beetle into her mouth. She crunched it happily. 　　 　　"Yum," she said, and took another. 　　 　　"You're sick," said Coraline. "Sick and evil and weird." 　　 　　"Is that any way to talk to your mother?" her other mother asked, with her mouth full of blackbeetles. 　　 　　"You aren't my mother," said Coraline. 　　 　　Her other mother ignored this. "Now, I think you are a little overexcited, Coraline. Perhaps this afternoon we could do a little embroidery together, or some watercolour painting. Then dinner, and then, if you have been good, you may play with the rats a little before bed. And I shall read you a story and tuck you in, and kiss you goodnight." Her long white fingers fluttered gently, like a tired butterfly, and Coraline shivered. 　　 　　"No," said Coraline. 　　 　　The other mother sat on the sofa. Her mouth was set in a line; her lips were pursed. She popped another blackbeetle into her mouth, and then another, like someone with a bag of chocolate-covered raisins. Her big black-button eyes looked into Coraline's hazel eyes. Her shiny black hair twined and twisted about her neck and shoulders, as if it were blowing in some wind that Coraline could not touch or feel. 　　 　　They stared at each other for over a minute. Then the other mother said, "Manners!" She folded the white paper bag, carefully, so no blackbeetles could escape, and she placed it back in the shopping bag. Then she stood up, and up, and up: she seemed taller than Coraline remembered. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out first the black door key, which she frowned at and tossed into her handbag, then a tiny silver-coloured key. She held it up triumphantly. "There we are," she said. "This is for you, Coraline. For your own good. Because I love you. To teach you manners. Manners makyth man, after all." 　　 　　She pulled Coraline back into the hallway and advanced upon the mirror at the end of the hall. Then she pushed the tiny key into the fabric of the mirror, and she twisted it. 　　 　　The mirror opened like a door, revealing a dark space behind it. "You may come out when you've learned some manners," said the other mother. "And when you're ready to be a loving daughter." 　　 　　She picked Coraline up and pushed her into the dim space behind the mirror. A fragment of beetle was sticking to her lower lip, and there was no expression at all in her black-button eyes. 　　 　　Then she swung the mirror-door closed, and left Coraline in darkness.

早上十点钟左右的太阳照在她脸上，卡萝兰醒了。    好一会儿工夫，她一点儿也不明白出了什么事。她不知道她在哪儿，连她自个儿是谁都想不大起来。睡着以后，我们脑子里想的事儿就扔在床上了，第二天早上醒来常常忘了捡起来。人的脑子可真不管用啊。     其他时候，卡萝兰也会忘记自己是谁，比如做白日梦在北极探险、深入亚马逊雨林或者黑非洲的时候。只有等到别人在她肩膀上拍一下，她才会吓一大跳，从一百万英里以外回来，再过一点点时间以后才能想起自己是谁，名字叫什么，想起还有她这个人。     现在，太阳照在她脸上，她是卡萝兰?琼斯。这个绿色房间，加上在天花板上不住扑腾的一只纸做的花蝴蝶，合在一起，终于让她想起了她醒来的地方是哪儿。    她爬下床。她觉得，今天不能穿睡裤、睡袍和拖鞋。也就是说，只能穿另一个卡萝兰的衣服。管不了那么多了。(世上到底有没有另一个卡萝兰?她想了想，最后认定没有。没有另一个卡萝兰，只有她一个。)衣橱里没有家常衣服，很多是大场合才会穿的正式衣服。    还有一些，如果挂在她自己家的衣橱里，她一准喜欢得要命：一件样式破破烂烂的女巫服；一件稻草人穿的衣服，上面打了许多补丁；还有一件未来战士的衣服，上面还有不少一闪一闪的小灯泡呢。一件漂亮晚装，缀着羽毛和小镜片。最后，她在一个抽屉里找到一条黑色牛仔裤，料 子好像是天鹅绒。还有一件灰色套头衫，那种灰色就像大火冒出的浓烟一样，里面还有许多亮闪闪的小火星。          她穿上牛仔裤、套头衫，又穿上在衣橱最底下找到的一双鲜艳的橘红色靴子。    她从自己的睡袍口袋里掏出最后一个苹果，又从同一个口袋掏出那块带洞眼的石头。    她把石头放进牛仔裤口袋，脑袋马上觉得清醒了一点儿，像从什么雾气里钻出来了似的。    她走进厨房，可里面一个人都没有。    她敢肯定，这套房子里准有人。她走进过道，来到爸爸的书房，里面有人。     “另一个妈妈上哪儿去了?”她问另一个爸爸。他正坐在书桌后(书桌跟真正的爸爸的书桌一模一样)，可他什么都没做，连园艺杂志都不读。她真正的爸爸常常假装工作，躲在书房读园艺杂志。     “出去了，”他告诉她，“有几扇门得修一修。这儿最近有点闹害虫。”有人说说话，看样子他挺高兴。    “你是说有老鼠?”    “不，老鼠是我们的朋友。这种害虫不是老鼠。又大又黑，尾巴翘得高高的。”     “你是说，猫?”     “对，就是猫。”另一个爸爸说。    今天他看上去不那么像她真正的爸爸了，他的脸有点模模糊糊的，像发面团，慢慢涨起来，把脸上的坑坑洼洼、皱纹表情填没了。    “其实，她不在这儿的时候，我不应该和你说话。”他说，“可你别担心，她不常出门。我刚才说了那么多，是为了好好招待你，让你压根儿不想回那边去。”他闭上嘴巴，两手叠着放在膝盖上。    “那，现在我干什么?”卡萝兰问。    另一个爸爸指指他的嘴巴。安静。     “要是你不肯跟我说话，”卡萝兰说，“我出门探险去。”     “没啥可探的。”另一个爸爸说，“外面什么都没有，我们只有这儿。她只做了这么些：宅子、周围、宅子里的人。做好以后，她就在这儿等着。”说漏了嘴，他一下子慌了，又伸出一根手指头放在嘴唇上。    卡萝兰走出书房。她走进客厅，走到那扇旧门前。    她拉了拉门，使劲摇了几下。没用，锁得紧紧的，钥匙在另一个妈妈手里。     她四周看了看。这个房间真是太熟了——所以才觉得这么古怪。每一件东西都和她记得的一模一样：奶奶那些气味难闻的家具；墙上挂着水果画(一串葡萄，两颗李子，一个桃子，一个苹果)：那儿是那张矮木桌，桌腿雕成狮子脚爪；还有那个壁炉，好像把房子里的热气儿全吸跑了似 的。    可这儿还有些别的东西，她记得从前没有。一个玻璃球，放在壁炉架上。    她走到壁炉前，踮起脚尖，取下玻璃球。这是一个雪花球，里面有两个小人。卡萝兰摇了一下，马上看到里面雪花飘飘，白色的雪花亮晶晶的。    她把雪花球放回壁炉架，继续寻找她真正的父母，寻找回家的路。     她走出这套房间，走过一扇门，门上围着一圈闪个不停的小灯泡。这扇门后面，另一个斯平克小姐和另一个福斯波尔小姐正一刻不停地表演她们的节目。卡萝兰走进树丛。     在卡萝兰来的地方，走过一丛树以后，你看见的是草坪，还有那个破旧的网球场。可在这里，树丛深得多。越往前走，树的样子越吓人，简直不大像树了。     走不多远，树只是大致有个树模样，像树的概念，不像真正的树：下面一截灰褐色的桩子，这就是树干；上面绿乎乎的一团什么东西，算是树叶。    卡萝兰心想，另一个妈妈可能不喜欢树。也可能她不想在这儿多花心思，因为她没想到会有人走到这么远的地方来。     卡萝兰继续朝前走。     前面是一片雾。    跟平常的雾、云不一样，不湿。它既不凉，也不热。卡萝兰觉得身边什么都没有，自己走在一片空空荡荡中间。     我是个探险家，卡萝兰暗暗告诉自己，我一定要好好探险，找出所有可以离开这儿的路。我一定要继续走下去。     她在里面大步走的世界是一片白乎乎的……什么都没有，像一张白纸，或者一间大得不得了的、空空的白房间。没有温度，没有气味，没有感觉，没有味道。     肯定不是雾，卡萝兰心想，可她也不知道这究竟是什么。有一会儿工夫，她担心自己会不会已经瞎了。没有，她看得见她自己，看得清清楚楚。可她脚下连地都没有，只有一片雾蒙蒙的白。     “你在干什么?”身边，一个影子说。     在这片什么都没有当中，她的眼睛好一阵子才对准那个东西。一开始，她以为那是一头狮子，离她很远；接着又以为是一只老鼠，离她很近。最后她才瞧出究竟是什么。     “我在探险。”卡萝兰告诉那只猫。     它的毛直直地立着，眼睛睁得大大的，可尾巴却耷拉下来，夹在后腿间。看样子，它不是一只快乐的猫。    “这地方真不好。”猫说，“不知道你愿不愿意管这儿叫‘地方’，反正我不这么叫。你在干什么?”    “我在探险。”    “没啥可探的。”猫说，“这儿只是外面，她压根儿没在这上头花心思。”    “她?”    “就是那个女人，说是你的另一个妈妈。”猫说。     “她到底是什么?”卡萝兰问。     猫没有回答，只管一声不吭跟在卡萝兰旁边走。    前面出现了一个影子，高高的，黑黑的，要仰着头才能看见。     “你错了！”卡萝兰告诉猫，“这里还是有东西的！”     过了一会儿，慢慢能看清那个雾里的影子了：一幢黑乎乎的宅子，在一片白蒙蒙中，高高耸立在他们面前。    “可那是——”卡萝兰说。    “是你刚刚离开的宅子。”猫说，“一点不错。”     “或许，我在雾里弄错了方向，转了一圈又回来了。”卡萝兰说。     猫高高竖起的尾巴尖一弯，折成一个问号，脑袋朝旁边一歪。“你，可能走错。而我呢，绝对不可能。走错路?哼。”    “可是，你怎么能背对着一个东西朝前走，走一阵子以后又走回去了?”     “太简单了。”猫说，“这么想吧：一个人绕着世界走，从一个地方出发，绕一圈以后还会回到那个地方。”     “可是，这个世界也太小了。”     “对她来说已经够大了。”猫说，“蜘蛛用不着织很大的网，只要能逮着苍蝇就行。” 卡萝兰打了个哆嗦。     “他说，她出去修理几扇门，”她告诉猫，“要把你关在外面。”     “让她试试看。”猫满不在乎，“就是这句话，随她怎么试好了。”他们这会儿站在一簇树下，就在宅子旁边。这些树的样子比树林里那些强多了，“像这类地方，进进出出的路可多了，连她都不知道。”    “可这个地方不是她做的吗?”卡萝兰问。    “做的，找到的——都一样。”猫说，“不管怎么说吧，她占了这个地方，已经好长时间了。等等——”    它全身一抖，一跳，卡萝兰还没来得及眨一下眼睛，猫爪子下已经摁住了好大一只黑老鼠，“我其实不太喜欢抓老鼠。”猫随随便便地说，好像根本没出什么事一样，“可这个地方的老鼠全是她的间谍。她把它们当成自个儿的手、眼睛……”说完，猫爪一松，把老鼠放了。     老鼠逃了几英尺，猫轻轻一跳，重新摁住它。一只爪子摁住，另一只伸出爪尖的猫爪狠狠扇了它一下。    “我最喜欢这么干了。”猫高兴地说，“想看我再来一遍吗?”    “不想。”卡萝兰说，“你干吗这么做?你在折磨它呀。”     “晤。”猫说。它放开老鼠。     老鼠被打晕了头，跌跌撞撞几步，这才拔腿便逃。    爪子一挥，猫把老鼠打飞起来，一张嘴，准准地叼住它。    “别这样！”卡萝兰说。    猫嘴巴一松，两只前爪捉住老鼠。“有人曾经这么说过，”它叹了口气，油腔滑调地说， “猫玩老鼠其实是一种仁慈——毕竟，时不时的，总会有个把会跑会跳的小点心逃掉。你看，你自己的晚饭哪有逃跑的机会?”     说完，它重新衔起老鼠，溜进树丛。    卡萝兰走进宅子。     屋里静悄悄的，一个人都没有。连踩在地毯上的脚步声都响得让人受不了。斜斜的阳光里飘着星星点点的灰尘。     过道尽头挂着那面镜子。从镜子里，她看着自己一步一步走过去。镜子里的她样子很勇敢，其实，她心里没有那么勇敢。镜子里只有她、过道，其他什么都没有。     一只手一碰她的肩膀，她抬头一看。另一个妈妈正向下看着卡萝兰，两只纽扣眼睛又大又黑。     “卡萝兰，亲爱的。”她说，“既然你散步回来了，咱们玩几个游戏好吗?跳房子?欢乐家庭?独角戏?”    “你不在镜子里。”卡萝兰说。    另一个妈妈笑了，“镜子这种东西，”她说，“信不得。对了，想玩哪种游戏?”    卡萝兰摇摇头。“我不想跟你玩。”她说，“我想回家，和我真正的妈妈爸爸在一起。请你放了他们，放了我们大家。”     另一个妈妈很慢很慢地摇着头，“忘恩负义的女儿，”她说， “比毒蛇的牙更毒①。但是，最桀骜不驯的灵魂也可以被爱所征服。”她长长的指头不住蠕动着。     “我才不想爱你呢。”卡萝兰说，“不管你怎么样，我绝对不爱你。你不能硬逼着我爱你。”     “咱们好好聊聊。”另一个妈妈说。她转过身去，走进客厅。卡萝兰跟在她身后。    另一个妈妈在大沙发上坐下，从沙发旁拿起一个购物袋，从里面掏出一个沙沙直响的白色纸袋。    她拿着纸袋，伸手递给卡萝兰。“想来一只吗?”     她很有礼貌地问。    卡萝兰以为里面是太妃糖，或者咸味奶油糖。她低头一看，纸袋里是半口袋蟑螂，个子老大，油亮油亮的，推推挤挤，拼命想逃出口袋。    “不。”卡萝兰说，“我不想。”    “随你的便好了。”另一个妈妈说。她仔细挑选出一只个子特别大的，扯掉蟑螂腿(她细心地把扯下来的蟑螂腿放进一旁小桌上的一只玻璃大烟缸里)，把蟑螂扔进嘴里，高兴地嚼起来。    “真好吃。”她说，然后又吃了一只。     “你真恶心。”卡萝兰说，“恶心、坏、怪物。”     “你就这么跟自个儿的妈妈说话?”另一个妈妈说，嘴里塞满蟑螂。    “你不是我妈妈。”卡萝兰说。    另一个妈妈没理这句话。“我觉得，你可能是兴奋过头了，卡萝兰。也许，到下午的时候，咱们一块儿做点刺绣活儿，要不画水彩画也行。然后吃晚饭。再以后，如果你乖乖的，你还可以在睡觉前跟老鼠们玩一会儿。我还会念故事给你听，替你掖好被子，亲亲你。”    长长的手指头不停地动来动去，像飞得慢吞吞的蝴蝶。     卡萝兰打了个哆嗦。    “不。”卡萝兰说。    另一个妈妈在沙发上坐直了，嘴巴闭成一道线，嘴唇绷得紧紧的。她又往嘴里扔了一只蟑螂，接着又是一     ①出自莎士比亚戏剧《李尔王》。    只，像别人吃巧克力葡萄干。又大又黑的纽扣眼睛瞪着卡萝兰的淡褐色眼睛。她亮闪闪的黑头发在脖子和肩膀周围动来动去，像有风吹着似的。可卡萝兰没觉得有风。    两人瞪着对方，瞪了一分钟。最后，另一个妈妈说：“没礼貌！”她小心地折起白纸口袋，让蟑螂逃不出来，再把它放进购物袋。然后，她站起身，身子向上，向上，比卡萝兰记得的更高。她的手伸进围裙兜里，向外掏东西。先掏出来的是那把黑钥匙。她皱着眉头瞧了瞧它，把它扔 进那只购物袋。接着又掏出一把银色的小钥匙。她高兴地举起钥匙，“找到了。”她说，“这是给你准备的，卡萝兰。为你好。因为我爱你，所以才要教你懂礼貌。一个人怎么样，一看他有没有礼貌就知道。”         她领着卡萝兰走进过道，一直走到过道尽头的镜子前。她把小钥匙往镜子里一插，再一拧。     镜子像一扇门一样打开了，露出后面的一个小黑窟窿。“等你学会了礼貌以后再放你出来。”另一个妈妈说，“等你打算做一个乖女儿的时候。”     她抱进卡萝兰，把她朝镜子后面的黑窟窿里塞。她的下嘴唇上还沾着一小片蟑螂渣子，黑纽扣眼睛里什么表情都没有。     接着，她关上镜子门，把卡萝兰留在黑窟窿里。

第七章 　　Somewhere inside her Coraline could feel a huge sob welling up. And then she stopped it, before it came out. She took a deep breath and let it go. She put out her hands to touch the space in which she was imprisoned. It was the size of a broom cupboard: tall enough to stand in or to sit in, not wide or deep enough to lie down in. 　　 　　One wall was glass, and it felt cold to the touch. 　　 　　She went around the tiny room a second time, running her hands over every surface that she could reach, feeling for doorknobs or switches or concealed catches-some kind of way out-and found nothing. 　　 　　A spider scuttled over the back of her hand and she choked back a shriek. But apart from the spider she was alone in the cupboard, in the pitch dark. 　　 　　And then her hand touched something that felt for all the world like somebody's cheek and lips, small and cold, and a voice whispered in her ear, "Hush! And shush! Say nothing, for the beldam might be listening!" 　　 　　Coraline said nothing. 　　 　　She felt a cold hand touch her face, fingers running over it like the gentle beat of a moth's wings. 　　 　　Another voice, hesitant and so faint Coraline wondered if she were imagining it, said, "Art thou-art thou alive?" 　　 　　"Yes," whispered Coraline. 　　 　　"Poor child," said the first voice. 　　 　　"Who are you?" whispered Coraline. 　　 　　"Names, names, names," said another voice, all faraway and lost. "The names are the first things to go, after the breath has gone, and the beating of the heart. We keep our memories longer than our names. I still keep pictures in my mind of my governess on some May morning, carrying my hoop and stick, and the morning sun behind her, and all the tulips bobbing in the breeze. But I have forgotten the name of my governess, and of the tulips too." 　　 　　"I don't think tulips have names," said Coraline. "They're just tulips." 　　 　　"Perhaps," said the voice sadly. "But I have always thought that these tulips must have had names. They were red, and orange-and-red, and red-and-orange-and-yellow, like the embers in the nursery fire of a winter's evening. I remember them." 　　 　　The voice sounded so sad that Coraline put out a hand to the place where it was coming from, and she found a cold hand, and she squeezed it tightly. 　　 　　Her eyes were beginning to get used to the darkness. Now Coraline saw, or imagined she saw, three shapes, each as faint and pale as a moon in the daytime sky. They were the shapes of children about her own size. The cold hand squeezed her hand back. "Thank you," said the voice. 　　 　　"Are you a girl?" asked Coraline. "Or a boy?" 　　 　　There was a pause. "When I was small I wore skirts and my hair was long and curled," it said doubtfully. "But now that you ask, it does seem to me that one day they took my skirts and gave me britches and cut my hair." 　　 　　"Tain't something we give a mind to," said the first of the voices. 　　 　　"A boy, perhaps, then," continued the one whose hand she was holding. "I believe I was once a boy." And it glowed a little more brightly in the darkness of the room behind the mirror. 　　 　　"What happened to you all?" asked Coraline. "How did you come here?" 　　 　　"She left us here," said one of the voices. "She stole our hearts, and she stole our souls, and she took our lives away, and she left us here, and she forgot about us in the dark." 　　 　　"You poor things," said Coraline. "How long have you been here?" 　　 　　"So very long a time," said a voice. 　　 　　"Aye. Time beyond reckoning," said another voice. 　　 　　"I walked through the scullery door," said the voice of the one that thought it might be a boy, "and I found myself back in the parlour. But she was waiting for me. She told me she was my other mamma, but I never saw my true mamma again." 　　 　　"Flee!" said the very first of the voices-another girl, Coraline fancied-"Flee, while there's still air in your lungs and blood in your veins and warmth in your heart. Flee while you still have your mind and your soul." 　　 　　"I'm not running away," said Coraline. "She has my parents. I came to get them back." 　　 　　"Ah, but she'll keep you here while the days turn to dust and the leaves fall and the years pass one after the next like the tick-tick-ticking of a clock." 　　 　　"No," said Coraline. "She won't." 　　 　　There was silence then in the room behind the mirror. 　　 　　"Peradventure," said a voice in the darkness, "if you could win your mama and your papa back from the beldam, you could also win free our souls." 　　 　　"Has she taken them?" asked Coraline, shocked. 　　 　　"Aye. And hidden them." 　　 　　"That is why we could not leave here, when we died. She kept us, and she fed on us, until now we're nothing left of ourselves, only snakeskins and spider-husks. Find our secret hearts, young mistress." 　　 　　"And what will happen to you if I do?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　The voices said nothing. 　　 　　"And what is she going to do to me?" she said. 　　 　　The pale figures pulsed faintly; she could imagine that they were nothing more than afterimages, like the glow left by a bright light in your eyes, after the lights go out. 　　 　　"It doth not hurt," whispered one faint voice. 　　 　　"She will take your life and all you are and all you care'st for, and she will leave you with nothing but mist and fog. She'll take your joy. And one day you'll awake and your heart and your soul will have gone. A husk you'll be, a wisp you'll be, and a thing no more than a dream on waking, or a memory of something forgotten." 　　 　　"Hollow," whispered the third voice. "Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow." 　　 　　"You must flee," sighed a voice, faintly. 　　 　　"I don't think so," said Coraline. "I tried running away, and it didn't work. She just took my parents. Can you tell me how to get out of this room?" 　　 　　"If we knew then we would tell you." 　　 　　"Poor things," said Coraline to herself. She sat down. She took off her sweater and rolled it up and put it behind her head, as a pillow. "She won't keep me in the dark for ever," said Coraline. "She brought me here to play games. 'Games and challenges,' the cat said. I'm not much of a challenge here in the dark." She tried to get comfortable, twisting and bending herself to fit the cramped space behind the mirror. Her stomach rumbled. She ate her last apple, taking the tiniest bites, making it last as long as she could. When she had finished she was still hungry. Then an idea struck her, and she whispered, "When she comes to let me out, why don't you three come with me?" 　　 　　"We wish that we could," they sighed to her, in their barely-there voices. "But she has our hearts in her keeping. Now we belong to the dark and to the empty places. The light would shrivel us, and burn." 　　 　　"Oh," said Coraline. 　　She closed her eyes, which made the darkness darker, and she rested her head on the rolled-up sweater, and she went to sleep. And as she fell asleep she thought she felt a ghost kiss her cheek, tenderly, and a small voice whisper into her ear, a voice so faint it was barely there at all, a gentle wispy nothing of a voice so hushed that Coraline could almost believe she was imagining it. 　　 　　"Look through the stone," it said to her. And then she slept.

卡萝兰觉得，胸口里面什么地方，一团哽哽的东西直往上挤。她硬把那团东西压下去，不让它跑出来。她深深吸了一口气，再吐出来。卡萝兰伸出手，四周摸索这个小监狱。大小跟放扫帚的卫生柜差不多，高度够她站起来，坐下也行，就是不能躺下。不够长，也不够宽。    一面墙是玻璃。一摸，冰冷。    她又摸了一次，手能够着的地方都摸了一遍，看有没有门把手、开关，或者暗门什么的(有的监狱有这种暗门).没找到。 ．一只蜘蛛爬上手背。她差点叫起来，好不容易才忍住。除了这只蜘蛛，这个黑漆漆的地方只有她一个，别的什么都没有。     可就在这时，她的手碰到一样东西。像人的脸蛋和嘴唇。又小，又冷。有人悄悄在她耳朵边上说：“噤声，噤声！噤声勿言，隔墙有耳，须提防那恶妇！”     卡萝兰没有说话。     一只凉凉的手摸着她的脸，手指轻轻动着，轻得像飞蛾的翅膀。    又响起一个声音。犹犹豫豫的，轻极了。卡萝兰还以为是自个儿脑子里想出来的。“敢问你是何人?是死是活?”    “活的。”卡萝兰悄悄说。     “可怜，可怜。”第一个声音说。     “你们是谁?”卡萝兰压低嗓门问。     “名字，唉，名字，名字。”又传来第三个声音，远远的，飘飘荡荡的，“生气一去，心脏不复跳动，姓名随之而逝。所幸我等尚有记忆，名虽亡，记忆犹在。    犹记五月天，艳阳高照，女教师提篮倚杖，携我等漫步花田。微风起处，郁金香俯仰摇曳。吁，女教师姓甚名谁，我却不记得了，郁金香的名字更是忘却了。”     “照我看，郁金香好像没有自个儿的名字吧。”卡萝兰说，“郁金香就是郁金香。”     “也说得是。”那个声音伤心地说，“我却总当彼等各有嘉名。红的，橘红带红，橘红带红夹黄色，如冬夜儿童室之壁炉余烬。我还没忘哩。”    声音难过极了，卡萝兰忍不住朝声音的方向伸出手。她摸到一只冰冷的手，使劲捏了捏。     再过一会儿，她的眼睛能在黑暗里看见东西了。卡萝兰看见三个人影，也说不定是她想像出来的。每个影子都淡淡的，像大白天见到的月亮。瞧影子的模样，都是孩子，个头跟她差不多。那只冰冷的手也捏了捏她的手，“谢过了。”那个声音说。     “你是男孩还是女孩?”卡萝兰问。    顿了顿。“垂髫时，我记得仿佛是着裙的，蓄了头发。”声音很没有把握，“问起时我方才想起，似乎过些时日，我又剪了头发，换裙着裤了。”     “裙裤细事，我等是不在意的。”第一个声音说。    “那么，必是男孩无疑了。”跟她拉着手的那个影子接着说，“想来必是男孩。”镜子后面的这个黑窟窿里，这个影子好像亮了一点。     “你们到底出了什么事?”卡萝兰问， “怎么会关在这儿?”    “是那恶妇干的好事。”一个声音说，“此人盗走我等的心，窃取我等的灵魂。二般既去，自然命不久长。她便将我等羁押在此，弃置如敝屣。”    “真可怜。”卡萝兰说，“你们关在这儿多久了。”    “久啊。”一个声音说。     “唉，时日漫漫，早已不记得了。”另一个声音说。    “我自杂物室门内过来，”那个觉得自个儿是男孩的声音说，“却见又回到自家厅堂。那恶妇正等着，说她乃是我另一个妈妈。自那日起，我便再也未曾见着我真正的妈妈了。”    “逃命去吧！”第一个声音说，卡萝兰觉得是个女孩，“逃吧，只要胸中尚存一息之气，体尚温热。逃吧，否则灵魂与意识一去，那便大势去矣。”    “我不能逃。”卡萝兰说，“她抓住了我的爸爸妈妈。我是来救他们的。”    “罢了，罢了。她必陷你于此，此后永日如灰，岁月如流。再想逃时已为时太晚，待逃到哪里去?”     “不，”卡萝兰说，“她不会的。”     镜子后面的小黑屋里静悄悄的，三个影子谁都没有说话。    “也未必不能。”黑暗中，一个声音说，“果能救令尊令堂离虎口，亦必能救我等出此苦海。”    “你是说，我爸爸妈妈真的被她抓走了?”卡萝兰吃惊地问。     “是。令尊令堂被那恶妇藏过了。”     “一如我等三人。我三人亡故时，那恶妇将我三人的灵魂监押于此，以我等为食，直至再无甚可食之物，仅余一具如蛇蜕也似的残壳。务请小姐觅得我三人被那恶妇藏过的心脏。”     “找到以后，你们会怎么样?”卡萝兰问。     没有声音。    “她会怎么待我?”她说。    淡淡的影子们轻轻地一起一伏。她觉得这里既像真有这三个影子，又像没有。好像一道亮光照在眼睛里，熄灭以后，眼睛里还觉得有亮光似的。    “倒是不痛。”一个轻轻的声音，悄悄说。     “她会取你的性命，你的全部，尽取你之为你。待她得手后，你便一无可取了，只余一个影子。你的幸福亦将入她的掌握。总有一日，清晨梦醒，发觉心与灵魂已不复存在。那时你便是一个壳，一道轻风，如醒后之梦，似有若无的片断记忆。”     “只余下一场空。”第三个声音悄声说，“空，空，空。”    “还是逃命去吧。”又一个声音叹了口气。     “我不逃。”卡萝兰说，“我逃过，可逃不掉。她抓走了我的爸爸妈妈。怎么逃出这间小黑屋，你们能告诉我吗?”     “我们若知道，自然告诉你了。”     、“可怜。”卡萝兰自言自语。     她坐下来，脱下套头衫，卷成一团，垫在脑袋下面当枕头。“她不会老把我关在这儿。”卡萝兰说，“她把我引到这儿来，是想跟我玩游戏。游戏和挑战，猫就是这么说来着。关在这儿，我还算什么挑战。”她想尽量坐舒服点儿，可镜子后面这间小黑屋太小了，她扭来扭去，怎么都 舒服不了。     肚子咕噜咕噜直响。她掏出最后一个苹果，小口小口咬着，想吃得更久一点。可苹果吃完了，她还是饿。     忽然间，她想到一个好主意。卡萝兰悄声说： “等她来放我出去的时候，你们三个跟我一块儿出去，好吗?”    “果能如此，自然再好不过。”他们叹着气，用那种简直听不见的声音告诉她，“她那里押着我们的心哩。如此一来，我等见光即焚，只得藏在暗处。”    “噢。”卡萝兰说。     她闭上眼睛。眼睛一闭，觉得更黑了。她把头靠在卷成一团的套头衫上，睡了。快睡着的时候，她觉得有个鬼魂轻轻亲着她的脸，用非常非常小的声音凑在她耳朵边说着什么。声音真是太小了，她以为是自己瞎想出来的。     “穿过石头的洞眼看。”那个声音告诉她。     然后，她睡着了。

第八章 　　The other mother looked healthier than before: there was a little blush to her cheeks, and her hair was wriggling like lazy snakes on a warm day. Her black-button eyes seemed as if they had been freshly polished. 　　 　　She had pushed through the mirror as if she were walking through nothing more solid than water and had stared down at Coraline. Then she had opened the door with the little silver key. She picked Coraline up, just as Coraline's real mother had when Coraline was much younger, cradling the half-sleeping child as if she were a baby. 　　 　　The other mother carried Coraline into the kitchen and put her down, very gently, upon the counter-top. 　　 　　Coraline struggled to wake herself up, conscious only for the moment of having been cuddled and loved, and wanting more of it; then realising where she was, and who she was with. 　　 　　"There, my sweet Coraline," said her other mother. "I came and fetched you out of the cupboard. You needed to be taught a lesson, but we temper our justice with mercy here, we love the sinner and we hate the sin. Now, if you will be a good child who loves her mother, be compliant and fair-spoken, you and I shall understand each other perfectly and we shall love each other perfectly as well." 　　 　　Coraline scratched the sleep-grit from her eyes. 　　 　　"There were other children in there," she said. "Old ones, from a long time ago." 　　 　　"Were there?" said the other mother. She was bustling between the pans and the fridge, bringing out eggs and cheeses, butter and a slab of sliced pink bacon. 　　 　　"Yes," said Coraline. "There were. I think you're planning to turn me into one of them. A dead shell." 　　 　　Her other mother smiled gently. With one hand she cracked the eggs into a bowl, with the other she whisked them and whirled them. Then she dropped a pat of butter into a frying pan, where it hissed and fizzled and spun as she sliced thin slices of cheese. She poured the melted butter and the cheese into the egg mixture, and whisked it some more. 　　 　　"Now, I think you're being silly, dear," said the other mother. "I love you. I will always love you. Nobody sensible believes in ghosts anyway. That's because they're all such liars. Smell the lovely breakfast I'm making for you." She poured the yellow mixture into the pan. "Cheese omelette. Your favourite." 　　 　　Coraline's mouth watered. "You like games," she said. "That's what I've been told." 　　 　　The other mother's black eyes flashed. "Everybody likes games," was all she said. 　　 　　"Yes," said Coraline. She climbed down from the counter and sat at the kitchen table. 　　 　　The bacon was sizzling and spitting under the grill. It smelled wonderful. 　　 　　"Wouldn't you be happier if you won me, fair and square?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　"Possibly," said the other mother. She had a show of unconcernedness, but her fingers twitched and drummed and she licked her lips with her scarlet tongue. "What exactly are you offering?" 　　 　　"Me," said Coraline, and she gripped her knees under the table, to stop them from shaking. "If I lose I'll stay here with you for ever and I'll let you love me. I'll be a most dutiful daughter. I'll eat your food, and play Happy Families. And I'll let you sew your buttons into my eyes." 　　 　　Her other mother stared at her, black buttons unblinking. "That sounds very fine," she said. "And if you do not lose?" 　　 　　"Then you let me go. You let everyone go-my real father and mother, the dead children, everyone you've trapped here." 　　 　　The other mother took the bacon from under the grill and put it on a plate. Then she slipped the cheese omelette from the pan on to the plate, flipping it as she did so, letting it fold itself into a perfect omelette shape. 　　 　　She placed the breakfast plate in front of Coraline, along with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a mug of frothy hot chocolate. 　　 　　"Yes," she said. "I think I like this game. But what kind of game shall it be? A riddle game? A test of knowledge? Or of skill?" 　　 　　"An exploring game," suggested Coraline. "A finding-things game." 　　 　　"And what is it you think you should be finding in this hide-and-go-seek game, Coraline Jones?" 　　 　　Coraline hesitated. Then, "My parents," said Coraline. "And the souls of the children behind the mirror." 　　 　　The other mother smiled at this, triumphantly, and Coraline wondered if she had made the right choice. Still, it was too late to change her mind now. 　　 　　"A deal," said the other mother. "Now eat up your breakfast, my sweet. Don't worry, it won't hurt you." 　　 　　Coraline stared at the breakfast, hating herself for giving in so easily; but she was starving. 　　 　　"How do I know you'll keep your word?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　"I swear it," said the other mother. "I swear it on my own mother's grave." 　　 　　"Does she have a grave?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　"Oh yes," said the other mother. "I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back." 　　 　　"Swear on something else. So I can trust you to keep your word." 　　 　　"My right hand," said the other mother, holding it up. She waggled the long fingers slowly, displaying the claw-like nails. "I swear on that." 　　 　　Coraline shrugged. "Okay," she said. "It's a deal." 　　 　　She ate the breakfast, trying not to wolf it down. She was hungrier than she had thought. 　　 　　As she ate, the other mother stared at her. It was hard to read expressions into those black-button eyes, but Coraline thought that her other mother looked hungry, too. 　　 　　She drank the orange juice, but even though she knew she would like it she could not bring herself to taste the hot chocolate. 　　 　　"Where should I start looking?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　"Where you wish," said her other mother, as if she did not care at all. 　　 　　Coraline looked at her, and Coraline thought hard. There was no point, she decided, in exploring the garden and the grounds: they didn't exist, they weren't real. There was no abandoned tennis court in the other mother's world, no bottomless well. All that was real was the house itself. 　　 　　She looked around the kitchen. She opened the oven, peered into the freezer, poked into the salad compartment of the fridge. The other mother followed her about, looking at Coraline with a smirk always hovering at the edge of her lips. 　　 　　"How big are souls anyway?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　The other mother sat down at the kitchen table and leaned back against the wall, saying nothing. She picked at her teeth with a long crimson-varnished fingernail, then she tapped the finger gently, tap-tap-tap, against the polished black surface of her black-button eyes. 　　 　　"Fine," said Coraline. "Don't tell me. I don't care. It doesn't matter if you help me or not. Everyone knows that a soul is the same size as a beach ball." 　　 　　She was hoping the other mother would say something like, "Nonsense, they're the size of ripe onions-or suitcases-or grandfather clocks," but the other mother simply smiled, and the tap-tap-tapping of her fingernail against her eye was as steady and relentless as the drip of water droplets from the tap into the sink. And then, Coraline realised, it was simply the noise of the water, and she was alone in the room. 　　 　　Coraline shivered. She preferred the other mother to have a location: if she were nowhere, then she could be anywhere. And, after all, it is always easier to be afraid of something you cannot see. She put her hands into her pockets and her fingers closed around the reassuring shape of the stone with the hole in it. She pulled it out of her pocket, held it in front of her as if she were holding a gun, and walked out into the hall. 　　 　　There was no sound but the tap-tap of the water dripping into the metal sink. 　　 　　She glanced at the mirror at the end of the hall. For a moment it clouded over, and it seemed to her that faces swam in the glass, indistinct and shapeless, and then the faces were gone, and there was nothing in the mirror but a girl who was small for her age holding something that glowed gently, like a green coal. 　　 　　Coraline looked down at her hand, surprised: it was just a pebble with a hole in it, a nondescript brown stone. Then she looked back into the mirror where the stone glimmered like an emerald. A trail of green fire blew from the stone in the mirror, and drifted towards Coraline's bedroom. 　　 　　"Hmm," said Coraline. 　　 　　She walked into the bedroom. The toys fluttered excitedly as she came in, as if they were pleased to see her, and a little tank rolled out of the toybox to greet her, its treads rolling over several other toys. It fell from the toybox on to the floor, tipping as it fell, and it lay on the carpet like a beetle on its back, grumbling and grinding its treads before Coraline picked it up and turned it over. The tank fled under the bed in embarrassment. 　　 　　Coraline looked around the room. 　　 　　She looked in the cupboards and the drawers. Then she picked up one end of the toybox and tipped all the toys in it out on to the carpet, where they grumbled and stretched and wiggled awkwardly free of each other. A grey marble rolled across the floor and clicked against the wall. None of the toys looked particularly soul-like, she thought. She picked up and examined a silver charm-bracelet from which hung tiny animal charms which chased each other around the perimeter of the bracelet, the fox never catching the rabbit, the bear never gaining on the fox. 　　 　　Coraline opened her hand and looked at the stone with the hole in it, hoping for a clue but not finding one. Most of the toys that had been in the toybox had now crawled away to hide under the bed, and the few toys that were left (a green plastic soldier, the glass marble, a vivid pink yo-yo, and such) were the kind of things you find in the bottoms of toyboxes in the real world: forgotten objects, abandoned and unloved. 　　 　　She was about to leave and look elsewhere. And then she remembered a voice in the darkness, a gentle whispering voice, and what it had told her to do. She raised the stone with the hole in it, and held it in front of her right eye. She closed her left eye and looked at the room through the hole in the stone. 　　 　　Through the stone, the world was grey and colourless, like a pencil drawing. Everything in it was grey-no, not quite everything. Something glinted on the floor, something the colour of an ember in a nursery fireplace, the colour of a scarlet-and-orange tulip nodding in the May sun. Coraline reached out her left hand, scared that if she took her eye off it it would vanish, and she fumbled for the burning thing. 　　 　　Her fingers closed about something smooth and cool. She snatched it up, and then lowered the stone with the hole in it from her eye and looked down. The grey glass marble from the bottom of the toybox sat, dully, in the pink palm of her hand. She raised the stone to her eye once more, and looked through it at the marble. Once again the marble burned and flickered with a red fire. 　　 　　A voice whispered in her mind, "Indeed, lady, it comes to me that I certainly was a boy, now I do think on it. Oh, but you must hurry. There are two of us still to find, and the beldam is already angry with you for uncovering me." 　　 　　If I'm going to do this, thought Coraline, I'm not going to do it in her clothes. She changed back into her pyjamas and her dressing gown and her slippers, leaving the grey sweater and the black jeans neatly folded up on the bed, the orange boots on the floor by the toy box. 　　 　　She put the marble into her dressing-gown pocket and walked out into the hall. 　　 　　Something stung her face and hands like sand blowing on a beach on a windy day. She covered her eyes, and pushed forward. 　　 　　The sand-stings got worse, and it got harder and harder to walk, as if she were pushing into the wind on a particularly blustery day. It was a vicious wind, and a cold one. 　　 　　She took a step backwards, the way she had come. 　　 　　"Oh, keep going," whispered a ghost-voice in her ear. "For the beldam is angry." 　　 　　She stepped forward in the hallway, into another gust of wind, which stung her cheeks and face with invisible sand, sharp as needles, sharp as glass. 　　 　　"Play fair," shouted Coraline, into the wind. 　　 　　There was no reply, but the wind whipped about her one more time, petulantly, and then it dropped away, and was gone. As she passed the kitchen Coraline could hear, in the sudden silence, the drip-drip of the water from the leaking tap, or perhaps the other mother's long fingernails tapping impatiently against the table. Coraline resisted the urge to look. 　　 　　In a couple of strides she reached the front door, and she walked outside. 　　 　　Coraline went down the steps and around the house until she reached the other Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's flat. The lamps around the door were flickering on and off almost randomly now, spelling out no words that Coraline could understand. The door was closed. She was afraid it was locked, and she pushed on it with all her strength. First it stuck, then suddenly it gave, and, with a jerk, Coraline stumbled into the dark room beyond. 　　 　　Coraline closed one hand around the stone with the hole in it and walked forward into blackness. She expected to find a curtained anteroom, but there was nothing there. The room was dark. The theatre was empty. She moved ahead cautiously. Something rustled above her. She looked up into a deeper darkness, and as she did so her feet knocked against something. She reached down, picked up a torch, and clicked it on, sweeping the beam around the room. 　　 　　The theatre was derelict and abandoned. Chairs were broken on the floor, and old, dusty spiders' webs draped the walls and hung from the rotten wood and the decomposing velvet hangings. 　　 　　Something rustled once again. Coraline directed her light beam upwards, towards the ceiling. There were things up there, hairless, jellyish. She thought they might once have had faces, might even once have been dogs; but no dogs had wings like bats, or could hang, like spiders, like bats, upside-down. 　　 　　The light startled the creatures, and one of them took to the air, its wings whirring heavily through the dust. Coraline ducked as it swooped close to her. It came to rest on a far wall, and it began to clamber, upside-down, back to the nest of the dog-bats upon the ceiling. 　　 　　Coraline raised the stone to her eye and she scanned the room through it, looking for something that glowed or glinted, a telltale sign that somewhere in this room was another hidden soul. She ran the beam of the torch about the room as she searched, the thick dust in the air making the light beam seem almost solid. 　　 　　There was something up on the back wall behind the ruined stage. It was greyish-white, twice the size of Coraline herself, and it was stuck to the back wall like a slug. Coraline took a deep breath. "I'm not afraid," she told herself. "I'm not." She did not believe herself, but she scrambled on to the old stage, fingers sinking into the rotting wood as she pulled herself up. 　　 　　As she got closer to the thing on the wall, she saw that it was some kind of a sac, like a spider's egg-case. It twitched in the light beam. Inside the sac was something that looked like a person, but a person with two heads, with twice as many arms and legs as it should have. 　　 　　The creature in the sac seemed horribly unformed and unfinished, as if two Plasticine people had been warmed and rolled together, squashed and pressed into one thing. 　　 　　Coraline hesitated. She did not want to approach the thing. The dog-bats dropped, one by one, from the ceiling, and began to circle the room, coming close to her but never touching her. 　　 　　Perhaps there are no souls hidden in here, she thought. Perhaps I can just leave and go somewhere else. She took a last look through the hole in the stone: the abandoned theatre was still a bleak grey, but now there was a brown glow, as rich and bright as polished cherrywood, coming from inside the sac. Whatever was glowing was being held in one of the hands of the thing on the wall. 　　 　　Coraline walked slowly across the damp stage, trying to make as little noise as she could, afraid that, if she disturbed the thing in the sac, it would open its eyes, and see her, and then … 　　 　　But there was nothing that she could think of that was as scary as having it look at her. Her heart pounded in her chest. She took another step forward. 　　 　　She had never been so scared, but still she walked forward until she reached the sac. Then she pushed her hand into the sticky, clinging whiteness of the stuff on the wall. It crackled softly, like a tiny fire, as she pushed, and it clung to her skin and clothes like a spider's web clings, like white candy-floss. She pushed her hand into it, and she reached upward until she touched a cold hand, which was, she could feel, closed around another glass marble. The creature's skin felt slippery, as if it had been covered in jelly. Coraline tugged at the marble. 　　 　　At first nothing happened; it was held tight in the creature's grasp. Then, one by one, the fingers loosened their grip, and the marble slipped into her hand. She pulled her arm back through the sticky webbing, relieved that the thing's eyes had not opened. She shone the light on its faces: they resembled, she decided, the younger versions of Miss Spink and Miss Forcible, but twisted and squeezed together, like two lumps of wax that had melted and melded together into one ghastly object. 　　 　　Without warning, one of the creature's hands made a grab for Coraline's arm. Its fingernails scraped her skin, but it was too slippery to grip, and Coraline pulled away successfully. And then the eyes opened-four black buttons glinting and staring down at her-and two voices that sounded like no voice that Coraline had ever heard began to speak to her. One of them wailed and whispered, the other buzzed like a fat and angry bluebottle at a windowpane, but the voices said, as one person, "Thief! Give it back! Stop! Thief!" 　　 　　The air became alive with dog-bats. Coraline began to back away. She realised then that, terrifying though the thing on the wall was, the thing that had once been the other Misses Spink and Forcible, it was attached to the wall by its web, encased in its cocoon. It could not follow her. 　　 　　The dog-bats flapped and fluttered about her, but they did nothing to hurt Coraline. She climbed down from the stage and shone the torch about the old theatre looking for the way out. 　　 　　"Flee, miss," wailed a girl's voice in her head. "Flee, now. You have two of us. Flee this place while your blood still flows." 　　 　　Coraline dropped the marble into her pocket beside the other. She spotted the door, ran to it, and pulled on it until it opened.

另一个妈妈的样子精神极了，气色比平时好得多，脸上还有一抹红，头发扭来扭去，像晒暖的蛇。两只黑纽扣眼睛亮晶晶的，像刚刚擦过。     她探头穿过镜子，好像前面根本没东西，就那么一探，把脑袋伸进来，低头看着卡萝兰。然后，她用那把银色的小钥匙打开镜子，抱起卡萝兰。卡萝兰很小的时候，她真正的妈妈也这么抱她，把她搂在怀里摇来摇去，好像她还是个小婴儿似的。    另一个妈妈抱着卡萝兰，把她抱到厨房，轻轻放在备餐台上。     卡萝兰使劲想清醒过来，可只醒了一会儿，觉得自己被抱着，哄着，有人爱她。她想多享受一会儿，可就在这时，她清醒了，想起自己是谁，和她在一起的人又是谁。     “好了，亲爱的卡萝兰，”另一个妈妈说，“我把你从碗橱里抱出来了。应该给你一点点教训，但我们都是心肠特别好的好人。我们讨厌犯错误，但不讨厌犯错误的孩子。如果你肯当一个爱妈妈的好孩子，听话，懂礼貌，咱们一定会处得非常好，我们还是亲亲热热的一家人。”    卡萝兰揉了揉眼睛。     “那儿还有几个小孩。”她说，“从前的小孩，很久很久以前。”    “是吗?”另一个妈妈说。她在煎锅和冰箱之间来来回回忙个不停，拿出鸡蛋、奶酪、黄油，还有一片粉红色的火腿。     “是。”卡萝兰说，“没错，就是有。我猜，你想把我变成他们那样，一个死了的壳。”     另一个妈妈和气地笑起来。她一只手把鸡蛋打进一只碗里，另一只手不停地搅打着鸡蛋。然后，她把一块黄油放进煎锅，黄油咝咝啦啦响着，她趁这工夫把奶酪切成薄片。最后，另一个妈妈把融化的黄油和奶酪一起放进鸡蛋碗里，重新搅打起来。    “听着，亲爱的，我觉得你真是个傻孩子。”另一个妈妈说，“我爱你呀。我会一直爱你。再说，只要是有一点点头脑的人，谁都不会相信鬼魂说的话。他们统统是骗子。闻闻，妈妈给你做的早饭多香。”她把蛋汁倒进煎锅，“奶酪蛋卷，你最喜欢了。”     卡萝兰的嘴里口水直冒。“你喜欢玩游戏，”她说，“他们就是这么告诉我的。”     另一个妈妈的黑纽扣眼睛闪了一下， “每个人都喜欢玩游戏。”她只说了这一句话。    “对。”卡萝兰说。她从备餐台上爬下来，在餐桌边坐好。    火腿也烤得了，在烤架上嘶嘶响，火腿油往下滴答着。真香啊。     “如果你赢了我，公公道道地赢了我，你会不会很高兴?”卡萝兰问。     “可能吧。”另一个妈妈说。她装出不感兴趣的样子，可她的手指不住动弹，敲打着台面，还伸出鲜红的舌头舔了舔嘴唇，“玩游戏要有赌注，你想拿什么当赌注?”     “我。”卡萝兰说，两手伸到餐桌下面，紧紧抓住膝盖，让它们别哆嗦，“要是我输了，我就永远留在这儿，还会让你爱我，当一个最听话的女儿。我会吃你吃的东西，玩幸福家庭。还有，我会让你在我眼睛上缝纽扣。”    另一个妈妈盯着她，黑纽扣眼睛一眨不眨。“听上去挺不错。”她说，“要是你没输呢?”    “那，你就要让我走。让所有人走：我真正的爸爸妈妈，那些死了的小孩。你关在这儿的每个人。”    另一个妈妈把火腿从烤架上拿下来，盛进一只盘子里，然后把煎锅里的鸡蛋饼翻了个面儿，扣在盘子上，再卷成一个漂漂亮亮的蛋卷。     她把盛着这份早餐的盘子放在卡萝兰面前，加上一杯新榨的橙汁，还有一大杯直冒泡的热巧克力。     “好吧，”她说，“我觉得，我挺喜欢这个游戏。     但咱们怎么个玩法?猜谜?知识问答?”     “探险游戏。”卡萝兰说，“比赛找东西。”    “比赛找东西。你打算找什么，卡萝兰?琼斯?”    卡萝兰迟疑了一下，“找我的爸爸妈妈。”她说，“还有镜子后面那几个小孩的灵魂。”    听了这句话，另一个妈妈得意地笑了。卡萝兰心想，自己可能犯了个大错误。现在改主意已经来不及了。     “说定了。”另一个妈妈说，“现在，宝贝儿，吃完早饭。别担心，吃顿好饭没坏处的。”     卡萝兰盯着盘子，心里很不情愿向另一个妈妈屈服。可她真是太饿了。    “我怎么知道你会说话算话?”卡萝兰问。    “我发誓。”另一个妈妈说，“我向我自己妈妈的坟墓发誓。”     “她真有坟墓吗?”卡萝兰问。    “哦，当然有。”另一个妈妈说，“还是我亲手埋的呢。当时她还一个劲儿地想爬出来，我把她塞回去了。”     “还是拿别的东西发誓吧。要不，我不相信你会说话算话。” ．“我的右手，怎么样?”另一个妈妈说，举起右手，慢慢动着那几根长长的手指头，露出像爪子一样的指甲。“我拿它发誓。”     卡萝兰耸耸肩，“好吧。”她说，“说定了。”她开始吃早饭，尽量别大口大口往下吞。吃上东西以后才知道，原来她比想像的饿得更厉害。     她吃饭的时候，另一个妈妈盯着她。很难看出那双纽扣眼睛里是什么表情，但卡萝兰觉得，另一个妈妈的样子也挺饿的。    她喝了橙汁，很想再尝尝那杯热巧克力，到底还是忍住了。    “我应该从哪儿找起?”卡萝兰问。     “想从哪儿就从哪儿。”另一个妈妈说，一脸满不在乎。     卡萝兰望着她，暗暗动脑筋。她断定，肯定不在园子里。远处更不会，因为根本没有什么远处，本来在远处的东西全都没有了。在另一个妈妈的世界里，没有那个废弃的旧网球场，也没有那口井。只有宅子是真实的。     她从厨房开始。打开烤箱，朝冰箱里张望，在冰箱的沙拉格子里东翻西找。另一个妈妈跟在她身后，看着卡萝兰找，嘴角还挂着一丝嘲笑。     “对了，灵魂有多大个儿?”卡萝兰问。    另一个妈妈在橱柜边坐下，向后一仰，靠在墙上，什么都没说。她用一根长长的红指甲剔着牙，剔完以后，又用这根指头一下一下轻轻敲打擦得亮铮铮的黑纽扣眼睛：嗒，嗒，嗒。    “不说就不说，”卡萝兰说，“有什么了不起的。     说不说都一样。谁都知道，灵魂跟水球大小差不多。”     她一心指望另一个妈妈落进这个圈套，接过她的话头说，“胡说，灵魂只有熟透了的洋葱那么大”，或者手提箱那么大，或者老爷爷的座钟那么大。可另一个妈妈只是笑，继续用指甲敲打纽扣眼睛。嗒，嗒，嗒，不紧不慢，一直不停敲打下去，像水龙头朝水池里滴水似的。接着，卡 萝兰发现，真的是水龙头滴水的声音。房间里只有她一个人。         卡萝兰打了个哆嗦。她希望另一个妈妈能实实在在地在什么地方。如果什么地方都找不着她，她就可能在任何地方。还有，看不见的东西总是更吓人。她双手插进口袋，握住那块上面带洞眼、让人觉得踏实的石头。    她把它从口袋里掏出来，像端熗瞄准一样凑到眼睛跟前，走进过道。    静悄悄的，只有水滴在金属水池里的嗒嗒声。    她望着走道尽头那面镜子。有一会儿工夫，它上面蒙了一层雾，镜子里好像有几张模模糊糊、没形没状的脸，动来动去。接着，脸不见了。镜子里什么都没有，只有一个小个子小姑娘，手里拿着一件发着淡淡绿光的东西，像一块绿莹莹的煤。    卡萝兰吓了一跳，低头看着手里。只是一块普普通通的褐色卵石，中间有个洞眼。她又朝镜子里看。镜子里的石头亮晶晶的，像一块绿宝石。一线绿火从镜子里的卵石上飘出来，朝卡萝兰的卧室飘去。     “哟。”卡萝兰说。    她走进卧室。玩具们高兴地扑腾着，好像很高兴看到她。一辆小坦克的履带从其他玩具身上滚过，想从玩具盒子里翻出来欢迎她。它从玩具盒子翻到地板上，结果翻了个个儿，履带朝天哼哼着。卡萝兰替它翻了个身。坦克害臊了，飞快钻进床底。    卡萝兰四处找。    她在柜子里找，在抽屉里找。又抓住玩具盒子一边，把玩具全部倒在地毯上。玩具们吵吵嚷嚷，笨手笨脚地四下乱爬。一颗灰色大理石弹子一直滚到房间另一头，撞在墙上。卡萝兰心想，没有哪件玩具看上去特别像灵魂呀。她拾起一只魔法银手镯，手镯里关着中了魔法的小动物，不 停地绕着手镯追来追去。狐狸追兔子，狗熊追狐狸，可谁也追不上谁。         卡萝兰摊开巴掌，望着那块带洞眼的石头，想找到什么线索。可什么线索都没找到。以前待在玩具盒子里的玩具大多数躲到床下去了，只有很少几件留在外面：一个绿色的塑料兵，那颗灰色大理石弹子，一个粉红色的溜溜球，等等。这些都是压在玩具盒子最底下的玩具，被抛弃了， 没人理，没人爱。    她正想离开卧室，忽然想起以前在一片黑暗中听过的一个声音，一句悄悄话。她想起那个声音是怎么说的。卡萝兰举起带洞眼的石头，凑在右眼上。她闭上左眼，从洞眼里看着这个房间。     透过洞眼望出去，这个世界变成了灰扑扑的一片，像铅笔画的颜色。里面的所有东西都是灰色的——不，不是所有东西：地板上有个发亮的东西，像儿童室壁炉里没有燃尽的火头，又像五月里冲太阳直点头的郁金香，橘黄带红。卡萝兰伸出左手。她不敢让右手的石头离开眼睛，生怕 一拿开石头，那个亮东西就会不见了。     她的左手到处摸，寻找那个闪闪发亮的东西。    手指碰上了什么，凉凉的，很光滑。她一把抓住，这才把石头从眼睛前面挪开，低下头看着自己的左手。     粉红色的手掌心里，是那颗从前压在玩具盒子最底下的灰色大理石弹子。她重新把带洞眼的石头凑到眼前。大理石又一次发出亮闪闪的红光，红得像火。     脑海里响起一个轻轻的声音，“确然无疑了，女士，从前之我委实是个男孩。你须得快些。我等尚余二人。觅得我后，那恶妇已大怒了。”    我不能穿着她的衣服做这些事，卡萝兰想。她换上自己的睡裤、睡袍、拖鞋，把灰色套头衫和黑色牛仔裤整整齐齐叠好，放在床上，把橘红色靴子放在地下的玩具盒旁边。    她把大理石弹子放进睡袍口袋，重新走进过道。    什么东西狠狠扑打在她脸上，手上。她好像走在大风天的海滩上。她伸手捂住眼睛，迎着风沙向前走。     风沙似的东西来得更猛了，越走越费劲儿，好像顶着狂风前进。这股风很毒，冰冷。    她向来的方向退了一步。    “退不得，须逆风而行。”耳边响起一个若有若无的声音，“那恶妇当真大怒了。”    她向前跨了一步，又一步，在过道里前进。又一阵怪风，看不见的沙子扑打在脸上，尖得像针，尖得像玻璃。     “玩游戏要公平。”卡萝兰冲着大风嚷道。    没有回答。但怪风闹脾气一样又抽打了她一次，然后慢慢小下去，最后没有了。在突然安静下来的屋子里，走过厨房时，卡萝兰又一次听到水龙头漏水的嗒嗒声，也许是另一个妈妈的长指甲不耐烦地敲打桌子发出的声音。卡萝兰忍住没朝厨房里看。    她跨了几大步，来到前门。她走出屋子。     卡萝兰走下台阶，绕着宅子走，最后来到另一个斯平克小姐和另一个福斯波尔小姐的套房。门上的小灯泡还在闪个不停。可现在，它们是乱闪一气，拼出的字眼卡萝兰一个都不认识。门关着。卡萝兰担心上了锁，所以使出全身力气使劲推门。开始推不动，可推着推着，它吱嘎一声， 突然开了。卡萝兰脚下跌跌绊绊，走进门后面的黑房间。    卡萝兰一只手握住有洞眼的石头，走进黑暗中。她本来以为会发现一个挂着帘子的前厅，可那儿没有帘子。房间好黑，戏院里一个人都没有。她小心地向前走。头顶上沙沙一声响，她抬头向上看。上面更黑。仰声脑袋时，她脚下碰上了什么。她伸手捡起来，原来是个手电筒。卡萝兰 打开手电筒，用电筒光柱在戏院里来回扫着。    戏院破破烂烂，荒凉极了。椅子都坏掉了。墙上、朽坏的木头上、腐烂的天鹅绒帷幕上，到处悬着一片片陈旧的蜘蛛网，上面积满了灰尘。     沙沙沙，又响了几声。卡萝兰抬起手电筒，朝天花板上照。上面有东西。没有毛，浑身黏糊糊的。她觉得，这些东西从前说不定有自个儿的脸，说不定从前是狗。可没有哪只狗能像这样，长着蝙蝠翅膀，像蜘蛛或者蝙蝠一样头下脚上倒挂着。    电筒光惊动了这些东西。其中一只飞起来，呼呼呼，翅膀沉重地扇着，扇起一团团灰尘。它朝她旁边扎下来。卡萝兰赶紧闪开。那东西停在远处一堵墙上，然后开始向上爬，倒退着爬，重新爬回天花板上的狗一蝙蝠窝。     卡萝兰把石头凑到眼前，透过洞眼搜查，看有没有发亮的东西，或者有什么线索，只要能告诉她这个戏院里哪个地方藏着灵魂就好。她一边搜查，一边用手电四下照。空中到处是灰尘，手电光照上去，简直像照在什么厚厚的、硬硬的东西上。     快塌的戏台背后的墙上有东西。灰白色，有两个卡萝兰那么大，像条大个儿鼻涕虫，一动不动趴在墙上。     卡萝兰深深吸了一口气。“我不害怕。”她告诉自己，“不怕。”这话连她自己都不信，但她还是爬上戏台。     两手攀着向上爬的时候，手指头陷进了木头。原来木头全都朽了。     走近以后，她发现那东西是个大泡囊，像蜘蛛的蛋囊。手电光一照上去，它抽动了一下。蛋囊里还有东西，看形状像个人，却长着两颗脑袋，胳膊和腿也比正常人多一倍。     蛋囊里的东西简直是个能吓死人的大怪物，而且是个还没长全的大怪物。像两个橡皮泥做的人，快融化的时候粘在一起，然后压扁，捏成一个。     卡萝兰犹豫了。她不想靠近那个怪物。那些狗－蝙蝠一个接一个从天花板跳下来，开始绕着房间跑。绕呀绕的，离她越来越近，但并不碰她。     也许没有灵魂藏在这儿，她想。也许我应该上别的地方找找去。她最后一次透过石头上的洞眼往外看：这个荒废的戏院还是一片阴森森的灰色，可现在，眼前出现了一团暗褐色的闪光。颜色很深，又很亮，像擦得锃亮的樱桃木。亮光就在那个蛋囊里。不管闪亮的东西是什么，它被牢 牢攥在里面的怪物手里。    卡萝兰慢慢走过潮乎乎的戏台，竭力不发出一点声音。她很害怕，怕弄出声音以后，惊动蛋囊里的怪物，它会睁开它的眼睛，发现她，然后……    她想不下去了，想不出来还有什么比怪物睁开眼睛更可怕。她的心脏在胸膛里怦怦直跳。卡萝兰又向前迈了一步。     她从来没像现在这么害怕过，可她还是一步一步向前走，一直走到能够着蛋囊的地方。她伸出手，推着那个紧紧贴在墙上、黏糊糊、白乎乎的东西。它轻轻响了起来，噼噼叭叭，像很小的一堆火发出的声音。她推着推着，皮肤上、衣服上沾了不少蜘蛛丝一样的东西，一小团一小团， 又有点像棉花糖。她的手插进了蛋囊，一直向上伸，最后碰到一只冰冷的手。         她能感觉到，这只手攥着拳头，握着另一颗大理石弹子。怪物的皮肤滑溜溜的，好像上面有一层果子冻。    卡萝兰开始从怪物手里向外扯那颗弹子。    一开始，弹子动都不动一下。怪物攥得非常紧。    接着，怪物的手指头一根接一根松开，弹子滑进她的手里。卡萝兰把胳膊从那一大团黏糊糊的东西里抽回来。怪物没睁开眼睛，她长长地松了一口气。她用手电照了照它的两张脸，觉得很像年轻时候的斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐。问题是，这两张脸歪歪扭扭，挤在一起，像两团融化 后压成一块的蜡，成了一个让人吓破胆子的可怕东西。     事先一点动静没有，可突然间，怪物的一只手向前一伸，抓住卡萝兰的胳膊。指甲划在她的皮肤上，嚓嚓响。幸好它又黏又滑，抓不住，卡萝兰这才抽回胳膊。就在这时，它的眼睛睁开了，四只黑黑的纽扣眼睛，从上往下瞪着她。它还会说话，声音混合着两个嗓门。一个尖尖的，很 嘶哑；另一个瓮声瓮气，嗡嗡嗡的很单调，像爬在窗户玻璃上的大苍蝇。卡萝兰一辈子都没听过这种声音。这两个嗓门开口了，像一个人。“小偷！东西还来！还来！小偷！”         那些既像狗又像蝙蝠的东西也大喊大叫起来。卡萝兰赶紧向后退。她差点连魂儿都吓掉了，但也发现，过去是斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐的怪物被关在那个茧里，紧紧粘在墙上。它不可能跑下来追赶她。    狗－蝙蝠拍打着翅膀，来来回回绕着她飞，但并没有伤害卡萝兰。她爬下戏台，手电筒四下乱晃，拼命寻找离开这个老旧戏院的出口。     “逃吧，小姐。”脑海里响起一个小姑娘轻轻的声音，“逃吧。三人已得其二，趁血尚温热，逃吧。”     卡萝兰把大理石弹子放进口袋，和另一颗弹子放在一起。她找到了门，赶紧飞跑过去，拼命拉开大门。

第九章 　　Outside, the world had become a formless, swirling mist with no shapes or shadows behind it, while the house itself seemed to have twisted and stretched. It appeared to Coraline that it was crouching and staring down at her, as if it were not really a house but only the idea of a house-and the person who had had the idea, she was certain, was not a good person. There was sticky web-stuff clinging to her arm, and she wiped it off as best she could. The grey windows of the house slanted at strange angles. 　　 　　The other mother was waiting for her, standing on the grass with her arms folded. Her black-button eyes were expressionless, but her lips were pressed tightly together in a cold fury. 　　 　　When she saw Coraline she reached out one long white hand, and she crooked a finger. Coraline walked towards her. The other mother said nothing. 　　 　　"I've found two," said Coraline. "One soul still to go." 　　 　　The expression on the other mother's face did not change. She might not have heard what Coraline said. 　　 　　"Well, I just thought you'd want to know," said Coraline. 　　 　　"Thank you, Coraline," said the other mother coldly, and her voice did not just come from her mouth. It came from the mist, and the fog, and the house, and the sky. She said, "You know that I love you." 　　 　　And, despite herself, Coraline nodded. It was true: the other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother's button eyes, Coraline knew that she was a possession, nothing more. A tolerated pet, whose behaviour was no longer amusing. 　　 　　"I don't want your love," said Coraline. "I don't want anything from you." 　　 　　"Not even a helping hand?" asked the other mother. "You have been doing so well, after all. I thought you might want a little hint, to help you with the rest of your treasure hunt." 　　 　　"I'm doing fine on my own," said Coraline. 　　 　　"Yes," said the other mother. "But if you wanted to get into the flat in the front-the empty one-to look around, you would find the door locked, and then where would you be?" 　　 　　"Oh." Coraline pondered this for a moment. Then she said, "Is there a key?" 　　 　　The other mother stood there in the paper-grey fog of the flattening world. Her black hair drifted about her head, as if it had a mind and a purpose all of its own. She coughed, suddenly, in the back of her throat, and then she opened her mouth. 　　 　　The other mother reached up her hand and removed a small, brass, front-door key from her tongue. 　　 　　"Here," she said. "You'll need this to get in." 　　 　　She tossed the key, casually, towards Coraline, who caught it, one-handed, before she could think about whether she wanted it or not. The key was still slightly damp. 　　 　　A chill wind blew about them, and Coraline shivered and looked away. When she looked back she was alone. 　　 　　Uncertainly, she walked round to the front of the house and stood in front of the door to the empty flat. Like all the doors, it was painted bright green. 　　 　　"She does not mean you well," whispered a ghost-voice in her ear. "We do not believe that she would help you. It must be a trick." 　　 　　Coraline said, "Yes, you're right, I expect." Then she put the key in the lock, and turned it. 　　 　　Silently the door swung open, and silently Coraline walked inside. 　　 　　The flat had walls the colour of old milk. The wooden boards of the floor were uncarpeted and dusty with the marks and patterns of old carpets and rugs on them. 　　 　　There was no furniture in there, only places where furniture had once been. Nothing decorated the walls; there were discoloured rectangles on the walls to show where paintings or photographs had once hung. It was so silent that Coraline imagined that she could hear the motes of dust drifting through the air. 　　 　　She found herself to be quite worried that something would jump out at her, so she began to whistle. She thought it might make it harder for things to jump out at her, if she was whistling. 　　 　　First she walked through the empty kitchen. Then she walked through an empty bathroom, containing only a cast-iron bath, and, in the bath, a dead spider the size of a small cat. The last room she looked at had, she supposed, once been a bedroom; she could imagine that the rectangular dust-shadow on the floorboards had once been a bed. Then she saw something, and smiled, grimly. Set into the floorboards was a large metal ring. Coraline knelt and took the cold ring in her hands, and she tugged upward, as hard as she could. 　　 　　Terribly slowly, stiffly, heavily, a hinged square of floor lifted: it was a trapdoor. It lifted, and through the opening Coraline could see only darkness. She reached down, and her hand found a cold switch. She flicked it without much hope that it would work, but somewhere below her a bulb lit, and a thin yellow light came up from the hole in the floor. She could see steps, heading down, but nothing else. 　　 　　Coraline put her hand into her pocket and took out the stone with the hole in it. She looked through it at the cellar but saw nothing. She put the stone back into her pocket. 　　 　　Up through the hole in the floor came the smell of damp clay, and something else, an acrid tang like sour vinegar. 　　 　　Coraline let herself down into the hole, looking nervously at the trapdoor. It was so heavy that if it fell she was sure she would be trapped down in the darkness for ever. She put up a hand and touched it, but it stayed in position. And then she turned towards the darkness below, and she walked down the steps. Set into the wall at the bottom of the steps was another light switch, metal and rusting. She pushed it until it clicked down, and a naked bulb hanging from a wire from the low ceiling came on. It did not give out enough light even for Coraline to make out the things that had been painted on to the flaking cellar walls. The paintings seemed crude. There were eyes, she could see that, and things that might have been grapes. And other things, below them. Coraline could not be sure that they were paintings of people. 　　 　　There was a pile of rubbish in one corner of the room: cardboard boxes filled with mildewed papers, and decaying curtains in a heap beside them. 　　 　　Coraline's slippers crunched across the cement floor. The bad smell was worse now. She was ready to turn and leave, when she saw the foot sticking out from beneath the pile of curtains. 　　 　　She took a deep breath (the smells of sour wine and mouldy bread filled her head) and pulled away the damp cloth to reveal something more or less the size and shape of a person. 　　 　　In that dim light, it took her several seconds to recognise it for what it was: the thing was pale and swollen, like a grub, with thin, stick-like arms and feet. It had almost no features on its face, which had puffed and swollen like risen bread dough. 　　 　　The thing had two large black buttons where its eyes should have been. 　　　　Coraline made a noise, a sound of revulsion and horror, and, as if it had heard her and awakened, the thing began to sit up. Coraline stood there, frozen. The thing turned its head until both its black-button eyes were pointed straight at her. A mouth opened in the mouthless face, strands of pale stuff sticking to the lips, and a voice that no longer even faintly resembled her father's whispered, "Coraline." 　　 　　"Well," said Coraline to the thing that had once been her other father, "at least you didn't jump out at me." 　　 　　The creature's twig-like hands moved to its face and pushed the pale clay about, making something like a nose. It said nothing. 　　 　　"I'm looking for my parents," said Coraline. "Or a stolen soul, from one of the other children. Are they down here?" 　　 　　"There is nothing down here," said the pale thing, indistinctly. "Nothing but dust and damp and forgetting." The thing was white, and huge, and swollen. Monstrous, thought Coraline, but also miserable. She raised the stone with the hole in it to her eye, and looked through it. Nothing. The pale thing was telling her the truth. 　　 　　"Poor thing," she said. "I bet she made you come down here as a punishment for telling me too much." 　　 　　The thing hesitated, then it nodded. Coraline wondered how she could ever have imagined that this grub-like thing resembled her father. 　　 　　"I'm so sorry," she said. 　　 　　"She's not best pleased," said the thing that was once the other father. "Not best pleased at all. You've put her quite out of sorts. And when she gets out of sorts, she takes it out on everybody else. It's her way." 　　 　　Coraline patted its hairless head. Its skin was tacky, like warm bread dough. "Poor thing," she said. "You're just a thing she made and then threw away." 　　 　　The thing nodded vigorously; as it nodded, the left button-eye fell off and clattered on to the concrete floor. The thing looked around vacantly with its one eye, as if it had lost her. Finally it saw her, and, as if making a great effort, it opened its mouth once more and said in a wet, urgent voice, "Run, child. Leave this place. She wants me to hurt you, to keep you here for ever, so that you can never finish the game, and she will win. She is pushing me so hard to hurt you. I cannot fight her." 　　 　　"You can." said Coraline. "Be brave." She looked around: the thing that had once been the other father was between her and the steps up and out of the cellar. She started edging along the wall, heading towards the steps. The thing twisted bonelessly until its one eye was again facing her. It seemed to be getting bigger now, and more awake. "Alas," it said. "I cannot." 　　 　　And it lunged across the cellar towards her then, its toothless mouth opened wide. 　　 　　Coraline had a single heartbeat in which to react. She could only think of two things to do. Either she could scream, and try to run away, and be chased around a badly lit cellar by the huge grub-thing-be chased until it caught her. Or she could do something else. 　　 　　So she did something else. 　　 　　As the thing reached her, Coraline put out her hand and closed it around the thing's remaining button-eye, and she tugged, as hard as she knew how. 　　 　　For a moment nothing happened. Then the button came away and flew from her hand, clicking against the brickwork before it fell to the cellar floor. 　　 　　The thing froze in place. It threw its pale head back blindly, and opened its mouth horribly wide, and it roared its anger and frustration. Then, all in a rush, the thing swept towards the place where Coraline had been standing. 　　 　　But Coraline was not standing there any longer. She was already tiptoeing, as quietly as she could, up the steps that would take her away from the dim cellar with the crude paintings on the walls. She could not take her eyes from the floor beneath her, though, across which a pale thing flopped and writhed, hunting for her. Then, as if it was being told what to do, the creature stopped moving, and its blind head tipped to one side. 　　 　　It's listening for me, thought Coraline. I must be extra quiet. She took another step up and her foot slipped on the step, and the thing heard her. 　　 　　Its head tipped towards her. For a moment it swayed and seemed to be gathering its wits. Then, fast as a serpent, it slithered for the steps, and began to flow up them, towards her. Coraline turned and ran wildly up the last half-dozen steps, and she pushed herself up and on to the floor of the dusty bedroom. Without pausing, she pulled the heavy trapdoor towards her, and let go of it. It crashed down with a thump just as something large banged against it. The trapdoor shook and rattled in the floor, but it stayed where it was. 　　 　　Coraline took a deep breath. If there had been any furniture in that flat, even a chair, she would have pulled it on to the trapdoor, but there was nothing. 　　 　　She walked out of that flat as fast as she could, without actually ever running, and she locked the front door behind her. She left the door-key under the mat. Then she walked down on to the drive. 　　 　　Coraline had half-expected that the other mother would be standing there waiting for her to come out, but the world was silent and empty. 　　 　　Coraline wanted to go home. 　　 　　She hugged herself, and told herself that she was brave, and she almost believed herself, and then she walked around to the side of the house, in the grey mist that wasn't a mist, and she made for the stairs, to go up.

外面，世界成了一片没有形状的迷雾。雾里什么都没有，没有东西，连影子都没有。回头一看，连宅子本身都拧歪了，拉长了。卡萝兰觉得，这幢宅子好像低低蹲伏下来，瞪着她。宅子已经不是宅子了，只是宅子的概念。卡萝兰看得出来，脑袋里装着这么吓人的概念的人，准不是个 好人。一扇扇灰色窗户斜着，角度很怪。她的胳膊上还沾着蜘蛛网似的东西，她尽量擦擦干净。        另一个妈妈等着她，站在草地上，抱着胳膊。黑纽扣眼睛里没有表情，嘴唇却冷冰冰地紧紧闭着。她在发火。    看见卡萝兰以后，她伸出一只又长又白的手，钩起一根手指头。卡萝兰朝她走去。另一个妈妈什么都没说。     “我找到两个，”卡萝兰说，“只剩下一个灵魂了。”    另一个妈妈脸上的表情没有一点变化，好像压根儿没听见她的话似的。    “嗯，我以为你想知道。”卡萝兰说。     “谢谢你，卡萝兰。”另一个妈妈冷冷地说。声音不是从她嘴里发出的，声音来自那片雾，来自那幢宅子，来自天空。她说，“你知道，我是很爱你的。”     卡萝兰虽然不情愿，还是点了点头。这是真的：另一个妈妈确实爱她。可那种爱不是妈妈对女儿的爱。是守财奴爱钱那种爱，或者龙爱金子那种爱。看着那双纽扣眼睛，卡萝兰知道，另一个妈妈只把她当成自个儿的一件东西。一只宠物。但现在，这只宠物有点不招人喜欢了。    “我不想要你的爱。”卡萝兰说，“你的什么东西我都不想要。”     “连找我帮你一把都不想?”另一个妈妈问，“不过，你干得挺不坏。我还以为你会找我要点提示，在下面的探险里帮你一把呢。”    “我自己做得挺好。”卡萝兰说。    “对。”另一个妈妈说，“可是，如果你想进前面那个套间找东西，就是那套空房间。你会发现门锁着。你该怎么办?”    “哦。”卡萝兰想了想，说，“有钥匙吗?”     在这个变扁了的世界里，另一个妈妈站在一片灰白色的大雾中。她脑后的黑头发摆来摆去，好像有自己的想法、自己的打算似的。忽然，她喉咙里咳了一声，张开嘴。     另一个妈妈伸出手，从舌头上取下一枚很小的铜钥匙。    “这儿，”她说，“有这把钥匙才进得去。”     她随随便便把钥匙朝卡萝兰一抛。卡萝兰手一伸，单手接住，连想想自己究竟愿不愿要这把钥匙都没来得及。钥匙还有点湿嗒嗒的。    身边刮起一阵寒风。卡萝兰打了个哆嗦，转过脸去避风。脸再转过来时，这里只剩下她一个人。     “此事绝非善意。”一个幽灵的声音在她耳边说，“必然有诈。”    卡萝兰说：“你说得对，我也是这么想的。”说完，她把钥匙插进锁里，一转。    门悄没声儿地开了，卡萝兰悄没声儿地走进去。    房间墙壁的颜色像放馊了的牛奶，木头地板上没铺地毯，净是灰。地板上还留着几块印子，说明以前铺过地毯。    没有家具，只有从前家具留下的印子。墙上也没有装饰，只有一块块长方形的印迹，说明以前挂过画或者照片。房间里安静极了，卡萝兰觉得自己能听到灰尘在空中飘动的声音。    她很怕会有吓人的东西从什么地方跳出来，扑向她。卡萝兰开始吹口哨。她觉得，只要自己在吹口哨，想跳出来的东西就会被吓回去。     她走进空空的厨房，然后走进空空的浴室，里面只有一个铸铁浴缸，浴缸里还有一只小猫那么大的死蜘蛛。她搜查的最后一个房间过去是卧室。这是她猜的，觉得地板上那一大片长方形从前肯定是一张床。    最后，她发现了一件东西，笑了。地板上嵌着一个大铁环。卡萝兰跪下来，双手抓住铁环，使出吃奶的力气向上拉。    一块沉甸甸的翻板慢慢抬起来，慢得让人恼火。     这是个暗门。从打开的暗门望下去，下面黑洞洞的，什么都看不见。她伸手下去，摸到一个凉凉的开关。    卡萝兰一拨开关，心里并没有抱什么希望。可出乎她的意料，下面亮起一盏灯，洞口射出微弱的黄色灯光。她看见了一段向下的梯子，但除了梯子以外，其他还是什么都看不见。     卡萝兰掏出那块带洞眼的石块，透过洞眼向下看。没什么发现。她把石头放回衣兜。     洞里一股湿泥巴味儿。还有点别的，酸酸的，像放坏的醋。    卡萝兰开始向下走，又回过头，紧张地看了看那扇暗门。它太沉了，如果扣下来，她肯定会永远关在这下头。她伸手晃了晃门，门纹风不动。卡萝兰这才转过身，一级级踏着梯子，朝黑洞洞的下面走。梯子最下面旁边的墙上还有一个开关，是金属做的，已经生锈了。她用力拨下开关 。亮了。原来，低矮的天花板上有～根电线，电线下面悬着一个没有灯罩的灯泡。灯光昏暗，卡萝兰辨不清这个地窖墙壁上的画，只觉得画得很粗糙。她看得出上面画着眼睛，还有一些像葡萄的东西。葡萄下面还有其他东西。卡萝兰心想，不知这些画是不是人画的。         一个角落里堆着一堆垃圾：纸板箱里装满发霉的纸，旁边是一堆腐烂的帘子。    卡萝兰的拖鞋踏拉踏拉走过水泥地板。臭味越来越浓，熏得人受不了。她正想转身离开这儿，忽然瞧见那堆帘子底下伸出一只脚。     她深深吸了一口气(吸了一鼻子放馊的酒味儿、发霉的面包味儿)，然后拉开那堆潮乎乎的布，露出下面的东西。瞧外形，看个头儿，这东西多多少少有几分像人。     灯光太暗，她过了好一阵子才认出它：这东西全身惨白，肿得不成样子，像只肉虫，只有胳膊腿干瘦干瘦的，支棱出来。脸肿得像发面，瞧不出五官。    这东西没有眼睛。长眼睛的地方只有两枚又大又黑的纽扣。     卡萝兰又害怕，又恶心，不由自主惊叫一声。那东西好像被她的叫声惊醒了，竟然慢慢坐了起来。卡萝兰吓得腿都软了，跑不动，只能僵在那儿。那东西转动脑袋，最后，两只黑黑的纽扣眼睛正正对着卡萝兰。没有嘴的脸上张开了一张嘴，上下嘴唇还牵牵连连粘着几缕灰白色的东西 。它说话了，声音很轻很轻，再也不像她的爸爸了，一点也不像。“卡萝兰。”       “嗯，”卡萝兰望着这个从前是她另一个爸爸的东西，“还好你没有跳出来吓唬我。”     那双像枯树枝的手伸到脸上，在那一团灰白黏土似的东西上东捏捏、西按按，总算弄出了个像鼻子的东西。    “我在找我真正的爸爸妈妈，”卡萝兰说，“还有一个小孩的灵魂。他们在这下面吗?”     “这下面什么都没有，”灰白色的东西声音很低，听不清，“只有灰尘、潮湿和遗忘。”这东西一片惨白，肿得好大。大得真吓人，卡萝兰想，可是，它又挺可怜的。她举起石头，透过洞眼四下看。什么都没有。灰白色的东西说的是实话。     “真可怜，”她说，“我猜是她逼你下来的，因为你对我说了太多话，所以她要惩罚你。”    那东西迟疑了一下，然后点点头。卡萝兰心想：真奇怪，她从前怎么会觉得这个像大肉虫一样的东西像自个儿的爸爸。    “我真替你难过。”她说。     “她不大高兴，”从前是她另一个爸爸的东西说，“一点儿也不高兴。你让她生气了。她生气的时候就会拿其他人撒气儿。她就是这种人。”     卡萝兰拍拍它没有头发的头。它的皮肤有点黏手，像热乎乎的发面团。“可怜，”她说，“原来你只是她造出来的一件东西，不喜欢了就扔到一边。”    这东西用力点头，震得左边的纽扣眼睛掉了下来，在水泥地板上滚不见了。它用剩下的那只独眼努力张望，好像看不见她了似的。最后，它看见她了。    它吃力地又一次张开嘴，用一种湿漉漉的声音紧张地说：“你走吧，孩子。离开这儿。她想让我害你，把你永远关在这下面。这样你就没法继续和她赌赛了，她就赢了。她逼我害你，我只能听她的。”    “你可以反抗的，”卡萝兰说，“勇敢点。”    她四下一看：从前是她另一个爸爸的东西堵在她和梯子之间，她没办法逃出这个地窖。她开始沿着墙边，一点儿一点儿朝梯子蹭。那东西脑袋一拧，像脖子上没有骨头似的，重新把它的独眼冲着她。这东西好像变得更大了，也更清醒了。“唉，”它说，“我做不到。”     它向她猛扑过来，没牙的嘴张得老大。    卡萝兰只有一眨眼的时间决定应该怎么做。她只想到两个办法。她可以放声尖叫，在这个昏暗的地窖里被这只大肉虫撵得团团转，最后被逮住；或者，她可以用另一个办法。     她用了另一个办法。    那东西刚靠近，卡萝兰伸出手，抓住那东西剩下的惟一一只纽扣眼睛。她使出全身力气，使劲一扯。    一开始，纽扣纹风不动。接着，它被扯了下来，从她手里飞出去，撞上墙壁，再掉到地下。    那东西呆了一会儿，灰白色的脑袋不知所措地转来转去。它张开大嘴，气愤地一声大吼。接着，它猛地一扑，冲向卡萝兰刚刚站着的地方。     可卡萝兰已经不在那儿了。她早就踮着脚尖，溜上梯子，慢慢向上爬，准备逃出这个四壁乱涂乱画的地窖。她的眼睛死死盯着下面那个乱扑乱打的灰白色东西。就在这时，好像有谁告诉它应该怎么做，那东西不动了，脑袋也朝一边侧过来。    它在听我的声音，卡萝兰想，我一定得安静。她又上了一级梯子，脚下一打滑。那东西听见她了。     它的脑袋朝她偏过来。它的身体轻轻摇晃着，好像在盘算应该怎么做。接着，快得像一条毒蛇，它哧溜一下爬上梯子，砰砰叭叭向上爬，朝她冲。卡萝兰一扭头，撒腿就跑，以最快速度冲上最后几级梯子。     她蹦进那间满是灰尘的卧室，没有半点停顿，翻下那扇沉甸甸的暗门。砰的一声，门重重砸下去。下面一阵猛撞，撞得暗门轰轰直响，摇摇晃晃。可它到底还是没被撞开。    她没有跑，但以最快速度走出这个套间，在身后锁上门。她把钥匙放在门垫下，走到外面的车道上。    她还以为另一个妈妈会等在那儿，可这个世界空空荡荡，连一丝声音都没有。     卡萝兰想回家。     她紧紧抱着胳膊，不断提醒自己：她很勇敢。最后，她几乎相信自己的话了，这才走在不是雾气的雾气中，绕过宅子，走向楼梯，向上爬。

第十章 　　Coraline walked up the steps outside the building to the topmost flat where, in her world, the crazy old man upstairs lived. She had gone up there once with her real mother, when her mother was collecting for charity. They had stood in the open doorway, waiting for the crazy old man with the big moustache to find the envelope that Coraline's mother had left, and the flat had smelled of strange foods and pipe tobacco and odd, sharp, cheesy-smelling things which Coraline could not name. She had not wanted to go any further inside than that. 　　 　　"I'm an explorer," said Coraline out loud, but her words sounded muffled and dead on the misty air. She had made it out of the cellar, hadn't she? 　　 　　And she had. But if there was one thing that Coraline was certain of, it was that this flat would be worse. 　　 　　She reached the top of the steps. The topmost flat had once been the attic of the house, but that was long ago. 　　 　　She knocked on the green-painted door. It swung open, and she walked in. 　　 　　 We have eyes and we have nerveses 　　 We have tails, we have teeth, 　　 you'll all get what you deserveses 　　 When we rise from underneath, 　　 　　whispered a dozen or more tiny voices, in that dark flat with the roof so low where it met the walls that Coraline could almost reach up and touch it. 　　 　　Red eyes stared at her. Little pink feet scurried away as she came close. Darker shadows slipped through the shadows at the edges of things. 　　 　　It smelt much worse in here than in the real crazy old man upstairs's flat. That smelled of food (unpleasant food, to Coraline's mind, but she knew that was a matter of taste: she did not like spices, herbs or exotic things). This place smelled as if all the exotic foods in the world had been left out to go rotten. 　　 　　"Little girl," said a rustling voice in a far room. 　　 　　"Yes," said Coraline. I'm not frightened, she told herself, and as she thought it she knew that it was true. 　　 　　There was nothing here that frightened her. These things-even the thing in the cellar-were illusions, things made by the other mother in a ghastly parody of the real people and real things on the other end of the corridor. She couldn't truly make anything, decided Coraline. She could only twist and copy and distort things that already existed. 　　 　　And then Coraline found herself wondering why the other mother would have placed a snowglobe on the drawing-room mantelpiece; a place that, in her world, was quite bare. 　　 　　And once she had asked herself the question, she began to understand the answer. 　　 　　Then the voice came again, and her train of thought was gone. 　　 　　"Come here, little girl. I know what you want, little girl." It was a rustling voice, scratchy and dry. It made Coraline think of some kind of enormous dead insect. Which was silly, she knew. How could a dead thing, especially a dead insect, have a voice? 　　 　　She walked through several rooms with low, slanting ceilings until she came to the final room. It was a bedroom, and the other crazy old man upstairs sat at the far end of the room, in the near-darkness, bundled up in his coat and hat. As Coraline entered he began to talk. "Nothing's changed, little girl," he said, his voice sounding like the noise dry leaves make as they rustle across a pavement. "And what if you do everything you swore you would? What then? Nothing's changed. You'll go home. You'll be bored. You'll be ignored. No one will listen to you, not really listen to you. You're too clever and too quiet for them to understand. They don't even get your name right. 　　 　　"Stay here with us," said the voice from the figure at the end of the room. "We will listen to you and play with you and laugh with you. Your other mother will build whole worlds for you to explore, and tear them down every night when you are done. Every day will be better and brighter than the one that went before. Remember the toybox? How much better would a world be built just like that, and all for you?" 　　 　　"And will there be grey, wet days where I just don't know what to do and there's nothing to read or to watch and nowhere to go and the day drags on forever?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　From the shadows, the man said, "Never." 　　 　　"And will there be awful meals, with food made from recipes, with garlic and tarragon and broad beans in?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　"Every meal will be a thing of joy," whispered the voice from under the old man's hat. "Nothing will pass your lips that does not entirely delight you." 　　 　　"And could I have Day-glo green gloves to wear, and yellow Wellington boots in the shape of frogs?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　"Frogs, ducks, rhinos, octopuses-whatever you desire. The world will be built new for you every morning. If you stay here, you can have whatever you want." 　　 　　Coraline sighed. "You really don't understand, do you?" she 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?" 　　 　　"I don't understand," said the whispery voice. 　　 　　"Of course you don't understand," she said, raising the stone with the hole in it to her eye. "You're just a bad copy she made of the crazy old man upstairs." 　　 　　There was a glow coming from the raincoat of the man, at about chest height. Through the hole in the stone the glow twinkled and shone blue-white as any star. She wished she had a stick or something to poke him with; she had no wish to get any closer to the shadowy man at the end of the room. 　　 　　"Not even that any more," said the dead, whispery voice. 　　 　　Coraline took a step closer to the man, and he fell apart. Black rats leapt from the sleeves and from under the coat and hat, a score or more of them, red eyes shining in the dark. They chittered and they fled. The coat fluttered and fell heavily to the floor. The hat rolled into one corner of the room. 　　 　　Coraline reached out her hand and pulled the coat open. It was empty, although it was greasy to the touch. There was no sign of the final glass marble in it. She scanned the room, squinting through the hole in the stone, and caught sight of something that twinkled and burned like a star, at floor level, by the doorway. It was being carried in the forepaws of the largest black rat. As she looked, it slipped away. 　　 　　The other rats watched her from the corners of the room as she ran after it. 　　 　　Now, rats can run faster than people, especially over short distances. But a large black rat holding a marble in its two front paws is no match for a determined girl (even if she is small for her age) moving at a run. Smaller black rats ran back and forth across her path, trying to distract her, but she ignored them all, keeping her eyes fixed on the one with the marble, who was heading straight out of the flat, towards the front door. 　　 　　They reached the steps on the outside of the building. 　　 　　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. Then she was simply racing pell-mell down the steps in pursuit of the rat, with no room in her mind for anything else, certain she was gaining on it. She was running fast-too fast, she discovered, as she came to the bottom of one flight of steps, and her foot skidded and twisted and she went crashing on to the concrete landing. 　　 　　Her left knee was scraped and skinned, and the palm of one hand she had thrown out to stop herself was a mess of scraped skin and grit. It hurt a little, and it would, she knew, soon hurt much more. She picked the grit out of the palm and climbed to her feet and, as fast as she could, knowing that she had lost and it was already too late, she went down the final set of steps to ground level. 　　 　　She looked around for the rat, but it was gone, and the marble with it. 　　 　　Her hand stung where the skin had been scraped, and there was blood trickling down her ripped pyjama-leg from her knee. It was as bad as the summer that her mother had taken the training wheels off Coraline's bicycle; 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. Now she felt nothing but cold loss. She had failed the ghost-children. She had failed her parents. She had failed herself, failed everything. 　　 　　She closed her eyes and wished that the earth would swallow her up. 　　 　　There was a cough. 　　 　　She opened her eyes, and saw the rat. It was lying on the brick path at the bottom of the steps, with a surprised look on its face-which was now several centimetres away from the rest of it. Its whiskers were stiff, its eyes were wide open, its teeth visible and yellow and sharp. A collar of wet blood glistened at its neck. 　　 　　Beside the decapitated rat, a smug expression on its face, was the black cat. It rested one paw on the grey glass marble. 　　 　　"I think I once mentioned," said the cat, "that I don't like rats at the best of times. It looked like you needed this one, however. I hope you don't mind my getting involved." 　　 　　"I think," said Coraline, trying to catch her breath, "I think you may . . . have said . . . something of the sort." 　　 　　The cat lifted its paw from the marble, which rolled towards Coraline. She picked it up. In her mind, a final voice whispered to her, urgently. 　　 　　"She has lied to you. She will never give you up, now she has you. She will no more give any of us up than she can change her nature." The hairs on the back of Coraline's neck prickled, and Coraline knew that the girl's voice told the truth. She put the marble in her dressing-gown pocket with the others. 　　 　　She had all three marbles, now. 　　 　　All she needed to do was to find her parents. 　　 　　And, Coraline realised, that was easy. She knew exactly where her parents were. If she had stopped to think, she might have known where they were all along. The other mother could not create. She could only transform, and twist, and change. 　　 　　And the mantelpiece in the drawing room back home was quite empty. But, knowing that, she knew something else, as well. 　　 　　"The other mother. She plans to break her promise. She won't let us go," said Coraline. 　　 　　"I wouldn't put it past her," admitted the cat. "Like I said, there's no guarantee she'll play fair." And then he raised his head. "Hello … did you see that?" 　　 　　"What?" 　　 　　"Look behind you," said the cat. 　　 　　The house had flattened out even more. It no longer looked like a photograph-more like a drawing, a crude, charcoal scribble of a house drawn on grey paper. 　　 　　"Whatever's happening," said Coraline, "thank you for helping with the rat. I suppose I'm almost there, aren't I? So you go off into the mist or wherever you go, and I'll, well, I hope I get to see you at home. If she lets me go home." 　　 　　The cat's fur was on end, and its tail was bristling like a chimney-sweep's brush. "What's wrong?" asked Coraline. 　　 　　"They've gone," said the cat. "They aren't there any more. The ways in and out of this place. They just went flat." 　　 　　"Is that bad?" 　　 　　The cat lowered its tail, swishing it from side to side angrily. It made a low growling noise in the back of its throat. It walked in a circle, until it was facing away from Coraline, and then it began to walk backwards, stiffly, one step at a time, until it was pushing up against Coraline's leg. She put down a hand to stroke it, and could feel how hard its heart was beating. It was trembling, like a dead leaf in a storm. 　　 　　"You'll be fine," said Coraline. "Everything's going to be fine. I'll take you home." 　　 　　The cat said nothing. 　　 　　"Come on, cat," said Coraline. She took a step back towards the steps, but the cat stayed where it was, looking miserable and, oddly, much smaller. 　　 　　"If the only way out is past her," said Coraline, "then that's the way we're going to go." She went back to the cat, bent down and picked it up. The cat did not resist. It simply trembled. She supported its bottom with one hand and rested its front legs on her shoulder. The cat was heavy, but not too heavy to carry. It licked at the palm of her hand, where the blood from the scrape was welling up. 　　 　　Coraline walked up the steps one at a time, heading back to her own flat. She was aware of the marbles clicking in her pocket, aware of the stone with the hole in it, aware of the cat pressing itself against her. 　　 　　She got to her front door-now just a small-child's scrawl of a door-and she pushed her hand against it, half-expecting that her hand would rip through it, revealing nothing behind it but blackness and a scattering of stars. 　　 　　But the door swung open, and Coraline went through.

卡萝兰走在宅子外面的楼梯上，向阁楼套间爬去。在她自己的世界里，那是疯老头儿住的地方。她和自己真正的妈妈上去过一次，陪她去做慈善募捐。     当时，她们站在敞开的房门前，闻见房子里一大股奇特的食物味儿、烟草味儿，还有一种卡萝兰说不出名字的气味，很怪，很冲，有点像奶酪。那一次，她说什么也不肯进屋去。     “我是个探险家。”卡萝兰大声说，可在这一片雾气里，她的声音像蒙上了一层东西，一下子就没声儿了。不过，那个地窖她都逃出来了，对不对?当然对。可卡萝兰敢肯定，楼顶这套房间一准更吓人。    她到了顶楼。这套房间原本是宅子的阁楼，那是好久好久以前的事了。    她敲敲刷着绿漆的房门。门开了，她走进去。    我们有眼睛，我们有脑筋。    我们有尾巴，我们有牙齿。    我们以后会翻身，到时候看你们倒大霉。    小小的声音，悄声唱着。听声音有十多个，可能还要多。里面黑乎乎的，屋顶很低，靠墙的地方，卡萝兰差不多可以伸手够到。    一双双红眼睛瞪着她，许多粉红色的小爪子从她身边跑开。屋里的家具是一个个暗影，许多更暗的影子悄没声儿地溜进家具的影子里。     这儿真臭，比真正的疯老头儿的房间还臭。真正的世界里，这套房子里一股食物气味(而且是难吃得要命的食物。但卡萝兰也知道，每个人的口味不一样。她不喜欢香料、香草，或者别的稀奇古怪的食物).可在这儿，好像全世界所有稀奇古怪的食物都堆在这套屋子里，放了很久，全都 腐烂了。    “小姑娘。”最里头一间屋子里响起一个嘶哑的声音。     “哎。”卡萝兰说。我不害怕，她告诉自己。刚刚想完，她便知道这是真的。在这个世界里，没有什么东西能吓倒她。这些东西全是假的，是幻象，就连地窖里那些东西也是。都是另一个妈妈比着通道另一头的真正世界里的人和东西做出来的，而且做得很差劲。卡萝兰明白了，她其 实做不出任何真正的东西，只能把本来就有的东西复制一遍。         就在这时，卡萝兰想起一件事：另一个妈妈为什么要在客厅壁炉架上放一个雪花球。在卡萝兰的世界里，壁炉架上光光的，什么都没有。     想到这里，卡萝兰明白了，这里面肯定有鬼。     就在这时，里屋的声音又响起来，打断了她的思路。     “上这儿来，小姑娘。我知道你想找什么，小姑娘。”声音粗拉拉的，又干又哑，让卡萝兰想起个头很大的死昆虫。她知道这是犯傻。死东西怎么会说话?更别说死昆虫了。    她穿过几间屋顶低矮的房间，最后走进最里头那间。这是一间卧室，另一个楼上的疯老头儿坐在房间另一头，裹着大衣，扣着帽子。光线太暗，简直看不见。卡萝兰刚进门，他就说起话来。“什么都不会变，小姑娘。”他说。声音就像干树叶子，沙沙响着飘过人行道，“就算你把所 有发誓要做到的事儿都做到了，又怎么样?什么都不会变。你会回家，你会厌烦。人家不会理你。没人听你说什么，就算听也是做做样子。你太聪明，又太不起眼了，他们是不会理解的。他们连你的名字都叫错了。         “留下吧，跟我们在一起。”屋里那个声音说，“我们会听你说话，和你玩，和你笑。你的另一个妈妈会给你造出一个世界，让你在里面探险。等你探完，再毁了重新造一个。每一天都比前一天更好。记得那个玩具盒子吗?想想，整整一个玩具世界，全是你一个人的。多好啊。”     “会不会有那种提不起精神的时候?你知道，什么都是灰蒙蒙湿漉漉的，我不知道应该做什么。没东西读，也没东西看，没地方去。这种时候会不会一直拖下去，一天又一天?”     暗影里的人说：“绝不会有那种时候。”    “会不会有那种难吃的饭菜，按照菜谱做出来的，还加上大蒜、香蒿、扁豆什么的?”卡萝兰问。     “每顿饭都包你吃得心满意足。”老头子的帽子下面传来轻悄悄的声音，“保证不会让你吃一丁点儿你不喜欢的东西。”    “还有，我能戴那种绿色的荧光手套吗?再穿上做成青蛙样子的雨靴?”卡萝兰问。    “青蛙、鸭子、犀牛、章鱼，只要你喜欢，什么样儿的雨靴都行。每天早晨，你一睁眼，就会看到一个新世界。只要留在这儿，你想要什么就有什么。”     卡萝兰叹了口气，“看样子，你真是不懂，对不对?”她说，“我不愿意想要什么就有什么。没人愿意。嘴上说说可以，心里都是不愿意的。想要什么就有什么，那还有什么乐趣?真要那样的话，什么都没意思了。”    “我不明白。”那个轻悄悄的声音嘶嘶地说。    “你当然不明白。”她说，从石头洞眼里望着那个人影，“你只是一份做得很差劲的拷贝，是她比着楼上那个疯老头儿的模样造出来的一件东西。”     “现在，连拷贝都算不上了。”那个低沉、嘶哑、呆板的声音说。那个人裹在身上的大衣里透出一点光，就在胸口那个位置。从洞眼望过去，光点一闪一闪的，蓝白色，像星星发出的光。她真希望自己手里有根棍子，可以捅捅那个人影。她不愿意靠近那个缩在房间暗角里的人影。    卡萝兰向那个人迈了一步，他忽然塌了。袖筒里、帽子下、大衣里，大群老鼠直往外窜，红红的眼睛在黑乎乎的房间里闪闪发亮。吱吱喳喳，老鼠四下乱跑。大衣忽扇忽扇，重重倒在地板上。帽子滚进屋角。    卡萝兰伸出一只手，掀开大衣。摸上去油腻腻的，里面什么都没有，找不着最后那颗大理石弹子。    她眯缝着眼睛，从石头洞眼里扫视这间屋子，发现一个像星星一样亮晶晶的东西，就在靠近门口的地板上。它被一只个头最大的老鼠用两只前爪抱在怀里。     她刚刚朝那个方向一看，大老鼠撒腿就跑。     卡萝兰追上去。其他老鼠躲在屋角里，盯着她。     没错儿，老鼠比人跑得快。距离短的话，人别想赶上老鼠。可如果一只大黑老鼠前爪抱着一颗弹子，它就不是一个下定决心赶上它的小姑娘的对手了。大群个头小些的老鼠在她前头乱窜，想分散她的注意力。卡萝兰不理睬它们，眼睛死死盯着那只抱着弹子的大老鼠。大老鼠想逃出这 套房子，朝前门跑去。    他们奔到宅子外的楼梯上。     卡萝兰冲下楼梯，同时注意到，这幢宅子好像在不断变化，变得越来越模糊，越来越扁。就在她冲下楼梯这一小会儿，它就又扁了不少。现在，她觉得它更像一张宅子的照片，不像宅子本身。她来不及多想，她正连滚带爬冲下楼梯追击老鼠，脑子里装不下别的东西。她快追上了，她 跑得很快——太快了，快到楼梯脚时，脚滑了一下，一拧，她一头摔在楼梯下面的水泥地上。         左边膝盖破了，擦掉一大块皮。撑地的一只巴掌．也擦破了，满手泥。有点疼。她知道，过一阵子会疼得更厉害。她搓掉巴掌上的泥，以最快速度站起来。     她心里知道，太晚了，老鼠肯定逃掉了。    她四周张望，可哪儿也找不到那只老鼠。老鼠逃了，带着那颗弹子。     手上擦破的地方针扎似的疼，睡裤膝盖撕破了，里面滴答滴答淌血。感觉好像上个夏天，妈妈去掉了她的儿童自行车的辅助轮一样。那时卡萝兰也摔得浑身是伤(膝盖上的伤多得数都数不清)，可当时的她有一种成就感，觉得自己学到了本事，能做到从前做不到的事了。可现在，她什 么成就感都没有，心里感到的只有冷飕飕的失败。她把那几个幽灵小孩输掉了，她把自个儿的爸爸妈妈输掉了，她把自己也输掉了。什么都输掉了。         她紧紧闭上眼睛，恨不得地面张开一道口子，把她吞下去。     响起一声咳嗽。    她睁开眼睛，看见了那只老鼠。它躺在楼梯背后的角落里，脸上是大吃一惊的表情。那张脸，现在和它的身子分开了，隔着好几英寸。它的胡子硬邦邦地撅着，眼睛睁得大大的。嘴也张着，露出黄黄的尖牙。脖子上湿漉漉的，一圈血印子。     断了脑袋的老鼠旁边是那只猫，得意洋洋的样子。猫爪子搭在那颗灰色的大理石弹子上。    “我记得我以前说过，”猫说，“我其实不太喜欢抓老鼠。不过，你好像特别想抓住这一只。我插了一手，希望你不介意。”    “我记得，”卡萝兰乐得连气儿都喘不上了，“你好像——这么说过。”     猫抬起爪子，大理石弹子朝她滚过来。她拾起来。脑海里响起一个声音，很轻，语气却很紧急。     “那恶妇使诈。休想她放过你我。要她放时，除非变了本性。须知江山易改，本性难移。”卡萝兰脖子上的汗毛都立起来了。她知道幽灵女孩说的是实话。她把这颗弹子放进睡袍口袋，和另外两颗弹子放在一起。    现在，三颗弹子都在她这里了。     只要再找到爸爸妈妈就行了。    卡萝兰有点吃惊地发现，最后这件任务其实再简单不过。爸爸妈妈在哪儿，她知道得一清二楚。要是她早一点好好想想，说不定早就发现他们在哪儿了。     另一个妈妈其实造不出真东西。她只会变形、歪曲、改变。     客厅壁炉架上一直什么都没有。知道这个，她就什么都知道了。    “另一个妈妈。她想耍赖。她不会放咱们走的。”卡萝兰说。     “我才不相信她呢。”猫赞同地说，“我早就说过，不敢保证她会公平。”它突然抬起头，“哟……     看见没有?”     “什么?”     “你后面。”猫说。     宅子更扁了。现在，它连照片都算不上——更像一幅铅笔画。粗糙、简单，用铅笔画在一张灰纸上的宅子。    “不知出了什么事。”卡萝兰说， “但还是谢谢你。我猜，我差不多算赢了，对不对?嗯，你回雾里去吧，回你来的地方去。我会，嗯，我希望，今后还能在我家里见到你，如果她肯放我回家的话。”    猫的毛竖起来，尾巴上面的毛全爹开了，像扫烟囱的人用的大刷子。    “怎么了?”卡萝兰问。    “不见了。”猫说，“全都不见了。进出这个地方的路，全都变扁了，缩得没有了。”    “很糟吗?”     猫放低尾巴，气愤地扫来扫去，喉咙深处发出低低的咆哮。它转了个圈子，脸背对着卡萝兰。接着，它又退回来，步子很僵硬，蹭着卡萝兰的腿。她伸出手抚摸着它，觉得它的心跳得非常厉害。它在打哆嗦，像大风里的树叶。     “你会没事的，”卡萝兰说，“一切都会好起来。我带你回家。”    猫什么都没说。    “别怕，猫。”卡萝兰说。她朝楼梯上迈了一步，可猫留在后头没动。它的模样瞧上去很可怜，还有，连个子都奇怪地小了一圈。     “要是咱们只能通过她才能回家，”卡萝兰说，“咱们就要通过她，一定得这么办。”她走到猫身旁，蹲下，抱起它。猫没有反抗，只是不停地打哆嗦。她一只手托着它，让它把前爪搭在她肩膀上。猫挺沉，但也不算太沉，她抱得动。它舔了舔她直冒血珠的手掌心。    卡萝兰一步一步走上楼梯，走向她的卧室。她能感觉到大理石弹子在口袋里碰得叮叮响，感觉到那块带洞眼的石头的重量，感觉到猫紧紧偎着她。    她走到自己的卧室门边。现在，它像小孩子乱涂乱画出来的一扇门。她伸出手，一推。以为手会直接穿过门，发现门后面是一片黑，什么都没有，只有无数星星，东一颗西一颗。    可是，门开了。卡萝兰走进去。

第十一章 　　Once inside, in her flat, or rather, in the flat that was not hers, Coraline was pleased to see that it had not transformed into the empty drawing that the rest of the house seemed to have become. It had depth and shadows, and someone who stood in the shadows waiting for Coraline to return. 　　 　　"So you're back," said the other mother. She did not sound pleased. "And you brought vermin with you." 　　 　　"No," said Coraline. "I brought a friend." She could feel the cat stiffening under her hands, as if it were anxious to be away. Coraline wanted to hold on to it like a teddy bear, for reassurance, but she knew that cats hate to be squeezed, and she suspected that frightened cats were liable to bite and scratch if provoked in any way, even if they were on your side. 　　 　　"You know I love you," said the other mother, flatly. 　　 　　"You have a very funny way of showing it," said Coraline. She walked down the hallway, then turned into the drawing room, steady step by steady step, pretending that she could not feel the other mother's blank black eyes on her back. Her grandmother's formal furniture was still there, and the painting on the wall of the strange fruit (but now the fruit in the painting had been eaten, and all that remained in the bowl was the browning core of an apple, several plum and peach stones, and the stem of what had formerly been a bunch of grapes). The lion-pawed table raked the carpet with its clawed wooden feet, as if it were impatient for something. At the end of the room, in the corner, stood the wooden door, which had once, in another place, opened on to a plain brick wall. Coraline tried not to stare at it. The window showed nothing but mist. 　　 　　This was it, Coraline knew. The moment of truth. The unravelling time. 　　 　　The other mother had followed her in. Now she stood in the centre of the room, between Coraline and the mantelpiece, and looked down at Coraline with black-button eyes. It was funny, Coraline thought. The other mother did not look anything at all like her own mother. She wondered how she had ever been deceived into imagining a resemblance. The other mother was huge-her head almost brushed the ceiling of the room-and very pale, the colour of a spider's belly. Her hair writhed and twined about her head, and her teeth were sharp as knives ... 　　 　　"Well?" said the other mother, sharply. "Where are they?" 　　 　　Coraline leaned against an armchair, adjusted the cat with her left hand, put her right hand into her pocket, and pulled out the three glass marbles. They were a frosted grey, and they clinked together in the palm of her hand. The other mother reached her white fingers out for them, but Coraline slipped them back into her pocket. She knew it was true, then. The other mother had no intention of letting her go, or of keeping her word. It had been an entertainment, and nothing more. "Hold on," she said. "We aren't finished yet, are we?" 　　 　　The other mother looked daggers, but she smiled sweetly. "No," she said. "I suppose not. After all, you still need to find your parents, don't you?" 　　 　　"Yes," said Coraline. I must not look at the mantelpiece, she thought. I must not even think about it. 　　 　　"Well?" said the other mother. "Produce them. Would you like to look in the cellar again? I have some other interesting things hidden down there, you know." 　　 　　"No," said Coraline. "I know where my parents are." The cat was heavy in her arms. She moved it forward, unhooking its claws from her shoulder as she did so. 　　 　　"Where?" 　　 　　"It stands to reason," said Coraline. "I've looked everywhere you'd hide them. They aren't in the house." 　　 　　The other mother stood very still, giving nothing away, lips tightly closed. She might have been a wax statue. Even her hair had stopped moving. 　　 　　"So," Coraline continued, both hands wrapped firmly around the black cat, "I know where they have to be. You've hidden them in the passageway between the houses, haven't you? They are behind that door." She nodded her head towards the door in the corner. 　　 　　The other mother remained statue-still, but a hint of a smile crept back on to her face. "Oh, they are, are they?" 　　 　　"Why don't you open it?" said Coraline. "They'll be there, all right." 　　 　　It was her only way home, she knew. But it all depended on the other mother needing to gloat, needing not only to win but to show that she had won. 　　 　　The other mother reached her hand slowly into her apron pocket and produced the black iron key. The cat stirred uncomfortably in Coraline's arms, as if it wanted to get down. Just stay there for a few moments longer, she thought at it, wondering if it could hear her. I'll get us both home. I said I would. I promise. She felt the cat relax ever-so-slightly in her arms. 　　 　　The other mother walked over to the door and pushed the key into the lock. 　　 　　She turned the key. 　　 　　Coraline heard the mechanism clunk heavily. She was already starting, as quietly as she could, step by step, to back away towards the mantelpiece. 　　 　　The other mother pushed down on the door handle and pulled open the door, revealing a corridor behind it, dark and empty. "There," she said, waving her hands at the corridor. The expression of delight on her face was a very bad thing to see. "You're wrong! you don't know where your parents are, do you? They aren't there." She turned and looked at Coraline. "Now," she said, "You're going to stay here for ever and always." 　　 　　"No," said Coraline. I'm not." And, hard as she could, she threw the black cat towards the other mother. It yowled and landed on the other mother's head, claws flailing, teeth bared, fierce and angry. Fur on end, it looked half again as big as it was in real life. 　　 　　Without waiting to see what would happen, Coraline reached up to the mantelpiece, closed her hand around the snow-globe, then pushed it deep into the pocket of her dressing gown. 　　 　　The cat made a deep, ululating yowl and sank its teeth into the other mother's cheek. She was flailing at it. Blood ran from the cuts on her white face-not red blood, but a deep, tarry black stuff. Coraline ran for the door. 　　 　　She pulled the key out of the lock. 　　 　　"Leave her! Come on!" she shouted to the cat. It hissed, and swiped its scalpel-sharp claws at the other mother's face in one wild rake which left black ooze trickling from several gashes on her nose. Then it sprang down towards Coraline. "Quickly!" she said. The cat ran towards her, and they both stepped into the dark corridor. 　　 　　It was colder in the corridor, like stepping down into a cellar on a warm day. The cat hesitated for a moment, then, seeing the other mother was coming towards them, it ran to Coraline and stopped by her legs. 　　 　　Coraline began to pull the door closed. 　　 　　It was heavier than she imagined a door could be, and pulling it closed was like trying to close a door against a high wind. And then she felt something from the other side starting to pull against her. 　　 　　Shut! she thought. Then she said, out loud, "Come on, please." And she felt the door begin to move, to pull closed, to give against the phantom wind. 　　 　　Suddenly she was aware of other people in the corridor with her. She could not turn her head to look at them, but she knew them without having to look. "Help me, please," she said. "All of you." 　　 　　The other people in the corridor-three children, two adults-were somehow too insubstantial to touch the door. But their hands closed about hers, as she pulled on the big iron door handle, and suddenly she felt strong. 　　 　　"Never let up, miss! Hold strong! Hold strong!" whispered a voice in her mind. 　　 　　"Pull, girl, pull!" whispered another. 　　 　　And then a voice that sounded like her mother's her own mother, her real, wonderful, maddening, infuriating, glorious mother, just said, "Well done, Coraline," and that was enough. 　　 　　The door started to slip closed, easily as anything. 　　 　　"No!" screamed a voice from beyond the door, and it no longer sounded even faintly human. 　　 　　Something snatched at Coraline, reaching through the closing gap between the door and the doorpost. Coraline jerked her head out of the way, but the door began to open once more. 　　 　　"We're going to go home," said Coraline. "We are. Help me." She ducked the snatching fingers. 　　 　　They moved through her, then: ghost-hands lent her strength that she no longer possessed. There was a final moment of resistance, as if something were caught in the door, and then, with a crash, the wooden door banged closed. 　　 　　Something dropped from Coraline's head height to the floor. It landed with a sort of a scuttling thump. 　　 　　"Come on!" said the cat. "This is not a good place to be in. Quickly." 　　 　　Coraline turned her back on the door and began to run, as fast as was practical, through the dark corridor, dragging her hand along the wall to make sure she didn't bump into anything or get turned around in the darkness. 　　 　　It was an uphill run, and it seemed to her that it went on for a longer distance than anything could possibly go. The wall she was touching seemed warm and yielding now, and, she realised, it felt as if it was covered in a fine downy fur. It moved, as if it were taking a breath. She snatched her hand away from it. 　　 　　Winds howled in the dark. 　　 　　She was scared she would bump into something, and she put out her hand for the wall once more. This time what she touched felt hot and wet, as if she had put her hand in somebody's mouth, and she pulled it back with a small wail. 　　 　　Her eyes had adjusted to the dark. She could half-see, as faintly glowing patches ahead of her, two adults, three children. She could hear the cat, too, padding in the dark in front of her. 　　 　　And there was something else, which suddenly scuttled between her feet, nearly sending Coraline flying. She caught herself before she went down, using her own momentum to keep moving. She knew that if she fell in that corridor she might never get up again. Whatever that corridor was was older by far than the other mother. It was deep, and slow, and it knew that she was there … 　　 　　Then daylight appeared, and she ran towards it, puffing and wheezing. "Almost there," she called encouragingly, but in the light she discovered that the wraiths had gone, and she was alone. She did not have time to wonder what had happened to them. Panting for breath, she staggered through the door and slammed it behind her with the loudest, most satisfying bang you can imagine. 　　　　Coraline locked the door with the key, and put the key back into her pocket. 　　 　　The black cat was huddled in the farthest corner of the room, the pink tip of its tongue showing, its eyes wide. Coraline went over to it, and crouched down. 　　 　　"I'm sorry," she said. I'm sorry I threw you at her. But it was the only way to distract her enough to get us all out. She would never have kept her word, would she?" 　　 　　The cat looked up at her, then it rested its head on her hand, licking her fingers with its sandpapery tongue. It began to purr. 　　 　　"Then we're friends?" said Coraline. 　　 　　She sat down on one of her grandmother's uncomfortable armchairs, and the cat sprang up into her lap and made itself comfortable. The light that came through the picture window was daylight, real golden late-afternoon daylight, not a white mist-light. The sky was a robin's-egg blue, and Coraline could see trees and, beyond the trees, green hills, which faded on the horizon into purples and greys. The sky had never seemed so sky; the world had never seemed so world. 　　 　　Coraline stared at the leaves on the trees and at the patterns of light and shadow on the cracked bark of the trunk of the beech tree outside the window, then she looked down at her lap, at the way that the rich sunlight brushed every hair on the cat's head, turning each white whisker to gold. 　　 　　Nothing, she thought, had ever been so interesting. 　　 　　And, caught up in the interestingness of the world, Coraline barely noticed that she had wriggled down and curled, cat-like, in her grandmother's uncomfortable armchair, nor did she notice when she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

进了自己的卧室。或者说，进了这间不是自己的卧室。卡萝兰高兴地看到，这间屋子并没有像宅子的其他部分一样，变成一幅铅笔画。它有景深，有阴影，阴影里还站着一个人，等着卡萝兰。     “这么说，你回来了。”另一个妈妈说。她的声音很不高兴，“还带回来一只害虫。”     “才不是呢，”卡萝兰说， “我带回来的是我的朋友。”她感觉到猫全身绷得紧紧的，好像随时准备逃掉。卡萝兰很想紧紧搂着它，像她搂小毛熊玩具那样。可她知道，猫讨厌被人家抱得紧紧的。她还担心，如果紧紧搂这只本来就很紧张的猫，它会带咬带抓，哪怕她和它是一边的。    “你知道我爱你。”另一个妈妈平平板板地说。    “你爱得太奇怪了。”卡萝兰说。她走下过道，一拐弯，进了客厅。她步子迈得很稳，另一个妈妈的两只黑纽扣眼睛死死盯着她的后背，但卡萝兰假装没感觉到。奶奶以前的家具还在那儿，墙上还是挂着那幅奇怪的水果画。但画里的水果已经被人吃掉了，水果碗里只剩下一个发黑的 苹果核，几个李子核，桃核。那串葡萄只留下一根干干的葡萄枝。那张矮木桌把它的狮子脚爪抓进地毯里，好像等得不耐烦，一心想朝谁扑过去一样。客厅尽头的角落里，是那扇木头门。从前，在另一个世界，这扇木头门后面只有一堵平平常常的砖墙。卡萝兰尽量不朝它看。窗户外面什 么都没有，只有一片白蒙蒙的雾。       最后关头。卡萝兰知道，最关键的一刻到了。马上就会分出胜负。    另一个妈妈跟着她走进客厅。她站在房间正中，在卡萝兰和壁炉架之间，那双黑纽扣眼睛从上往下看着她。真奇怪，卡萝兰想。这会儿，另一个妈妈的样子完全不像她真正的妈妈。不知以前是怎么想的，竟会觉得她跟自己的妈妈挺像。另一个妈妈的个子大极了，脑袋都快顶上了天花 板。还有，她全身惨白，是蜘蛛肚皮那种白色。她的头发绕着脑袋翻来卷去，她的牙齿好尖，像刀子……       “好了，”另一个妈妈厉声说，“找到了没有?拿出来看看。”     卡萝兰靠在一把扶手椅上，左手把猫抱得舒服些，右手伸进口袋，掏出三颗弹子。弹子是灰色的，像蒙了一层霜，在她手里撞得格格响。另一个妈妈伸出苍白的手指头，可卡萝兰已经把它们重新放回口袋。她知道了，幽灵小姑娘说得对，另一个妈妈根本没想过放她走，也没想过说话 算话。她只想玩一场游戏，找点乐子，没别的。“先等等，”她说，“游戏还没完呢，对不对?”       另一个妈妈的眼睛像两把刀子，脸上却甜甜地笑起来，“对，”她说，“还没完。你还得找到你的爸爸妈妈才行。”    “对。”卡萝兰说。别朝壁炉架上看，她想，连想都不能想。     “怎么了?”另一个妈妈说，“拿出来呀。想再去地窖找找看?告诉你，那下面，我还藏着好几件挺有意思的东西哩。”    “用不着。”卡萝兰说，“我知道我爸爸妈妈在哪儿。”怀里的猫真沉呀。她把它朝前挪了挪，从肩膀上摘下它抓得紧紧的爪子。    “在哪儿?”    “动动脑筋就知道了。”卡萝兰说，“能藏的地方我都找过。他们没在宅子里。”     另一个妈妈一动不动站在那儿，嘴唇闭得紧紧的，什么都瞧不出来。看她的样子，真像一座蜡像，连头发都不动了。     “所以，”卡萝兰继续说，两手稳稳地抱着黑猫，“我知道他们在哪儿。你把他们藏在我家的宅子和这儿之间的那条通道里了，对不对?就在那扇门里面。”她脑袋冲着角落里那扇门点了点。    另一个妈妈还是像蜡像一样，没有半点动静。但脸上却慢慢现出一丝笑意。“你这么想?是吗?”    “你敢不敢打开门?”卡萝兰说，“他们就在那儿，错不了。”    她知道，她只能从这条路回家去。但进不进得去，全看另一个妈妈想不想显示显示她有多高明。要是她不仅想赢，还想炫耀一番，那就好了。    另一个妈妈的手慢慢伸进她的围谖口袋，掏出那把黑色的铸铁钥匙。猫不安地在卡萝兰怀里动起来，好像想跳下地。再安静一小会儿，她心里对它说，一小会儿就好。她心里一个劲儿劝说着，也不知道它听不听得见。我会让咱们全都回家去，我说过的，我保证。她感到，怀里的猫不 动了，安静了。    另一个妈妈走到门前，把钥匙插进锁孔。     她转了一下钥匙。    卡萝兰只听门锁重重地发出一声响，“喀嚓”。    她已经动起来了，尽量轻手轻脚，一步步蹭向壁炉。    另一个妈妈的手落到门把手上，向下一压，拉开门，露出后面的过道。里面黑洞洞的，空空荡荡。     “看见没有?”她的手朝过道一挥，脸上那副得意的样子，难看死了，“你错了！你根本不知道你爸爸妈妈在哪儿，对不对?不在这儿。”她转过身，盯着卡萝兰，“现在，”她说，“你得永远留在这儿，再也走不了了。”    “不会，”卡萝兰说，“根本不会。”说完，她有多大力气使多大力气，把猫朝另一个妈妈狠狠一扔。猫一声嚎叫，落在另一个妈妈脑袋上，爪子乱抓，露出尖牙，样子凶极了。它的毛全部立起来，比它在真正的世界里大了足足一半。    卡萝兰没有傻站着看，她跑向壁炉架，一把抓起上面那个雪花球，深深揣进睡袍口袋。     猫一声大叫，牙齿咬进另一个妈妈的脸。她扑打着它，血从白乎乎的脸上直往下淌。不，不是真正的血，是一种黑黑黏黏的东西。卡萝兰朝那扇门奔去。     她一把拔下锁孔上的钥匙。    “甩掉她，快过来！”她向猫喊。猫嘶嘶地叫了一声，锋利得像手术刀一样的猫爪一挥，在另一个妈妈脸上狠狠地又抓了一把。黑黑黏黏的东西马上从她鼻子上的几道伤口涌出来，慢慢向下流。接着，猫使劲一跳，跳下地。“快！”她叫着。猫朝她跑来，他们一块儿踏进黑漆漆的过 道。     过道里比外面冷，像大热天走进地窖似的。猫本来还有点犹豫，但看见另一个妈妈追上来，它赶紧跑来，站在卡萝兰腿边。     卡萝兰开始使劲拉，想把门关上。    门怎么会这么沉?这扇门比她原来想的沉得多。    关上它很费劲，像顶着大风关门。就在这时，她感到门另一面有东西在向那边拉。     快关呀！她想，接着说出了声：“快关上，求你了。”她感到门打开了，被那股看不见的风慢慢拉开。    突然间，她感到过道里还有其他人，和她在一起。她不能转过头去看他们，但用不着转身，她也知道他们是谁。“快帮帮我，”她说，“大家一起来。”    过道里的人——三个孩子，两个大人——都是影子，拉不住门。但他们的手放在她手上，和她拼命向里拉的手放在一起。卡萝兰突然觉得全身是劲儿。    “永不言败，女士！努力！努力！”脑海里，一个声音悄声说。    “拉，小姐，拉！”另一个轻轻的声音说。     接着，响起了另一个声音，像妈妈，她自己的妈妈，真正的妈妈，经常发火、经常责骂她的好妈妈。“干得好，卡萝兰。”有这一声，就够了。     门开始合拢，很轻松。    “不！”门后传来一声尖叫，已经不再像人发出的声音了，一点都不像。    有什么东西从正在合拢的门缝伸进来，朝卡萝兰抓来。卡萝兰头一偏，差点没躲开。门又打开了一点。    “我们要回家，”卡萝兰说，“我们一定能回家。快帮帮我。”她一面说，一面躲闪着抓来抓去的手指。    他们使出了力气，把力气送进力气已经用完的卡萝兰身体里。门最后顶了一下，好像有什么东西卡在门缝里。然后，咔的一声，木头门猛地关上了。    有什么东西从卡萝兰脑袋的高度掉到地下，砰的一声，然后是一阵窸窸窣窣的声音。     “快！”猫说，“这个地方邪得很，不能久留。快点。”    卡萝兰转身就跑，在这个黑洞洞的过道里能跑多快就跑多快。两手扶着墙，怕不小心摔倒，或者在一片漆黑中走转了向。     感觉是在向上跑。真长啊。卡萝兰觉得，世界上根本不可能有这么长的路。现在，手摸着的墙暖乎乎的，还在向后缩。她这才发现，它摸上去像蒙了一层细细的绒毛。墙动了，像吸了一口气。卡萝兰猛地缩回手。    黑暗中，风号叫着。     她生怕一头碰上什么东西，所以重新伸手扶着墙壁。这一次，扶着的地方又热又湿，好像她把手放在什么人嘴巴里似的。她轻轻叫了一声，缩回手。     眼睛适应了黑暗，她可以艨朦胧胧看见了。就在她前头，两个大人，三个孩子，微微放光。她还听见了猫的脚步声，在前面叭嗒叭嗒响着。     还有别的东西，突然在她脚旁窜来窜去，绊得卡萝兰一个踉跄，差点摔在地上。她借着向前的劲儿，猛跑两步，这才稳住身子。她知道，只要在这条过道里摔倒，说不定就再也别想站起来了。不管这条过道是什么，它一定非常非常老，比另一个妈妈还老。它很深，动作很慢。它知道 她在这儿……     这时，前头露出了白天的亮光。她呼哧呼哧喘着气，拼命朝前跑去。“快到了。”她喊着，给大伙儿鼓劲儿。可她发现，走在前面的影子在亮光里消失了，过道里只剩下她一个人。她来不及捉摸到底出了什么事儿，只顾喘着粗气，跑出门，使劲关上。砰的一声。你怎么都想像不出这 么响亮、这么让人高兴的关门声。    卡萝兰用钥匙锁上门，再把钥匙放进口袋。     猫缩在客厅最外面的角落里，粉红色的舌头尖露在外面，瞪着圆圆的眼睛。卡萝兰走过去，蹲在它身旁。     “对不起。”她说，“我把你朝她扔过去，真对不起。可只有这个办法才能分她的心，让咱们逃出来。你知道的，她一定不会说话算话。”     猫望着她，然后，它把头靠在她手上，沙拉拉的舌头舔着她的手指头。它喵喵叫起来。    “这么说，咱们还是好朋友?”卡萝兰说。     她在奶奶的一把坐着很不舒服的扶手椅上坐下，猫跳上她的膝盖，舒舒服服坐好。描着花的窗户透进来一束光。外面是白天，真正的快傍晚的白天，不是白蒙蒙的雾。天蓝得像知更鸟的蛋，卡萝兰能看见树，树那边是小山，映在紫色的晚霞里。天空从来没有这么“天空”，世界也从 来没有这么“世界”。    卡萝兰望着窗外的山毛榉，望着它的树叶，望着它被阳光照得斑斑驳驳的树干。然后，她低下头，望着膝盖上的猫。明亮的阳光照在猫头上，它的每一根毛都亮晶晶的，每一根白色的猫胡子都被染成了金色。     真美呀。她想，从来没有什么比现在更美。     正欣赏着美景呢，卡萝兰不知不觉，身体一歪，像猫一样缩在奶奶那把让人不舒服的椅子里，睡熟了，一个梦都没做。

第十二章 　　Her mother shook her gently awake. "Coraline?" she said. "Darling, what a funny place to fall asleep. And really, this room is only for best. We looked all over the house for you." 　　 　　Coraline stretched and blinked. "I'm sorry," she said. "I fell asleep." 　　 　　"I can see that," said her mother. "And wherever did the cat come from? He was waiting by the front door when I came in. Shot out like a bullet as I opened it." 　　 　　"Probably had things to do," said Coraline. Then she hugged her mother, so tightly that her arms began to ache. Her mother hugged Coraline back. 　　 　　"Dinner in fifteen minutes," said her mother. "Don't forget to wash your hands. And just look at those pyjama bottoms. What did you do to your poor knee?" 　　 　　"I tripped," said Coraline. She went into the bathroom, and she washed her hands and cleaned her bloody knee. She put ointment on her cuts and scrapes. 　　 　　She went into her bedroom-her real bedroom, her true bedroom. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her dressing gown, and she pulled out three marbles, a stone with a hole in it, the black key, and an empty snow-globe. 　　 　　She shook the snow-globe and watched the glittery snow swirl through the water to fill the empty world. She put it down and watched the snow fall, covering the place where the little couple had once stood. 　　 　　Coraline took a piece of string from her toybox and she strung the black key on to it. Then she knotted the string and hung it around her neck. 　　 　　"There," she said. She put on some clothes, and hid the key under her T-shirt. It was cold against her skin. The stone went into her pocket. 　　 　　Coraline walked down the hallway to her father's study. He had his back to her, but she knew, just on seeing him, that his eyes, when he turned around, would be her father's kind grey eyes, and she crept over and kissed him on the back of his balding head. 　　 　　"Hello, Coraline," he said. Then he looked round and smiled at her. "What was that for?" 　　 　　"Nothing," said Coraline. "I just miss you sometimes. That's all." 　　 　　"Oh good," he said. He put the computer to sleep, stood up, and then, for no reason at all, he picked Coraline up, which he had not done for such a long time, not since he had started pointing out to her she was much too old to be carried, and he carried her into the kitchen. 　　 　　Dinner that night was pizza, and even though it was home-made by her father (so the crust was alternately thick and doughy and raw, or too thin and burnt), and even though he had put slices of green pepper on it, along with little meatballs and, of all things, pineapple chunks, Coraline ate the entire slice she had been given. 　　 　　Well, she ate everything except for the pineapple chunks. 　　 　　And soon enough it was bedtime. 　　 　　Coraline kept the key around her neck, but she put the grey marbles beneath her pillow; and in bed that night, Coraline dreamed a dream. 　　 　　She was at a picnic, under an old oak tree, in a green meadow. The sun was high in the sky and, while there were distant fluffy white clouds on the horizon, the sky above her head was a deep, untroubled blue. 　　 　　There was a white-linen cloth laid on the grass, with bowls piled high with food-she could see salads and sandwiches, nuts and fruit, jugs of lemonade and water and thick chocolate milk. Coraline sat on one side of the tablecloth while three other children took a side each. They were dressed in the oddest clothes. 　　 　　The smallest of them, sitting on Coraline's left, was a boy with red-velvet knee-britches and a frilly white shirt. His face was dirty, and he was piling his plate high with boiled new potatoes and with what looked like cold, whole, cooked trout. "This is the finest of picnics, lady," he said to her. 　　 　　"Yes," said Coraline. "I think it is. I wonder who organised it." 　　 　　"Why, I rather think you did, miss," said a tall girl, sitting opposite Coraline. She wore a brown, rather shapeless dress, and had a brown bonnet on her head which tied beneath her chin. "And we are more grateful for it and for all than ever words can say." She was eating slices of bread and jam, deftly cutting the bread from a large golden-brown loaf with a huge knife, then spooning on the purple jam with a wooden spoon. She had jam all around her mouth. 　　 　　"Aye. This is the finest food I have eaten in centuries," said the girl on Coraline's right. She was a very pale child, dressed in what seemed to be spiders' webs, with a circle of glittering silver set in her blonde hair. Coraline could have sworn that the girl had two wings-like dusty silver butterfly wings, not bird wings-coming out of her back. The girl's plate was piled high with pretty flowers. She smiled at Coraline, as if it had been a very long time since she had smiled and she had almost, but not quite, forgotten how. Coraline found herself liking this girl immensely. 　　 　　And then, in the way of dreams, the picnic had ended and they were playing in the meadow, running and shouting and tossing a glittering ball from one to another. Coraline knew it was a dream then, because none of them ever got tired or winded or out of breath. She wasn't even sweating. They just laughed and ran in a game that was partly tag, partly piggy-in-the-middle, and partly just a magnificent romp. 　　 　　Three of them ran along the ground, while the pale girl fluttered a little over their heads, swooping down on butterfly wings to grab the ball and swinging up again into the sky before she tossed the ball to one of the other children. 　　 　　And then, without a word about it being spoken, the game was over and the four of them went back to the picnic cloth, where the lunch had been cleared away, and there were four bowls waiting for them, three of ice-cream, one of honeysuckle flowers piled high. 　　 　　They ate with relish. 　　 　　"Thank you for coming to my party," said Coraline. "If it is mine." 　　 　　"The pleasure is ours, Coraline Jones," said the winged girl, nibbling another honeysuckle blossom. "If there were but something we could do for you, to thank you, and to reward you." 　　 　　"Aye," said the boy with the red-velvet britches and the dirty face. He put out his hand and held Coraline's hand with his own. It was warm now. 　　 　　"It's a very fine thing you did for us, miss," said the tall girl. She now had a smear of chocolate ice-cream all around her lips. "I'm just pleased it's all over," said Coraline. 　　 　　Was it her imagination, or did a shadow cross the faces of the other children at the picnic? 　　 　　The winged girl, the circlet in her hair glittering like a star, rested her fingers for a moment on the back of Coraline's hand. "It is over and done with for us," she said. "This is our staging post. From here, we three will set out for uncharted lands, and what comes after no one alive can say …" She stopped talking. 　　 　　"There's a but, isn't there?" said Coraline. "I can feel it. Like a rain cloud." 　　 　　The boy on her left tried to smile bravely, but his lower lip began to tremble and he bit it with his upper teeth and said nothing. The girl in the brown bonnet shifted uncomfortably and said, "Yes, miss." 　　 　　"But I got you three back," said Coraline. "I got Mum and Dad back. I shut the door. I locked it. What more was I meant to do?" 　　 　　The boy squeezed Coraline's hand with his. She found herself remembering when it had been her, trying to reassure him, when he was little more than a cold memory in the darkness. 　　 　　"Well, can't you give me a clue?" asked Coraline. "Isn't there something you can tell me?" 　　 　　"The beldam swore by her good right hand," said the tall girl, "but she lied." 　　 　　"M-my governess," said the boy, "used to say that nobody is ever given more to shoulder than he or she can bear." He shrugged as he said this, as if he had not yet made his own mind up whether or not it was true. 　　 　　"We wish you luck," said the winged girl. "Good fortune and wisdom and courage-although you have already shown that you have all three of these blessings, and in abundance." 　　 　　"She hates you," blurted out the boy. "She hasn't lost anything for so long. Be wise. Be brave. Be tricky." 　　 　　"But it's not fair," said Coraline, in her dream, angrily. "It's just not fair. It should be over." 　　 　　The boy with the dirty face stood up and hugged Coraline tightly. "Take comfort in this," he whispered. "Thou art alive. Thou livest." 　　 　　And in her dream Coraline saw that the sun had set and the stars were twinkling in the darkening sky. 　　 　　Coraline stood in the meadow, and she watched as the three children (two of them walking, one flying) went away from her, across the grass, silver in the light of the huge moon. 　　 　　The three of them came to a small wooden bridge over a stream. They stopped there, and turned and waved, and Coraline waved back. 　　 　　And what came after was darkness. 　　 　　Coraline woke in the early hours of the morning, convinced she had heard something moving, but unsure what it was. 　　 　　She waited. 　　 　　Something made a rustling noise outside her bedroom door. She wondered if it was a rat. The door rattled. Coraline clambered out of bed. 　　 　　"Go away," said Coraline, sharply. "Go away or you'll be sorry." 　　 　　There was a pause, then the whatever-it-was scuttled away down the hall. There was something odd and irregular about its footsteps, if they were footsteps. Coraline found herself wondering if it was perhaps a rat with an extra leg . . . 　　 　　"It isn't over, is it?" she said to herself. 　　 　　Then she opened the bedroom door. The grey, pre-dawn light showed her the whole of the corridor, completely deserted. 　　 　　She went towards the front door, sparing a hasty glance back at the wardrobe-door mirror hanging on the wall at the other end of the hallway, seeing nothing but her own pale face staring back at her, looking sleepy and serious. Gentle, reassuring snores came from her parents' room, but the door was closed. All the doors off the corridor were closed. Whatever the scuttling thing was, it had to be here somewhere. 　　 　　Coraline opened the front door and looked at the grey sky. She wondered how long it would be until the sun came up, wondered whether her dream had been a true thing while knowing in her heart that it had been. Something she had taken to be part of the shadows under the hall couch detached itself from beneath the couch and made a mad, scrabbling rush on its long white legs, heading for the front door. 　　 　　Coraline's mouth dropped open in horror and she stepped out of the way as the thing clicked and scuttled past her and out of the house, running crab-like on its too-many tapping, clicking, scurrying feet. 　　 　　She knew what it was, and she knew what it was after. She had seen it too many times in the last few days, reaching and clutching and snatching and popping blackbeetles obediently into the other mother's mouth. Five-footed, crimson-nailed, the colour of bone. It was the other mother's right hand. 　　 　　It wanted the black key. 　　 　　Coraline's parents never seemed to remember anything about their time in the snow-globe. At least, they never said anything about it, and Coraline never mentioned it to them. 　　 　　Sometimes, she wondered whether they had ever noticed that they had lost two days in the real world, and came to the eventual conclusion that they had not. Then again, there are some people who keep track of every day and every hour, and there are people who don't, and Coraline's parents were solidly in the second camp. 　　 　　Coraline had placed the marbles beneath her pillow before she went to sleep that first night home in her own room once more. She went back to bed, after she saw the other mother's hand, although there was not much time left for sleeping, and she rested her head back on the pillow. 　　 　　Something scrunched gently as she did do. 　　 　　She sat up and lifted the pillow. The fragments of the glass marbles that she saw looked like the remains of eggshells one finds beneath trees in springtime: like empty, broken robins' eggs, or even more delicate, wrens' eggs, perhaps. 　　 　　Whatever had been inside the glass spheres had gone. Coraline thought of the three children waving goodbye to her in the moonlight, waving before they crossed that silver stream. 　　 　　She gathered up the eggshell-thin fragments with care and placed them in a small blue box which had once held a bracelet that her grandmother had given her when she was a little girl. The bracelet was long-lost, but the box remained. 　　 　　Miss Spink and Miss Forcible came back from visiting Miss Spink's niece, and Coraline went down to their flat for tea. It was a Monday. On Wednesday Coraline would go back to school: a whole new school year would begin. 　　 　　Miss Forcible insisted on reading Coraline's tea leaves. 　　 　　"Well, looks like everything's mostly shipshape and Bristol fashion, lovey," said Miss Forcible. 　　 　　"Sorry?" said Coraline. 　　 　　"Everything is coming up roses," said Miss Forcible. "Well, almost everything. I'm not sure what that is." She pointed to a clump of tea leaves sticking to the side of the cup. 　　 　　Miss Spink tutted and reached for the cup. "Honestly, Miriam. Give it over here. Let me see . . ." 　　 　　She blinked through her thick spectacles. "Oh dear. No, I have no idea what that signifies. It looks almost like a hand." 　　 　　Coraline looked. The clump of leaves did look a little like a hand, reaching for something. 　　 　　Hamish the Scottie dog was hiding under Miss Forcible's chair, and he wouldn't come out. 　　 　　"I think he was in some sort of fight," said Miss Spink. "He has a deep gash in his side, poor dear. We'll take him to the vet later this afternoon. I wish I knew what could have done it." 　　 　　Something, Coraline knew, would have to be done. 　　 　　That final week of the holidays, the weather was magnificent, as if the summer itself were trying to make up for the miserable weather they had been having by giving them some bright and glorious days before it ended. 　　 　　The crazy old man upstairs called down to Coraline when he saw her coming out of Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's flat. 　　 　　"Hey! Hi! You! Caroline!" he shouted over the railing. 　　 　　"It's Coraline," she said. "How are the mice?" 　　 　　"Something has frightened them," said the old man, scratching his moustache. "I think maybe there is a weasel in the house. Something is about. I heard it in the night. In my country we would have put down a trap for it, maybe put down a little meat or hamburger, and when the creature comes to feast, then-bam!-it would be caught and never bother us more. The mice are so scared they will not even pick up their little musical instruments." 　　 　　"I don't think it wants meat," said Coraline. She put her hand up and touched the black key that hung about her neck. Then she went inside. 　　 　　She bathed herself, and kept the key round her neck the whole time she was in the bath. She never took it off any more. 　　 　　Something scratched at her bedroom window after she went to bed. Coraline was almost asleep, but she slipped out of bed and pulled open the curtains. A white hand with crimson fingernails leapt from the window-ledge on to a drainpipe and was immediately out of sight. There were deep gouges in the glass on the other side of the window. 　　 　　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 window-pane or at her bedroom door. 　　 　　In the morning Coraline said to her mother, "I'm going to have a picnic with my dolls today. Can I borrow a sheet-an old one, one you don't need any longer-as a tablecloth?" 　　 　　"I don't think we have one of those," said her mother. She opened the kitchen drawer that held the napkins and the tablecloths, and she prodded about in it. "Hold on. Will this do?" 　　 　　It was a folded-up disposable paper tablecloth covered with red flowers, left over from some picnic they had been on several years before. 　　 　　"That's perfect," said Coraline. 　　 　　"I didn't think you played with your dolls any more," said Mrs Jones. 　　 　　"I don't," admitted Coraline. "They're protective coloration." 　　 　　"Well, be back in time for lunch," said her mother. "Have a good time." 　　 　　Coraline filled a cardboard box with dolls and several plastic dolls' tea-cups. She filled a jug with water. 　　 　　Then she went outside. She walked down to the road, just as if she were going to the shops. Before she reached the supermarket she cut over a fence into some wasteland, and along an old drive, then she crawled under a hedge. She had to go under the hedge in two journeys in order not to spill the water from the jug. 　　 　　It was a long, roundabout looping journey, but at the end of it Coraline was satisfied that she had not been followed. 　　 　　She came out behind the dilapidated old tennis court. She crossed over it to the meadow where the long grass swayed. She found the planks on the edge of the meadow. They were astonishingly heavy-almost too heavy for a girl to lift, even using all her strength, but she managed. She didn't have any choice. She pulled the planks out of the way, one by one, grunting and sweating with the effort, revealing a deep, round, brick-lined hole in the ground. It smelled of damp and the dark. The bricks were greenish and slippery. 　　 　　She spread out the tablecloth and laid it carefully over the top of the well. She put a plastic dolls' cup every twenty centimetres or so, at the edge of the well, and she weighed each cup down with water from the jug. 　　 　　She put a doll in the grass beside each cup, making it look as much like a dolls' tea party as she could. Then she retraced her steps, back under the hedge, along the dusty yellow drive, around the back of the shops, back to her house. 　　 　　She reached up and took the key from around her neck. She dangled it from the string, as if the key were just something she liked to play with. Then she knocked on the door of Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's flat. 　　 　　Miss Spink opened the door. 　　 　　"Hello, dear," she said. 　　 　　"I don't want to come in," said Coraline. "I just wanted to find out how Hamish was doing." 　　 　　Miss Spink sighed. "The vet says that Hamish is a brave little soldier," she said. "Luckily, the cut doesn't seem to be infected. We cannot imagine what could have done it. The vet says some animal, he thinks, but has no idea what. Mister Bobo says he thinks it might have been a weasel." 　　 　　"Mister Bobo?" 　　 　　"The man in the top flat. Mister Bobo. Fine old circus family I believe. Romanian or Slovenian or Livonian, or one of those countries. Bless me, I can never remember them any more." 　　 　　It had never occurred to Coraline that the crazy old man upstairs actually had a name, she realised. If she'd known his name was Mr Bobo she would have said it every chance she got. How often do you get to say a name like "Mister Bobo" aloud? 　　 　　"Oh," said Coraline to Miss Spink. "Mister Bobo. Right. Well," she said, a little louder, "I'm going to go and play with my dolls now, over by the old tennis court, round the back." 　　 　　"That's nice, dear," said Miss Spink. Then she added, confidentially, "Make sure you keep an eye out for the old well. Mister Lovat, who was here before your time, said that he thought it might go down for half a mile or more." 　　 　　Coraline hoped that the hand had not heard this last remark, and she changed the subject. "This key?" said Coraline, loudly. "Oh, it's just some old key from our house. It's part of my game. That's why I'm carrying it around with me on this piece of string. Well, goodbye now." 　　 　　"What an extraordinary child," said Miss Spink to herself as she closed the door. 　　 　　Coraline ambled across the meadow towards the old tennis court, dangling and swinging the black key on its piece of string as she walked. 　　 　　Several times she thought she saw something the colour of bone in the undergrowth. It was keeping pace with her, about ten metres away. 　　 　　She tried to whistle, but nothing happened, so she sang out loud instead, a song her father had made up for her when she was a little baby and which had always made her laugh. It went: 　　 　　Oh ... My twitchy witchy girl I think you are so nice, I give you bowls of porridge And I give you bowls of ice-cream. 　　 　　I give you lots of kisses, And I give you lots of hugs, But I never give you sandwiches with bugs in. 　　 　　That was what she sang as she sauntered through the woods, and her voice hardly trembled at all. 　　 　　The dolls' tea party was where she had left it. She was relieved that it was not a windy day, for everything was still in its place, every water-filled plastic cup weighed down the paper tablecloth as it was meant to. She breathed a sigh of relief. 　　 　　Now was the hardest part. 　　 　　"Hello, dolls," she said brightly. "It's teatime!" 　　 　　She walked close to the paper tablecloth. "I brought the lucky key," she told the dolls. "To make sure we have a good picnic." 　　 　　And then, as carefully as she could, she leaned over and gently placed the key on the tablecloth. She was still holding on to the string. She held her breath, hoping that the cups of water at the edges of the well would weigh the cloth down, letting it take the weight of the key without collapsing into the well. 　　 　　The key sat in the middle of the paper picnic cloth. Coraline let go of the string and took a step back. Now it was all up to the hand. 　　 　　She turned to her dolls. 　　 　　"Who would like a piece of cherry cake?" she asked. "Jemima? Pinky? Primrose?" and she served each doll a slice of invisible cake on an invisible plate, chattering happily as she did so. 　　 　　From the corner of her eye she saw something bone white scamper from one tree trunk to another, closer and closer. She forced herself not to look at it. 　　 　　"Jemima!" said Coraline. "What a bad girl you are! You've dropped your cake! Now I'll have to go over and get you a whole new slice!" And she walked around the tea party until she was on the other side of it to the hand. She pretended to clean up spilled cake and then to get Jemima another piece. 　　 　　And then, in a skittering, chittering rush, it came. The hand, running high on its fingertips, scrabbled through the tall grass and up on to a tree stump. It stood there for a moment, like a crab tasting the air, and then it made one triumphant, nail-clacking leap on to the centre of the paper tablecloth. 　　 　　Time slowed for Coraline. The white fingers closed around the black key … 　　 　　And then the weight and the momentum of the hand sent the plastic dolls' cups flying, and the paper tablecloth and the key and the other mother's right hand went tumbling down into the darkness of the well. 　　 　　Coraline counted slowly under her breath. She got up to forty before she heard a muffled splash coming from a long way below. 　　 　　Someone had once told her that if you look up at the sky from the bottom of a mineshaft, even in the brightest daylight, you see a night sky and stars. Coraline wondered if the hand could see stars from where it was. 　　 　　She hauled the heavy planks back on to the well, covering it as carefully as she could. She didn't want anything to fall in. She didn't want anything ever to get out. Then she put her dolls and the cups back in the cardboard box she had carried them out in. Something caught her eye while she was doing this, and she straightened up in time to see the black cat stalking towards her, its tail held high and curling at the tip like a question mark. It was the first time she had seen the cat in several days, since they had returned together from the other mother's place. 　　 　　The cat walked over to her and jumped up on to the planks that covered the well. Then, slowly, it winked one eye at her. 　　 　　It sprang down into the long grass in front of her and rolled over on to its back, wiggling about ecstatically. 　　 　　Coraline scratched and tickled the soft fur on its belly, and the cat purred contentedly. When it had had enough it rolled over on to its front once more and walked back towards the tennis court, like a tiny patch of midnight in the midday sun. 　　 　　Coraline went back to the house. 　　 　　Mr Bobo was waiting for her in the driveway. He clapped her on the shoulder. 　　 　　"The mice tell me that all is good," he said. "They say that you are our saviour, Caroline." 　　 　　"It's Coraline, Mister Bobo," said Coraline. "Not Caroline. Coraline." 　　 　　"Coraline," said Mr Bobo, repeating her name to himself with wonderment and respect. "Very good, Coraline. The mice say that I must tell you that as soon as they are ready to perform in public, you will come up to watch them as the first audience of all. They will play tumpty umpty and toodle oodle, and they will dance and do a thousand tricks. That is what they say." 　　 　　"I would like that very much," said Coraline. "When they're ready." 　　 　　She knocked at Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's door. Miss Spink let her in and Coraline went into their parlour. She put her box of dolls down on the floor. Then she put her hand into her pocket and pulled out the stone with the hole in it. 　　 　　"Here you go," she said. "I don't need it any more. I'm very grateful. I think it may have saved my life, and saved some other people's deaths." 　　 　　She gave them both tight hugs, although her arms barely stretched around Miss Spink, and Miss Forcible smelled like the raw garlic she had been cutting. Then Coraline picked up her box of dolls and went out. 　　 　　"What an extraordinary child," said Miss Spink. No one had hugged her like that since she had retired from the theatre. 　　 　　That night Coraline lay in bed, all bathed, teeth cleaned, with her eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. 　　 　　It was warm enough that, now the hand was gone, she had opened her bedroom window wide. She had insisted to her father that the curtains not be entirely closed. 　　 　　Her new school clothes were laid out carefully on her chair for her to put on when she woke. 　　 　　Normally, on the night before the first day of term, Coraline was apprehensive and nervous. But, she realised, there was nothing left about school that could scare her any more. 　　She fancied she could hear sweet music on the night air: the kind of music that can only be played on the tiniest silver trombones and trumpets and bassoons, on piccolos and tubas so delicate and small that their keys could only be pressed by the tiny pink fingers of white mice. 　　 　　Coraline imagined that she was back again in her dream, with the two girls and the boy under the oak tree in the meadow, and she smiled. 　　 　　As the first stars came out Coraline finally allowed herself to drift into sleep, while the gentle upstairs music of the mouse circus spilled out on to the warm evening air, telling the world that the summer was almost over.

妈妈轻轻摇着她，把她摇醒了。    “卡萝兰?”她说，“亲爱的，怎么上这儿睡来了?再说，没什么大事，平常别上这儿玩。我们到处找你，整幢宅子都找遍了。”     卡萝兰伸了个懒腰，眨着眼睛。“对不起，”她说，“我一下子就睡着了。”    “瞧得出来。”妈妈说，“那只猫是哪儿来的?我进来的时候，它就在门口等着。我一开门它就跑出去了，快得像子弹。”     “可能它有急事吧。”卡萝兰说。说完，她紧紧抱着妈妈，抱得紧极了，连她自己的胳膊都疼起来。    妈妈也搂了搂她。    “十五分钟以后吃晚饭。”妈妈说，“别忘了饭前洗手。瞧瞧你的睡裤，屁股后头多脏。你可怜的膝盖又是怎么回事?”     “我绊了一跤。”卡萝兰说。她走进浴室，洗了手，把凝着血块的膝盖也洗干净，在划伤擦破的地方涂上油膏。    她走进她的卧室——真正的自己的卧室。她双手插进睡袍口袋，掏出三颗大理石弹子、一块上面有个洞眼的石头，还有一个里面空空的雪花球。     她摇摇雪花球，里面那个空空的世界里马上飘起亮晶晶的小雪花。她放下雪花球，看着雪花飘呀飘，飘过原来那两个小人待的地方。    卡萝兰从她的玩具盒子里取出一根线，系好那把黑钥匙，打了个结，挂在脖子上。    “好啦。”她换了身衣服，把钥匙藏在T恤下面。     贴着皮肤，冰凉。她又把石头放进口袋。     卡萝兰从过道走进爸爸的书房。他背冲着她，但她一看背影就知道，等他转过身来的时候，脸上一定是爸爸那双和气的灰色眼睛。她蹑手蹑脚溜过去，在爸爸正在谢项的后脑上亲了一下。     “好吗，卡萝兰?”他说。说完才扭过头，笑着说，“亲这一下是为什么?”     “不为什么。”卡萝兰说，“就是有时候有点想你，就这个。”     “哦，好吧。”他说。他让电脑进入休眠状态，站起来。接着，也没有什么原因，他把卡萝兰抱起来。爸爸已经好久没这么做过了。他告诉过卡萝兰，她已经是个大孩子了，不该老要人抱着走。这会儿，他抱着卡萝兰，走进厨房。     这天晚上的晚饭是披萨。是爸爸做的。爸爸做的披萨不是太厚、半生不熟，就是薄薄的、烤煳了。这一次，他还在上头洒绿胡椒粉，放上小肉丸子，甚至还放了不少凤梨块儿。可是，卡萝兰还是把切给她的一大片披萨全部吃完了。     嗯，基本上全部吃完了，只剩下凤梨块儿。    好像没过一会儿，上床睡觉的时间就到了。    卡萝兰还是把钥匙挂在脖子上，但把那些灰色弹子塞在枕头下面。那天晚上，上床睡觉以后，卡萝兰做了一个梦。     草地上铺着一块白色亚麻布，上面放着好多碗，碗里满满地盛着好吃的。有沙拉和三明治，硬壳果和水果，一壶又一壶柠檬汽水、水、稠稠的巧克力牛奶。卡萝兰坐在餐布一边，其他三边坐着另外三个小孩。他们穿的衣服怪极了。     最小的一个是个男孩，坐在卡萝兰左边。他穿着红色天鹅绒齐膝短裤，一件镶褶边的衬衣。他脸上脏兮兮的，盘子里高高地堆着烤土豆，居然还有一整条冷鲑鱼，是烤出来的。“野餐之美，莫过于此了，女士。”他对她说。     “对，”卡萝兰说，“说得对。就是不知道是谁安排的。”     “这个，今日欢聚，皆应归功于你，女士。”坐在卡萝兰对面的高个子女孩说。她穿着一件褐色裙子，卡萝兰实在说不清样式。头上还戴着一顶兜帽，在下巴底下系好，“感激之情，难以言表。”她在吃果酱面包片。用一把很大的刀子，从烤得黄黄的大面包上灵巧地切下一片，再用 木勺舀出一勺紫色果酱。     她嘴巴四周沾满了果酱。     “此言极是。数百年来，惟这一顿可称至善至美。”卡萝兰右手的女孩说。她长得很白净，穿一件像蛛网一样薄的丝裙，金色头发上扎着一根亮闪闪的银带。卡萝兰百分之百地肯定，这女孩背后长着两只翅膀。淡淡的银色，不是鸟翅膀，很像蝴蝶翅膀。她冲卡萝兰笑着，好像很久很 久没有笑过，已经快忘了应该怎么笑。卡萝兰觉得自己一下子喜欢上了这女孩。         和平时做梦一样，不知怎么的，野餐一下子就完了。大家在草地上玩，跑来跑去，喊着，闹着，扔一个亮晶晶的球。这时，卡萝兰明白了，这是一个梦，因为没有谁累，也没有谁喘不上气。她连汗都没出。    大家笑啊，跑啊。那个游戏有点像官兵抓强盗，又有点像扔手帕，反正就是跑来跑去，玩得高兴极了。    三个人在地上跑。那个白净女孩扑打着翅膀，飞在他们头顶上一点儿，不时一个猛子扎下来抢球，再飞上天，把球传给别的孩子。    然后，没说一句话，游戏就这么结束了。大家回到餐布旁。午餐的碗碟已经收走了，只有四个碗等着他们。三碗冰激凌，一碗堆得高高的金银花。    他们吃起来，胃口好极了。    “谢谢你们来参加我办的野餐，”卡萝兰说，“不过我也不知道是不是我办的。”     “不胜荣幸之至，卡萝兰?琼斯。”长翅膀的女孩一边说，一边小口吃着金银花，“再造之恩，不敢言谢。绵薄之礼，不成敬意。”     “说得是。”穿红色天鹅绒短裤、脸上脏兮兮的男孩说。他伸出手，握住卡萝兰的手。他的手现在不凉了，暖乎乎的。     “深恩厚意，我等铭记在心。”高个子女孩说。    这会儿，她嘴唇周围沾了一圈儿巧克力冰激凌。    “我真高兴，这件事总算完了。”卡萝兰说。    也不知是不是她的想像，其他三个孩子脸上忽然蒙上了一层阴影。     长翅膀的女孩头上那根发带亮得像星星，她把手放在卡萝兰手背上。“对我三人，此事已了。”她说，“这里是我等的驿站，不久便将从此地前往乐土。对你却不然。此后的事，唉，本来，天机不可泄露……”她不说话了。    “下面的话呢，你下面肯定还有一个‘可是’，对不对?”卡萝兰说，“我听得出来，它就躲在你的话后面，像躲在雨云里一样。”     站在她左手的男孩本来想鼓起勇气笑一笑，可下嘴唇却哆嗦起来。他用牙齿咬住嘴唇，什么都没说。     戴兜帽的女孩不安地扭动着，说：“是的，女士。”    “可我已经把你们三个救出来了。”卡萝兰说，“我把妈妈爸爸救出来了，那扇门也关上了。我亲手锁上的。还有什么我没做的?”     男孩紧紧捏了捏卡萝兰的手。她想起来了，当时，他还只是黑暗中一段冷冷的记忆的时候，是她握住他的手，是她安慰他。     “嗯，你们能给我一点提示吗?”卡萝兰说，“你们总可以多少给我透露一点点吧?”     “那恶妇以其右手为誓，”高个子女孩说，“但后来，她却破了誓。”    “我的家庭女教师时常说起，”男孩说，“天将降重任，必先权衡，不使负担过重，致人无力承担。”说完，他耸耸肩，好像自己都不知道这话到底对不对。    “祝你幸运长在。”长翅膀的女孩说，“智慧与勇气常伴左右。视君之作为，三者俱在，决无匮乏。    故必能逢凶化吉。”     “那恶妇恨你入骨。”男孩脱口而出，“此人从未失手。万勿懈怠，须得小心在意，鼓余勇，以智计为辅，方可保平安。”    “可是，这不公平。”在梦中，卡萝兰生气地叫起来，“太不公平了。这件事应该已经完了。”    脸上脏兮兮的男孩站起来，紧紧抱了抱卡萝兰。     “你还活着，”他悄声说，“仍将活下去。振作些。”     在梦里，卡萝兰看见太阳落山了，星星在变黑的天空中闪闪烁烁。     卡萝兰在草地上站起来，望着三个孩子(两个走，一个飞)在被月光染成银色的草地上渐渐远去。     三人来到一条小溪边的一座木桥旁。他们停下来，转过身，向她挥手。卡萝兰也向他们挥手。     然后就是一片黑暗。    天蒙蒙亮时，卡萝兰醒了。她觉得听到什么动静，又说不清到底是什么。     她等着。     卧室门外，有东西窸窣作响。她想，会不会是老鼠。门吱吱嘎嘎响起来。卡萝兰爬下床。    “走开。”卡萝兰大声说，“走开，不然你会后悔的。”    外面的声音一顿，然后，不知道是什么的东西慌慌张张从过道逃走了。它的脚步声乱糟糟的，很奇怪(如果真是脚步声的话).卡萝兰心想，可能是一只多长了一条腿的老鼠……    “这件事还没完。”她告诉自己。     她打开卧室门。灰蒙蒙的黎明天光照在过道里。    整条过道里，什么都没有。     她走出门，瞧了一眼过道另一头挂着的镜子。镜子里只有她自己的脸向外张望，那张脸看上去既瞌睡、又紧张。爸爸妈妈房间里传出让人安心的轻轻的鼾声，他们的门关着。过道里所有门都是关着的。不管那个窸窸窣窣的东西是什么，它一定在别的地方。    卡萝兰打开大门，看看灰色的天空。她不知道太阳什么时候才会出来，也不知道那个梦究竟是不是真的(在她心里，她知道是真的).过道沙发底下有东西，刚才她还以为那是沙发的影子。现在，那个影子从沙发下钻出来。沙沙沙，几条惨白色的长腿一阵乱爬，拼命朝大门逃去。    卡萝兰的嘴惊恐地张得老大。她吓得一跳，生怕那个咔嗒咔嗒从身旁窜过去的东西碰到自己。它逃出大门，像只螃蟹，几条咔嗒咔嗒响的腿乱爬乱挠。     她知道这是什么，也知道它在找什么。过去几天里，她见过它好多次，抓、掐，听话地把蟑螂扔进另一个妈妈嘴里。五条腿，红指甲，颜色像骨头。     它是另一个妈妈的右手。     它想要那把黑钥匙。     卡萝兰的爸爸妈妈好像一点儿也想不起他们被关在雪花球里的事了。至少，他们一句话都没提起。卡萝兰也没提过。     有时候，她心想：不知他们会不会注意到，他们在这个真实世界的日子少了两天。卡萝兰最后得出了结论：他们没注意到。有些人做什么都有记录，每天、每小时，什么都记得清清楚楚。还有些人不是这样。卡萝兰的爸爸妈妈显然是第二种人。    回自己房间睡觉的头一晚，卡萝兰把那些大理石弹子压在枕头底下。看见另一个妈妈的手以后，虽然已经没多少时间再睡一觉了，她还是重新上床，脑袋枕在那个枕头上。     一枕上去，枕头下面一阵咯吱咯吱响。     她坐起来，掀起枕头。下面是弹子的碎片，像春天的时候，树下常常能发现的鸟蛋蛋壳。小鸟孵化出来以后剩下的空蛋壳。     以前在弹子里的东西已经走了。卡萝兰想起那三个在月光下向她招手再见的小孩，就在他们跨过那道银色小溪之前。    她小心地把这些碎片收拾起来，放在一只蓝色小盒子里。盒子是奶奶以前送给她的，里面装着一只手镯。手镯早就不见了，但盒子还在。     斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐从斯平克小姐的侄女那儿回来了。卡萝兰去她们的套间喝茶。今天是星期一。到星期三，卡萝兰就要回学校了：新学年马上要来了。     福斯波尔小姐一定要用卡萝兰的茶叶替她算命。     “哎，好像已经差不多装舱满载，马上就能启航了。”福斯波尔小姐说。     “什么?”卡萝兰说。    “一切都平安无事了。”福斯波尔小姐说，“嗯，差不多一切都平安无事了。可是这一个，我说不准究竟是什么。”她指着沾在茶杯内壁的一小簇茶叶，说。    斯平克小姐嘘了一声，伸手拿过茶杯。“得了吧，米里亚姆。拿来让我瞧瞧……”    厚厚的眼镜片后面的眼睛一阵眨巴。“哟，哎呀，我也瞧不出来这是什么意思。看样子，有点像一只手。”    卡萝兰也凑过去看。那一小簇茶叶的样子还真的有点像一只手，正伸出来够什么东西。     小猎犬哈米什躲在福斯波尔小姐的椅子背后，说什么都不肯出来。    “我猜它跟什么东西打了一架。”斯平克小姐说，“可怜的家伙，身上被划了好深一道伤口。下午我们要带它去看兽医。真想知道是谁干的。”    卡萝兰心想，一定得想个办法，做点什么。     假期最后一周的天气好极了。好像夏天觉得最近的天气太糟，想最后对人们做点补偿，于是给大家带来了最明亮、最漂亮的好日子。     楼上的疯老头儿看见卡萝兰从斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐的套房里出来，从上面喊她。     “哎！喂！你！卡罗琳！”他把脑袋探出栏杆，喊着。     “我叫卡萝兰。”她说，“老鼠们都好吗?”     “有东西把它们吓坏了。”老头儿一边说，一边搔着胡子，“我看，宅子里准有一只黄鼠狼。附近有东西，夜里我听见了。要是在乡下，我们会设个陷阱，里面再放点肉或者汉堡包什么的，等那东西过来吃——砰！抓住了，再也别想来烦咱们。老鼠们真的吓坏了，都不肯碰它们的小 乐器了。”     “我觉得那东西要的不是肉。”卡萝兰说。她抬手摸着挂在脖子上的钥匙，然后进屋了。     她洗了个澡。洗澡的时候一直挂着那把钥匙。无论干什么，她都不会摘下来。     她上床以后，听见有东西在卧室窗户外面挠。卡萝兰都快睡着了，可她还是悄悄下床，拉开窗帘。外面是一只长着红指甲的白手，从窗台一下子蹦到排水管上，不见了。窗户外面的玻璃上留下几条很深的印子。    那天晚上，卡萝兰睡得很不好。时不时醒过来，琢磨着，盘算着，然后接着睡。她说不清自己什么时候才不琢磨了，开始睡觉。就是睡着的时候，她的一只耳朵还在警惕地听着，听门外、窗户外有没有抓挠声。     到早上，卡萝兰对妈妈说：“我今天想跟我的玩具娃娃出去野餐。我可以借一张床单吗?旧的都行，你不要了的。我想用它当桌布。”     “不知道咱们有没有旧床单。”妈妈说。她拉开厨柜抽屉，取出餐巾和台布，翻出一块，“拿着。这一块行吗?”    这是一块折起来的一次性纸台布，上面画着红色小花。这是几年前家里出去野餐用剩下的。     “行，太好了。”卡萝兰说。    “我还以为你不喜欢和玩具娃娃玩了呢。”琼斯太太说。    “是不喜欢。”卡萝兰承认说，“这是一种伪装手段。”     “不知道你在说什么。记得按时回来吃午饭。”    妈妈说，“好好玩。”    卡萝兰用一个纸板盒装好玩具娃娃、玩具茶杯，还盛了一罐水。     她出门了。她沿着大路走下去，这是去商场的路，但没到商场，她翻过一道栏杆，进了一片荒地。    她沿着一条旧车道走了一会儿，又从一道篱笆下面爬过去。为了不把水弄洒，她爬了两次。    这是一条很长的、走出去又折回来的路。走了这么长一段路，卡萝兰满意了，相信她没被跟踪。     她从那个荒废的网球场后面钻出来，穿过球场，来到草长得高高的草地。她在草丛中找到了那几块木板。木板重得吓人，像她这么大的小女孩使出吃奶的力气也很难搬动。但最后，她还是做到了。她没有别的办法。她哼哼着，汗水直往下淌，总算一块一块把木板挪开。地面露出了一个深深的圆窟窿，周围砌着一圈儿砖。窟窿里传出一股潮湿、阴暗的气味。砖上长满绿色青苔，滑溜溜的。         她打开台布，小心地铺在井口，又在井沿每隔一英尺放一个塑料玩具茶杯。然后，她往茶杯里斟水，加大它的重量。     她把玩具娃娃在草地上放好，每个茶杯边放一个，尽力安排出玩具娃娃茶会的样子。做完之后，她顺着来的路向回走，钻出篱笆，沿着到处是灰的车道走，绕过商店，回家了。     她抬起手，从脖子上取下那枚钥匙，摇晃着系钥匙的细绳，好像这把钥匙是件晃着好玩的东西。她敲了敲斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐的房门。     斯平克小姐打开门。     “你好，宝贝儿。”她说。    “我不进去了。”卡萝兰说，“我只想问问，哈米什怎么样了。”     斯平克小姐叹了口气，“兽医说，哈米什真是个勇敢的小战士。”她说，“幸好伤口还没感染。真不知道是谁干的。兽医估计是动物，可他也说不清是什么动物。波波先生说，可能是一只黄鼠狼。”    “波波先生?”     “就是住阁楼套房的那位先生，波波先生。我想，他们一家人祖祖辈辈都是表演马戏的。罗马尼亚人，或者是斯洛文尼亚人，要不就是立陶宛人。反正是那几个国家。唉，我怎么也记不住那些名字。”     卡萝兰从来没想到，楼上的疯老头儿竟然也有自个儿的名字，而且叫“波波先生”。要是她以前知道的话，她准会一有机会就叫。“波波先生”，把这种名字叫出口的机会可不多呀。     “噢，”卡萝兰对斯平克小姐说，“原来是那个波波先生。对，好了，”她声音大了点儿，“我得走了，跟我的玩具娃娃们玩去了，就在那个旧网球场背后。”     “好呀，宝贝儿。”斯平克小姐说。然后，又压低嗓门补充道，“小心那口井。在你们搬来之前住在这儿的纳瓦特先生说，他觉得，那口井足有半英里深。”    卡萝兰希望那只手没有听到最后这句话。她马上换了话题。“您说这把钥匙?”卡萝兰大声说，“噢，只是我们屋子里找出来的旧钥匙。我要拿它过家家玩，所以才拿绳子系着，带着到处走。好了，再见了。”     “真是个好孩子。”斯平克小姐一边关门，一边自言自语。     卡萝兰慢条斯理地穿过草地，朝网球场走去，手里摇晃着那把钥匙。     她有好几次觉得，草丛里好像有个像白色骨头的东西。这东西跟她保持着一段距离，大约三十英尺，远远盯着她。     她想吹口哨，可怎么都吹不响，所以只好大声唱。这首歌是从前爸爸编的，当时她还是个小娃娃哩。这首歌好玩极了，是这样的：    啊，小女儿，小机灵，     我觉得你这人还行。     给你一碗麦片粥。     再加一碗冰激凌。    给你好多吻．    给你大拥抱。    要夹虫子的三明治?      不行，不行！    溜溜达达走过树林时，她唱的就是这首歌。声音几乎一点儿也不发抖。    玩具娃娃茶会还在那儿。幸好今天没刮风，所以每样东西都在原来的地方，放得好好的。盛着水的茶杯把台布压得稳稳当当的，和她的计划一模一样。她轻松地吐出一口大气儿。    下面才是最难的。     “娃娃们，你们好。”她高兴地说，“喝茶时间到。”     她走近纸台布，“我把幸运钥匙带来了。”她告诉娃娃们，“有了幸运钥匙，咱们就能开一个最好的野餐会。”     说完，她尽可能小心翼翼地探过身，轻轻把钥匙向台布中央放去。她手里拎着系钥匙的绳子，轻轻悬着钥匙。她屏住呼吸。但愿那些水杯的重量能压住台布，钥匙的重量放上去时，不会压得台布掉进井里。    钥匙放在纸台布中央了。卡萝兰放开绳子，后退一步。现在就看那只手的了。     她朝娃娃转过身去。     “有谁想要一块樱桃果酱蛋糕吗?”她问。“杰米玛?平基?普林罗斯?”她把一块块看不见的蛋糕盛在看不见的碟子里，给娃娃们一人一份。一面分蛋糕，一面高高兴兴地和娃娃聊天。     从眼角里，她看见一个自得像骨头的东西，从一株树跳到另一株树。越来越近。她逼着自己别朝那个方向看。     “杰米玛！”卡萝兰说，“你真是个坏女孩！你把蛋糕掉地上去了！这下怎么办?我只好到那边去拿一块新的！”说完，她走到茶会圈子另一面，离那只手远一点，假装收拾落到地上的蛋糕，给杰米玛拿一块新的。    窸窸窣窣，咔嗒咔嗒，它来了。那只手伸直指尖，踮得高高的，抓抓爬爬跑过草丛，跳上一个树桩。它在那儿站了一会儿，像一只观察动静的大螃蟹。然后，它狂喜地一跳，指甲噼叭一声响，跳到纸台布中央。     卡萝兰觉得时间停下来不动了。几根苍白的手指合拢了，紧紧抓住黑钥匙……    就在这时，手的重量，加上它跳下来的冲力，玩具茶杯终于吃不住了，飞了起来。纸台布、钥匙，还有另一个妈妈的右手，翻翻滚滚，掉进黑洞洞的井里。    卡萝兰屏住呼吸，慢慢数了四十下。数过四十以后，她才听见下面好深好深的地方传来闷声闷气的噗通一声。    从前有人告诉她，如果从井底向天上看，哪怕外面是大白天，你看到的也是一片夜晚的天空，还有星星。卡萝兰心想，不知那只手现在能不能看见星星。    她把那几块沉重的木板拖过来，压在井口上，尽力盖好。她可不想再有什么别的东西掉下去，也不想有任何东西从井里爬上来。    做完以后，她收拾起玩具娃娃和茶杯，放进那只搬它们过来时用的纸板盒里。正装东西，眼角忽然瞥见什么东西。她猛地直起身，发现那只猫大摇大摆朝她走来，尾巴翘得高高的，尾巴尖弯过来，像个问号。自从逃出另一个妈妈的世界，这几天里，她头一次看见这只猫。     猫走到她身边，一纵身，跳上盖着井口的木板。 然后，慢慢地，它朝她眨了一下眼睛。    它跳进她面前的草丛，打了个滚，肚皮朝上，兴奋地挥舞着爪子。    卡萝兰挠着它肚皮上的软毛，猫心满意足地喵喵叫。玩够了以后，它翻身站起来，朝网球场走去，像正午阳光下的一小片黑夜。     卡萝兰回到宅子。     波波先生在外面的车道上等她。他在她肩膀上拍了一下。    “老鼠们告诉我，一切都平安无事了。”他说，“它们说，你救了我们大家，卡罗琳。”    “我叫卡萝兰，波波先生，”卡萝兰说， “不叫卡罗琳。卡萝兰。”     “卡萝兰。”波波先生重复了一遍，神态很庄重，还有点惊奇，“很好，卡萝兰。老鼠们要我记得告诉你，只要它们准备好了，可以公演了，你一定要上楼来，当第一个观众，看它们表演。它们会表演‘嘟哒哒，嘟哒哒’，还有‘滴哒哒，滴哒哒’，还要跳舞呢。它们会的节目可多 了。它们就是这么说的。”     “我一定来看，”卡萝兰说，“它们一准备好，我就上来看。”    她敲了敲斯平克小姐和福斯波尔小姐的房门。斯平克小姐让她进了屋。卡萝兰走进起居室，放下玩具盒子。她把手伸进口袋，掏出上面有洞眼的石头。     “还给你们，”她说，“我用不着了。非常谢谢你们。我想，它救了我的命，还救了其他好多人。”    她紧紧抱了抱两位老太太。斯平克小姐太胖，她的胳膊几乎抱不过来。福斯波尔小姐身上有一股生大蒜味儿，她刚才在切大蒜。卡萝兰拿起盒子，走了。     “真是个好孩子。”斯平克小姐说。自从她离开舞台，从来没有人像这样拥抱过她。     那天夜里，卡萝兰躺在床上，洗了澡，刷了牙。    她睁着眼睛，盯着天花板。    天气很热。现在那只手不在了，所以卧室窗户大开着。她一定要爸爸别把窗帘全拉上。     她的校服整整齐齐放在床边椅子上，她醒来以后好穿上。     过去，开学第一天的前一个晚上，卡萝兰总是有点紧张，有点害怕。但现在，她知道，学校里已经没有什么可以吓倒她的了。    她觉得隐隐约约听到夜色中传来美妙的音乐声，只有最小最小的银制长号、喇叭和巴松管才能吹出这种音乐。短笛和长笛也一定非常非常小，只有白老鼠粉红色的小爪子才能按住这些乐器的乐键。     卡萝兰好像又回到了那个梦里，和两个女孩一个男孩坐在草地上一株大橡树下。她笑了。     当第一批星星出现在天空的时候，卡萝兰慢慢睡着了。楼上的老鼠马戏团奏出的音乐在温暖的夜气中飘荡，告诉这个世界：夏天快结束了。

喜欢鬼妈妈~~~

楼主厉害的！

谢谢分享！