5I've based this on the book rather than the film of Coraline, although I love both - it's just easier for me because the book's set in England and I'm English, so I don't have to worry about trying to write American dialect and that. My writing style is nothing like the amazing Neil Gaiman's, but I hope you can see past that. Reveiws would be great, come on, click that beautiful blue link :)
Coraline had been living in the old house for one year. She and her parents had the middle flat, and she had to admit how much she felt at home. Her father had painted all the walls in bright, light shades, and her mother had rubbed the old, wooden floorboards until they glistened like marble. Coraline had a canopy bed in her bedroom, a room which was decorated in shades of blue, from morning sky to midnight, so that when she awoke from a bad dream she knew immediately that she was home. She had nightmares quite often nowadays, but it didn't matter – when she saw the deep blue silk of her canopy, she knew that her parents were nearby. Blue had been her real mother's choice.
Below them lived Miss Spink and Miss Forcible, two former actresses who owned a large troop of highland terriers. Coraline went below regularly for tea, although usually the tea was cold and the biscuits were either uncooked or burnt to a crisp.
A peculiar gentleman named Mr Bobo resided in the flat above. He was tall and aging, and he claimed to be training an amazing circus of mice, but Coraline had never actually seen inside his home and so could not be sure.
There was also a flat on the same level as Coraline's. This flat had never been sold. The landlady of the house – a Mrs Lovell - lived in the nearest town and nobody had ever asked her why.
It was summertime, and the weather was pleasant. The sky was as blue as Coraline's walls, the sun shone brightly over the overgrown garden and tired looking Victorian house, and the summer holidays had just begun. Coraline had recently turned twelve, which meant she was finally old enough to explore the surrounding countryside on her own. Her parents were distant – they were working on a magazine of summer clothing – and often dull, but loving. Coraline Jones was content in her life.
On an especially hot day, Coraline packed her purple backpack full of supplies in order to explore the nearby forest. She planned to follow the river through the wood until she reached the lake she'd heard was on the other side, then build a new explorer's base on the shore in case she should ever return to catalogue. Coming into the kitchen to fetch some apples, she was surprised to find her parents sat at the table together, talking in low whispers that she could not make out.
"Oh, Coraline," Coraline's mother looked up as Coraline entered, "Dad and I were just talking about you."
"Yes," said Coraline's father, "We've been thinking – you've been spending a lot of time on your own lately."
"I like to be on my own," argued Coraline. Why could grownups never understand that?
"I had a phone call from your teacher the other day," continued Mrs Jones, "She said you sit on the bench reading instead of playing with the other children at break time. What's the matter, darling? You've been at that school for a whole year and you don't seem to have made one friend."
"And you've lost touch with all your old friends from London," added Mr Jones.
"I don't want any friends," Coraline protested. This was true. Coraline had seen things that no other child in the world could understand, and she didn't like to surround herself with people who thought she was strange just because she found horror stories boring and talked to cats.
"Well, we've been wondering if raising you as an only child has made you so unsocial," said her mother.
"We thought maybe if you had some company..." her father spoke gently. The look in his kind grey eyes was the same look as when he had told Coraline they were moving home – it was the 'things are going to change' look. Coraline said nothing.
"We've decided to adopt you a sibling," Mrs Jones said suddenly. Coraline's mouth fell open. "His name is Rollo Winters and he's twelve years old. He lives in the town with Mrs Lovell's family – he's an orphan, his parent's were friends of hers. But of course she's very busy with all her businesses, and she's got four children of her own, so it's an overwhelming struggle for her husband. We said we'd take him in."
"You can't!" Coraline found herself blurting out, "You have to meet the kid before you can adopt them!"
"We have," said Mr Jones, "We've been meeting up with Rollo for a while now, and I must say we've grown to love him. Rollo's parents were killed in a train crash when he was a baby, isn't that sad, Coraline?"
"No...Yes, but..." Coraline was speechless. She'd never shared her home or her parents before, and she wasn't sure she wanted to, "I don't want a brother," she managed.
"Well, it's too late," said her mother, "We're doing this for your own good. Rollo will be here on Friday."
Forgetting all about the apples, Coraline swung her purple bag up onto her shoulder and marched angrily out of the kitchen, down the hall and out the flat. Letting out a tremendous sigh, she sat down on the steps leading down into the garden, head in her hands.
"Meow..." Coraline turned towards the low sound of greeting to see an elegant black cat walking towards her.
"Oh, it's you," she sighed, "Hello, Cat," The Cat sat beside her, looking up at her with big, rather bored-looking eyes, as she said, "You'll never guess what my parents have done. They've adopted me a brother just because I'm too clever, and too quiet for them. It's not fair! I've always been this way and they've never been worried since What Happened Last Year!"
The Cat stared calmly up at her in an observant manor, looking thoughtful, as if to say "You have changed since then". Coraline nodded once, then stared straight ahead. She stared out across the front lawn and over the fields, into the lonely hills beyond, over which the snowy wisps of cloud passed swiftly over the sun, threatening to block out its light, but still the sun glittered determinedly – a fiery ball of defiance.
"If they think they can change the person I've become by bringing in that brat Rollo, their wrong," she told the Cat fiercely, "My parents, my teacher, the other kids, probably Rollo – they're all like those pathetic, weedy little clouds. I am the sun."
Rollo Winters sat in the back of the car belonging to his new guardians, Mrs and Mr Jones. It was Friday, a nice day with good weather. He was happy; for the past nine years of his life, he had been living with a family he didn't really care for. There was nothing terribly wrong with Mrs and Mr Lovell, they were kind enough, but they were so busy with their careers and their four children that he had never really had a chance to grow close to them. As for the children themselves, well, they were nothing but four boring little bookworms. They were all quiet, and Rollo hated that – he liked people who were talkative and bubbly; he liked light-hearted, witty human beings.
And Mrs and Mr Jones were just that. He had been having arranged visits from them for a while now, and all he wanted was for them to become his real parents. He had heard they had a daughter named Coral, or Carol, or Caroline – yes, Caroline, that was it – who liked exploring, and she sounded okay. His new life with the Joneses would be nothing but laughs, of that Rollo was sure.
All car journey he chatted away to his new parents about anything and everything, and they chatted back, about...well, their work, but at least they chatted at all. Rollo didn't know many grownups who chatted. They were taking him to their house, to live with them permanently. They drove on through the countryside for about half an hour, until they turned off the road and down a country lane fringed with fir trees. Soon the lane opened up into a big overgrown driveway, and there was the big house – old, rundown and covered in ivy. Rollo grinned out the car window; it looked exiting. It was probably haunted!
Suddenly he heard the noise of a door opening and slamming, and two women ran up the steps leading down into the cellar flat. Both were old and greying; one was small and fat, and one was tall and stocky; both clutched the ends of about fifty tartan leads in their fists, and on the end of each lead was a small, black dog.