Chapter Text
The bathroom is still a mess.
Coraline steps around a caution wet floor sign, bits of glass poking at her soles. She scrunches her bruised nose at the smell of pungent drug store perfume melding with the acidic bathroom stench—a rotten flowery air.
It's dark, but the hallway light is fine enough. She kicks in all the stalls. They're all empty, monsterless, but there's still a stain of red near the stall Bloody Mary had emerged from. She doesn't want to think about how Bloody Mary even got into the stall—but she is quite curious as to where the monster disappeared afterwards. Some deranged part of her hopes their encounter with Bloody Mary wasn't the last.
That night, when she left to go after the monster, Kubo and Norman hadn't followed her…
Why?
Nothing here serves as any kind of explanation, but she idles there for a moment just to see if she could think of something.
The mirror is completely shattered now, probably the start of a replacement. The dingy brown floor glitters. When she picks up a larger shard to inspect it, she wants to gag at her own reflection. There's a leaf in her hair that she quickly brushes out. The bruise on her nose from the football has darkened unpleasantly, and it doesn't help that she's naturally pale as hell.
The shard still has the smudge of lipstick on it. It gives off this weird, evil vibe, and she tries to rub what's left of it off with her thumb.
Then, her thumb dips into the surface, as if the glass isn't glass at all, but water.
She lets go of the shard and it clatters to the floor, and she backpedals until her back hits the border of the stalls.
There's nothing but white noise between her ears as she struggles to understand what just happened. There had been weight in her hand. Undeniably tangible. So how the hell did her thumb just do that?
She slowly crawls towards glass. She doesn't see her reflection. Instead she sees darkness, as if it were a jagged hole in the floor. She brings her fingertips to its sides. She could still hold it, raise it carefully into the air. But the surface is something else…
She doesn't feel the surface at all when she tries to touch it with her other hand. It's just cold, like the air outside. Her hand dips further into the glass, trying to feel something, but when her elbow passes through, she realizes it really is just a hole in the floor…
Winnie lets out a sound of frustration, teeth clenched as she smacks her hand against the side of her phone. "This bloody piece of trash."
"I know you're not calling your disgustingly expensive phone a piece of trash," Salma says from her bed, typing away on her laptop. "It's the terrible reception here, I'm telling you."
Phone in hand, Winnie reaches out the window, waving the device in the air to catch some kind of signal. "What are you doing, then?"
"Drafting my Yelp review." She pauses typing, humming indecisively. "Am I allowed to complain about the boys even if they're not the camp's fault?"
Winnie, not being the most interested in Salma's corporate sabotaging antics, instead asks, "Speaking of boys, have you seen Eggs?"
"Who?"
Sigh. "Trubshaw."
"That kid that keeps dead things in his locker—?"
"You know that's not true." It exhausts her how every time she tries to talk about Eggs, she ends up having to defend him. Eggs is a weird kid, but he certainly isn't the freak that everyone makes him out to be.
Salma shrugs. "I've heard people say it."
"That's just a stupid rumour."
"Strangely specific for a rumour."
"Salma, I'm more likely to keep dead things in my locker."
Salma seems amused for probably the first time since they got to the camp. "No wonder you're his friend. Haven't seen him around, though."
Winnie frowns and sighs again. She pulls her arm back inside before she accidentally drops her phone, and lightly tosses it onto her desk.
"... Didn't he sit with us that one time—?"
"Yes, he did, and you paid him absolutely no attention."
"I don't think he wanted to sit with us." Salma finally closes her laptop and sets it down beside her on the bed. "Honestly, I think he's avoiding you, Winnie."
It almost sounds like an insult to her and Eggs. To their relationship. Eggs wouldn't be the type of person to comment on Winnie's relationship with Salma like this, so Winnie responds, "Eggs wouldn't avoid me. We're best friends."
"And he has his friends."
Winnie opens her mouth to say something, but can only scoff. If she said anything at all, she'd be a hypocrite. And it almost pains her to admit that what Salma is saying is true—over the span of a month or so, they've developed completely separate cliques. She doesn't know much about the people that hang out with Eggs other than the rumours that go around, and she refuses to partake in gossip.
She wants to keep arguing, but this is why Salma has been such a good friend to her these past few weeks: she's unbearably honest. And Winnie can't help but appreciate that when even Eggs seems to be hiding things from her.
Salma goes on, "I mean, finally, right? It's not like he ever talked to us. He only talked to you. Guess he's moved on after your little fight." She slides her laptop back into its casing. "We should get going, they might be waiting for us."
Winnie sits upon her desk, reluctant to leave. "No they're not. They're all stirring up more dating rumours about Kubo and obsessing over whatever the hell happened in the boy's washroom."
"They're all saying it's Bloody Mary. Only our school would be so delusional."
Salma's got her back turned to Winnie. She's rummaging her backpack for an alternate pair of glasses, so she doesn't see Winnie's head perk up, her disinterest dissolving in a matter of milliseconds.
Salma continues, "I'm willing to bet Alvin wanted to carve his name into a stall door and got himself cut. I hope they take that thing away from him."
"Why would they say it's Bloody Mary though?"
"I guess they saw blood?" Salma says in a severely monotonous tone. "Anyways, I refuse to be anywhere near the boy's washroom."
"We should check it out," Winnie immediately says, leaping off her desk with a bright, newfound motivation. Salma gives her a look as if Winnie were deaf and didn't hear a single thing she just said. "I'm curious to see what the fuss is all about."
"You just wanna see blood."
Winnie passes Salma to open the door. "It'll be the most interesting thing we've seen this whole trip."
"Gosh, Winnie, as if we haven't seen blood in a washroom before."
"I'm not interested in period blood, I'm interested in Bloody Mary blood."
"You're disgusting."
Winnie doesn't have the time to be shamed for her odd gore fascination. This sounds like the perfect opportunity to get her mind off Eggs. Until he shows himself, she'll keep her thoughts to herself. He might have stuff going on that he doesn't want to share, and Winnie will respect that.
"Come on." She pulls Salma's hand and drags her out of the room.
Time for an adventure.
Coraline hadn't prepared to bring anything back, but she's not leaving this weird glass-hole-thing behind. By the time she's unfurled a complete roll of cheap toilet paper and wrapped it up, it looks like a regular piece of glass. Her reflection stares back when she looks at it, and a quick finger tap confirms that it has an actual surface. She wonders if she picked up the wrong shard, but there's not a single hole in the floor.
Hopefully, she's not crazy.
A bag would probably help carry this. And maybe if she finds a broom closet or something, she could get some more supplies as well. But what would a broom closet have?
She wouldn't mind raiding one of her classmates' rooms. Maybe she could even find one of the boys' rooms, bring back something of theirs. Would Kubo want his stupid guitar?
If everyone is still around the campfire outside, then she has plenty of time—
"Winnie, we should be roasting marshmallows right now. All the marshmallows are gonna be gone by the time we get down there!"
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Coraline hastily tiptoes back into the dark, over the glass and rushes into a stall. The door doesn't really slam shut, but it audibly closes along its squeaky hinges and all Coraline can do is wince and pray they didn't hear. She sort of crouches precariously on the toilet so her feet can't be seen.
She listens to their footsteps approaching. What must be the flashlights on their phones sheds the darkness as they walk into the bathroom, no careful regard for being quiet—the glass crunches loudly. Their voices bounce slightly off the walls.
"Woah," sounds Winnie's voice, marked with the same accent Eggs has.
"Blech, urinals," comes Salma's voice.
Suddenly, the blue-haired girl thinks back to coming here with Kubo and a less excitable Norman. The latter wasn't particularly itching to summon the demon he's apparently very courteous towards.
The idea of sisterhoods crosses her mind. Witchcraft. Voodoo. If either Winnie or Salma whip out a spellbook of any kind, Coraline might have to abandon her mission to prevent another demon summoning.
"Salma, there's blood on the walls." Winnie's pace is brisk. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Her flashlight stops just before Coraline's stall, and Coraline holds her breath. "As funny looking as the urinals are, the blood is definitely…"—there's a weird pause in her sentence before she continues, and her tone of voice contradicts her words—"... more disgusting."
"Wow. You sound so disgusted."
"You think this is real blood?" Winnie continues.
"Mm, I don't think so. This just looks like one of Alvin's stupid pranks."
An audible sigh of frustration comes from Winnie.
The stall door rattles, and Coraline tenses. Winnie's trying to push against it. "Why is this stall locked from the inside?"
"I dunno, Winnie. Why are we even here?"
"Look at the blood here, it's almost like… it looks like a handprint, doesn't it? The blood leads away from this stall—"
"You're making me lose my appetite for s'mores."
The light from Winnie's phone scans beneath the door, brightening the stall even more. Coraline shifts, her tiptoes moving back against the seat.
"Did they hide something here—?"
"Winnie, don't you dare let anything other than your feet touch the disgusting floor of this place."
The light shifts and the stall darkens again as Winnie stands straight. "Honestly, Salma, it's not that bad. Like the girl's bathroom is any better."
"I wouldn't get on the girl's bathroom floor either!"
Maybe Salma will just leave without Winnie—obviously coming here was the latter's idea, and the longer this goes on, the more Coraline can imagine Salma just stomping out as Winnie investigates further. That can work, if she can get Winnie alone with her.
"Just turn the lock from the outside, since it doesn't look very secure. Stupid, insecure design quality…"
"Put that in your Yelp review."
Winnie seems to be doing what Salma told her. Panicking, Coraline quickly tries to decide between her hands or her feet, before leaning forward and placing her hand against the door.
"Salma. The door just moved."
"Really, Winnie?" The disbelief in her voice is astounding.
"I'm dead serious, Salma. It's Bloody Mary. It has to be!"
"I think the smell's getting to your head."
Why isn't Salma leaving? It couldn't be more obvious she wants to. Just leave, Salma. Go write your Yelp review. Talk about how much you hated the experience. Talk about the murderous counsellors when the news breaks out.
Winnie gets the door open way too soon. Her eyes meet Coraline's, who isn't sure what kind of horror is on her own face, but there's utter surprise on Winnie's, as well as a general lack of recognition. For all Winnie knows, Coraline is freaking Bloody Mary!
"Hey, there's paper here," Salma suddenly points out, and Winnie doesn't break her gaze with Coraline. For the following moment, Coraline knows she herself is frustrated because she had an idea of how this would go and this is definitely not going as planned. She just wants things to go right for once.
Suddenly, Winnie reaches to grip the top of the door and shuts it before Coraline can process the lights turning on. Her vision goes green as her eyes struggle to adjust, trying to stare at the now closed door. She's not completely sure what's happening until she hears a third voice.
"You girls know you're not supposed to be in here, right? You're supposed to be toasting marshmallows outside with all the other boys and girls."
The room gets strangely colder.
Coraline has yet to hear Bel scold any of the students here. From what she hears at this moment, Bel is gentle and soft, despite the chastising undertone—the counsellor almost can't be heard under the harsh buzz of the ventilation. And yet, it sends chills down Coraline's spine.
The event of searching for the lipstick she'd stolen from Bel, only to find a weird message on the mirror, flashes through Coraline's memory. Bel has always seemed weird, from offering Cocoa Beetles, to always being bright and happy, smiling as if they were kindergarten kids and not moody middle schoolers. Something's definitely off about her, but Coraline can't quite put her finger on it. What was that whole mirror thing about?
(Funny how, after writing bloody mary on the bathroom mirror for 'theatrics', she finds a message on her room mirror, written in the same lipstick. I see you. That had been the message.
Really, it could've been anyone who wrote that message. Red lipstick isn't uncommon.)
She's always had a fleeting thought or two about Bel, but after everything that's happened, those thoughts have been on the backburner. She's never taken the time to really dwell on her thoughts about Bel until now.
"Yeah, we know." It's Salma, and she does not sound happy. "This won't happen again, Counsellor Bel, we promise."
After a small pause, Bel sighs. "You know I can't be mad at you girls. It's just not safe here. There's glass everywhere."
There's that recognizably soft, cheery tone Bel always has. Coraline can't quite explain the nervous feeling in her gut when she imagines Bel's smile. It's a thin grin she has, and it stretches from ear to ear. It makes her appear younger—not that she doesn't look young. She just never quite seemed young, and more so like someone holding onto her golden years.
"We're going, Counselor Bel, don't worry. We really shouldn't have come here in the first place—"
"Actually," Winnie pipes up, "I'm not really feeling well. I don't think I can handle s'mores right now."
"Are you sick?" Bel asks, her shoes tapping the floor as she steps closer.
Crunch.
Crunch.
"Most likely." Winnie's tone sounds weird, as if she were making things up on the spot. "Whatever sick joke this is seems to have ruined my appetite."
"Oh, really?" Salma questions in suspicion.
However, Bel seems to believe her. "Well, Salma, you go on ahead and join the others."
"Alright…" More glass crunching under feet, and the sounds fade as Salma scurries away.
"I'll just head to my room for an early bedtime."
"Are you sure you're alright? Do you want some Tylenol?"
"No, I'll be fine, I just need to lie down."
"But we were gonna sing campfire songs! And there's still plenty of s'mores to go around—oh, and I've been keeping my chocolates safe… if you want some of mine, just say the word."
"I-I'll pass."
Crunch.
Crunch.
"... U-um… it's just, you know, I think this might just be the perfect place to escape the 'noise' from outside. Not to justify me being here, but… if anyone else were to come here—"
"I get it, honey. I do. But, as a counsellor, you know I can't have kids running around and doing whatever they want and going places where I can't keep track of them, you know? I have to keep my eye on all of you at all times."
"Right. Um, sorry."
"... Well, if that's what you want. But no more funny business here. This place is clearly off limits."
"I understand. I just…" There's a long, uncomfortable pause. "I understand. I'm sorry."
"You're forgiven. Now, go get some rest."
When it's finally quiet, Coraline breathes a sigh of relief. She'd gotten caught, but only by the person she was about to walk out and pay a visit to.
Coraline rushes to the boy's dorms first. A backpack from each of their rooms, then clothes. She finds Kubo's shamisen. Maybe she could offer it as a piece offering. With all that baggage of her shoulders, she rushes to her own room. All her stuff is still there. Her bed is unkempt and her clothes are scattered, exactly how she left them. She digs for her phone and its charger. She collects some clothes. She adds her bag onto her shoulders and heads out.
Room 212.
She raps her knuckles on the door.
It opens almost immediately, with Winnie briefly on her tiptoes and a compressed smile on her face. "Hi there."
"Hi," Coraline says shyly, slowly closing the door behind her.
Coraline knows Winnie as the girl Eggs hangs out with enough for people to start making assumptions, and yet despite it all Winnie's somehow avoided being blacklisted by even the most excitable blabbermouths of their school. The money might serve as an explanation. Word got around that she took her friend's car shopping and had everyone raving about butterfly doors. She could imagine someone like Winnie buying a car at sixteen, and leaving everyone but Eggs behind.
She seems nice.
"You're not Bloody Mary, are you?"
Coraline exhales a breathy laugh. "Not really, no."
"You're Eggs's friend. Caroline?"
The blue-haired girl's face falls. "It's Cor-aline."
"Right, Coraline—"
"And you're Eggs's girlfriend!"
"What? No! We're not—we're just friends."
"Right, like… girl… friend."
"I know for a fact Eggs didn't tell you that. If he did, he's lying, but he wouldn't say that. What has he said about me? If he's said anything at all. Not really me, more like what… happened. I haven't said anything, so I can only hope he hasn't been going around telling people—not 'going around', I mean, just—" She cute herself off, waving her hands and shaking her head as if there's a bad taste in her mouth. "None of this matters. I'm sorry. You were crying in the bathroom."
"... Huh?"
Winnie struggles for a moment, suddenly doubtful, mouth gaping until she says, "You looked… sad."
More like absolutely miserable, Coraline thinks. "Wasn't crying, though."
"Why were you in there, then?"
Finally, time to get serious. "Can we sit?"
Something rises up Coraline's throat, and surprisingly it's not vomit. It's more like a lump. It's suffocating.
They sit on the bottom bunk of a bed.
"So..." the blue-haired girl begins. Thankfully, her voice remains steady. "… I need your help. Me, Eggs, Kubo, Norman—we all could really use your help, Winnie."
"It's not Alvin again, is it? Because I don't know what anybody could do with that kid—you actually did well with deflating his nose."
Coraline remembers Kubo gushing over her punching Alvin, and hearing the same sentiments expressed through Winnie's proper accent offers a boost to her self-esteem. It feels a bit nice to think something she did so impulsively ended up being so appreciated.
"Also, I swear I didn't mean anything when I took Eggs away. Alvin was targeting you guys, and if I could get his attention off of Eggs… you have to understand I was just trying to protect him."
"I get it," Coraline insists.
Her smile is friendly and honest. "But I'm realising now that I didn't need to do that—that was stupid. I don't need to protect him when he has you guys."
Coraline's jaw shifts to the side, and her eyes move to the floor. It's almost feels like she's gaining her trust, her approval, but if only Coraline could just spit it out, tell her what's really going on—
Winnie rambles on, "I was here trying to make him comfortable with my friends when I didn't even try to get to know all of you. It's just… something happened, and we just—we didn't talk for a bit, and suddenly… I turn around and he has friends! Which sounds bad to say, but the people around here are so obnoxious, and nobody ever really got him, so I didn't know if you guys did, but… he really is lucky to have found you guys."
"Lucky," Coraline huffs in sour amusement. She crosses her arms, jaw tight, avoiding Winnie's eyes. "Not sure if 'lucky' is the right word."
"... Maybe not, with Alvin and all," Winnie half-agrees, soft and sympathetic, "but if you can handle that buffoon, then I should be worrying about—"
"Kubo was shot by one of the counsellors."
Winnie freezes, lips together, and Coraline almost doesn't notice how her mouth sinks from a neutral line to a frown.
After a moment, she leans back with a sudden shift, looking at the blue-haired girl through narrowed eyes, pauses again. A look of disappointment. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
Winnie scoffs and pushes herself off the mattress.
"I'm not joking about this, Winnie—"
"And I'm not stupid," Winnie snaps, turning so quickly a few strands from her pigtails stick to her mouth. "Pranks aren't for me, alright? I don't like being made a fool of."
"This isn't a prank—"
She swipes the hair from her lips. Now there's a sour grin on her face. "You might've gotten me with the whole Bloody Mary thing, but I saw Salma walk out the bathroom with Kubo's origami paper. It was all you guys, wasn't it? Look, it's great that you guys are all into pranking people, but Eggs should know I'm not into this kind of thing—"
Coraline feels a sudden spike in emotion, and stands with a determined stomp of her feet. "Look at me, Winnie! Because I know I look like dogshit."
Winnie doesn't know Coraline outside her altercation with Alvin, and she's already had the wrong preconceptions. Coraline realizes this quickly, and tries her absolute best to contain herself.
"You can go downstairs and look for Eggs yourself, but you're not gonna find him, and he's not coming back. I'm also the idiot who thought it'd be perfectly fine to come back here alone—to, again, get in contact with you."
Winnie looks like she wants to laugh, then punch something. "Are you really trying to tell me Kubo was just… shot? With a gun? By a camp counsellor? Is that really what you're telling me right now?"
"Yes."
A bit of genuine concern begins to seep into Winnie's skepticism, though it doesn't completely dissolve it.
"He's not dead!" Coraline hastily clarifies. "Kubo isn't dead. We don't know… I mean—we…" She uses both hands to face palm herself, struggling to get herself together. She's not looking Winnie in the eye anymore, but goes on, "He's injured, but he's okay. Eggs is fine, he's just fine. Norman's… out there… I don't fucking know, maybe they found him—"
"'Out there'?" Winnie echoes, unimpressed.
Coraline's losing her patience. She already lost time with the bathroom altercation, and now this. "This was stupid. This is… so stupid. I'm a fucking lunatic."
"Either that, or you're a magnificent actor."
"I'm not making this shit up!"
"Where's Eggs?" Winnie asks impatiently, as if she's about to walk out and find him and scold him. Though the edge in her voice is a bit dull. Makes sense she'd want to talk to him instead of Coraline's mess.
But this was Eggs' idea, and Coraline has more faith in Eggs than any of the bullshit Winnie is pulling. "Winnie, just…" She balls her hands into fists and breathes. "I need you to just… listen to me first. And if you don't believe me, you can go find Eggs yourself. But he's not here. Kubo isn't here. Norman…" Her eyes close. Breathe in. Breathe out. "... Let me explain all this."
Finally, Winnie stomps over to her bed and plants herself down, arms crossed. "Go on, then."
There’s a hesitant pause as Coraline gauges Winnie’s silence, making sure she won’t interrupt again. "Okay," she says in testing, watching the other girl carefully.
She glances out the window. It'll be dark out soon.
Salma makes her way outside, where the mosquitoes are beginning to come out and all the students are gathered around a campfire. However, before she could get there, she's doused in smelly, chunky water.
She could've vomited at that very moment. But then Alvin and his friends would have even more to laugh at. She screams instead.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
Alvin and his friends are high-fiving each other—or, doing that weird guy handshake thing that guys do—while Salma struggles to wipe the mud off her glasses with her muddy sleeves.
"I thought girls liked mud baths!" Alvin cackles, rattling the damp muddy bucket above her head. "You need some exfolication?"
"It's exfoliation, you… you—!" Salma can't say much without sacrificing her linguistic decency, so she results in only shouting unintelligible words of rage, before Alvin drops the bucket onto her head.
As the boys continue to laugh, she screams into the bucket, wrestles it violently off her own head, roughly tries to wipe the mud off her glasses before turning to the bird, screaming some more, and then finally stomping away.
Salma doesn't waste a single stride. Her anger and desperation for adult intervention leads her straight to Bel's office.
Bel doesn't seem to be busy with anything in particular when Salma walks in, and the counsellor looks fairly surprised when the soaking wet, muddy Salma and her squishy stomping halts right at the edge of her desk.
"Counsellor Bel, you have to do something about that bacterial infection that is Alvin Grayson."
"Oh, boy." Bel shakes her head. "What'd those boys do to you?"
"I think it's pretty clear!" Salma's tone sounds like a hysterical dog trying to yank off its chain. "Counsellor Bel, if we could just abandon Alvin in the woods until a grizzly bear finds him—"
"While that does sound tempting, Salma, don't you think it's best to educate the boys on how to treat a lady before we proceed with such… harsh punishments?" Bel suggests, walking around her desk to hand Salma a towel to wipe her face.
"Counsellor Bel, please," Salma seethes, gripping the towel like a stress ball, before taking off her glasses to wipe them clean. "The teachers at our school are useless—they never do anything about him." The towel doesn't do much, admittedly, except leave foggy smears across the lenses. She goes on to wipe her face. "You have to do something."
Bel leans back against the edge of her desk, black painted nails drumming against the old wood. For a small moment, Bel seems caught in simply observing the girl in front of her, taking in her anger and irritation. The faintest smile graces her painted lips. "Hm. So, what would you like me to do, Salma?"
"... Something. Like I said, a grizzly bear, or put him in a corner, or whatever! I just re-eally want—"
"Salma, hun. Boys are… a handful. That's putting it nicely, right?" the counsellor asks with a shrug of a shoulder.
"Way too nicely."
"Well, simply putting him in a corner would only be a suitable punishment to those who can be fairly described as 'a handful'. Not to mention, I've already seen his initials in many corners of this place. You children and your vandalism."
"Counsellor Bel—"
"Bel is fine."
Salma's confused—and rather put off—expression is met with a seemingly genuine smile. The younger is still irritated, yet the counsellor's warm demeanor is sort of doing well to ease her away from being enraged, and closer to being perplexed.
"… Bel," Salma begins, testing the waters. She then sighs, consumed by her frustration once again. "Fine, not a corner. Anything… worse than a corner, then. What exactly are you saying?"
"I'm saying: if this is an issue that's been affecting you for quite some time, you should have more of a say in what comes out of it."
"… You're saying I should choose Alvin's punishment?"
"I'm open to suggestions. Actual suggestions. Not a grizzly bear."
Salma wouldn't call herself a sadist, but if someone were to ask what was going through her mind at that moment, she'd probably delve deep into a grisly history lesson—medieval torture devices, the contraptions women's bodies were subjected to, dear lord the reparations… It was only fair.
"Of course, you don't have to suggest anything now. You can sleep on it."
Salma puts her glasses back on. "Sure."
It seems that might be the lukewarm end to such a stale discussion, but then Bel tilts her head curiously, eyeing Salma's foggy glasses. "Poor girl, I can see you squinting behind those things."
Before Salma could even question it, her glasses are swiftly plucked from her face, and the world becomes soft and mushy and indistinguishable again.
"Uh-h?" The irritation from her voice deflates into uncertainty. "Counsellor Bel, I'm, like, super blind without my glasses."
"Oh, honey, don't worry," Bel says, opening the drawer of her desk. "Salma, if I may ask: how did you lose your sight?"
"... Genetics?" Salma answers tiredly, her eyes unable to focus on the vague blur in front of her, even with the help of the uncomfortably vibrant orange of the camp t-shirts. "Too much reading?"
"You kids need to put more effort into taking care of your vision. All that time on the computer playing games, watching tv—it's so damaging in the long run. And you're a smart girl, Salma, you know this."
"You'd be surprised at how damaging it can be to make your child sit ten feet away from the tv to the point where they're squinting trying to see their show—all that squinting can literally stretch your… eyeballs…"
She begins to trail off when she starts seeing things—things she wouldn't quite be able to describe. Before, she assumed the bright orange blob was the shape of Bel's back, hunched over as she fished through a drawer against the back wall. Now…
"... Counsellor Bel?"
"You may not see things my way, Salma," Bel says. "But you will."
She can vaguely make out Bel's body, hunched over as she's rummaging through a low drawer. She sees things moving, more shapes coming out from the orange… breaking through…
"You know, my sight isn't what it used to be either."
"... You wear contacts, that's great—Counsellor Bel, I'd really like my glasses back."
"I used to be able to see everything," Bel goes on in proud reminiscence. "Like eyes at the back of my head. That sort of thing definitely comes in handy when dealing with kids all day." Bel straightens. Somehow she's… taller. "These days I need help with certain things. Sure, I have the other counsellors, but…" She sighs. "They can only do so much."
"Counsellor Bel, is something…?"
She can't quite rationalize what she's seeing—or, not seeing. Even blurred, proportions aren't lining up. She now has to crane her neck to see the general blob of Bel's head.
A part of Bel touches the ceiling.
"What was that, Sal—?"
She's promptly cut off by a coughing fit. The sound of things falling—small things, too soft to make much of a sound. Salma looks down and sees something rolling away…
"Oh dear, I'm a mess…" Bel mutters to herself with a strangled voice, as if there were phlegm in her throat, and she attempts to clear it, coughing deliberately this time. She suddenly sounds tired. "The things that come with age, Salma. You're so young…"
She may not see it clearly. But she hears it. Bones cracking, popping, shifting out of place.
"I miss that, sometimes. Being young…"
Bel moves towards the corner of the room. Salma can barely make out the paleness of her arm as it stretches the entire length of her body. The heels of her shoes staccato against the floor as she walks, but there are more sounds than what two feet should make.
"Enjoy it, Salma. I'm sure I'm not the first to tell you that, but…" She subtly clears her throat once more, politely, then sighs through her nose. "The things I would do to have that back…"
… Then, her glasses are back on her face, and things are clear and sharp and distinguishable, and Bel is in front of her, smiling like she always does.
There's a weird pause as Bel just smiles at her.
"Will you sleep on my offer?"
Salma's voice is shaky and quiet. "What?"
Bel's smile stretches a tad. "Alvin, silly."
"Oh. Yeah," she stutters, before finally moving her feet. "I'm gonna go now."
Bel waves—all four fingers folding into her palm in sync, twice. She leans her weight on her right leg, and tilts her head just so. Her smile is a perfect crimson moon on her face, until it breaks to reveal shockingly white teeth beneath her lips. "Sleep tight."
Winnie has an unusual expression on her face by the time Coraline's finished explaining.
Coraline goes to pinch the bridge of her nose. The bruise stings. She winces as her hand flops down. "You don't believe me," she mutters.
Winnie's voice is small. "To be fair, it's pretty hard to believe."
"To be fair, you were just searching for Bloody Mary."
Winnie lets out a long sigh through her nose. "I thought Eggs was just avoiding me."
Out of the side of her mouth, Coraline mumbles, "Actually he was."
"He was?"
"But that's not the point."
"Right." Pause. "The point is I was right about Bloody Mary."
Coraline scoffs, genuinely confused, half-thinking it was a joke, but not really in the mood to be amused. "Oh, yeah, this is the perfect time for jokes."
"Look, I dunno what to make of whatever the hell you just told me," Winnie tells her bluntly. "You're telling me the counsellors are—are dangerous, but… you haven't called the police?"
Coraline's patience is beginning to wear thin. "Eggs said to go to you, Winnie. We're asking for your help."
"My help?" Winnie begins to pace a bit, shaking her head. "If this is some stupid prank—what am I supposed to do that the cops can't? What, do you need a spy? Someone to stay here and 'keep watch' while the three of you camp out in the woods?"
"Four."
"Right, because you lost track of Norman after he 'fell' off the cliff."
Coraline is speechless for a moment, which doesn't go past Winnie. But before the redhead can come up with something, anything to say, Coraline is on her feet. "You think he jumped, don't you? Guess what? That's what everyone's gonna think. Breaking news: kid who sees ghosts and gets relentlessly bullied for it takes a dive off a cliff. Sources believe the ghosts were calling him home."
Alongside Winnie's skepticism, Coraline actually sees pity in her eyes. Unbearable, unmistakable pity. "How do you know that's not… even a little bit true?"
The thought of chucking the clock on the nightstand at Winnie's head crosses her mind.
Winnie might've read her mind, because she begins to ramble, "Maybe he just wasn't in the right state of mind—"
Coraline doesn't let her ramble. She's inches away from the other girl's face. "Norman is not suicidal, Winnie. He's not. He—"
She doesn't know for sure, but the scene plays in her head just a bit too vividly. Then, she steps back, giving herself space to think.
"He saw something."
It's the first time she's really thinking about it, not focused on just Norman's absence, or blood spray, or dangling off the fucking cliff. Moments before, Norman briefly had his back to the edge with a look of urgency, as well as resignation. Moments before that, he'd rushed forward, rushing to get to Kubo before…
"He pushed Kubo away from the cliff because he saw something—"
"Saw what?" Winnie asks, breaking Coraline's perfect stream of thought. "We don't know for sure, right? I mean… you don't know. If you didn't see what he saw, there are a million reasons why he could've… tripped?"
Coraline narrows her eyes, like daggers.
Winnie brushes off the eye-daggers and continues, "I'm not saying I still don't believe you, but if this is what we tell the authorities, they're not gonna—"
"Cops aren't an option."
"I think they can be. The whole thing with Norman aside, you said Kubo got shot. Wouldn't he have a gunshot wound?"
"The bullets were rubber, Winnie." Winnie looks so frustrated with her, and sure, maybe the hard no on cops is a bit shortsighted. "Look… we tell the cops, we show them Kubo's gunshot wound, and then what? We get sent home, this place gets shut down, and…" She's had this nagging feeling in the back of her mind for a while. This unexplainable feeling that she refuses to fully confront, but it slips out and her voice is meek and quiet, "…What if they don't find Norman?"
"Why wouldn't they find him?" Winnie asks, matching her tone softly. When Coraline refuses to answer, Winnie insists, "Coraline, the cops have to get involved eventually. People are going to notice when kids go missing."
"Like you noticed," Coraline says, and it's sad and bitter. "Like anyone actually fucking noticed."
"That's not…" Winnie sighs. "I noticed Eggs was gone. And how do you know that nobody's noticed—?"
"Something would've happened by now. If someone like you went missing, this place would be up in arms! 'Where'd Little Miss Rich go?'—and they'd say that knowing you're friends with Eggs, and then not even give him a second thought."
"That still doesn't—"
"So, Winnie, when you noticed Eggs was nowhere to be found, did you ever think it was weird that none of us were around?"
"We're not friends. You're Eggs' friend, not mine," Winnie tries to justify. "And I'm his friend—I've been his best friend for years—so of course I noticed he was gone."
"Thanks for proving my point."
Winnie squints at Coraline as the blue haired girl quietly grumbles to herself. "I got hit in the face with a football. I got attacked by a weird tree monster. I almost died twice. Nobody cares—nobody ever cares!"
"I was just going on about how I thought you were crying in the bathroom!" the redhead whines, offended. "What? That doesn't count?"
Maybe. But Coraline is too volatile to allow it count, so she stomps her way to the door. She clutches the door frame with one hand and the door knob with the other, leaning her weight against it. She looks back at Winnie with resigned disdain. "Nope… not unless you help us like Eggs said you would."
"You didn't really say anything about him," Winnie points out. "Is he alright?"
"He's the most fine out of all of us. He wanted to be the one to tell you all this, but…"
Coraline kind of mulls on that for a bit. If Eggs had been the one to return to the camp, things probably would've gone a lot smoother. He'd probably be halfway through the woods by now.
Winnie panics a bit at her hesitance. "But what?"
"But I didn't let him." Coraline lowers her voice for this next part, but she's indignant about it, leaning forward mockingly. "Because Kubo… after being shot… really needed someone. And, as you're well aware now, I'm not exactly a calming presence, so I told Eggs to stay."
There's a hint of sadness in Winnie's calm. Coraline feels like rubbing it in: "He's really good at being a friend, you know? Really good at just being there. Not being flaky or avoidant—he's just a constant, dependable presence."
Winnie tilts her head and looks at her with an expression Coraline isn't sure how to read. It looks like she's trying to hide her disappointment. There's also something resembling amusement. The redhead's mouth bares the slightest beginnings of a smile before turning her head away.
Coraline sighs. All things considered, Winnie's been nice. "Look, I can't afford to get caught. Are you gonna help us or not?"
It's quiet for a measureable moment, before Winnie finally rolls her eyes and groans. "Close the fucking door."
Coraline stays straddling the threshold for another measureable moment, watching Winnie go to sit at the desk by the window. Admittedly; pleasantly surprised by the profanity, Coraline closes the door.
"I'm still weird about all this, to be honest, and I still have no idea why you won't go to the cops… but, you came back here instead," Winnie points out. "To get my help?"
"Eggs also mentioned something about your dad?"
"Ah. Right."
Coraline pouts. "Is he, like, an attorney or…?"
"He's not anything. The bastard's bloody rich," Winnie states bluntly, then elaborates, "If this ends up being a big deal, he can buy the best lawyers even if we don't have a solid case."
"Oh." Coraline suppresses a shiver at the thought of this all going to court. Lawsuits and shit. "That… sounds rich."
Her discomfort must've been noticeable, because Winnie seems to soften unexpectedly. "Listen, if it comes to that, then I can try to convince my dad. But he doesn't even listen to me. So… we need to get this story straight. Meaning, no 'monsters'. Say one of the boys or, hell, even one of the counsellors attacked you, which got you that weird scar on your ankle. I can try to find more evidence here. Maybe even the gun, but that's not likely."
Coraline sighs deeply, sinking her head into her hands, clutching strands of her hair.
Winnie's about to touch on that topic again, so she makes her point quickly: "It's gonna seem odd to say Norman just fell off a cliff, so if you don't find out what really happened, we're gonna have to rationalize it—"
"God, I told you, I-I dunno what he saw, but he definitely saw something—"
"That's fine. But we need to make this story as believable as possible before we call my dad. He'll only help us if we can convince him." A quick pause, then she brightens with an idea. "Norman saw the counsellor pull out the gun. He tried to warn Kubo, but he tripped and fell."
"What?"
"Norman trips and falls, Kubo gets shot, you guys try to escape. That's good enough for now. Right?"
Coraline tries to remember what happened. Did he see the counsellor? It makes almost too much sense. But that doesn't mean… is that really what happened?
… No, Norman wouldn't push Kubo towards the counsellor… unless he tripped? He saw something behind Kubo, near the edge of the cliff. What would be near the edge of a cliff, that he would be worried for Kubo? Then she remembers the night of Bloody Mary's appearance. They were keeping something between themselves. Something Coraline plans to pry out of Kubo one way or another.
Winnie gets up to grab her phone off the dresser. "We should take pictures of your injuries just in case."
"Great," Coraline grunts.
Coraline lets Winnie direct her to stand in front of the wall. Winnie holds up her phone to get a picture of the bruise on her nose. "Oh, wait—ah!" She's momentarily stunned by the flash, her face scrunching up, wincing as if the light dealt damage. "This is from Alvin, it's not…"
"Just in case."
With the flash on, more detail shows in the photos. The skin of the bruise is raised, slightly swollen, and turning green. She has marks on her face and fingers from the cliff, where the rock scratched her skin. Then, her ankle…
Coraline doesn't care to see it, but Winnie lingers on the photo, confused, then concerned. There's a weird ridged pattern, like a dotted line consistent around the circumference of her ankle. She's never seen an injury quite like it. It's as if an animal with spiral of teeth failed to chomp her leg off.
"That looks bad. You need to get that checked out."
"If I find a hospital in the middle of nowhere, I'll let you know," Coraline says, blase, and strides towards the window. The camp's fire pit was still lit, but the kids weren't interested in s'mores anymore as they chatted among themselves. "I still need to get stuff for the boys." She picks her backpack off the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. There's three other backpacks at her feet. Four, if you count the shamisen case. "This took way too long."
"Why don't you just stay here?"
"I can't. The boys think I'm coming back, I can't have them worrying that something happened to me."
"And if something does happen to you…?" Winnie prompts. It's clear that, when Coraline stands there listlessly, knees bent to handle three pairs of straps and a one-strap instrument case, she's tired. Shoulders slumped, head swaying on her neck. Winnie shakes her head. "I'll come with you."
Coraline's head perks up, brows furrowed. "What if you get in trouble?"
"Then I get in trouble, so what? As long as we're not caught with everything, we'll be fine."
"Wait, seriously?" Coraline asks as Winnie pockets her phone and puts on her coat. "Winnie, if you walk with me, you're gonna be walking back alone—"
"There's no way you're carrying—what, five bags with you?"
"The bags aren't heavy. I'm just got shit that they need. The shit I think they need…"
Winnie proves her point by picking up all three bags simultaneously, hanging off her forearms like ugly purses. "And you won't be able to fight off monsters with all of this on your back either, so shut up, pick up that weird guitar thing, and let's go."
"It's a peace offering," Coraline says in explanation to the weird guitar thing.
"Whatever."
"Winnie—"
"Shut. Up. I'm not arguing with you."
She elbows the door open, quickly making her way down the hall.
Coraline feels a brief flash of guilt for getting Winnie involved, but watching her ginger curls bounce down the hall fills her with a kind of envy she doesn't expect. Luck hasn't been on her side.
By tomorrow, the students will notice they're gone, right?
Gossip spreads, as it usually does. It's what the people of Blithe Hollow are best known for. Cupping each other's ears, whispering their best imaginings until they take shape, emboldened and sure…
"Who do you think messed up the boy's washroom?"
"We're not unanimously assuming it was Alvin?"
"I told you guys it wasn't me!"
"I think it was Kubo. Apparently they found his origami paper in there."
"Ori—what now?"
"He hangs out with, you know, those guys. They probably got him to do it."
"Is he really part of them now? I thought he was cool…"
"Where did he say he was from again?"
"He's from the city, I think. Sure dresses like it."
"No, he's from the country. His family probably owns a farm or something."
"What if they’re all, like, witches or something?"
"Or they’re all just crazy."
"Did you guys hear? Kubo’s a witch."
"He summoned Bloody Mary. Like, actually."
"That instrument he plays? It’s a demon guitar."
"His eye patch covers his magical eye. He showed it to Alvin and it literally scarred him for life."
"I fucking told you guys! He's Medusa!"
"He must've sacrificed his old eye to get that weird new one."
"So… what now? Where is he?"
"Has anyone seen Kubo?"
"We have to know if he's a witch or not."