The Spider Tree

Coraline sat beneath the spider tree.

It had grown enormous over the years, its twisted branches spreading above her like the fingers of some ancient creature. She had spent so many hours beneath it that sometimes she wondered whether the tree remembered more about her than she remembered about herself.

The great stone fountains stood empty.

Once, water had poured from the mouths of carved angels and gathered in the basins below. Now they were cracked and dry, green with moss, their ancient stone stained by years of neglect.

Nothing moved.

Nothing flowed.

Nothing seemed to belong to the world anymore.

Coraline looked down at her gown.

It had once been magnificent.

Heavy velvet, beautifully made, the sort of garment that announced a woman before she had even entered a room.

Now it was faded and torn.

The hem was dirty. The sleeves were fraying. The velvet had lost its richness.

Like her.

The sunlight fell across her face, illuminating every line and crease.

She had once been beautiful.

Perhaps she still was, in some strange, ruined way.

Her eyes had become small and narrowed against the brightness. Her silver hair was wound tightly around her head like a rope, severe and immaculate.

And yet the diamonds remained.

They still glittered at her throat.

The enormous ruby upon her finger caught the sunlight and burned red.

It seemed almost indecent that such beautiful things had survived when so much else had not.

Coraline lifted her hand and stared at the ruby.

"You're still here," she whispered.

She wasn't sure whether she meant the stone.

Or herself.

A bird sang somewhere beyond the garden wall.

For a moment Coraline closed her eyes and listened.

Then she heard children laughing.

Her eyes opened immediately.

She looked towards the far end of the garden.

Nothing.

Only the long grass moving gently in the breeze.

She smiled sadly.

The children were gone.

They had finally broken free.

They had cut the invisible cords that had bound them to her, to the house, to everything that had happened before.

She had watched them leave.

Hadn't she?

Coraline frowned.

For a moment she couldn't remember.

Had she watched them leave?

Or had she only imagined it?

The thought frightened her.

She looked towards the house.

Every window was dark.

She could almost see little faces behind the curtains.

Waiting.

Watching.

She blinked.

Nothing.

"You're gone," she whispered.

The garden remained silent.

"You're free."

This time she believed it.

Or desperately wanted to.

The sun was beginning to sink.

Orange light spread across the garden, touching the fountains, the stone walls and the dying flowers.

Everything seemed to be fading.

Just as she was.

Pain moved through Coraline's body.

It came suddenly, violently, wracking her skeletal frame until she had to grip the arm of the chair.

She waited for it to pass.

It didn't.

She breathed slowly.

There was something strangely peaceful about knowing that she was reaching the end.

The point of her being alive was diminishing rapidly.

Perhaps that was why she felt so calm.

It was time to return home.

The word came into her mind again.

Home.

She had spent most of her life running from it.

Now she couldn't decide whether she was returning to it or simply disappearing from everywhere else.

Rain began to fall.

Tiny drops landed on her velvet gown.

Coraline didn't move.

She reached beside her and picked up the little silver hand mirror.

The glass was tarnished around the edges.

She held it towards her face.

The woman staring back frightened her.

Not because she was old.

Because she could see everything.

Every lost child.

Every terrible room.

Every moment of childhood abuse.

Every cruelty she had swallowed.

Every time she had stood silently while something inside her screamed.

Her face had become a map of everything she had survived.

She touched the glass.

"Is that really me?"

For a moment the reflection seemed to smile.

Coraline lowered the mirror.

She knew that couldn't have happened.

She knew it.

Didn't she?

She looked again.

Nothing.

Only her own exhausted face.

She laughed quietly.

Perhaps this was what happened when a person had carried too many memories for too long.

The past began to walk around with you.

Sometimes it sat beside you.

Sometimes it spoke.

Sometimes it looked back at you from a mirror.

Coraline closed her eyes.

She saw the children again.

Running through the garden.

Laughing.

Free.

Then suddenly they stopped.

They turned towards her.

"Come with us."

Coraline opened her eyes.

Nobody was there.

She looked at the house.

The upstairs window was illuminated now.

A woman stood behind the glass.

Silver hair.

Pale face.

Watching.

Coraline stared at her.

She knew that woman.

She was certain of it.

But she couldn't remember from where.

The woman slowly raised one hand.

Coraline raised hers.

The woman lowered hers.

Coraline lowered hers.

Then Coraline understood.

She was looking at her own reflection in the window.

She began to laugh.

A soft, broken laugh.

"You're losing your mind."

The words sounded almost comforting.

Perhaps she had been losing it for years.

Perhaps madness had simply been another name for remembering too much.

She looked once more towards the garden.

The rain was falling harder now.

The fountains remained empty.

The spider tree stood black against the evening sky.

And beneath it, for just one fleeting moment, Coraline thought she saw a small child sitting in the grass.

A little girl.

Dirty knees.

Untidy hair.

A frightened face.

Coraline stared.

The child looked exactly like her.

She knew that face.

She knew those eyes.

The little girl raised one hand.

Coraline's heart stopped.

She wanted to speak.

She wanted to ask her what she wanted.

But the child spoke first.

"You forgot me."

Coraline's mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Then lightning flashed somewhere beyond the clouds.

The child was gone.

Only rain remained.

Coraline looked down at her hands.

They were old.

Veined.

Trembling.

The ruby was cold.

She suddenly understood.

The children had escaped.

But there was one child she had never managed to free.

Herself.

She looked towards the darkening house.

For once, she felt no desire to run.

She had spent a lifetime running from the rooms inside her own mind.

Perhaps there was nowhere left to run.

She placed the silver mirror carefully beside her.

The orange light was disappearing now.

The garden was becoming indistinct.

The fountains.

The trees.

The house.

Everything was dissolving into darkness.

Coraline leaned back beneath the spider tree.

Her pain was still there.

Her memories were still there.

The ghosts of the past were still whispering.

But somewhere beyond them, she could hear children laughing.

This time she didn't look.

She knew they were free.

That was enough.

She closed her eyes.

And for the first time in her life, Coraline stopped fighting the darkness.

She let it come.

Quietly.

Almost gently.

As though it had been waiting for her all along.