A Tale of Wretched Occurrences: The Beginning

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓢𝓲𝔁

“Put some elbow grease into it!” Count Olaf crows from the porch.

Count Olaf woke you up early in the morning — showing no remorse for the events of the previous night — to make you chop wood. You’ve been doing it for hours, but are still somehow not done.

“Mr. Poe must have made a horrible mistake when he put us here,” Violet mutters as she chops a log in half. “There’s no way our parents would want us in Count Olaf’s care.”

“I’m not sure we can call it that,” you tell her.

Klaus scoops up the wood Violet chopped and adds it to the finished pile. “As soon as Count Olaf’s back is turned, we need to leave this house. I’d rather take my chances on the streets than stay here any longer.”

Violet shakes her head. “Who knows what would happen to us on the streets? At least here we have a roof over our heads.”

“I wish our parents' money could be used now instead of when you come of age,” you say wistfully. “Then we could buy a castle and live in it. And it would have armed guards to keep out Count Olaf and his troupe.”

“With a large inventing studio,” Violet adds.

“And a library.” Klaus smiles.

“A painting room with lots of windows,” you say grandly.

“Vee oo wa,” Sunny babbles, which means, “And chewable objects.”

“Hurry up, orphans.” Count Olaf’s voice is like a knife, cutting straight through your daydream. “There’s reupholstering to be done.”

“Justice Strauss said her home is always open to us,” Violet says.

“She said her library is always open to us,” Klaus corrects. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Mr. Poe said we could contact him if we have any questions,” you suggest.

“We don’t have a question. We have a complaint.”

You’re about to ask Klaus what he thinks you should do when the bald man comes out, shuffling towards Count Olaf with a coffee pot in his hand. You all fall silent so you can eavesdrop.

“Can I refill your cup?” he asks Count Olaf. “And also give you some very bad news?”

“What is it?” Count Olaf asks as the bald man pours the coffee.

“It’s that secretary–” the bald man begins.

“Shh! Not here.” Count Olaf glares at you and your siblings.

You all quickly avert your eyes, but it’s unneeded, because Count Olaf and the bald man go inside.

㊋㊋㊋㊋

You manage to convince Klaus that going to Mr. Poe is the best option you have right now, so after you’ve finally finished chopping wood, the four of you take the trolley into the banking district. Your hope was that if you told Mr. Poe just how bad Count Olaf is, he would find you a new guardian. Unfortunately, Mr. Poe is not the person you would want to go to if you have a bad person as your guardian and need a new one.

“An emergency?” Mr. Poe asks after several seconds of coughing. “Very well, but I’m quite busy. My old secretary, who showed up without fail for many years, has vanished. I’ve had to hire an unemployed actor with no prior experience at being a secretary who needs occasional days off for auditions. And I’ve had to reschedule a haircut multiple times. What can I do for you?”

“Count Olaf is a madman!” Klaus exclaims. “We can’t stay with him.”

“He slapped Klaus across the face!” you yell.

The phone rings.

“Oh, excuse me.” Mr. Poe picks up the phone. “Poe here.” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. “Absolutely not.” Pause. “Thank you.” He hangs up, returning his attention to you and your siblings. Sort of. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

You all stare at him unhappily.

“Oh, yes, Count Olaf.” Mr. Poe folds his hands across his desk. “I’m sorry you don’t have a good first impression of him.”

“He only provided us with one bed,” Klaus begins.

“He makes us do a great many difficult chores,” Violet adds.

“He doesn’t care about us, only our fortune,” you say.

“Ez a beb,” Sunny finishes, which means, “He’s a lush!”

The phone rings again. “Excuse me,” Mr. Poe says again, picking up the phone. “Poe here.” Pause. “Seven.” Pause. “Seven.” Pause. “Seven.” Pause. “Seven.” Pause. “Anything but seven.” Pause. “You’re welcome.” He hangs up. “Children, everyone, at some point in their life, wishes they were being raised by someone else. When I was a little boy, I would have given my canine teeth to be raised by an actor.”

“He calls us orphans.” Violet frowns.

“You are orphans,” Mr. Poe says condescendingly.

“He has terrible friends,” Klaus complains.

“I have terrible friends.” Mr. Poe sighs.

“His name is Count Olaf. What is he even the count of?” You really hope Mr. Poe answers your question. This has been bothering you since you met Olaf.

“I’m sure he’ll tell you in time,” is Mr. Poe’s unsatisfactory answer.

“Ee vee oo woo,” Sunny says, which means, “He’s clearly after our fortune.”

“Speaking of not understanding a word someone is saying–” Mr. Poe begins to cough again. When he’s done, he asks you, “Baudelaires, have you heard of the term ‘in loco parentis’?”

“It sounds like Latin,” Klaus guesses.

“Latin and legal. ‘In loco parentis’ means ‘acting in the role of a parent’. It is a legal term, and it applies to Count Olaf. The actor is acting as your parent. And as your legal guardian, Count Olaf may raise you however he wishes. So, I’m sorry if you don’t like doing chores, or Count Olaf’s friends or his title, but there are certain things you must get used to.” He stands up. “Now, I’m sorry to rush you out posthaste, but I have a haircut I must get to. ‘Posthaste’ means ‘very, very–’”

“It means he’ll do nothing to help us,” Klaus translates.

“Oh, on the contrary! I’ll have my new secretary give you a ride home as soon as he’s finished typing up a report for me.”

The door to Mr. Poe’s office opens, and in walks the hook-handed man. “Boss, I broke the typewriter.” He holds up the typewriter, which has been skewered on one of his hooks. Several keys are broken, and several more are missing.

You turn to Mr. Poe. “That man works for Count Olaf!”

“He did say Count Olaf was one of his professional contacts,” Mr. Poe muses. “It was good seeing you, Baudelaires.”

“We’re not going back to Count Olaf’s house!” Violet shouts.

“Look at Klaus’s face!” you yell.

“Oh, no, no, orphans,” the hook-handed man says from behind you.

You all slowly turn around. His face is so close to yours you can count every little scar on it.

“Look at mine.”