MATILDA (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

CHAPTER 1: ADORNED BY THE FRAYS OF HIS TROUSERS

The insecure steps of the rotting house spurred betrayal as their almighty screech exposed the girls location. The high pitch squeal of the failing wood pierced the staggering silence in the worn and mistreated mansion and greeted her ears as the most unpleasant sound. Whereas many would screw their eyebrows together and scrunch their nose due to the annoyance the sound emitted; this girl could only freeze. The hope of a stealthy entry vanished from within the girl as the focus and concentration dissipated from her expression; the muscles within her dull, rounded cheeks became taut with a horrendous anticipation and her eyes widened in fear. The echo throughout the house increased the dread of the little girl, and no matter the mental pleading, her body refused to move; afraid to trigger the inevitable and was determined to stubbornly deny the consequences that would ensue. The emptiness that followed assured the vilest succession. From deeper within the mansion, a wicked man with one, oversized eyebrow and an evil gleam in his eye, grew a malicious smirk at the realisation of the shrieks origin. He raises his wiry body from the decaying remains of a couch and straightens out his stiff, dust-ridden jacket and rearranges his cravat to make way for his uninterrupted wrath.

The girl had awoken from her stupor at the immittance of purposeful footsteps reverberated throughout the stair in which she stood. Her body submitted to the desires of her mind as she began to make her way quietly up the stairs once more, holding the splinted and poorly maintained handrail.

"Where have you been?" spoke a deep, guttural voice, in what would seem a casual tone to many, ignited terror within the girl. Revolving her body, the girl is met with an appearance she knew all too well. The man stood with indifference. But the girl knew better. She knew there was a storm brewing underneath this façade. He stood propped against a wall coated with a deteriorating wallpaper that resonated the dark happenings within its boundaries. Seemingly uninterested, the man observed his hands and nails, that even from the girls distance, could be seen riddled with dirt, dust and other unexplainable substances. The girl further observed the mans exotic hair that seemed as though he had sat behind a car to watch it start; covered in a thin layer of soot and blown backwards, only remaining attached due the unkept sideburns that framed his face. His facial hair displays his malevolent nature as his hooked nose and styled, stubby goatee emphasises a witch-like manner. His too short pants revealed the identifiable tattoo on his ankle, adorned by the frays of the trousers and the beginning of derelict lace, decorated, brown, leather shoes that complimented the mans mismatched demeanour and spoke of the past.

"I-I-" The girl stuttered through her horror to generate a story and to convince both herself and the embodiment of impending doom that stood in front of her.

"Spit it out!" the man disjointed his calm composure and stood more surely in order to seem utterly superior to the girl situated on the stairs. This outburst mutilated his face into one of rage and contempt; his upturned eyebrows and lips relaxed into a resting scowl as he barked, "Get down here."

The girl had no choice but to comply and obey the mans demand, making her way down the traitorous staircase to stand in front of the derivation of the oozing sense of discomfort and revulsion. The man creates a dominating stature as he bends over at the waist to the girls height, amplifying the girls inferiority in the household. His face became only inches away from the girls as his rancid breath invaded and polluted the air in which the girl shakily released from her lungs.

"Now, let me ask again. Where have you been?" the man reiterates, finishing with 'sweet' smile. The girl remains silent. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? A little girl acting rebellious? Dont worry, we have the perfect cure for a rebellious miscreant such as yourself," the hideous, scowling man clasps a solid hand on the girls shoulder in a harsh grip. The girl maintains a stoic expression, impenetrable to the common eye, however, her silver-blue eyes reveal the true panic within her being.

"Follow me," he says, as though the girl has a choice. The pair ascend the staircase, passing the infuriating, creaking stair. Once they reach the top of the carpeted slope, the girl is roughly shoved in a direction that is too familiar. The girl begins to struggle as the realisation is made,

"No. No. Please." she attempts to delay the destination by planting her feet on the ground and protesting by throwing her body away and her hands fruitlessly grasping at the mans arms.

"Oh, stop youre whining," the man states over the girls terrified pleading whispers. The door is always brand new and is currently painted a striking white that may seem an attempt to contrast and brighten the gloom that the house emits, however, the other side of the door tells a different story. With a final tug, both the man and the girl stand still in front of the door. The man sneers down at the girl, "You know the consequences, yet you continue to disobey me." His voice becomes more maliciously delighted with every word. The door is suddenly opened, and its contents are exposed. The girl is flung into the room, landing harshly on the cruel, damaged floorboards. Pushing away the pieces of matted, blonde hair that obscures her vision, the girl turns to gaze at the man once more. "Alright, you know what to do." The girl moves towards the middle of the small room that would be no bigger than a broom closet, with no window and no light.

"Dear," the man expresses an exhausted sigh. "We have been through this many times now," by now the girl is standing in the centre of the room with an unforgiving iron chain restricting her ankle from moving further than one metre from its origin. "If you can be a good girl, I'll let you out in the morning, tomorrow we are expecting some permanent visitors," the man gets comfortable on the door frame as he continues. The girl restrains the urge to correct his use of an oxymoron. "They will be able to assist you in your chores, join you in your wallowing and sleep in your old room. Seeing that now you will be staying in here. . . permanently." On this word the man leans forward with his hands pinned behind his back, with the evil smirk that slides on his mouth much too easily. The girl begins to breathe heavily, the rapid movements of her inflating and deflating chest decorate her dress with crinkles. "Anyhow," he raises from his bent position. "I'll see you in the morning. . . Maybe." He grabs a hold of the door handle and begins to pull it closed. Before he pauses with an awaiting look on his face. The girl replies in a raspy and breathless voice,

"Goodnight, Count Olaf."

"Goodnight, Matilda."

A/N
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