MATILDA (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

CHAPTER 2: THE PERMANENT PUNCTURE IN THE PLASTER

Matilda stood stagnant in the pathetic excuse for a room, staring at the door in front of her. This door was littered with grimy prints of both hands and feet, with the occasional scratch, indent or speck of blood. However, this door was quite new; the hinges showed no signs of rust and the wood showed no signs of decay. The last door could be found in a heaped pile of ashes, after its damaged and splintered pieces were forced from the frames' hold. On those planks, remnants of blood and the evidence of foot marks, pointed to an obvious conclusion. These doors hold the secrets of what lies within, the broken screams and the desperate pleas that fell on deaf ears. Or ears that would not care. The room was always cold, causing the iron shackle to become ice-like on the girls worn ankle. Scars from previous wounds could be seen on the left ankle, and the raw, red skin showed the development of another. This skin could no longer withstand the pain of being held in a demanding grip that would scrape and constrict constantly, trying to shield itself and retreat. It became puckered and tender and in spite of its attempt, the chain was merciless.

The girl sat in the corner of the abyss of a room, curling into to herself for both warmth and protection. With this movement a chorus of jingles and clunks echoed inside the small room, following the quite shuffles, bouncing from wall to wall before settling itself within the being. Despite her effort, Matilda quivered as her sterling eyes bore into the damned door. If only she hadn't been so careless. So reckless, to leave the house in the first place. The library is where the girl had gone to escape. Consuming herself in knowledge and stories of wonderous adventurers and daring romances. Today, she had gone to return a book and retrieve another. Though, the girl had gotten distracted and had begun reading a book on the Greatest Mathematical Discoveries. Hours had passed and Matilda had realised her mistake as she dropped the book in her darting and frantic exit, returning to a home of torment without any means of escape. The twelve-year-old girl was intelligent enough to understand the harsh truth of reality, however. Many believe fire to be a formation of life that sustains and resonates within each being. Matilda knew the true damage that an ignited fire could do, and the smoke that trails afterwards. As from her own life experience, the world wasn't always beautiful, the darkness within every being emerged and distorted the view. Count Olaf was one of their protégées.

As the night wore on, so did the girls will to stay awake as she fell into a fitful and unwilling sleep. With no light or window in the room, she had no other choice then to succumb to the infinite darkness. Looking into the room, one could scarcely see anything at all, but the sliver of light emitting from the door allowed a small pile of bones in the shape of a figure to appear. Hunched and helpless.

The morning rose unexpectedly with the thunderous slam of the wooden door against the wall, the handle slotting into the permanent puncture in the plaster. At the sudden noise, Matilda awoke abruptly, standing to greet the unwelcome alarm. Standing there in all his glory, stood the despicable Count Olaf. Without a word, he strode into the room, his heeled shoes clanking against the hardwood floor. When he was only centimetres away from girl, he flung out a hand from behind his back that held her freedom. The key was a rusted iron; creating a complete matching set when paired with the shackles. He crouched down and released her ankle from the enclosed bindings before standing up once again.

"I hope you've learnt your lesson dear," he snarled as he turned to exit, Matilda following close behind, her head hung low with shame. "Get changed and meet me downstairs." Demanded Count Olaf without even a glance behind him, he knew the girl understood his orders. As he descended the grand, and equally as forbidding, stairs, Matilda trudged to her old room. This room blended in as any other in the aged and shabby home; sat in the centre of it, a small bed with no legs. The thin mattress sported many stains and tears, the pillow was stuffed with straw and the quilt was haphazardly lain on the bed. The iron bed head was pealing and seemed to barley stand on its own. Adjacent to the door was a regular, ordinary, wooden cupboard. Matilda approached the cupboard and revealed its contents to the dusty air. An array of dresses, pants and shirts could be seen; there were no eccentric colours, mainly whites and bland, dull greens, reds and blues. She grabbed a knee- length, dark green skirt and a long-sleeved black blouse. Marks of all sorts littered the skirt, and the blouse was thin due to the harsh method of washing. Ridding herself of the tattered cream dress, Matilda changed into the clean clothes that did not smell of sweat and dirt.

Once she was changed, Matilda moved to stand at the top of the staircase. She took in a stuttering breath; fear ever so present and controlling. Making her journey down the stairs, she was met with a disturbing sight of Count Olaf on his makeshift stage posing and prancing about and calling it 'acting'. Sensing an audience, the peculiar man swirled around to meet the viewer with a charming smile that exhibited his disgusting, yellowed and decaying teeth. Holding his concluding theatrical position, the girl looked on unimpressed. His smile and position fell limp at the sight of boredom on the girl's face.

"Go make breakfast."

Once breakfast was made and served, Matilda was sent to the living room which housed the sewing machine and various materials, threads and fabrics. She got to work mending and repairing rips and stretches and size adjustments of costumes, in order to the list which Count Olaf had given her regarding to himself and his theatrical troupe. The wild colours of the fabric reflected onto the girl as the soft and flexible material fed through the machine. Stich by stich a hole was patched and returned to its original state to complete the garment.

In the thick of her work, Matilda almost missed the knock that sounded from the door. Count Olaf had sat impatiently, however, and rushed to stand in the entrance way.

"Matilda! Come here!" he whispered, as though to hide his demands from the mysterious visitors on the other side of the ancient door. Matilda swiftly scurried towards the man, coming to stop in front of him. "Now, remember. I'm smart you're dumb. I'm big you're little. I'm right you're wrong." Each statement was emphasised with a painful poke in the girls' shoulder. Matilda weakly nodded before Count Olaf stood up straight to greet the guests as another knock sounded.

A/N
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