Waltz of the Dead

Disclaimer: I don't own A Series of Unfortunate Events

Chapter 1-All I've Known is the Unknown

Klaus Baudelaire stared outside. Outside, where the world was fine, where happy families roamed. Family. The very word singed his pale ear. Family. As in the family he had been forced to kill. His two sisters. Violet and Sunny. He was forced too. The gun had been pointed at his head, he had been lost for days. He had gone insane.

"Klaus?" the thin nurse came into his room with a large needle. Time for your next dosage, honey."

"I don't want to," Klaus said as the nurse unbuckled his strait jacket and grabbed one of his skinny arms.

"You have to, honey," the nurse said, injecting the needle into Klaus' arm. He blinked once. "There, that wasn't so bad."

"Easy for you to say," Klaus said. The nurse stared at him. She buckled up his strait jacket again. She looked at Klaus Baudelaire. She had read his file thousands upon thousands of times, enthralled with his information. According to the file he was a twenty year old man who was 5'4 and 121 punds. But that didn't matter to her. What mattered was his story. Why he was locked in the looney bin in the first place.

According to the file, Klaus had killed his two sisters with a kitchen knife and then had buried their remains in the back of a school. But they didn't know his real story. The one were he'd had a nervous breakdown and a woman had held a gun to his head and forced him.

Ever since the fire, Klaus had become a little neurotic, but after the island, Klaus had lost his mind. He would spend hours speaking to himself in the room he shared with his sisters. He talked about nonsensical things, but he also talked about serious things. What disturbed his sisters the most was that Klaus would sometimes have conversations with their mother, even though she had been dead for over three years. At night, he would scream and cry for no apparent reason.

The nurse stared at him from the door. She sighed ,"Klaus, if you ever need to talk to me, I'm here for you."

'No you're not," he muttered. "I have people to talk to already. You just can't see them."

"Klaus," the nurse said, getting frustrated. "They don't exist, Klaus. You're imagining them."

"They exist," he grumbled. "You'll see."


Fiona grimaced at the stranger in her bed. Another night with yet another stranger. She'd never wanted to become a whore. She wanted to study fungai, but money wouldn't allow her to go to college. Her brother had been killed and she had been left all alone. This is what she'd become.

She longed for him. His cold, pale lips. His brown hair. Those grey eyes that he and his sisters had. Klaus Baudelaire. Maybe, just maybe, if she thought about him enough, she would be reunited with her love. Fiona began crying softly. The spirits of the past had always haunted her, but now they were antagonizing her. She wished she could get rid of them, she really did.

"Klaus," she whispered. "Klaus? Where are you? Come, please."


Isadora Quagmire sat on her bed, writing in her journal. She had Author's Block again. Her brothers had gone to fight in the war and were both dead. They had kicked the bucket.

"Screw this," Isadora said. "I need a drink." Isadora grabbed her coat and ran out into the rainy New York street. She missed Klaus. She hadn't gone to visit him in four years. Hell, she didn't even know where he was. Or if he was even alive.