Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters (except for the hook-handed man's father) in this story.
Author's Note: PLEASE REVIEW! Was this a good idea for a fanfic?
The True Story of the Hook-Handed Man
Hello. My name is Vincent. Sadly, also known as "the hook-handed man" and "Hookie" to the gang… You might have read about me in the books – A Series of Unfortunate Events by my used-to-be good friend. You know I work for the vile Count Olaf, you know I was the one who hung poor Sunny from the Tower. Yes, I am evil I suppose. Think what you like…but make no assumptions until I tell you the whole story! For it would be such a pity for you to assume from what you've read that I am an all around bad person. You can't always believe what you read – and what you read doesn't necessarily tell you the whole story.
First, let me inform you that I, though you may not believe it, am the brother of the beloved mother of the Baudelaire children. Yes, Mrs. Baudelaire is my adored sister. She and I grew up in a rich home. She was perfect, but I was mischievous, and often got into trouble. As a result, I didn't go to college, but my father spent hours teaching me his profession – woodworking. Yes, my father made beautiful carvings and furniture etc. He was respected by all and was paid very highly. I hadn't changed, sadly. I was the same trouble maker – and disinclined to learn anything. So, my father, frustrated easily, informed me that I should "Get out!" and "Find something to do with your life without my assistance and see where that gets you!"
I don't know if he meant it, but I stormed out of the house and stalked along the sidewalks for what seemed like forever. My sister had long since moved away and gotten married, she being a number of years older than me. I endured three long days on the streets until I succumbed to hunger and cold, and headed for my sister's home. She lived in a mansion with a man named Baudelaire; that much I knew. Although I was unaware until I arrived that they had a child. She was a beautiful baby girl they had named Violet. My sister, a mannerly girl still, was hospitable. While he didn't show it, I could tell that Mr. Baudelaire, now my brother-in-law, was not to pleased with my arrival. Feeling unwanted, I hastened to leave. I could see the relief in even my sister's eyes when I waved from across the street as I got in a taxi.
The driver turned around and looked at me with piercing eyes. I was angry at my sister for not wanting me, so I said sharply:
"What do you want?" He turned around and started the engine and began to drive down the street.
"What do I want?" he croaked, "I want a fortune." He paused and glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "What do you want?"
I thought for a long time.
"To be wanted," I sighed sadly.
He asked me to join his theatre troupe, and I accepted.
"But first, let me tell my father I have succeeded." He stopped his taxi by my childhood home, and I burst through the door.
"Father!" I shouted running over to his workbench, where he was carving a beautiful chair with his long, sharp knife. I told him I had succeeded, told him I was an actor.
"Well," he said, his gray eyes misty "what parts have you played?" I could tell he was in a monstrous mood, but still arrogant and foolish, I muttered "well I only just was hired.
It was then, that, my hands on the back of the chair he was carving, he swore at me, and brought down his knife over my hands and screamed "GET OUT!" My eyes full of tears, I ran to the door, only to find it closed. Looking at the bloody stumps that were all that were left of my hands, I ran through the house, and looked for an exit. Enraged, I shrieked "I CAN'T GET OUT!" In a huff my father threw open the door and shoved me down the front stairs.
The next months were a blur, but the man, his name was Count Olaf, helped me along. Long metal hooks replaced my hands now. I was part of Olaf's theatre troupe for quite some time.
Then, the Baudelaire fire hit, and only the children survived. Olaf adopted them into his home. By now I had my own place, but memories of my father, sister, and brother-in-law still haunted me, and I hated the children as much as their parents. I saw the three of them looking at me with resentment. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire: my nieces and nephew, and I hated them.
The years passed as Olaf, myself, and the rest of the troupe hunted the Baudelaire's and their fortune down. We picked up new members along the way, including Esme Squalor and Carmelita Spatts. I watched the Baudelaire's suffer, and began to regret my hateful feelings. I knew, even through my contempt, that I needed to make sure they survived.
I still watch out for them, but know this, I know secrets that could reveal the truth and possibly find the rumored Baudelaire parent that survived the fire. The secret I will tell when the time is right. Make your assumption – some say I'm evil, some say I'm good – you decide…
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