A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Forgotten File [Book the Fifteenth]

Chapter 11

Beatrice Snicket-Baudelaire II

I sighed in exasperation as I glanced at the others hopelessly. Violet was staring into the midst, whilst Klaus had kept his hand running across his disheveled hair.

Every single one of us were desperate and hopeless, having not one single clue onto where the kids could be. A tear rolled down my cheek. We were all frustrated.

"Tell me," Klaus said quietly, staring at the floor. "What are we suppose to do, Vi?"

Violet didn't reply and Isadora's distant eyes welled up in tears as she cuddled the only thing she had left of her son, Klad. His flashlight.

"Why are you asking me?!" Violet blurted out, all of a sudden. "I mean, why does it always have to me -- why do I always have to be responsible for any unfortunate thing that has ever happened to us? Why?!"

Klaus stood up, glaring at Violet. "You're the eldest! You've been leading and protecting us for most of our life so tell me, what are we going to do Vi? Tell me!"

Violet's tear-stained face looked up to meet Klaus's frustrated eyes as she whispered the words that broke my heart. "I-I don't know..."

Klaus covered his face with a gruff hand, plopping down the floor. With one hand, he removed his eyeglasses, and the other, trying to hide the tears that were trying to fall.

Quigley hushed and comforted Violet, wrapping his arms around her. Sunny and Duncan were seated on the sofas, their faces buried in their hands. I on the other hand looked at all of them helplessly as I sat on the foot of the staircase.

And then I started crying. I wanted to help, but what can I do? I'm the youngest, and probably the most unhelpful thing to them right now. Sometimes I wonder to myself if I really am the daughter of the famous Kit Snicket.

For the umpteenth time, I sighed once again, tasting my tears as they fell. It tasted like despair.

As I was about to lose hope, just like the others, I noticed a bird cooing near the window. Its claws sat on the window pane and as odd as it already was, it felt like it was looking at me.

"A pigeon-n...?" I asked in a confused whisper as the bird gently tapped its beak on the glass.

Haunted by my own curiosity, I wiped my tears away and slowly walked towards the window pane. I glanced at the others, who took no notice of me.

Breathing, I then opened the window to let the pigeon in. I stared at the bird's beady eyes and gulped. I was no bird practitioner, only a skilled baticeer -- so I had no idea about what I was doing as I gently held the bird in my arms.

I gave the pigeon a little smile, and frowned when my fingers felt something tied onto its leg. Grasping the thing I had discovered, I realized it was a small leather pocket.

Excitement suddenly got the best of me as I opened the flap of the pocket. There was a folded paper inside.

Not daring to breathe, I placed the pigeon on the windowsill before opening the folded piece of paper.

Vile are those who flamed,
the innocent little dolls.
They burn those unfortunate,
ashes black as night falls.

The treacherous darkness,
had the dolls engulfed.
Their bloody screams roared,
their bloody burns, gore and sore.