Violet wasn't sure when it'd happened, to be honest. It was logical, and she could have anticipated the problem, but she'd spent yesterday feeling like she was just going to die - her first hangover - and now...

Violet Baudelaire lived in a treehouse.

The trees were decorated for winter.

Her tree was gaily hung with Candy Canes"I just want to ( Read more... )

If you had been upstairs in the Compound or in the Hub at six in the evening of December 31, you might have thought your eyes were playing tricks on you, or that you'd once again been whisked off to some strange, new place. Within the blink of an eye, the rooms had changed, sparkling instantly with festive decorations, and it was all so ( Read more... )

If you had been upstairs in the Compound or in the Hub at six in the evening of December 31, you might have thought your eyes were playing tricks on you, or that you'd once again been whisked off to some strange, new place. Within the blink of an eye, the rooms had changed, sparkling instantly with festive decorations, and it was all so ( Read more... )

On the first of the month, the island had transformed Randall Flagg's little ten by ten cube of concrete into a whimsical winter wonderland. Walls that looked like gingerbread were accented with frosting and gumdrops and licorice but were most assuredly still hard as a rock-- probably they were only a glammer for the real wall beneath. It had also ( Read more... )

Another day, another party. Seems like every time you turn around, there's another one. But this one's special. An eighteenth birthday party, a fucking milestone, and a birthday of a pretty damn good friend ( Read more... )

Sometimes, Charlie just likes to play along with the jukebox. He wakes up with a headache, say, or his hands ache (his Mom used to fuss about premature arthiritis, but Charlie's pretty sure there are other explanations). Sometimes, he just misses his Mom. The piano always makes him feel better. Back home, he had a full-sized grand that his Dad ( Read more... )

Chekov was starting to get a little more used to the way things worked on the Island. Reading about the way things were - technology, in particular - was, as it turned out, definitely more different than actually living through it. For one thing, the books had definitely neglected to mention the usefulness of microwaves. He was starting to really ( Read more... )

"Okay, now say mama," Kate coos down at Sam, resting happily in his pack.

Sam, of course, just blinks up at her and smiles. Silently.

It's not that Kate's afraid Sam is mentally lagging or something but it entirely possible that a baby his age could be saying actual words by now. Words like mama. Or dad. Or Duck. Or something. Maybe even an attempt ( Read more... )

Flowers are far more threatening than they originally appear. There are thorns that may prick the recipient (in this case, meaning Violet Baudelaire), or pollen that could make an allergic person sneeze. There is always the chance that they have been doused in poison that only kills those who sniff them. Or, in the current case, there is a danger ( Read more... )

Even on the island, where the fair weather made the days and weeks run together and blend, marked only, it seemed to Bert, by the disappearance of friends or one of the island's magical anomalies, he found that this time of year made him thoughtful ( Read more... )