"The Reptile Room" by Lemony Snicket, Chapters 4–6

As the Baudelaire orphans stared at Count Olaf, the taxi drove back down the driveway and the children were alone with their nemesis, a word which here means “the worst enemy you could imagine.”

“If anyone ever deserved to travel along Lousy Lane,” Violet said, glaring at him, “it is you, Count Olaf. We will certainly not help you with your luggage, because we will not let you in this house.”

“Who is Count Olaf?” he asked quizzically.

You are Count Olaf. You may have grown a beard and shaved your eyebrow, but you are still the same despicable person and we will not let you in this house.

It is clear to me, Violet, that you are as stubborn as ever.

His eyes shone even brighter, as if he were telling a joke, and he reached into the pocket of his shabby coat and brought out a long knife, such as one might use for slicing bread.

“I seem to recall there was a man who was so confused by being called repeatedly by the wrong name that he accidentally dropped a knife on her little foot and severed one of her toes.”

She turned on her heel and marched primly through the enormous door of the Reptile Room, followed by her siblings.

Besides scheming to get his hands on the Baudelaire fortune, Olaf was the leader of a terrible theater troupe, and his fellow actors were always ready to help him with his plans.

They were a gruesome crew, each more terrifying than the next.

Violet’s tone of voice when she said “Stephano” indicated her utter scorn for Olaf’s disguise.

“We wait,” Violet agreed.
“Tojoo,” Sunny said solemnly, and the siblings looked at one another glumly. Waiting is one of life’s hardships.

It is plenty difficult to wait for Halloween when the tedious month of September is still ahead of you.

“I didn’t know what kind of toothbrush you preferred,” Uncle Monty was saying apologetically, “so I got you one with extra-firm bristles because that’s the kind I like. Peruvian food tends to be sticky, so you need to have at least one extra toothbrush whenever you go there.”

From the moment of Monty’s arrival until bedtime, Stephano kept the children under his constant surveillance, a phrase which here means “kept watching them so they couldn’t possibly talk to Uncle Monty alone and reveal that he was really Count Olaf,” and Uncle Monty was too preoccupied to think that anything unusual was going on.

Finally, the light in the house turned the pale blue-gray of early dawn, and the Baudelaire children walked blearily down the stairs to breakfast, tired and achy from their sleepless night.

They sat around the table where they had eaten cake on their first morning at the house, and picked listlessly at their food.

“I don’t mean to be vainglorious,” Uncle Monty began, using a word which here means “braggy,” “but I really am one of the most widely respected herpetologists in the world.”

When I was getting my herpetology degree, my roommate was so envious of a new toad I had discovered that he stole and ate my only specimen.

“It is because this man who is calling himself Stephano,” he said, “is really a member of the Herpetological Society, and he is here to try and find the Incredibly Deadly Viper so he can preempt my presentation. Do you three know what the word ‘preempt’ means?”

This sort of behavior is indeed as dastardly as that terrible man’s.

Uncle Monty, his face flushed with excitement, took one of the folded papers and began ripping it into tiny pieces.

But if somebody is surpassingly wrong—say, when a waiter bites your nose instead of taking your order—you can often be so surprised that you are unable to say anything at all.

All afternoon, the three children had sat and worried in the Reptile Room, under the mocking stare of Stephano and the oblivious—the word “oblivious” here means “not aware that Stephano was really Count Olaf and thus being in a great deal of danger”—chatter of Uncle Monty.

So by the time it was evening, the siblings were in no mood for cinematic entertainment.

“I haven’t been reading at all. When Count Olaf is around, it sure puts a damper on the imagination.”

“When we lived with him, you read all about nuptial law to find out about his plan, and I invented a grappling hook to put a stop to it.”

“Tadu,” Sunny murmured solemnly, which probably meant something along the lines of “It’s a loathsome situation in which we find ourselves.”

Sunny shrieked, in a generic cry of frustration, and pounded her little fist on the floor. The word “generic” here means “when one is unable to think of anything else to say,” and Sunny was not alone in this.

And as fervently as the Baudelaire orphans wished their circumstances were different, I wish that I could somehow change the circumstances of this story for you.

Or best of all, you can conjure up the illusion that the Baudelaire parents have not been killed, and that the terrible fire and Count Olaf and Uncle Monty and all the other unfortunate events are nothing more than a dream, a figment of the imagination.

Or best of all, you can conjure up the illusion that the Baudelaire parents have not been killed, and that the terrible fire and Count Olaf and Uncle Monty and all the other unfortunate events are nothing more than a dream, a figment of the imagination.

However, you and I remember that Uncle Monty’s promise was laden with dramatic irony, and now, here in the early-morning gloom of the Reptile Room, that irony was going to come to fruition, a phrase which here means “the Baudelaires were finally to learn of it.”

However, you and I remember that Uncle Monty’s promise was laden with dramatic irony, and now, here in the early-morning gloom of the Reptile Room, that irony was going to come to fruition, a phrase which here means “the Baudelaires were finally to learn of it.”

His mouth was slightly agape, as if he were surprised, and his eyes were wide open, but he didn’t appear to see them.