(Matilda's POV):

Darkness and silence.

Those are all I see and hear at first. I feel as though I'm floating.

"Matilda?" a voice calls from afar.
"Matilda, are you there?"

My eyes slowly flicker open and I find myself surrounded by several...

Well, what are they? From my glasses, which miraculously are still on my face, they don't look like normal people. I find that they wear purple shirts and white worker overalls. Their hair-some spiked, some left straight down, some in two buns on their heads-is colored blue along with their lips. And yet, they look fairly human.

"Is she alright?" one of them asks.

"I think so. Look! She's opening her eyes," exclaims another.

"That's probably just your imagination, Daisy Bloom. No wait. You're right!"

I feel incredibly dizzy. As I try to sit up, the people things push me back down. A figure stands over me that I don't recognize right away.

"Thank goodness you're alright," the figure sighs in relief.

My vision is coming back again and I gasp when I see the figure.

"You took quite a fall there."

It's slowly coming back to me. That man is none other than Mr. Willy Wonka! And I had shown him my notebook. I had shown Mr. Willy Wonka my notebook of candy ideas. And he thought it was fantastic. Fantastic!

"Where am I, Mr. Wonka?" I ask as I try to sit back up.

"Uh-uh-uh!" he scolds me gently as if I'm a toddler.
"I don't want you to be sick, my dear."

"But I really should be getting back home."

"Are you so sure? What with your mother and all?"

I give a sigh. Of course he's right. If I go back now, my mom might still put me in an institution and burn my notebook. Wait. My notebook!

I begin to panic as I realize that it's no longer on my person.

"Mr. Wonka, where is my notebook?" I ask in a fluster.

"Not to worry," he smiles.
"I have it in a safe place."

"But where-?"

"Shh!"

He waves his hand over my mouth. As I try to protest some more, I discover that no noise comes out no matter what.

"Trust me," he says calmly and gently waving a finger back and forth in front of my eyes.
"It's in a safe place. Trust me."

I feel calm and relaxed, yet at the same time a bit concerned. What is he even doing?

"Trust me," he repeats.
"You do trust me, don't you?"

He moves his finger up and down and I nod along with it. His voice is calming yet scary at the same time.

"Good."

He snaps his fingers and I jolt.

"Now you're going to stay then?" he asks hopefully.

I contemplate this. On one hand, I shouldn't be in here. But on the other hand, going into the factory of my biggest idol is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It may never happen again!

"Sure. But only for a while," I tell him.

"Splendid!"

He has the tone of an excited child when he says this.

"Now would you like something to drink? Hot chocolate perhaps?"

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I'm allergic to dairy."

"Not to worry. I have a special mixture. My new non-dairy hot chocolate."

He snaps his fingers and one of the people things with spiky hair rushes out of the room.

"Who are they?" I ask gesturing to the little people.

"They are Oompa-Loompas," he explains.
"They're my workers."

Huh. That explains how the factory's still working.

"I take it they aren't from the great city?" I ask.

"They are, in fact, from Loompa Land."

"Loompa Land?"

"Exactly."

I give this some thought. It sounds made up yet not.

"Huh. Mr. Turkentine didn't teach us that in Geography."

"That's because most teachers are sworn into secrecy."

"Why?" I ask now intrigued.

"Because," he says in a low voice.
"You never know if any of the children are Wangdoodles or Hornswagglers or Snozzwanglers or rotten Vermicious Knids in disguise. You see, they kidnap children and turn them into their workers and spies. If they were to know of the locations of my dear, little Oompa-Loompas, then I would be ruined and they would be doomed."

A bright idea comes into my head.

"Is that why no one ever goes in or comes out of here?"

"Goodness! You're more brilliant than I thought," he says in awe.

My heart jumps in my stomach.

He thinks I'm brilliant.

"Thank you," I say calmly even though deep down I'm screaming in joy.

The door opens and the Oompa-Loompa returns with a tray, a cup, several marshmallows, and a bottle of brown liquid. As soon as Mr. Wonka spots the tray, he gasps.

"No, no, no!" he exclaims.
"Not that bottle, Sunshine."

"But I thought you wanted-" he says.

I recognize it as one of the voices I heard when I was waking up. I try to stifle a giggle at the thought of a boy being named Sunshine.

"Not for her," Wonka interjects.
"She deserves better. Get the other one."

Sunshine sets the tray down and takes the bottle away.

"What was that about?" I ask out of curiosity.

Mr. Wonka turns back to me.

"Oh, it's nothing, Matilda."

"But-"

Here he proceeds to wave his finger back and forth again.

"It's nothing, my dear."

This time the process is shorter and I nod in agreement. He snaps his fingers again and I jump once more.

"Okay?" I reply in uncertainty.

"Good. Now I have some things to attend to. You get some rest. Sunshine will be back with the hot chocolate. Do not leave your room. You need your rest."

He turns around and heads out of the room. And with that, he leaves me to wonder, as I slip into a nap, why on earth is he acting this way?