I was getting a bit tired now, and I needed to rest some. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Yes, hold on." he pulled out his watch, "my, it's ten o'clock, why ever do you ask?"
"I am a bit tired, sir. I haven't slept well lately."
"Oh dear. I suppose you will need a place to sleep, considering you will be staying for a while."
"I was thinking, perhaps, the couch? The one I saw when I first arrived?"
He thought about it for a moment, and shook his head in disagreement. "I have known it to be very. quiet in there. I don't like it myself. You may sleep here," he said, and stood up from his bed once more.
"But where will you sleep?"
"I never thought of that. I don't know, on the floor, perhaps."
"Oh no, sir. I couldn't let you do that. It's not worth it. Having to sleep on the floor just because little old me is taking up your bed. I can find somewhere else."
"No, really, you can sleep here, I don't mind. The floor is a change for me, yes. But not a bad one, perhaps."
He went into a nearby closet and fetched a blanket and a pillow. He spread them out on the floor, and adjusted them to his own content. "Thank you, Mr. Wonka," I said, sitting down upon the make-shift bed that was on the floor, "I appreciate the gesture." It had been a long time since I had used a pillow. Or even a proper blanket, really. Usually I used a piece of canvas.
I laid down on it. Even though the floor was solid, and no covering, it seemed rather soft. At first I thought that it may have been because of the fact that I hadn't slept on anything but concrete for some time, but then I realized that it was really soft. I liked it. A lot. After about 3 minutes, I found myself slowly slipping into the deepest sleep of my life.
Did I dream? Of course I did! Mostly bad dreams, about the past. However, tonight was different. I dreamt about rather pleasant things. The good things that I had. They were very few, but very good. As soon as the dream ended, another began. This time. what?! I was actually dreaming about Mr. Wonka! That couldn't be normal. He was giving me a tour of the factory. He asked me what I thought. Then he asked me if I wanted to help him run it. I accepted, and.
gasp! I had been woken up by a strange noise. I looked over to see him sleeping quite soundly in his nice little bed. What had woken me up? I sat up and examined the room. Nothing. I laid back down. There it was again! A high-pitched sort of screeching noise. I didn't want to wake him, but I had to.
"Mr. Wonka." my voice became very calm, very still, as I said that.
"My, what are you doing up so very late?"
"Sir, I was woken up by..." there it was again. "That noise."
He listened for a moment, and then sat up. "That noise," he said sweetly, "is just your imagination. Believe me, it is. It's whatever you want it to be. I'm sure the painful recollection of your parents is the source of this." He sat on the edge of his bed, and turned on the light. "Now, all you have to do is think about something else. Anything but that."
"Alright." I had it, I was thinking about something happy, not sad. The noise didn't change. I screamed. Louder than ever. So loud, my throat hurt as I held it out.
There he was. The man who killed my parents.