Chapter 7

As Isabelle plodded through the dim corridors of the factory, leaving a trail of chocolaty footprints behind her, she had the nagging suspicion she was being followed.

She had managed after a few botched attempts to climb the ladder that Mr Wonka had used but where he'd gone since then she had no clue. To describe being lost in this place was nothing like as cliché as a maze. Mazes didn't tend to have more than one level and usually had some logic as to which was the right direction to the exit.

"If I ever get out of this place I might seriously consider marrying Butcher Fugus," she muttered.

She reached a room at the end of the passageway and, seeing few alternatives, stepped inside.

From the moment the scene reached her eyes, the florist thought she had once again stumbled upon what it was like to be in love. A vast orchard stretched as far as the eye could see; trees of violet, silver and gold. The grass was waist-high and blue as turquoise. Nearby was a huge fountain, carved beautifully in marble and layered like one of Mrs Soden's cakes, though it appeared to have stopped working.

A pool of chocolate swirled gently in the base with onion-sized hazelnuts drifting past like lilies.

Forgetting herself completely, Isabelle knelt on the cool rim of the fountain and gazed into the patterns that danced the surface of the pool.

She never even heard the patter of footsteps as something rushed up behind her and shoved. She toppled into the fountain, her feet unable to find the bottom. Great black tentacles shot out and wrapped around her body, stifling her screams. Through the second layer of chocolate she could barely make out a gathering of orange faces before she was pulled under.

Willy stood at the French windows leading to his balcony and watched the rain trickling down the glass. The thunder rumbled outside following each glare of light that struck his face. He didn't wonder why the weather was too ironic, nor did he wonder why his pyjamas were now his usual coat-and-tails. All he could feel was the fear that clutched his insides. Something was coming.

From the hallway he heard the noise, the hideous laughter approaching.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha, he-he-he-he…"

In terror he spun to face the doors of his bedroom, a flash of lightning revealing the rattle of the handles.

They're trying to get in, he thought. The awful singing!

Sure enough an off-key chant like a broken music box echoed off the walls, mixing with the jeering.

"…modest, clever and so smart, he barely can restrain it…"

Something battered at the windowpanes. Mr Wonka leapt away and gripped one of his end bedposts in fright.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha, he-he-he-he…" The chanting grew louder.

Willy chewed at his fingernails. He stared, petrified, at the face looking in from his balcony. Polished features, unblinking eyes, fixed dangerous smiles on bodies that should not move unmanned.

The door handles rattled again and made a snapping noise. One door creaked open, the sound of many wooden feet pouring through.

"…no way to contain it…ha-ha-ha-ha, he-he-he-he…"

Willy scrambled backwards, tripping on his bedcovers as he tried to hold his balance on the mattress. The marching shadows surrounded his bed.

"N-n-no! Get outta here!" the chocolatier cried.

But the puppets only laughed. They crawled across the quilt in their hundreds, pinning him to the wall.

Willy reached out with a strangely ungloved hand, striving to reach for his jungle machete he kept in the bedside table. The metallic chink to his left made his stomach turn. He felt his arms slammed back against the wall and held fast.

Mr Wonka watched helplessly as the puppet holding the knife drew back its arm to strike. He screamed –

- and woke up.

Willy gulped down air, his heart racing. His eyes scanned the room from over the top of his covers. When he had calmed enough, he slid his bedside drawer open. His old machete lay untouched, sealed in a souvenir case – still with the remnants of Whangdoodle blood on the blade.

He gave a haughty sniff before glancing up at the map on his ceiling. There was another red light; yet this time it wasn't one of the main rooms. Instead, the rim of the map sent a shimmering train of scarlet rushing around.

"Oh shoot," said Wonka, biting his lip.

The label of the outer rim gleamed: 'Tartletarus'.

Willy sprang out of bed and into his work shoes. He snatched the first coat he saw from his wardrobe – a black faux-fur one he usually wore outside the factory gates – and kicked the foot of his hat-stand. The infamous top hat flipped off and landed perfectly on his head mere seconds after he had whipped away the nightcap.

Now for the final touches: one hand acquired his waiting cane from its resting place, the other produced what could only be described as an enormous pair of sun-goggles, which when put on took up half of his face.

Ready to face the world, the chocolatier threw wide the doors and strode dramatically into the hall.