Kelii peered intently at the screen in front of him, while Eshle did his very best to look unconcerned.

"This is giving me the creeps," Kelii muttered.

"You're just not used to it," Eshle tried to reassure him, but his words were half-hearted, and his pursed lips belied his bravado.

Kelii didn't buy it for a minute. "Neither are you."

It was true. Eshle stepped away from the screen, clasping his hands behind his back. It wouldn't do to start wringing them now, not in front of Kelii. This adventure wasn't unfolding as he had planned in any way, starting with the duds. The hat choices had been up to snuff—Willy lost no time opting for a low profile British newsboy style in lieu of his top hat—but when Willy saw his great-coat, a given for pete's sake, he changed his mind about using it.

"Deary, dear, whatever was I thinking?" Willy had mildly complained, holding it aloft. "This will never do for doing this."

Eshle couldn't see why not, but Willy, reading his thoughts, fastened brightly laughing eyes upon him. "Too posh, my dear man, too posh. You must see that! But," he held up his index finger, "I have just the thing. Wait here."

They had waited, and taking more time than they'd thought it would, Willy had eventually returned, resplendent in a moth-eaten, shawl-collared, patchy-furred Buffalo great-coat whose ratty, uneven hem brushed the floor, and whose voluminous sleeves reached down to cover more than half the length of Willy's fingers. Shiny black gloves barely managed to peek out.

Holding out his arms, Willy twirled for his aghast Oompa-Loompas' inspection, finding their horrified faces an unmitigated delight. "Don't I look derelict?" he asked, over the laughter he couldn't stem.

Eshle, barely recovered from the sight blurted out, "You do," nearly unintelligibly.

"Betcha didn't think I could," smirked Willy, lowering his arms.

"Betcha you're right."

Willy grinned at Eshle's reflexively blazing response. Pleased, he lightly stroked the sleeve of his wretched-looking coat, and offered an explanation. "I got it looking like this. The coat, not me. It's an ancient souvenir from one of the colleges I didn't attend."

Remembering, Willy pretended to wave a pennant. "Rah, rah," he said flatly, and the light left his eyes. "Shall we get on with this?"

It was then that Eshle's heart sank. Willy had turned to Kelii and told him he'd be using one of the side entrances. Willy meant to do this on foot. The reason for this coat and not that coat was now plain. As plain as the awful coat. Dressing derelict was necessary for blending in.

Eshle bravely swallowed the objections he knew Willy wouldn't hear, and sent Kelii's colleague off to bed as soon as Willy left the room. Eshle didn't want it getting around that this development worried him, but he knew he wouldn't be able to disguise it once Willy was out of sight. There was a good reason Oompa-Loompas kept to their tree houses in Loompaland: the jungle floor was not a safe place. Now, watching Willy make his way along the sidewalk beside the Factory and then to the street with the suspicious car, the comparison between the two jungles loomed in the minds of both remaining Oompa-Loompas. The outside of the Factory was not a safe place for any of them, but the person they could least afford to lose was risking his safety before their eyes.

"I thought he would use the Great Glass Elevator," Eshle finally admitted, "or I wouldn't have asked him to do this."

"I'd have thought so, too," said Kelii tightly, losing no time in switching to another camera to keep Willy in sight. Kelii hunched his shoulders, adjusting the picture that needed no adjustment. "Too noisy at this hour?"

With an unfettered snort, Eshle scoffed whole-heartedly at the supposition. "Noisy? He'd love that. He'd swoop down on the bench with the Elevator, scare the bejesus out of the guy, swoop over to the car, read the plate, and be back in the Factory before the guy, having fallen from the bench in shock, untangled himself from the ground."

Kelii smiled as he imagined the scene Eshle's words painted. After a minute, so did Eshle. A minute after that, they were both laughing—just a little—until it hit them nothing had really changed. Willy was still on foot. Somber's chilly fingers clutched at them anew.

"At least he left the Factory lights on," Kelii remarked to lighten mood. Somber didn't sit well with Oompa-Loompas.

Eshle didn't mind playing along. Silly conversation was like whistling past the graveyard: a distraction. "The better to see the car by. A flashlight would attract attention to what he was doing."

They fell silent. Willy had reached the car. The tip of the proper wooden cane he carried, curved handle and all, reached out and scraped itself against the license plate, followed by a few smart taps. They watched as Willy returned the cane to his side, some of the crud falling to the ground. Willy stood motionless.

"He must have it by now," said Kelii, fretting.

"He must," agreed Eshle.

They let out a collective sigh when Willy finally turned and began to retrace his steps.

"Do you think he'll go to sleep when he gets back?" Kelii could see the happy end to this ordeal, but it wasn't over yet, and talking still made him feel better.

Eshle frowned, considering. "I doubt it. He's on a roll tonight. You know how he likes to prowl around when he gets like that. Five'll get you ten he heads back to the Inventing Room."

Kelii was about to laugh—it was a bet he wouldn't take—but unexpected movement on the screen caught his eye. "What the…? Check this out— Willy's heading for the main gate."

Eshle turned. It was true, and though Eshle knew full well side entrances weren't Willy's style, the change of course was as unexpected to Eshle as Willy's decision to handle the task on foot. Eshle's fingers curled ever so slightly as trepidation he couldn't deny seeped into him. It felt more and more to him as if a lesson he knew by heart needed re-learning. With the introduction of these Buckets, Willy was changing, but maybe he was only staying the same. The Oompa-Loompas had only known Willy since he had decided to have nothing to do with the town: they had no way of knowing what he was like before that. Maybe he was like this: calculatingly intrepid. It stood to reason after all: when he found them, Willy was braving a nearly impenetrable jungle alone.

"Let's pay attention then," snapped Eshle, swimming out of his reverie, fixing his eyes on the screen. "If Willy has something else in mind, it probably involves us."


Willy watched the sludge fall off the license plate and hit the ground. This wasn't the way Terence would handle this.

The tip of his cane made a crisp noise on the pavement as he brought it back to his side. This car was a wreck. Dented and rusted, grime covered the metal in thick layers so permanent looking, tree rings came to mind. The dents and rust were one thing—well two things, the car was old—but the grime was a crime. It screamed neglect. What shape was the engine in? The other components? Willy stood appalled. No machine anyone depended on deserved treatment like this.

Memorizing the numbers and letters instantly, Willy stood mourning the vehicle's condition a few moments longer. Not wanting to imagine the slothful disregard its uncaring owner was capable of, he found he didn't have to. The victim parked before him left nothing to the imagination, and that was offensive. The Blob deserves a visit to a room in my Factory for this, but which one? Possibilities began to line themselves up in his brain, clamoring for consideration.

This isn't the way Terence would handle this. Willy stirred where he stood, and turned to make his way back to his sanctuary. Terence would confront the fellow. I wouldn't, but he would. Then we'd know what was up. Right now.

Willy reached the street that ran along the front of his factory, and turning, he looked down along its length. The Blob is lying on that bench. Terence would confront the blob. Terence is at the Bucket house. What if Terence were up here? Where he belonged. What then?

Standing on the corner, Willy hatched a plan; two plans really, A and B. Plan A was to see for himself, but that was daring in a way he cared not to be—so he doubted much would come of it—but he had a lot of faith in Plan B.

Willy set Plan A in motion, laughing to himself, because it was slow motion. Having tossed his cane speculatively from hand to hand, he settled on his right, and then he continued down the street toward his main gates, but on the side with the benches. Leaning heavily on his cane, the pitiful limp of his right leg excruciating to watch, the progress Willy was making rivaled glacial, but the corners of his mouth turned up beneath the layers of his scarf anyway: the real beauty of Plan A, was that it put him in a position to begin Plan B, without appearing a threat.

The slow tap of the oncoming cane and labored breathing of the person wielding it caught Felix's attention. Twisting on his unforgivingly uncomfortable bench, Felix sat up to check out the approaching figure. His budding hopes fell before they rose. It was only some decrepit, hunched-over old geezer, wearing a full length fur coat that looked as if the animal donating it had died of mange. Felix couldn't tell much else about the guy—a hat covered his hair, the folds of a heavy black scarf buried his face and neck—but one thing Felix could tell was that the sorry excuse of a ne'er-do-well was heading straight for his bench.

"Piss off, shithead," snarled Felix, as soon as the interloper got close enough to hear him. "This bench is mine."

The immediacy of the intruder's halt was a pleasing surprise. Felix had wondered if defending his territory might take more, but, no, he'd got it done barely raising his voice. That was something, but if that was gonna be it, it was gonna be a pretty disappointing night. His pleasure evaporated.

The interloper stood his ground, placing his cane like a barrier before him, but said nothing.

Felix couldn't make out the man's eyes, what with the distance between them, and shadowed as they were by the hat he wore, but Felix knew those eyes were boring into him: the thought was making his skin feel all prickly, as if a thousand tiny needles were raking themselves across his flesh. Not liking the scrutiny, and feeling spooked, Felix wanted rid of this nuisance. "Hey, gimpy! Why don't cha try the Chocolate Factory?" he called out. "They're sure t' let you in. Wonka's a fiend for company!"

The interloper took a tiny step back.

Satisfied, Felix broke into great guffaws of laughter as he settled back down on the bench. The token retreat made him feel safe dismissing this creepy dude from his attention, but he added a comment as he turned away. Felix knew more than this jerk did, and he wanted the jerk to know it. "That screwball's moving a house."

Felix missed the tilt of the man's head, that could only be contempt, followed by the shrug of the man's shoulders, that could only denote indifference.

In a moment, the slow tapping and labored breathing that had first tipped Felix off resumed.

Felix waited for the sounds to fade, but they didn't. They crossed the street. Felix rose back up on his elbow. The geezer was really heading for the Chocolate Factory's main gates. What an idiot! "Hey, I didn't mean it," Felix started to say, but the words died before he got past 'didn't'. The old geezer was clearly off his meds, cuz now he was standing in front of the center gate, flippin' his hands around his head like he was bein' attacked by wasps in the middle of the freakin' winter!

The hand flipping abruptly stopped and not a minute later, the lights on the gate complex blinked out. Three seconds after that, they blinked back on. Felix was confused. The geezer's hand flippin' started all over again, longer this time, and then stopped again. Holding his breath, Felix waited for the lights on the gates to go out again.

They didn't. They stayed on. The gates didn't open, either.

Felix let out his breath, feeling as disappointed as the nutter must feel. For a minute there, it almost looked like the strange ol' geezer was gettin' somewhere. After another minute, Felix saw the witless old fool give it up. The dejected slump of his mange-clad body said it all. Felix almost felt sorry for the dude. Where're the meds when ya need 'em, eh?

Keeping his derisive comments to himself, Felix watched the silly, lame geezer, with bowed head and hunched shoulders, move haltingly back down the sidewalk the way he had come. Yeah, it was sad. But it was easier to feel angry than sad, and with a sneer, Felix lay back down. He had problems of his own, and he couldn't bother to trouble himself about the woes of that dude. Shifting with frustration that nothing else had happened, Felix resigned himself to a future of more cold and boredom.

Three minutes after that, something else happened. Every Chocolate Factory light illuminating the exterior went out, like dominoes falling in an ever accelerating cascade. Wonka's Chocolate Factory, and the town around it, plunged back into the inky darkness that had been the norm for over a decade.


Yes, dear readers, Willy's faith in Plan B is a double entendre. 'Plan B' is the name of one of the production companies that made Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. dionne dance: You are so right. It's been a full day, with more to come.

I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading, and do let me know what you think.