Author's Note: Nope, still not dead. Don't get your hopes up though, folks, you know how I am by now.


Chapter 7

Amalda read the news like everyone. She had heard of the wonders and horrors that the Golden Ticket winners and their families experienced inside the factory. Like most of the world, she had found the tales too fantastic to be believed. Gum that turned a person into a blueberry? Geese that laid golden eggs? A shrink ray? Compared to those, a boat that went through watery, underground tunnels seemed almost tame.

Though she had discounted the stories, part of her had wondered what if? If they had wanted to make up tales about the factory, why tell such outlandish ones that would never be believed? A tiny voice in her head that held tight to the dreams of her childhood asked, what if such a magical place existed?

So, she looked ahead of the small boat eagerly. Would it be the terrifying ride as reported? Or would it be a wild thrill, like the roller coasters at the fair? Would anything happen at all, or would the stories be revealed as nothing more than that?

And then it began.

The boat had scarcely been enveloped in the darkness of the tunnel before it plunged steeply downward. Shrieks came from the occupants of the boat, though Amalda merely gasped silently. Cool air rushing past her face was the only way she could gauge the boat's speed, and a moment later it turned, seeming to almost spin in place before careening down a slope again.

It was much less terrifying when you knew what to expect. Amalda grinned in the darkness. She didn't think Mr. Wonka would let anyone really get hurt. In fact, in between the high-pitched yells of the other women, she swore she could hear a low, musical hum coming from the back of the boat.

The boat rolled to the side again and Amalda gave an involuntary whoop of laughter. She stifled it quickly, worried the others would think she was mocking their fear, but she doubted any of them noticed over the sounds of their own panic.

Then something odd happened. Her grip on the rail had relaxed, but suddenly the boat jerked erratically. At least, she thought it was the boat. A moment later, she realized the boat wasn't moving but she was. It was as if a great hand had lifted her up and flung her towards the rail. Her hands scrambled for purchase on the slick surface but couldn't stop her headlong plunge over the side.

Now she did shriek, but it swiftly turned into a gurgle as the water enveloped her. The shock of its coldness momentarily took her breath away before she remembered to swim.

She could see nothing. It was all she could do to keep her head above the water as it pushed her relentlessly onward. She had no idea where the boat was, or if she even followed the same path as it or had been washed down a different tunnel. She felt like a ragdoll, tossed about by the dark, rapidly moving water.

Eventually she slammed hard into a wall and clung to it with all her might. There was a ledge just above her head that she managed to grip, though she wondered how long her fingers, nearly numb by now, would be able to hold on.

For long minutes she huddled against the wall, shivering and afraid, until at last it occurred to her that no one was coming to save her. Even if they had noticed her absence, how would they locate her down here in the darkness? No, as always it was up to Amalda McCaine to take care of herself.

With a tired groan, she flung her arm further up onto the ledge, then one leg. Inch by inch, she drew herself out of the water, until at last she was able to roll onto her back and lay panting and shivering on the cold stone. Her damp clothes clung to her, sending a chill deep into her bones that made her shudder.

"I can't stay here," she said aloud, though her voice was almost lost amid the rushing sound of the water.

She rolled onto her stomach and tried to stand, but her limbs felt rubbery and she worried she might tumble off the slick ledge and back into the water. She ended up crawling on her hands and knees, carefully feeling for the ground in front of her as she went. Her progress was achingly slow and she couldn't seem to make her body stop shaking. Cold, or shock? She didn't dare stop to analyze it.

At last she realized she could see the shape of her hands moving in front of her, and then the difference between the ledge and the water. It was more than her eyes simply adjusting to the pitch black around her. There was a light up ahead!

Amalda wanted to crawl faster, but she felt dizzy with relief. Her arms and legs felt impossibly weak, as if they had only carried her this far because they had no other choice and now that they were within reach of rescue, they refused to support her any farther. Almost at the edge of the light, she wobbled.

This is the end, she thought tiredly, slumping to the ground. Belatedly she tried to call for help, but all that emerged from her throat was a strange croaking noise that she doubted could be heard from more than a few feet away.

Just before she drifted into unconsciousness, she thought she saw the light flicker.


Dark dreams plagued her. She was struggling but unable to move, heavy weights pressing her down and squeezing the breath from her lungs. She tried to fight them, but they dissolved at her touch, flowing around her fingers like water and refusing to be moved. She opened her mouth to scream, but the cold poured inside, freezing her heart. She was alone. No one would notice her absence. No one would save her. Her tears mingled with the darkness and were lost.

Then something odd happened. Her body felt lighter, just a little. A trickle of warmth slipped through the cold and started a gentle tingle inside her. Far away, she thought she heard someone singing, a lullaby.

Still unable to move, she yearned with all of her being to reach out to that warm voice.

She came awake abruptly, gasping, and the song stopped. She almost sobbed at the loss, but then hands were pressing her down, not with the terrifying pressure of the darkness but with gentle touches that soothed her trembling limbs and wrapped her in warm softness.

Her exhausted body succumbed almost immediately and she drifted into a deep sleep, this time without any nightmares to chase her.


When she at last woke again, it was to the most luxurious warmth. She was cocooned in the softest blankets on the softest bed with the softest pillow she had ever imagined. She stretched slowly, feeling the tight ache that wound through her entire body and wondering what she could possibly have done to leave herself so sore.

She opened her eyes.

She was in amazing bed, though it took her some time to process the rest of what she was seeing. The room was dim, the only illumination coming from the trickle of light spilling through a door, slightly ajar, that was across from the bed. The room was decorated with many shadowy shapes that she could not identify, some as familiar as picture frames and others so bizarre that she couldn't possible imagine what they might be.

The blankets were twisted around her and she sprawled across the bed at an awkward angle, leaving her staring directly at one of the bedposts. She stared blankly at its curiously wavy silhouette, wondering what would make a bedpost have such an unusual outline. She struggled into a sitting position.

Her movement must have alerted someone in the room beyond, because the door was flung open wider, allowing more light in. Amalda couldn't make out the figure in the doorway, a dark shape with the light behind it, but she could see the bedpost much more clearly. Her jaw dropped open. It was a twisted spiral, dark and light entwined. She knew that bedpost.

The person in the door walked purposefully across the room and threw open the thick curtains that concealed the window, a window that Amalda had known would be there. She knew the bedpost and the window and the room. She had seen it earlier that day, in a vision cast by a magical machine.

The man at the window turned to regard her. Mr. Wonka.

She was in Mr. Wonka's bedroom.

In Mr. Wonka's bed, in fact.

She might have fainted if she wasn't already lying down.

"I'm dead," she said, the dry rasp of her voice startling her.

Mr. Wonka took a step toward her, looking concerned, but then stopped uncertainly, eyeing her. She imagined she looked just a little panicked. She certainly felt it. Mr. Wonka's eyes darted to the door as if wishing someone else could take his place in this extremely awkward situation. He licked his lips nervously. "You're not...that is...how do you feel, madam?"

Amalda started at him blankly, then flopped back onto the pillows, staring at a ceiling that looked like it was made of cotton candy clouds. "I'm dead," she repeated. "That woman is going to kill me when she finds out about this."

Mr. Wonka looked alarmed, perhaps remembering how at least one of his guests fantasized about invading his bed, then his eyebrows drew together as he frowned. "Ah," he said, a singular acknowledgement of an unpleasant realization. "So that's what happened."

She turned her head to look at him, not sure what his words meant, then flushed at the ridiculousness of her position. Struggling to free herself from the deliciously comfortable bed, she muttered aloud, "I can't be here, I need to get up. I should never have come here, what was I thinking?" She freed one arm and smacked it against her forehead in self-admonishment.

Mr. Wonka was at her side instantly, shushing her. "Oh no, no, my dear lady, please don't try to move. You've been through quite an ordeal." He looked away as if embarrassed to meet her gaze. "Not that there's anything wrong with a little adventure but this wasn't quite what I had in mind. Not that I always know what I have in mind, but it certainly wasn't this."

Amalda could only gape at him as he babbled, allowing herself to be guided back down into the nest of blankets as she tried to process the tumbling words.

Thankfully, another figure appeared in the doorway, stepping briskly into the light before Amalda had more than a moment to wonder at the newcomer. To her surprise, she saw that it was a woman with blonde hair neatly pinned back, her face lined not from age but from hard work. The kind smile she gave Amalda and her pleasant demeanor identified her before Mr. Wonka even said her name.

"Ah, Mrs. Bucket!" Mr. Wonka exclaimed in relief.

Charlie's mother nodded at him and sat gently on the bed beside Amalda, handing her a neat bundle. Amalda realized it was her clothes, freshly laundered and dried. "Thank you," Amalda said, equally relieved. She realized belatedly that someone had changed her from her wet things into clean women's nightclothes, and she was glad to know that Mr. Wonka hadn't been involved in that!

"Think nothing of it, dear", Mrs. Bucket reassured her. She placed a hand on Amalda's forehead, smoothing her hair and tutting in the very image of a worried mother. Amalda couldn't help but grin, and she noticed Mr. Wonka doing the same. "Out with you," Mrs. Bucket ordered Mr. Wonka. "Let the girl put herself together before you quiz her on the details."

Mr. Wonka stepped back immediately, gave the ladies a polite nod and hurried from the room. Mrs. Bucket waited until he had gone, then turned back to Amalda. "Now, dear, everything you'll need is in the washroom there. Just yell if you need anything and I'll come help. Can you get around alright? No dizziness?" At Amalda's shy nod, Mrs. Bucket stood and made her way to the door. "Take all the time you need," she added. "Willy's not nearly as impatient as he acts." She winked and Amalda couldn't help but giggle.

Left alone, she carefully climbed from the bed, relieved to find that other than a lingering ache in her muscles, she felt no ill effects from her misadventure. Hurrying to the indicated washroom, she dressed quickly and tidied her hair. In spite of Mrs. Bucket's words, she had no desire to linger in the luxurious rooms. The situation was already embarrassing enough and all she wanted to do was escape as soon as possible.

Crossing back to the bedroom door, she gave the room one last wistful glance, resolving to remember it fondly in spite of the circumstances surrounding her visit. If nothing else, at least she had one memory that very few other people in the world could say that they shared. Mr. Wonka's bedroom!

She paused before the door, taking a deep breath. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could be gone and pretend that today had never happened. Bracing herself, she opened the door and stepped through into the light.