‘What did happen?’ Charlie asked.
‘It was fantastic!’ cried Mr Wonka. ‘The moment he swallowed it, he began wrinkling and shrivelling up all over and his hair started dropping off and his teeth started falling out and, before I knew it, he had suddenly become an old fellow of seventy-five! And thus, my dear Charlie, was Vita-Wonk invented!’
‘Did you rescue all the Oompa-Loompa Minuses, Mr Wonka?’
‘Every single one of them, my boy! One hundred and thirty-one all told! Mind you, it wasn’t quite as easy as all that. There were lots of snags and complications along the way. . . . Good heavens! We’re nearly there! I must stop talking now and watch where we’re going.’
Charlie realized that the Elevator was no longer rushing and roaring. It was hardly moving at all now. It seemed to be drifting. ‘Undo your straps,’ Mr Wonka said. ‘We must get ready for action.’ Charlie undid his straps and stood up and peered out. It was an eerie sight. They were drifting in a heavy grey mist and the mist was swirling and swishing around them as though driven by winds from many sides. In the distance, the mist was darker and almost black and it seemed to be swirling more fiercely than ever over there. Mr Wonka slid open the doors. ‘Stand back!’ he said. ‘Don’t fall out, Charlie, whatever you do!’
The mist came into the Elevator. It had the fusty reeky smell of an old underground dungeon. The silence was overpowering. There was no sound at all, no whisper of wind, no voice of creature or insect, and it gave Charlie a queer frightening feeling to be standing there in the middle of this grey inhuman nothingness — as though he were in another world altogether, in some place where man should never be.
‘Minusland!’ whispered Mr Wonka. ‘This is it, Charlie! The problem now is to find her. We may be lucky . . . and there again, we may not!’
17
Rescue in Minusland
‘I don’t like it here at all,’ Charlie whispered. ‘It gives me the willies.’
‘Me, too,’ Mr Wonka whispered back. ‘But we’ve got a job to do, Charlie, and we must go through with it.’
The mist was condensing now on the glass walls of the Elevator making it difficult to see out except through the open doors.
‘Do any other creatures live here, Mr Wonka?’
‘Plenty of Gnoolies.’
‘Are they dangerous?’
‘If they bite you, they are. You’re a gonner, my boy, if you’re bitten by a Gnooly.’
The Elevator drifted on, rocking gently from side to side. The grey-black oily fog swirled around them.
‘What does a Gnooly look like, Mr Wonka?’
‘They don’t look like anything, Charlie. They can’t.’
‘You mean you’ve never seen one?’
‘You can’t see Gnoolies, my boy. You can’t even feel them . . . until they puncture your skin . . . then it’s too late. They’ve got you.’
‘You mean . . . there might be swarms of them all around us this very moment?’ Charlie asked.
‘There might,’ said Mr Wonka.
Charlie felt his skin beginning to creep. ‘Do you die at once?’ he asked.
‘First you become subtracted . . . a little later you are divided . . . but very slowly . . . it takes a long time . . . it’s long division and it’s very painful. After that, you become one of them.’
‘Couldn’t we shut the door?’ Charlie asked.
‘I’m afraid not, my boy. We’d never see her through the glass. There’s too much mist and moisture. She’s not going to be easy to pick out anyway.’
Charlie stood at the open door of the Elevator and stared into the swirling vapours. This, he thought, is what hell must be like . . . hell without heat . . . there was something unholy about it all, something unbelievably diabolical . . . It was all so deathly quiet, so desolate and empty . . . At the same time, the constant movement, the twisting and swirling of the misty vapours, gave one the feeling that some very powerful force, evil and malignant, was at work all around . . . Charlie felt a jab on his arm! He jumped! He almost jumped out of the Elevator! ‘Sorry,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘It’s only me.’