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Is It Scary	By : Idolhands Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Views: 18216 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Please be aware that the volumes/chapters of this tale are out of order. Be sure to pick the NUMBER of the Volume, not the number assigned by Adultfanfiction.net. I cannot control this problem, sorry and thank you for reading.
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Title: Is It Scary, Volume X
By: IDOL HANDS
Rating: Mature Demented Audiences
Warnings: for dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, religion, spooky scenes, and an under-aged/adult slash (Shouta) relationship.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. Mother Goose, William Joyce Dr. Suess, AA Milne and Lewis Carroll have also been harmed in the making of this fic.
Summary: Good Morning Starshine! Mrs. Bucket has an odd experience early in the day. Will Grandma Josephine have a better chance at handling Wonka than her son-in-law did? Will Mr. Bucket just take things "lying down"? And how will all of this affect Charlie? The breakfast of champions is about to begin…
"Why Grandma what big eyes you have and what big teeth you have."

Mrs. Bucket had to move very slowly to manage getting out of the bed without waking her husband. She had awoken very early that morning hoping to beat her family’s usual stirrings. Tip-toeing over to the sink and mirror, she started to do the barest minimum of cleaning. Quietly she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and started to comb through the brown curls her hair. Studying her features it took her a moment to notice the figure of someone being reflected in the mirror. Her eyes focused and saw a heavily shadowed pale body - it’s hand reaching out for her shoulder. She gasped and twisted around, dropping her comb to the floor. Clasping the sink from behind for balance, the woman was surprised to find no one at all behind her. Had she imagined it? She had thought it was Mr. Wonka for a second.
The woman’s features appeared more angular than usual as she stared into the shadows of her home, searching for the missing presence. Everyone was still asleep and there wasn’t a single sign of the chocolatier. Seemed she did imagine it. Must be left-over tensions.
Still looking around like a thief in the night, Mrs. Bucket climbed up the area to her son’s wall-free bedroom. Normally, she would not do this since it was a precarious journey best left to a more spry person. Climbing into Charlie’s little world was a nice break from her own. Affectionately she looked about. The candy bar wrappers from each year of his birthday were still on the wall, along with the first one that Willy ever gave to him when he entered the factory. She recalled how transfixed he was to watch the boy enjoy the token gift. On his shelf was a collection of clutter and junk that he had collected from old family toys or found lost and abandoned. There was one terribly old doll that his mother had tried to convince him to discard. The dolly was dirty, missing an arm, and the dress was torn. One of her blinking eyes remained closed, giving her the appearance of forever winking. Charlie had insisted that if he didn’t keep the doll, who would? Her child had said, “It isn’t the doll’s fault that someone mistreated her so. She still deserves to be loved by someone.”
Immediately she thought about Willy Wonka and almost wanted to cry. It was true, he was a really strange man, but a lot of really strange things had happened to him.
The newest item on the boy’s shelf was the “Everlasting Gobstopper”. It rested on an intricately decorated porcelain saucer. The matching cup was downstairs in the cupboard along with the rest of the tea set. This was the chocolatier’s first gift to the family. It was a warm gesture. Somewhere in there was a kind, giving, good man. She believed that. Charlie couldn’t say he loved a bad person, could he?
She looked at her son’s sleeping form; his body akimbo, sheets half kicked off, one leg hanging off the bed, mouth open, eyes closed. Her husband was misunderstanding their friendship. Their son would have told them if something was wrong. They were just like two kids in a candy shop. She dared say it was the awkward man who was benefiting more from the relationship than her son. Further, it had been Charlie who stood up to Wonka and refused his offer if his family couldn’t be included as well. Fancy that. They had all been so proud of him even though they also felt badly. None of them could fathom why Mr. Wonka would have such an attitude in the first place.
“Uh, lookit me, I never had any family and I’m a GIANT success.” His words. How could anyone not have any family at all? Now they knew…
The boy’s eyes sprang open suddenly and immediately focused on her face.
His mother let out a sharp gasp as she had done downstairs. She had been leaning over him, about to wake him up, but she hadn’t laid a finger on him.
“Mum? Wot’s going on? Why are you up here?” The boy looked around his room in a paranoid fashion. “Did you touch my book bag?”
Mrs. Bucket was startled by his reaction. “Shhh…” She said gently. “I don’t want to wake everyone else up yet. I didn’t touch your backpack. I only wanted to ask if you’d like to work on a little ‘thank you’ surprise for Mr. Wonka.”
“oh.” The child said quietly sat up. He still wasn’t smiling, though his next questions sounded somewhat less suspicious, “Why? Wot kind of surprise?”
“Tsk, for the gifts, monkey face.” That was a knick-name he had from when he was a baby. His mother picked up the golden Goddess pendant around her neck.
The woman meant it lovingly, but that was the first time that Charlie didn’t appreciate such a reference to his ears. Well, it was also about his own curiosity in comparison to the book Curious George that he had liked to be read when he was very little. Hmm, he reflected. ‘The Man in the Big Yellow Hat’ seemed more familiar to him now.
“I thought we could bake him something. Remember I used to work for a bakery before you were born?” His mother’s round eyes focused on her child futzing with his ears. Was he becoming insecure about his physical appearance all of a sudden? How funny! Perhaps he was growing up a little. That’s why he was nervous about his room too. Normally, her Charlie didn’t care who was up here - although no one usually was.
“OK, um, sure. But won’t it…upset Dad?” The child had started to slide out of bed, careful to keep his nightshirt pulled down as he did so, his voice hesitated to mention his father.
“Everyone likes pastry. We’ll make some for the whole lot and you can take a basket of extras to him. Unless you think he’ll stop by? I just figured he’d be, well, ah…” She touched a finger to her full mouth. Perhaps Charlie shouldn’t know about hangovers yet.
Charlie looked up at her with no idea what the next word was going to be.
“Er, um, nevermind. Let’s get started!” Even in her excitement she spoke in a soft whisper.
Once downstairs the two got a kick out of working in complete silence on their secret project. Mrs. Bucket was glad to see the usual smile on her son’s face while he watched her work butter, flour, and water into clay-like dough. After which she pulled out a large glass jar of sticky purple syrup. She had boiled it up a couple of days ago from some lollypops that grew in their new, vast backyard. They both took a taste before painting it on top of the flattened dough.
“Shall we make rolls out of it then?” His mother asked.
“Can we make horns instead? Like a unicorn’s?” The boy asked gesturing toward his head with powdery white hands. A few flakes fell into his silky brownish hair while he did so.
“Thas' the great thing about dough, Charlie. You can mold it into any shape you want.” The woman gave him a warm smile and began to cut the square into strips to be rolled.

Mr. Bucket, the last one to actually fall asleep last night, was consequently the last one to wake up that morning. He was surprised to awake to wondrous smells coming from his own kitchen. He groggily got out of bed: hair, face, and pajamas completely frumpled.
“Morning all.” He said hesitantly to the room. They were in various states of getting ready except for Grandpa George who was lying in bed with a rubber ice pack on his head and groaning.
Everyone greeted him in a similar manner except Charlie who didn’t even look up from his project at the kitchen table to acknowledge him. Grandma Josephine’s round and softly wrinkled face pouted at the child’s lack of reaction. The boy continued to intently roll pastry dough into ‘W’ shapes.
Mr. Bucket grumbled to himself. It used to be fun to continue to fuel his son’s obsession with Willy Wonka when he worked at the old toothpaste factory. What had he been thinking? Oh right, the cute look on his child’s face at the barest gift he could offer him - a minute distraction from their poverty and starvation. The child seemed to be on a no speaking basis with him. He gave a guilty sigh.
It was a rough blow, though he’d seen something like this happening. He had spent a lot of time thinking last night. It was time to try a different approach to this whole situation. Slowly he shuffled toward Charlie, uncontrollably yawning.
“Bless you.” Said Grandma Georgina in a helpful voice.
There were a few smiles. At least another person was concerned for him, even if she didn’t know the difference between a sneeze and a yawn at times. He said graciously, “Thank you.”
The boy still wasn’t looking at him. “Charlie, I know you’re mad at me and I guess you deserve to be. I…I over-reacted yesterday and said a lot of things out of anger. I’m sorry.”
The child glanced up at him, the serious look on his face only slightly relaxed before returning to mold his pastry dough.
“Look.” He said with compassion, daring to get closer to his boy, sitting down.
“I want you to feel safe. You’re my son…and you should feel like you can come to me and tell me anything. From now on I give you my word that I won’t shout or get mad at you or…Mr. Wonka.” The father held his hand over his heart at the end of the statement. It took every fiber of his being to state all of that with sincerity in his voice.
He watched as the blue eyes scrutinized his dark ones for honesty. The child said with great emphasis, “Anything?”
“Absolutely.” Confirmed Mr. Bucket in a way that a person might brace for the sting of a needle. He couldn’t be certain what he might be told after all.
“And you swear you won’t get mad at Mr. Wonka?” The young eyes squinted a bit at his father.
“Scout’s honor!” The man gave a small smile with a quick nod.
The boy paused in great thought, a perplexed frown still on his face, “Then why did you say all those mean things to Mr. Wonka in the first place? Why did you say all those mean things about…me?”
Mr. Bucket flinched a bit at the cracking sound in his son’s voice on the last sentence. He had to pause for a moment to find the right words. “Be-because I was confused. Because Mr. Wonka doesn’t tell the rest of us anything before he does them. Charlie, I’m a simple man and I don’t understand the way Mr. Wonka’s mind works. None of us do. We need your help to do that.”
Everyone in the family looked toward them after that final statement. It was a very accurate one. They couldn’t help expressing small amounts of agreement.
The Bucket child scanned the rest of his silent relatives. He squirmed in his chair. A pained squeak from the wooden chair filled the room. An extremely pensive answer followed after that, “Alright…I’ll try.”
It worked! He couldn’t help a broad smile spreading across his face and stated in an excited manner, “Let me make it up to you Charlie! Now, wot can I do that would make you happy?”
He barely hesitated with the answer and it was the happiest he had sounded all morning. “Make Mr. Wonka’s new satellite work!”
Mr. Bucket flinched more visibly this time. That was NOT the answer he expected in more ways than one. “He told you about that?! It was supposed to be a secret! He made me swear not to tell anyone until everything was ready since he wasn’t sure it was even going to work.”
“I know. It’s OK.” Averting his eyes the boy added gently, “You should keep secrets that Mr. Wonka tells you to keep.”
The father paused at that. There was no chance that he was going to provoke another emotional earthquake so soon after getting his son to talk to him again. He’d simply have to file that particular comment away for the time being. Rather, he said something encouraging, “For you Charlie, I’ll do my very best.”
That put a big smile on his child’s face as he happily stood up with the tray of rolled goodies. Some were only long, twisted rolls. Others were also twisted, but shaped into the letter “W”. All of them had the dark purple syrup peeking out of the two wrapped layers of buttery dough.
His mother smiled at him. “Oh, they look perfect! Good Job, Charlie!”
“Don’t suppose there are any tasty B-shaped ones?” Asked the father in a semi-joking voice.
Charlie got a guilty look on his face. He said, “No, but…uh, how about I make a great BIG ONE right now?”
The child took his father’s smile as a sign that he would appreciate it. His mother handed him a big piece of dough that the child took back to their table where flour, wax paper, and a rolling pin were resting.
His wife had also given her husband a very proud look. She knew her words had something to do with the way he had acted toward Charlie right then. She also knew that those were not easy things for him to say.
“Wot are you all doing?” He said to her followed by another great yawn.
“Mum’s teaching me how to bake! It’s different than regular cooking!” Said Charlie with excitement.
“We’re making morning pastries. Remember how I used to?” She put an extra wiggle in the motions of her dough rolling. The ruffles on the apron moved to and fro.
That seemed a very long time ago indeed, before Charlie, before four bedridden parents drove her from the bakery job and before the chocolate factory ever closed. His faced changed from annoyance, to contemplation, to pensive - the factory, Willy Wonka, and his family’s fate revolving around it.
“How long’ve you been up, luv?” Mr. Bucket scratched at his lower back and headed over to examine some of the results near the warm oven.
“Oh, since about five thirty. One has to get up plenty early to bake!” She sounded a bit younger than usual.
His wife was placing measured spoonfuls of dark purple syrup onto cheese danishes. Despite his disdain for the man at the moment, he had to admit that his spouse’s concoction from the Chocolate Room looked very tantalizing. Now that he thought about it, so did she. Her lips had become plum-colored from tasting the substance. Would it be permanent like Willy’s oddly cherry-colored ones? He quickly shook the thought of the man’s lips from his mind. Why did he have to have such a distracting mouth? Not just the lips, but the teeth too. Charlie’s drawings of him often featured the perfectly square, brazenly white things. Who had given him those wind-up joke teeth? Were Dr. Wonka’s horrendous braces to blame? If so, he didn’t want that dentist near his child!
All those thoughts aside, Mr. Bucket continued to walk over to her with a slim, playful grin on his face. She paused with her oven mitts on and looked at him confused.
“Wot are you playing at?” She held still with both padded gloves before herself.
“Give us a kiss. I want to see what those purple lips taste like.” Last night made him realize that he had been neglectful not just toward his child, but toward the woman he loved as well. He was usually not this forward about his affection, but a certain gold necklace seemed to be mocking him at the moment.
She laughed like they were still dating. “Stop it, you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet!” However, she gave in and allowed him a nice smooch. It wouldn’t be her first unshaven, unwashed kiss from him and he deserved something for the hard time he had been put through yesterday.
Normally, Charlie had found such interaction between his parents ‘gross’, ‘yucky’ and as baffling as homework assignments during Christmas break. Today though, he was actually VERY interested and watched them through quick glances while continuing to roll the dough. How was a ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ supposed to act toward each other?
“You taste like sugar plums and lemon curd! Who needs danish?!” Whatever the woman had done to those purple and yellow lollypops made them tantalizingly unique. The chocolatier would undoubtedly be impressed.
She playfully smacked at him and pulled away. “Go wash up before Willy Wonka gets here. He’ll be all dressed up.”
“Fine, I’ll go get all tarted up for the tarts.” Then his father did something that made his mother jump, laugh, and throw a towel at him as he headed towards the bathroom.
“Mom? What did Dad do just then?” Said their son in an innocent voice.
His mother just blushed.
“He pinched her bottom.” Informed Grandpa George’s stern voice from under his ice pack.
“Father George!” She admonished, blushing harder.
The older man only chuckled, “That’s my boy. Ooooh. My head. Are you sure the old man is going to come here? He must be worse off than me.”
“The Oompa-loompas said he would.” Answered Charlie in a cheery voice.
The morning’s antics continued as the family went through its usual routine of musical chairs for washing and dressing. Charlie looked across the table as he descended from his bedroom nook. He was glad that he had gotten up early at his mother’s suggestion. This was sure to be as good as yesterday’s pancakes!
Mr. Bucket couldn’t help but notice the skin-tight outfit that his son was wearing. It was black and went from his throat to his toes; boots were built in, it connected at his middle fingers on the arms and had a slimming green stripe down either side. “Charlie, er….don’t take this wrong, but…wot are you wearing?”
“It’s called a ‘cat-suit’! Mr. Wonka told me to wear it for the special activities that he has planned for today. It’s made of a special fabric that makes it extra strong and flexible!” He tugged at it in two places to show how stretchy it was.
Good God. There was nothing polite to be said! The boy looked like a circus performer or something. He clenched his teeth and furrowed his brow at his family. Don’t any of you find this the teeniest, tiniest bit weird or suspicious?!
The boy simply kept beaming at his father.
His wife drew in her lips nervously before saying. “Um, Charlie dear, maybe you should put on your new jacket.”
“His jacket is still rather short, sweetheart.” Mr. Bucket said as nicely as possible in a strained way. He was feeling like Mr. Wonka during one of his awkward moments.
“He could wear this. I finished it yesterday.” Offered Grandma Georgina in a crackling voice. She pulled a newly woven item out of her large knitting basket. The garment was a long poncho with a hood. It was a lovely shade of crimson with patterns toward the bottom edge and near the brim of the hood.
“It was for meself, but Charlie could borrow it for today.” She had hobbled over and was placing it over the reluctant boy’s head. The hooded shawl fell to slightly below his hips.
“Oh, that’s much better. Yes, much more…um, stylish.” Announced Mr. Bucket in a way that he hoped his son would approve of (thanks to his benefactor’s influence) while giving the garment one good pull to ensure it completely covered his son’s small bottom.
“Really?” The boy said while twisting around in an attempt to see how it looked in the back. He turned back around and pulled up the hood, tugging at the pom-pom drawstring before putting his hands in the big pouch-pocket in the front. A crooked, satisfied smile was aimed at his family. It was rather cozy. Grandma Georgina was very good at her craft. Her skills had kept the family from freezing during some difficult times. After all, yarn was far cheaper than clothes sold in the stores.
Mr. Bucket was a bit less pleased at this point. The boy looked adorable. Maybe a bit too adorable… Oh, why must he be forced to look at his child in a way that a predator might? Tsk, what an awful burden.
His thoughts were disturbed by a few short, quick knocks. A familiar, friendly voice chided, “Yoo-Hoo? Anybody home?”
Charlie grinned with anticipation. Dimes could have been hidden in his dimples they were so deep.
Grandpa Joe got up quickly to open the door. “Good Morning Mr. Wonka, we’ve all been waiting for you.” The kind old man opened the door wide to reveal the entire Bucket family and another display of food on the table set for his arrival.
Willy Wonka smiled broadly at the display. No words came out. Unexpectedly, he started to look upset as he entered further. Pressing a hand to his face, his eyes were getting glossy and glittering all shades of purple and blue as if he would cry.
The family was torn between looking at his face or his wardrobe. For the candy-maker was wearing a similar skin-tight stocking, that was covered with a stunning embroidered suede tale-coat. The fitted, cropped jacket was accented with a layered lace cravat and matching intricate cuffs spilling out of the sleeves; burgundy jeweled cuff-links picked up on the usual band of his top hat. Though the coat tails hung down to the back of his knees, much of his torso and all of his legs were well exposed from the front. Matching boots, in the same soft material, went up in angled points to right above his knees. The complex stitching forming swirling W’s up the sides of their plum material.
“Mr. Wonka, are you alright? Is something wrong?” Grandpa Joe was the most concerned, after Charlie, who had run to his side and taken the arm leaning on a new, odd-looking cane.
“It’s nothing, it’s just…I don’t deserve you all. To think, once I tried to separate you from Charlie. ..how selfish of me. No wonder Mr. Bucket thinks I’m such an awful person.” He lowered his lids in an exaggerated look of despondence.
You son of a bitch. Rubbing it a little bit more then, are we? However, Mr. Bucket didn’t dare say that out loud. Oh no, he believed he understood that taking Wonka head-on had been a very bad idea. It was definitely time for a new tactic.
The father walked over to the man, “Mr. Wonka, you know, I’ve been thinking about everything and I feel just awful. Really, it must be all the strain of adjusting to everything.”
It was the engineer’s chance to try out his acting skills today. He added with emphasis, “Please, forgive me.”
The chocolatier was caught very off guard. The drama of his expressions changed to annoyed bafflement. These words were not in his ‘script’.
Mr. Bucket put a friendly look on his face and stuck his hand out. “Shake?”
The family seemed very pleased at this gesture, especially little Charlie, only Wonka did not; his hand was coiled in the exact same manner as his upper lip. However, he snapped himself out of the honest emotion that was being released. He pulled on a pleasant smile and upturned brows instead and chided in his flutey voice, “Oh no, that’s not necessary.”
“I insist, we’re gentlemen and we should settle it as such. That is, unless you still only feel comfortable touching Charlie when you aren’t…um, tipsy?” Mr. Bucket’s tone stayed entirely mild and he even chuckled at the end to indicate no ill will. There wasn’t a trace of accusation. However, the comment had been put out there for everyone to consider and, from now on, hopefully focus on. He matched Wonka’s smile.
You sneaky larva of a Vermicious K’nid. So ya still wanna challenge me? Mr. Wonka’s eyes squinted only ever so slightly at his thoughts.
Neither man had left the other’s gaze. The chocolatier finally extended his hand and allowed Mr. Bucket to grip it. He despised the way it felt: large, clammy, clumsy, and boney. It was awful. The distaste could be seen in the expression on his face. A similar look occurred when the rotund Augustus Gloop fell into his perfectly sanitary chocolate river.
Mr. Bucket reveled in it. Previously, he would never have even wanted to even think about touching the peculiar candy maker, but knowing (and now seeing) how much it disturbed him made him want to do it even more. How did he like feeling violated? Something akin to a smirk arose on his long face as he continued to trap Mr. Wonka in the firm handshake.
Charlie was watching his father with a little more suspicion now. He could tell something funny was going on. This wasn’t really the resolution he was hoping for, was it? He supposed that ‘touching’ comment should have tipped him off. How long had his father been focusing on how much Mr. Wonka had been touching him? That was sort of strange and it made him feel guilty. It wasn’t like he had done anything to discourage his benefactor. Actually, he’d always liked it.
Meanwhile, a certain crushing sensation had caused the Englishman’s expression to change. The chocolatier got an evil glint in his eyes and squeezed harder still. Mr. Bucket heard his knuckles pop, as did everyone else.
Charlie recalled how strong Mr. Wonka had seemed when the man picked him up the other day in that dangerous dance to his bedroom. He started to worry for his father.
“Aaagh!” A half-alarmed noise escaped the English man’s throat as he was released from the overly firm grip. Mr. Bucket pulled his hand toward himself and cradled it. It really hurt, but he’d probably be alright; so much for pulling that trick again any time soon. Where did he get all that strength from? His eyes managed to look back up at the man in a painful, shocked expression.
“Oopsie.” Stated Wonka in a tone that dripped with saccharine. “I didn’t hurt ya, did I? Couldn’t have my best engineer paralyzed now, could I?”
Charlie was darting concerned looks at both of them.
“I-I’ll…recover. Thank you.” He was studying the dandy man while attempting to mask his fear. There was something unnatural about him in every way.
He giggled and quirked his head to the side, “Who’da thunk an old man like me would be stronger than a young buck like you?” The man proceeded to step towards the table and examine the goodies. He immediately noticed the “W” shaped pastries and gave a genuinely pleased smile.
“Handsome and strong!” Grandma Georgina had gotten behind Mr. Wonka and was doing her best to catch what was visible of him under those long tales. It was harmless fun to her and put a silly puckered grin on her old face.
“Oh, hardly. You must need glasses, Gina.” Wonka feigned modesty, still studying the items on the table like a lord over his manor.
“It’s all that make-up he wears. Makes him look better than what he is.” Stated George with a tone of jealousy from his bed.
“Uh, I’ll have you know that I most certainly do not wear icky make-up. This..”, the man gestured at his face, “is simply the result of an excellent skin care regime.”
“Really? Don’t tell me you use chocolate for that as well.” Said Mrs. Bucket genuinely interested. It was true that Willy had a glowing complexion despite it being deathly pale.
“I do! Coffee too, stimulates blood flow ya know. Brown sugar makes a terrific exfoliate when combined with lemon. All of my products are eatible! Well, not the shaving cream….or the hair cream.” He made a face and shivered thinking of their flavors. Of course he had tried to eat them, more than once.
“I’ll bring some over next time if you would like. You’ll look even more lovely then.” He removed his hat and did a shallow bow.
Georgina finally got her peek and a look of disdainment from her sister-in-law for the loud giggle and encouragement to look in the same direction.
While Grandma Josephine refused to look, she did give Mister Bucket a ‘you see’ kind of look. Two roosters in a hen house didn’t work, especially when one of them was wearing such extravagant feathers and showing off a lot more than his manners! Heavens only knew what Pagans thought of marriage! This one gave a golden ring to a mere child!
“Speakin’ of skin-care and make-up. You look like you could use somethin' tah get rid of that green on yer face Georgie-boy. Here, try this. Wonka’s patented remedy.” He pulled a small fuzzy pill from his pocket and admired it while twisting his hand to and fro.
“Wot on Earth is that?” The old man stared disgusted at the hairy little object entrapped in the latex-covered fingers.
“Hair of the dog that bitcha’ of course. Woof!” Wonka plopped the item into the aged man’s hand with a loud bark.
“Anything to feel better at this point. I don’t know how those tiny people handle the stuff.” He shut his eyes and forced himself to swallow it. The ‘fuzz’ melted immediately upon contact. In a second he had an itch behind his ear and under his chin.
“Oh they fair far better than we actually. ‘Round these parts we even have a little phrase; Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.” He gave a wry look at the people in the room.
“I want you to pretend that you didn’t hear that.” Said Mr. Bucket with a disapproving look toward his amused son.
The comment made Wonka smirk and give a quick chuckle.
“By golly gum Joe, you’re right! The man IS a genius. My hang-over is completely gone!” All ill effects from the previous night’s binge were completely gone once he’d had a good scratch.
“It also leaves ya breath smellin’ minty fresh all day! Which reminds me, Joe, I left all the new perfume in the office for you to try out before ya make the usual calls. See whatcha’ think!” His head was still on business amongst the myriad of other things zinging around in there.
Joe nodded expectantly while Mr. Wonka giggled.
“Please, Mr. Wonka, have a seat. Me and Charlie have been working on these all morning long. We wanted to give you a small ‘thank you’ for the gifts.” The warmth in the mother’s voice was very pleasant as she gestured to the table.
“Alright, a few moments, but Charlie and I really have a big day ahead of us.” He said as he sat down and picked up one of the monogrammed napkins (another gift to the family).
His pupil had immediately run to sit directly across from the dandy chocolatier, but found Grandma Josephine sitting there instead. She smiled at him with great round cheeks, “Would you mind terribly if I sat here this morning? I’d like to talk to Mr. Wonka about a few things.”
Mr. Wonka got a somewhat suspicious look on his face and raised one eyebrow. Oh good, more sport. He was rather in the mood today anyhow. He drummed his fingers quickly upon the table cloth. “That’s OK. Charlie, come sit by my side while me and yer Grandma chit-chat. Go ‘head, Joesie. What’s on yer mind?”
The boy sat down right next to Mr. Wonka. He couldn’t believe how much different he felt being near him today. It was embarrassing; his heart wouldn’t stop fluttering and he wanted so badly to touch him again. Naturally he knew that would be a bad idea in front of his family at this point. His mentor seemed to be acting rather calmly about their proximity. However, the child hoped that he was inwardly feeling a similar sensation. Was it because they were keeping their…’closeness’ a secret? Was that what made everything so exciting? How strange!
Grandpa Joe had taken a seat next to his wife and was looking at her with a bit of concern. He smiled nervously at his reinstated boss.
“Mr. Wonka, my husband and I were aware long ago that you were of a different religion than most people in the town. Our family believes in tolerance so we never minded that. Actually, we figured it explained why you seemed so much more different than other people…”
A less-than-pleased look crossed Mr. Wonka’s face as he continued to listen, pouring out a cup of tea for himself and his protégé.
“Different in a good way, Mr. Wonka.” Clarified the ever-loyal eldest Bucket member.
“In a very good way.” Added Charlie sweetly.
Wonka turned his eyes towards the child. There was sadness in them that the boy felt only he could see. Still, there was a tiny smile aimed towards his heir. It disappeared as his peripheral vision caught Mr. Bucket examining his every movement. The entire family was now seated at the table. They had begun serving themselves, but the tenseness of the discussion was causing them to halt their actions.
“At any rate,” Continued Grandma Josephine, “We didn’t realize that you had intended on converting Charlie, or anyone else, into this Pagan religion of yours. We don’t mean any offense but that’s intruding a bit too much into our lives, sir.”
“Oh?” Wonka started, and it felt like he was starting on something. The fingertips of two purple gloves were placed tensely upon the tabletop. “I didn’t realize that I was the one being perceived as intruding. You guys are the ones living inside of my factory.”
“That’s only so we can be with our Charlie!” Interjected Mr. Bucket.
Mr. Wonka’s head turned toward him at a frightening speed. “NO, it’s so that HE can be with YOU. Charlie only agreed tah come here if I allowed his family to live with me. I had been thinkin’ we’d all benefited from the agreement, but now I’m startin’ tah wonder. Whatsamatter? You can teach him yer beliefs, but I can’t teach him mine? He’s curious! He asked me!”
They had seen the chocolatier lose his temper before, he always: raised his voice, didn’t giggle, and there was a complete lack of nervousness in him altogether. It was a startling and disturbing difference. Seemed they had found another sore point in the man, similar to the time when Mr. TeeVee tried to tell him that Loompaland didn’t exist or when Veruca thought whipping cows was a silly way to create ‘whipped’ cream.
“That’s true. I did.” Admitted Charlie in a soft voice. “I didn’t think there was something…wrong with that.”
“Niether did I.” Wonka looked hurt again. His eyelashes turned downward and his hands were balled into his lap. The anger had drained as quickly as it had risen.
Charlie was starting to get upset at his family again. Mr. Wonka was a fragile person under all of his bravado. He could sense that. Why couldn’t they?
There was a pause at the kitchen table. Much like Mr. Bucket, Grandma Josephine was finding that this conversation wasn’t working as she had intended it too. Perhaps that was because she was trying to converse with an adult which the chocolatier ceased to be from time to time. Sometimes she wondered if he really was completely dingy. Her husband had everyone convinced he was a genius from his tales, but meeting the man in person was another story altogether. Then again, fifteen years locked up in a factory with a rare species of humans might give anyone rats in their attic!
The candymaker had taken in a deep breath and began to speak, “The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.”
Mr. Wonka focused on only Charlie as he spoke those words with great sincerity. He didn’t use any of his usual slang.
Grandma Josephine gasped in response. “Isaih, eleven, six! Why, that’s from the Bible! Old testament in fact!”
“I know that.” Stated Wonka flatly. “I’ve read yer stuff. Heck, I’ve been listenin’ to it for most of my life too! When was the last time you met a Pagan or even bothered tah learn about us? Wut can you quote back at me, huh?”
The old woman only opened her mouth slightly, but found she had nothing to say in response. Grandpa Joe lowered his head when she looked at him.
Wonka gave a twist of his reddish mouth and glanced back up at her wrinkled, round light-colored eyes, “Didn’t think so. Humph. Judge not lest ye be judged. Jesus said that one, right?”
“He did.” Answered Grandpa Joe with pride at both Christ and Mr. Wonka.
Another silent pause filled the air. Every one of the Buckets was in a state of surprise. Some were feeling guilt, confusion, sympathy, and profound admiration on top of that surprise.
Satisfied that he had made his points, Mr. Wonka finally took a bite of the flakey pastry on his plate using a knife and fork. His eyes widened a great deal after tasting the morsel, “Are these my lollypop tree-fruits in this syrup?”
Mrs. Bucket grinned a little at Charlie. “Why yes, yes it is. What do you think?”
“I think it’s fantabulous! I could totally sell these thingamajiggies!” He smiled, looked affectionately at the product, and took one more careful bite. No one bothered to mention that his word of praise didn’t exist. After all, maybe it simply didn’t exist in their vernacular. One started to wonder what one truly understood around Willy Wonka.
Several of the Buckets were pleased to see that the mood in the room had lightened. They all proceeded to eat a little. Willy always took very small bites, which he chewed very thoroughly. When trying new flavors, the man got even more intense and introspective looks than usual in his eyes: analyzing the flavors like a complex computer. The color of his outfit made their purple hue especially noticeable today.
“Did ya show ‘em yer new gift yet?” Wonka casually said to Charlie, neatly dabbing at the corner of his mouth although there wasn’t a crumb to wipe away.
“We all saw the ring already, Wonka.” Stated Granpa George, grateful they could all get to eating now.
“Listen,” He added. “if you’re still feeling like passing out jewelry, I’d like to request a diamond choker.” The old man did his best to mock a feminine gesture as he finished speaking: batting his invisible eyelashes and tilting his eyes upward. Seemed some humor was in order.
“I’ll remember that.” Said the chocolatier with a pinch of sarcasm, “But I meant his athame. It’s a kind of knife.”
The word was pronounced ‘ah-tha-may’ - as if Willy had suddenly developed a lisp.
“You mean that thing in his book bag?” Slipped out of Mr. Bucket’s mouth before he could stop himself.
Both Wonka and Charlie stared at him blankly.
“Dad!” Said Charlie with annoyance. “So you were the one who touched my bag. Why were you poking through my things?! You didn’t touch it, did you?”
Mr. Bucket was flabbergasted. His son had never spoken to him like that in his life! This ‘witch’ or whatever he was, was having a very nasty effect on his child indeed.
The father responded, “I don’t like that tone young man, and as a matter of a fact, I didn’t touch it. I pulled it out by its cord. Your grown father thought it looked too DANGEROUS to touch. Also, you and Mr. Wonka should both know that I wouldn’t have been in your room in the first place, except that you had been sleepwalking! I was merely tucking you lovingly back into bed. And I only moved your bag because that new book of yours nearly gave me an ingrown toenail! It must weigh two stone!”
Wonka suddenly choked on his tea. He pounded on his own chest, eyes wide. When Charlie tried to touch his back soothingly, the man shook his head quickly from side to side, discouraging the contact. The boy pulled his hand away looking slightly rejected.
“Charlie was sleepwalking?” His mother looked at her son with great concern.
“I was?” Said the boy honestly unaware.
“Yes, you were.” Added Grandma Josephine. “You were wondering about on the lawn!”
Wonka and other family members made note that the old woman had seen the incident as well. The chocolatier’s eyes bounced between the two and narrowed his lids.
Mr. Bucket added before anyone could question that fact, “And it was a good thing we were…that is, we couldn’t sleep last night. we were awake to catch him leaving the house. He said he was chasing a unicorn with lavender eyes.” He gave a look at the still recovering chocolatier. “He never saw any unicorns of any kind until he looked into that black mirror thing of yours.”
“What’s that supposed tah mean?” Willy managed to croak out, one hand still pressed to his ruffled chest.
“It means that you have some explaining to do.” Mr. Bucket looked confident again.
“Wha? ME? Uh, First of all, I have never seen a unicorn in my life. Not inna dream, not inna house, not with a mouse, not here or there. Secondly, Madame Rose assures me that a horned horse is a very positive and powerful sign. Thirdly, it’s a good thing you were afraid of the knife because a gift athame is a great honor – it’s got all my energy in it and you’ll mess it up by touchin’ it with yer fiddly fingers. Fourthly. Oh! That sounds funny, ’fourthly’. Anyway…er…did you…ah…read the book that Charlie had picked outta my library?” Mr. Wonka seemed particularly nervous at the last bit of his statement and emphasized that THE BOY had chosen the book. Of course he had, since it was left right next to him. But that was beside the point.
“No, I thought he’d get upset at me for going through his things.” He gave a glance toward his huffy son. Why wouldn’t Wonka want him to look at a book about Greek and Roman History? Maybe he didn’t want him to know anything at all. That’s what it felt llike.
Mr. Bucket continued puzzling over everything Willy had said. “Who’s Madame Rose? What do you mean your energy. How does a knife hold energy of any kind?”
Mr. Wonka stood up placing the napkin that he had in his lap onto his plate. “Look, it’ll be easier if I simply get the goshdarn thing and show ya.”
“Uhn?” Charlie watched as the man marched over to his ladder and started to climb up. He stood up too and went to follow him. This time he was the one to secretly enjoy the view. Of course, Willy got to see Charlie without any underwear in that same position. So, as usual, he still had the upper hand.
Mr. Bucket watched them while resisting the urge to protest. He figured they’d be fine if the entire family was sitting right below them. Wasn’t like he couldn’t pop up there in a moment’s notice. He took a few more contemplative chews of his breakfast and glanced at his concerned wife. They began discussing the details of the night in more detail.
The boy’s attention was concerned with other things. He found his mentor paused in thought as he was absorbing the asymmetrical space that was his heir’s humble sleeping quarters. It was only the second time he had been up there.
Mr. Wonka was reflecting on the first time he had seen this mini-shrine to himself and his creations. The boy had taken him up to his room the day after they had been moved into the factory. It was that very second that he realized that he had not simply chosen, “the least rotten child” from the scrying mirror’s reflection. It was also in that very second that he realized there was a reason for that nagging, empty sensation he had been feeling without the lad. He had definitely done the right thing letting the Oompa-Loompas convince him to give the little boy a second chance. Ah, such loyal workers! It certainly wasn’t easy to talk him into doing anything – least of all, leaving his factory.
The candymaker sat at the foot of his heir’s bed with a proud look on his face and motioned for the boy to come over to him while patting his knee. Charlie shyly walked over and gratefully allowed himself to be embraced. It was wonderful to be enveloped in that heady scent and a relief to feel his touch again. All the sensations seemed more intense today. Was his affection growing that much?
Holding him tightly, like a favorite stuffed animal or a security blanket, Mr. Wonka said in a melancholy voice, “All this jibber-jabber is hurtin’ my jaw. Why can’t they understand me like you do?”
“Please,” the boy pleaded, “be patient with them.”
“Oh believe me…I am.” Came the somewhat ominous response. Mr. Wonka nuzzled the child’s neck and whispered further, “I really liked that kiss you gave me last night, it left me havin’ some difficulty getting to sleep myself.”
“Sorry.” Said Charlie with an unapologetic smile. “You’re all smooth today.”
“Mmn?” Willy looked at him confused, then figured out the reference of his comment. A sound of distaste escaped him as his mouth turned downward, “Tsk, Uhn. I was over-due for my weekly shave. I didn’t really want you to see me like that. Very uncouth.”
“Oh, I didn’t mind…” Charlie said with a slight pink in his cheeks remembering the sensation and reflecting on it. New thoughts quickly followed; Once a week? Dad and both his Grandfathers have to shave every day! Then again everyone in his family needed a haircut more often than twice a year too.
While the boy’s mind had wandered, so had his mentor’s.
“Uhh…ya know, this ‘little red riding hood’ of yers is makin’ me feel like the big bad wolf.” The man tugged at the garment and nipped at his slender neck.
A dizzying pulse went through the child from the contact. He let out a tiny yelp of excitement, noting that the fabric of the bodysuit on the man’s leg was very thin underneath him, which meant that it would be equally thin in other places as well…
“Charlie? Are you two all right up there?” Called up Mr. Bucket. It had only been about a minute, but he still didn’t like the delay or the high-pitched sound that came from his son. Grandma Josephine was attempting to look the little worn holes in the floor, but could only make out the pair’s feet near each other.
“Peachy keen! Just takin’ in the sights!” Trilled back Mr. Wonka with a Cheshire grin at Charlie. A small giggle was exchanged between the pair. The idea of doing things to his heir in the tiny bedroom, with his family right downstairs, was going to overwhelm his body in exactly two seconds. This particular opportunity would not be a good time for that.
He cleared his throat and slid the boy off of his knee. Besides, he was only giving the child and himself some much-needed reassurance - which he accomplished. He stood up and grabbed the bag while whispering, “I feel like I’m bein’ examined like a skittery ole’ lab rat. Let’s get this over with so we can go have fun!”
The boy got a mournful look on his face. He recalled how strange the chocolatier’s words had seemed when he first spoke them, “You can’t have a family dangling over yer head like some dead goose. A chocolatier has to fly FREE and SOLO! Goshdarn the consequences!”
He also thought about the warning that came with his recent promise, “It won’t always be…pleasant.” The child hadn’t realized that the family discord could be part of the ‘unpleasantness’. He assumed the action of his promise would affect only himself. Perhaps that wasn’t possible if one had a family.
“OK People. Here it is!” The fancifully dressed Willy Wonka held up the gleaming black sheath, having removed the double-sided blade inside. Gasps filled the room. It was beautiful, but it was also dangerous looking.
“Now, as you know, I have been teaching Charlie self-defense techniques along with his academics. Not only are such skills practical but they also quicken the mind. Creation takes a real sharp shooter and a drive to succeed is enhanced through dueling. That and he really gets a kick out of pretending to be Sir Galahad.”
The family all looked at each other as Wonka laughed and demonstrated a fencing positions at his delighted pupil. Mr. Bucket slapped a hand over his face. We’re all living and working for an insane candymaker who has given my son a knife.
“Anyway!” He bounced back to a lecture posture and gestured out one hand. “This is simply another step in that direction. Nuthin’ tah make a big deal about.”
“Thas’ sharp. The swords were wooden, right?” Cleared up Mr. Bucket.
A broad smile with eyes darting sideways accompanied the reply, “Uh-huh”. A pause followed by a “…usually.”
“Usually?!” The father leaned forward while his wife put one arm around his shoulder, biting her fingernails with the other.
Mr. Wonka took an exasperated sigh and pressed one beautiful, antique lace, cuffed hand to his temples. He gestured his other hand in a rolling motion with the knife toward whom he addressed next, “George, wouldja back me up on this.”
“He’s a boy. He should learn to fight. You should be grateful he’s teaching him something manly. Let’s all get to work already.” Simply stated the silvering, bald-headed man.
“Half a mo’.” Insisted his son, “What about that ‘energy’ thing?” The older man’s eyes had not left the object in Mr. Wonka’s hand. It was not as if the chocolatier needed anything to make him more menacing than he already could appear.
Charlie took the opportunity to explain on that point, since he could see that his mentor’s patience was wearing thin. He walked over and took the athame from Mr. Wonka’s other hand with great reverence. Then he walked over and presented it to his family while it lay upon his palms like an offering. He hoped the gesture would remove of all of its menace. Some members gasped again, but they couldn’t help studying the smooth handle and gleeming blade. Like his benefactor’s skin, it had a peculiar way of reflecting the light: as if its glow came from another place entirely.
The chestnut haired boy explained in a simple and gentle manner. “It’s nothing to be afraid of. See? By energy, he means this is a special thing like prayer beads or a family heirloom. Mr. Wonka just calls it something different.”
The boy continued as he walked around the table displaying the mystical object for everyone to examine, “Many of Mr. Wonka’s machines and recipes are very delicate and the knife represents the trust he feels in me to handle such responsibilities. It doesn’t need to be used as a weapon – the blade is more symbolic than anything. I promise I’ll be careful. Besides, you said you wouldn’t get mad if we told you things from now on. ‘Member?”
He gave his patchwork dressed family the best, adorable ‘little boy grin’ in his wardrobe.
His mentor peeked out from under the material of his fanciful cuff. Wow, he was impressed. That was a totally different way to go in the vicinity of manipulation. Huh. He never thought of cuteness and sincerity as weapons before. Well, they certainly had been disarming him lately, hadn’t they?
Mr. Bucket’s mouth stayed slightly parted as he looked at the chocolatier, his brooding father, his encouraging wife, contemplative Grandma Josephine, cheerful Grandma Georgina, and dedicated Grandpa Joe before looking back into the sweet face of his son. He really had nowhere to go at this point. He could forbid it, but that would go over like a lead balloon. “Charlie…I…I’m not going to say that I don’t trust you, but I certainly hope Mr. Wonka isn’t going to make giving you artillery a habit. It still seems…unusual for making chocolate and candy.”
“Nonsense. It’s no more unusual than a satellite or a Great Glass Elevator or…a Golden Ticket. For you see, my dear Buckets, things can be connected in the most startling of ways if one only has the eyes to see it. Charlie is already beginning to understand that.” The man said this in his usually animated, over-enunciated, and instructive manner that rubbed the boy’s father the wrong way. He had also widened his own unusual optics at the phrase, “eyes to see it”.
Still, his statement gave everyone great pause; it was very thought provoking. How someone who often acted like someone one apple short of a barrel could sound so wise was a mystery.
“Now then! May Charlie and I please get on with our day?” Mr. Wonka had already picked up his cane in anticipation of release from the Bucket household. His cane was different today. The length of it was more oval than circular, it was sleek and black (like the sheath of the athame knife) with silver accents, and possessed a long, horned bone handle that curled around his hand in place of where the usual spiral ball would normally reside. It was an exotic-looking thing that went well with the fanciful outfit.
The mother protested their departure, “But you hardly ate anything! At least let me pack you a snack to go.”
She immediately started to assemble a collection of food for the two of them.
Mr. Wonka stood in the doorway watching her with a transfixed gaze; sadness seemed to flicker where the darkness ate their glimmer. Eyes were indeed the windows to the soul and Willy Wonka’s revealed the complexities of kaleidoscope. The man snapped out of his thoughts with a quirky request for their treats to be put into a basket. In fact, he insisted that they were presented in exactly that manner.
Grandma Georgina gleefully dumped out the knitting from one of hers and handed it to Charlie’s mother for the towel wrapped treats. Only when the boy took the basket did the family understand the joke. Mrs. Bucket, Grandma Georgina, and Grandpa Joe giggled at the image of Charlie in the red hooded garment with the woven basket.
“Hey, whatever it takes to keep him from huffing and puffing and blowing our house down.” Stated George slapping his halted son on the back.
From a slight distance, Mr. Wonka called out, “Mr. Bucket, I’ll try tah find time to stop in on you today. My Oompa-Loompas tell me you’re having some trouble with my purple prints. Guess I shoulda made them simplier. Oh, well. T.T.F.N!”
Mr. Bucket looked at him with his face a bit contorted. He knew the OL’s would snitch, he knew what purple prints were, he got the implied insult about his intelligence, but the last bit made no sense at all.
“Tah tah for now!” Announced Charlie gleefully as he was pulled away.

The Oompa Loompas could be heard singing in the background as their unique employers headed into the wild grassy field:
Give a man enough rope,
And he’ll hang himself, the giant dope!
Waiting to strike,
Holding our might,
It’s a show to watch them fight!

In order to win one pure heart,
First the family’s worry must part,
We will not pry,
We must not force,
Simply let things follow course.

For who is foolish and who is wise,
When love beats out the sweetest prize?
Fortunately, it was always a bit tricky to make out the words in their heavily rhythmic lyrics. But Willy Wonka didn’t care. Not holding the hand of his betrothed heir. Still the morning had set a mood. It most certainly had set his mind to brood. His thoughts were colored like the hood of red and something soon would surely be dead.
Author's Notes: Oh, and I know why Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator ain’t as revved up as the first book. It’s the Buckets! Dang it! It takes a long time to write/think about all those people! And you don’t care, do you? I know all yer thinking is, “Aw, they didn’t do it!” Ya bunch of perves! I’m a writer not a porn machine. Nah, I’m foolin’. I missed it too, but good things happen to those who wait and I like tah make you wait. (evil grin)
SPECIAL THANKS EVERYONE THOSE FEW WHO REVIEWED! Rose, Dez, and Lina you were the first in this forum to give me encouragement. Anon and Liz, you both made me laugh and smile and I needed it. Thank you. Hey, I understand...I used to visit here and not say anything so I don't expect everyone to leave a note but it takes more time, thought, and energy than you might believe to create the tales that "entertain" you.
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