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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
- 10
- 11
- 12
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 XI
By: IDOL HANDS
Rating: Mature Demented Audiences (M.D.A. – he,he,he)
Warnings: For dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, violence, religion, and an under-aged/adult slash (Shouta) relationship in the story and history itself.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. Lewis Carroll is always an inspiration and so is J.M. Barrie. Edward Gorey also gets a mention, but I don’t think he would mind. Wonder if the great masters of fine art would?
Summary: More adventures in the factory! Josephine gets a visitor at work after planting more ideas in her son-in-law’s head. Meanwhile Mr. Wonka is planting more ideas into Charlie’s as the boy learns that the chocolatier has very strange ideas for plants and a jungle inside his own mind. Beware, the man has a bee in his bonnet today.

"Off with her head!"

“So, do you trust him?” Asked Mr. Bucket of Grandma Josephine. The two of them were headed in relatively similar directions. The younger of the two slowed his usual pace to walk alongside the alert nonagarian this morning. While she was wearing a homemade outfit in common cotton patterns, her son-in-law was dressed in his usual synthetic sleek overalls and brightly colored long sleeved shirt.
“Oh, I don’t know. He footles around so much that it’s hard to know. One minute you think he’s a genius and the next minute he seems to be completely balmy.” The old woman looked like a sunken pumpkin as she contemplated the entire situation.
She continued a second later with one crooked-fingered hand to her chin, “Maybe reading up on that religion of his wouldn’t be a bad idea. Know thy enemy and all that.”
“Know thy enemy, huh?” Repeated Mr. Bucket while pulling down the goggles that he would need in a few moments.
“I meant it figuratively of course. Mr. Wonka isn’t really our enemy, more like a… troublesome eccentric old uncle.” At least she thought she meant it figuratively.
Mr. Bucket laughed more wickedly than he should at the description. It drew the attention of the near-by Oompa-Loompas.
“One last thing.” Stated the round-faced eldest Bucket woman.
“Hm?” Asked the head engineer and father.
“Start wearing that old wedding ring of yours and I’ll get my daughter to do the same. I don’t care if it is a worthless old piece of junk – it’s wot it stands for that matters. Wot will Willy think of a woman with no ring on her finger when he sees fit to pass them out to children in order to cement friendship?” The skin above her right eye had a large arch to it, causing creases of wisdom to ripple across her face. She was right; Mr. and Mrs. Bucket hadn’t worn their simulated wedding rings in quite some time.
The man’s lips disappeared in concern as he pondered her suggestion thoroughly. He had been so fixated on Mr. Wonka’s attention to his son (in combination with his extravagant ways) that such notions about his wife had never occurred to him. Grandma Josephine had added two new worries to his list: religion and his spousal relationship. His wife leaving him for Willy Wonka should seem absurd. I mean he was…that is…wot if he wasn’t?
Mr. Bucket agreed and the two parted ways to their respective responsibilities. For now, they would make the best of the circumstance – both relieved to have another soul to talk to.

Meanwhile, in the Great Glass Elevator another pair were beginning their own daily adventures.
Now that the two were alone together, Charlie could finally indulge himself in admiring the extravagant outfit that his mentor had chosen to wear. Mr. Wonka looked like a fairy prince from a ballet to the child. The cropped suede jacket was nearly as fitted as the black bodysuit underneath; the tails of the embroidered garment curved with the shape of his posterior and exposed a satin lining underneath. There were black curls and swirls embellished in sequins on both the tailcoat and the boots that covered his knees. The boy had no idea that a man could dress so fancifully! Somehow neither that nor the lavish lace cuffs and cravat took away from his masculinity. Perhaps that was because the part of him that established said masculinity was rather well displayed.
Mr. Wonka continued to look to his right, out through the superiorly enforced glass wall of his fantastic elevator. Their journeys to the distant rooms allowed him an opportunity to survey progress in the factory at lightening speed. Currently it was also giving his pupil an opportunity to examine his mentor’s form freely. At first, Charlie tried to be respectful and not stare, but in another few seconds he couldn’t resist the temptation to look in one particular place that had been on his mind. His eyes darted down only for a glipse. Then, after ensuring that his benefactor was still examining the factory…a second time. The curve at the front of the outfit held his attention for slightly longer this time as he tried to discern shapes.
Naturally, Mr. Wonka turned his head at the exact time that Charlie had his eyes locked onto his lower anatomy. So fast was the movement that his bouncy bobbed hair had swung in front of his bold lips. They weren’t needed anyway; the smirk was clear even in his eyes.
The boy’s eyes were as wide as saucers upon getting caught. He had the knee-jerk reaction of turning his head away at the exact same speed that the man had turned toward him. It wasn’t very subtle at all. Then again, neither was the color of his face at the moment. Between the two, he’d choose turning away.
He could hear the man chuckling and humming to himself in the boy’s awkward silence. He spoke after a moment, “Don’t feel too bad. It’s my fault anyway. I’m sorta askin’ for it in this get-up, but I can’t help it. I’m feelin’ so alive and confident!”
“Really?” The boy looked back at him meekly. The man was swinging his hips from side to side and had a proud smile on his face. Charlie finished softly, “Thas’ good, cause I was worried that…bit with my family had put a…damper on things.”
Wonka looked at the child’s sad face. Something inside of him felt badly and he had no idea why. It pinched somewhere around his heart. He didn’t like it. He told it to go away and stop bothering him along with the countless other things that had tried to get in there over the decades. He had set things up to go this way, so he should be feeling accomplished. Besides, it wasn’t his fault they were such spoilsports and simpletons. Perhaps it was time for a session with Jung again.
“It has gotten kinda uptight, huh?” He said still looking at the golden ticket winner’s sad face.
“Well, you’re mad at Dad like he’s mad at you, right?” The boy made the statement while passing the Squirrel Only Gym. Its specially designed miniature mazes, hoops, trampolines, showers, and exercise equipment made a charming distraction. Unlike Veruca, the fluffy tailed animals liked Mr. Wonka’s heir and allowed him into the Nut Room’s inner area without any consequence. They didn’t even knock him on the head.
“Wha-Why-I-simply forget my own strength sometimes, that’s all. ‘Sides I didn’t realize he was so delicate.” Wonka lifted up one hand with his pinky raised.
Charlie gave him a teasingly suspicious look.
The man immediately averted his eyes. “Wut? I do forget! I’ve learned to hold a lot back bein’ around the Oompa-Loompas all the time. Wouldn’t want to hurt them now, would I?”
“Mmnn.” The boy was listening, but having his own thoughts. Oompa-loompas were made of stern stuff from what he had seen. However, he would take Madame Rose’s advice and avoid ruining any ‘games’ for now. He sighed. “Well, I’m mad at him a little even if you say you aren’t.”
A huge grin was desperately attempting to appear on Mr. Wonka’s face. It would have to settle for being allowed to creep in along the edges and settle in the flicker of his orchid-colored irises. The whole thing was eliminated by the child’s next comment anyway.
“The way you looked at mum before we left…it made me think. Who took care of you when you were growing up? Who made sure you had food to eat? How did you manage to live on your own when you were my age?” When the young Charlie Bucket looked up at his mentor’s face there was an expression upon it as if an arrow had shot him.
The child felt terrible for having triggered such a reaction. However, it was easy to do with Wonka’s sensitivity and his own inquisitiveness. “I-I’m sorry Mr. Wonka. If it’s too personal you don’t have to answer.”
And he didn’t for a few more seconds. He didn’t even blink. Then, slowly, like a toy given a new battery he began to work again. “No…it’s…alright. Saw that in my eyes, did ya?”
“Yes.” The boy responded with trepidation.
“Whaddaya see now?” He stared directly into Charlie’s blue hazel ones. To the candy maker they nearly looked like the planet Earth itself as seen from a great distance. He stared hard.
This was one thing the boy wasn’t good at – taking in all of Mr. Wonka all at once. It was too much. Yet it was over-whelming in a tantalizing way since he couldn’t look away either. Looking into them he saw layers; purple, lavender, and blue colors shifting above a dark lake. Even the brows above the eyes were intimidating; bold, arched, and perched like eagles. He could move them a thousand ways, some of them riotous; it was only when they stopped moving that they became the most intimidating. The pupils expanded and contracted in subtle ways that had nothing to do with the light. Inside that moment was a fraction of a second, the smallest halting of time, in which he saw…he saw…
“I don’t know.” The child’s voice sounded breathless and pained.
Mr. Wonka didn’t pull away immediately. He held him in the grasp of his gaze a second longer before looking away with disappointment. “Then ya aren’t ready to hear the story.”
The child’s mouth parted open and he spit out what he had wanted to say but was afraid to, “I saw myself.”
He still wasn’t sure if he should have said it.
The eyes slid back towards him while the rest of his features stayed slack. Mr. Wonka’s voice got deeper, “Go on.”
Charlie gulped and tried to explain, “Under all the things I still don’t really understand, under all of wot I call magic…” He felt very self-conscious saying that out loud. It was a secret thing that he believed but didn’t quite have proof of: something that could be objected to. But it wasn’t.
He continued, certain that everything he was saying was wrong or arrogant or too personal and that he was heading toward a slap. He’d take a chance that he wasn’t. “I mean a piece of you…a tiny sliver was…”
The child fiddled at the pom-pom drawstrings. His eyes caught the new exotic cane while still deliberately avoiding his mentors. He quickly threw them forward as he stopped in reaction. No fiddling.
Charlie’s eyes watered up, “I thought I saw…pain, and hunger, and…loneliness…and so much sadne--”

Each word hurt more to say. His throat was closing in on him. He really had felt such things in his life and couldn’t bear the idea of Mr. Wonka having been through the same. It brought back his own pain all over again. Desperate for privacy in a place where none could be found, he resorted to hiding his face under a drawn up arm; the knitted shawl creating small curtain.
“Bet ya didn’t know that was inside of yerself.” The voice had an undercurrent of coldness to it.
The boy’s head shook back and forth with a sniffle.
The corner of Mr. Wonka’s mouth turned downward and an ashamed expression replaced the previous one. He sort of tapped Charlie’s arm, “I uh,…I didn’t mean tah do that ya know.”
The boy lowered his arm and peered up at the chocolate maker. A second later he burst forward and wrapped his arms very tightly around the man. “Bu-but you didn’t have anyone when you felt like that. I did.”
The momentum of the elevator and the quickness of their next turn managed to throw them off balance and against one of the walls. Mr. Wonka was caught completely off guard. He allowed himself to absorb the sensations of compassion and love – somehow it felt good and hurt at the exact same time. His father’s embrace had felt similar, something akin to alcohol on an open wound. He gently pushed the boy away from himself by his narrow shoulders.
His pupil couldn’t complain since they both had to stop and wave around. They were completely surrounded by a group of cheerful and floating Oompa-Loompas in the Fizzing Lifting Drinks room. Mr. Wonka had allowed Charlie and his family to indulge in the carbonated concoctions whose bubbles made one become weightless and allowed them to fly. It was one of those perfect first days. Then again, maybe no day had been truly perfect – he merely had found all his family’s griping and uncertainty to be amusing. A little while later and the joke had worn off.
The echoing of belching in varying pitches bid them farewell as the elevator continued to speed off. The tiny floating men with long ropes and anchors disappeared out of all view. A lace handkerchief was dangled in front of the child as he wiped at his cheeks. The boy looked back at Wonka who wasn’t making eye contact with him.
“I survived, ‘kay? That’s all that’s important.” He said in a graven tone. “I…I can’t handle anymore jibber-jabber.”
He was shutting himself off again. Charlie could feel it like a circuit overload. No more personal questions or heavy emotions right now. Perhaps reminding him of a more pleasant time would help.
“May I ask, where we’re headed?” He glanced coyly upward, “Is it the Forbidden Room again?”
The candymaker’s lifeless expression livened up slightly. He bit his bottom lip and turned one eyebrow upward, “Much as I’d like that, No. I promised Madame Rose I wouldn’t take ya there without…supervision.”
“Big bad wolf.” Charlie chided in jest.
Wonka managed to chuckle softly at that. Then his face froze, biting only one side of his lip and keeping the one eyebrow upward in a less certain manner. “That reminds me…we should make a quick stop in The Literary Allusions Room and return that toe-stubbing book of mine.”
A flick of his finger and they were off in another direction.
Charlie followed Mr. Wonka into the library. Seeing the room in all it’s softly tinted glory he had to mention, “I always like staring at the lollypop wall. I think it’s all the swirls and things. No wonder you wrote ‘Dare to Dream’ in it.”
“Huh? Oh. Good to know. They don’t make very good scrying mirrors though. Believe me, I’ve tried. But I guess yer right, they are still neat tah look at. Each one comes out different like a snowflake. Yeah.” He paused briefly with his young friend to stare at the ripples and bubbles in the thick layer of solid syrup.
In a moment the boy watched him climb up one of the built-in ladders to a fairly high shelf. The man grunted a bit as he did so, muttering something about his leg. The boy was surprised that, while looking up, he could still make out the titles of the books from down where he was. Had his eyesight improved?
“Mr. Wonka, Can I read the book next to the Greek and Roman one? The one about ancient Japan?” The child’s voice politely inquired up the ladder.
“Uh..well, that one also has stuff about…things that took place in history similar to what went on during the reign of Alexander the Great.” A nervous giggle followed.
“Really? You mean the men and the boys in that country also…” The child couldn’t manage to finish his sentence.
“Yeah.” Wonka’s voice was high-pitched again and there was a second giggle.
“Really?!” The boy repeated with more surprise.
Mr. Wonka came down with the book and handed it to him, “See fer yerself if ya don’t believe me. I never joke.”
The boy clutched the book with some embarrassment, looking at it, then Wonka, then it again. “Go on, scoot, scoot. It’s perfectly safe to read for a bit while yer in here. Besides, I got a few other subjects that I wanna brush up on before we continue onward.”
As usual, whether the boy initially believed it or not – what Mr. Wonka said was true! Amongst all the information about Ancient Japan was the fact that Buddhist monks and Samurai warriors had relationships with young, often child-aged assistants and protégés. In some instances the relationship became life-long partnerships. The Bucket child studied the band around his ring finger. A warm, special feeling ran through him and caused his heart to flutter uncontrollably.
The book went on about how valuable such relationships could be, how they were considered normal & positive and were deeply cherished by those who practiced them. The only difference from the Greeks was that the boy was encouraged to make the first move toward the adult male. Charlie couldn’t suppress a naughty grin at such an idea. Afraid he’d get caught, he cleared his mind and read on.
There was also a type of theater called ‘Kabuki’ where all the roles were played by men. Those actors who convincingly portrayed the idealistic female parts were the most revered and sought after by top warriors and powerful men! When he turned that page of text, he found glossy pages of woodprint artwork from the period. He was shocked at how explicit the old drawings were, but resisted the urge to gasp or make a sound. Now he had a good idea of what his mentor looked like underneath that elastic garment!
One finger in his mouth (a habit he picked up from his mother), he turned to make sure Mr. Wonka was still on the ladder. He was. However, he had just pulled a long tassel that dangled from the ceiling. Subsequently, a good-sized model airplane that had been resting on a shelf, activated, and flew around the shelves in a circle until it reached the man on the ladder who called it.
A model of a flying device decorated each level of the bookshelves, items such as: a bi-plane, a blimp, a rocket ship, even a U.F.O. shaped one. All of them were designed to hold things. The boy had assumed they were merely models. Mr. Wonka proceeded to plop the bound volumes into the seats of the strange-looking one that he had called. Barely making a small buzzing sound, the vehicle flew down to the table, while Charlie watched it enraptured. So, that’s what those tassels were for!
“I’ve never seen a plane that looked like that before.” He studied the intricate thing with fascination. It looked as if it were made of paper and wood; the wings resembled bird’s wings than those on a traditional jet airplane.
“I based it on Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘Ornithopter’. Yeah. He was an Italian guy who came up with the idea for men flying in the year 1480. Talk about ahead a yer time! You should read about him too. He was an artist, a scientist, a rebel, an inventor and…” The man had finally walked his way over to where Charlie was. He reached over the distracted child’s shoulder and tapped at the art pages that were exposed in his pupil’s book.
Now the boy gasped, blushed, and shut the book with a sudden and piercing:
“whap!”
“Oh!” Wonka jerked up his hand, “Good thing I got fast reflexes or I’d be one pointer finger short right now little boy. And that’d be a pity ‘cause I am awfully fond of pointin’ at stuff.” Charlie felt a sharp pinch on his left earlobe.
“Yer lucky that I’m plannin’ on workin’ out my aggression in other ways today or you’d be gettin’ a lot more than a pinch.” After chastising his pupil, Wonka flipped up his coat tails and sat down at the head of the table a few chairs away.
“So, you’re saying that Mr. da Vinci was a…” The boy was rubbing his sore ear and anxious to change the subject back to the previous one.
“Yup. He liked boys, young, pretty ones. Usually kept them as assistants for many years. Drew pictures of them even.” Mr. Wonka sounded distracted, as he was busily laying out the four books in front of himself, opening each one to a specific page. Charlie noticed that they were in more than one language and that one looked scientific.
Suddenly he looked up from his texts. “I’d like tah draw a picture of you too sometime if you’d let me.”
“Y-you would? But, I’m not p-pretty at all.” That last comment felt funny to say out loud. He fiddled with his hair in hopes of reassurance (a habit he had picked up from his father).
Wonka’s eyes got a wise look in them and a smile to match. It was the kindest he had looked all morning since that barely visible, private grin during breakfast. “Then all yer mirrors must be broken kiddo. Ya GOTTA let me paint you now so that I can show you the beauty that I see.”
This time the child wasn’t upset when the red color flared into his cheeks. Eyes turned away and fingers on the pom-poms of the hooded shawl’s drawstring, he shyly answered, “Alright, if…if you insist.”
“I most certainly do.” The smile was still pleasant despite the eyes taking on a glimmer of ‘wolf’. The boy had continued studying the puffy balls of cotton so he never noticed.
A few seconds of flattered reflection followed while the child realized how much better he felt about everything between them again. It made him come to the conclusion that Willy Wonka was very good indeed at making him feel comfortable about things that were viewed as odd; once understood from another point of view, they hardly seemed unusual at all. In fact, people who didn’t understand were starting to look far odder. He looked back at his mentor, who was still peering over his multitude of information, “I had no idea that so many people in history did that sort of thing…famous ones even.”
“Yeah.” Wonka chirped back as he tapped a line in the index of one of the books and quickly flipped to the correct chapter, “Michelangelo too. Well, actually, I think he was more of a cad - lovers by the dozen. Or so I’ve heard. Anyway, I really need tah concentrate, so stay quite for a few minutes. ‘Kay?”
Charlie pushed his lips flat together and fiddled with his ring under the table. Something deep inside him was glad that he probably wasn’t going to be one of dozens. It was still hard to believe that he could be so special to someone a hundred times more special than himself.
Wonka took a fast breath, widened his eyes and proceeded to scan the words in the book to his upper left at an amazing speed. The eyes darted back and forth in a way that indicated he was actually reading! In approximately thirty seconds, he flipped the page, and turned his attention to the book at the lower left, before moving on to the one on the upper and lower right side. The entire process was repeated with all four books.
It wasn’t possible! No one could read that fast! Charlie was watching with his mouth open. So that’s how he managed to read all the books in the library!
In mere moments Mr. Wonka had read the data he required in all four books. A small chuckle followed as he closed the last one. To his pupil’s curious eyes, he stated, “Edward Gorey – his stuff cracks me up every time. Ah, a little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”
The fancifully dressed man piled up the four he had been reading and picked up the others. “Here, put these in yer bookbag. They’re about Paganism – read ‘em, show ‘em to yer family, sever yer father’s toes with ‘em. They’re perfectly safe. C’mon, let’s get this show on the road!”
“Mr. Wonka?” Charlie hesitated as the chocolatier sauntered toward the vaulted door.
“Hm? What is it?” He twisted at the waist, one hand prone with their basket and one elegantly grasping the cane.
“Maybe we should let my family see the other books. Maybe then they’d understand.” His voice sounded so hopeful and pure.
Willy’s eyes searched around as he did the same inside his mind, “Uh, maybe not just yet Charlie. Give ‘em a little more time to adjust tah things then…maybe. Anyway, I’m kinda enjoying keepin’ it secret. Feels more…”
“Special?” The boy suggested.
“Yeah.” He answered sweetly, even though that wasn’t one of the words that were springing to mind: passionate, kinky, and erotic were. However, this one pleased his heir more so it would suffice. The man waited for the child to reach his side so that he could hold his hand again.
The rooms continued to come into view as they got back aboard the transparent transportation device. Eventually, the elevator shifted them into some unpredictable position. They had reached a point where it would release and free-float before hooking back onto an entirely new system of tracks and pullies like a sophisticated trapeze act. How had Mr. Wonka designed such a complex, strange system? It reminded Charlie of the game “Mousetrap”. His head was moving all around to take in the mechanical marvel. He’d never ridden a rollercoaster, but they couldn’t possibly compare to this!
Wonka turned his head into an equally awkward position to address his pupil, “Ah, we are headed to the Secret Ingredients Room to harvest some of my most special ingredients.”
That sounded interesting! Thought his heir. Hmm, harvesting them must be rather tricky if they had to wear these flexible cat suits in order to do it.
A large circular door came into view; it had the symbol-based language of the Oompa-Loompas written in bold, red print under a yellow and black striped awning. The door split open in a spiraling motion allowing the elevator to slide in. It shut immediately after they entered. They were moving far above a vast and complex jungle. Below were the tops of strange trees, vines, and the occasional splashes of vivid colors. Something buzzed loudly past the glass near Charlie at a speed that made it impossible for him to make out what it was.
The boy looked at his mentor whose grin had disappeared and was surveying the room with a deeply studious gaze. He clutched his new, strange cane tightly and squelched the fingers of his other hand together.
Charlie wondered what was making him so tense.
The elevator stopped in front of a sprawling tree-house. It rested at the top of a tree with a trunk as broad as a skyscraper. The boy stepped off with his mentor and immediately looked around upon entering the spacious dwelling. He placed his goodie basket onto the nearest tabletop; its legs were made out of the real feet of some animal with giant claws. The child continued to examine all of the wooden and rustic looking interior while the chocolatier opened up a locked armoire. The youngest Bucket took note that Mr. Wonka found the correct key for it on the first try. He got a quick, cute smirk at the turn of his bow-shaped mouth.
“We’ve been joy riddin’ until now. It’s time for some ugly truths today, Charlie.” The man said while pulling out what looked like iridescent armor. One large set in magenta and purple hues and a smaller one in royal blue and green colors.
That comment had made the boy nervous. He walked back over from his inspection of the swing set on the porch. “Why do truths have to be ugly, Mr. Wonka?”
“Because there’s nowhere tah hide.” His face acquired a far-away and dangerous look while he stared downward into some unseen oblivion. Quickly the eyes shot up again with a meaningless smile and his usual quirky laugh.
His pupil blinked up at him. Wonka flexed his fingers and looked around until a grappling hook, which he had laid on the table, caught his attention. “Hey, checkit out.”
The man picked up the metal object and tucked it under his sleeve, puffed out his ruffled chest, covered one eye with the other hand, and tilted his hat fitted head in a menacing way, “Argh!”
Charlie laughed out loud at the obvious similarity to Captain Hook. Wonka laughed menacingly back and approached to pull off the red hoodie with his new claw-like hand. The warmth of the garment in the warm environment had become cumbersome anyway. The whole charade helped to take the edge off the moment.
Wonka then put the hook down to remove his hat and outer coat, leaving the cravat and the removable cuffs. Once those were removed, his entire sleek physique was revealed in the black body stocking save for his gloves and the suede boots. The boy glanced up and down the slim muscular silhouette as his mentor did the same to his delicately formed one. They exchanged polite smiles. The man took his heir’s hand and encouraged him to twirl around once before doing the same in a ballet stance. He ended with a regal bow to the floor.
While bent down, he began to show the child how to attach the unique armor. The boy was informed that it was made from the shells of insects from far-away and rarely traversed places. The hard and shimmering plates did look and feel like parts of a beetle, but it must have been one as big as the stuffed one in Mr. Wonka’s room to create such large and seamless plates.
Eventually Charlie felt his mentor’s hand reach under and caress his derriere. It seemed like a superfluously long gesture in order to attach the codpiece correctly underneath him. Once he was over his surprise, the boy looked down at his benefactor with an amused and suspicious glance.
The man began a lecture, hand still cupped in place, as he looked up at his heir. “Alexander the Great and King Arthur were warriors of the highest degree. Even in the face of fear and great peril, they never backed down. Bravery and courage are real important and I think you got that in spades. Today we’re gonna put it to the test!”
A gleaming, commercial quality smile followed.
He stood up and continued while strapping his armor to himself. Guards were put onto his forearms and over the shins of the boots. A chest plate that recreated the structure of muscles was next. “Think of this like a real-life video game. Unrestrained aggression like that mumbler had is a waste, but a skilled, useful, and timely release of malevolence…”
The features of his face had started to resemble arousal. He took a breath of anticipation and re-focused on his heir’s face with a wide smile, “Now, that’s healthy!”
Charlie did not look as certain as his friend about that statement. Apparently the armor was not only for show or play. He watched as Mr. Wonka placed the last piece of armor onto his head. It was a helmet that bore a resembled to those in Roman illustrations: carved low around both eyes and arched down the sides of his head with a bridge extending down the nose. The brightly colored bush across the top was especially eye-catching and commanding. However, the boy liked how it matched the chocolatier’s cane in its black and silver style.
The Bucket child had a smaller helmet strapped on with a spike coming from the top. His job was to collect things, but his mentor told him to wear his knife along with the empty packs.
The man walked back over and slapped his heir playfully on his pert butt. Charlie felt a pleasant tingle run through his body. He had seen athletes do this to each other, but had no idea how it would feel to receive one. His parents had not used corporal punishment on him. Maybe it was better they hadn’t from his reaction to it.
Wonka’s grin was tight and genuinely excited, “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ bad happen to ya. All you hafta do is stay by my side.”
The reassurance that the boy felt after that statement was short-lived as the candy-maker did something startling immediately after. Wonka had gripped the base of his cane in one hand while withdrawing the rest from the ornate, horned handle. Completely drawn, a long and slim Samurai-like sword was exposed.
Lavender eyes were reflected in extreme examination of its razor sharp metal surface. A voice (that some might describe as demented) slowly stated, “Watch…and learn.”

Not long after that, Grandpa Joe was making his way over to his wife so that they could share lunch together. He often did that, but today he had lots of news to share so his pace was a bit quicker. Simply the knowledge that he was going to see Mr. Wonka’s amazing factory and the man himself again had created a small miracle; he stood and danced for the first time in TWENTY years! Working in such a trusted position practically put him on cloud nine. There were still a lot of aches and pains, but they simply didn’t bother him as much.
The thin man took a quick detour to see how Grandma Georgina was doing in the Whizzdoodles Room, for Wonka referred to inspirational free thoughts as such. He peered in on her room from The Great Glass Elevator and saw that she was busily knitting (a smaller version of her poncho in blue) and listening to classical music today. She had a really fun job. It was simply reacting to things that Mr. Wonka gave her and writing down what they made her think of or letting the workers do it for her. Sometimes she inspected objects or viewed them on a screen; images of new ideas for products, famous works of art, ingredients for candy, things as common as shoes, or just colors. For some reason Mr. Wonka found Grandma Georgina’s random thoughts and words very inspiring. It made the old woman feel quite vital and it was hard to stop her from doing it at times. He heard her exclaim:
“Applesauce!”
“Tiddly Winks!”
“Whoever heard a giraffe laugh?”
The clarity of her brain seemed to be improving since she started doing it. She even composed a poem one day, out of admiration, for the quick thinking chocolatier. It was inane and simple, but Mr. Wonka took it straight to the Oompa-Loompas who made a song out of it by dinnertime. She was thrilled to no end! No wonder the old girl thought he had a schoolboy crush on her.
“Men in tights!”
Came a last response before the elevator sped over to Grandma Josephine’s job in the Administration Offices. He chuckled remembering Georgina’s leering at Mr. Wonka’s outfit during breakfast. His wife, on the other hand, thought it wasn’t decent, but a long time ago such things were and they still were in fields of entertainment. The chocolatier certainly was good at looking like something from a fantasy come to life. Then again, bringing flights of fancy to life was his specialty wasn’t it?
The elevator sliced down the center of layered circular floors. Mr. Wonka seemed fond of circles and especially spirals. Other strong geometric patterns could be found, but circular objects were especially prevalent. The old man tipped his hat to the bevy of female Oompa-Loompas in matching pink cardigans and pearls. They were all chuckling away.
“Wot’s so funny?” He walked over to his wife in the cafeteria area. They usually had lunch in the pirvate nook since she preferred it that way.
“Search me. Something about hot-dogs, French fries, and milkshakes for lunch is hysterical to them.” She shook her head and put down the teacup to allow her husband to give her a peck on the cheek.
“I don’t know about funny, but it does sound tasty.” The man helped himself to a sampling of all the offerings. Lunch was often provided for the various work teams, by yet another team of chefs. Mr. Wonka had a job for whatever an Oompa-loompa had a proclivity for. The Public Relations spokesperson sat down across from her at the dainty styled table. Its size was created specifically for Josephine’s presence.
His wife examined the tailored and colorful suit that her husband was wearing as he sat down. It looked well on him and reminded her of his days at the candy shop. The short-brimmed hat with the ribbon was a nice touch too. The only thing she didn’t like was the tie with the little swirled W’s all over them. “My aren’t we looking dashing today? Is our Willy dressing you now too?”
“Oh no, nothing like that.” He seemed nearly embarrassed and pushed his large glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Wonka simply likes me to dress up when I do video interviews. There’s a closet in my office filled with this sort of thing. Makes a better presentation than our moth-eaten threads.”
“Mn, I suppose. I like my old dresses though.” She took a bite from her hot dog that caused a few of the female Oompa-Loompas to titter. The old woman pursed her lips at them.
Starting on his own meal the eldest Bucket began his small talk, “I think the launch of his perfumes went well.”
He flicked out his wrist to her and she smelled the intense aroma of WhippleScrumptous Fudgemallow delight. It reminded her of Charlie’s recent birthday when he shared it all with them; such a sweet and sensitive child. She stated dreamily, “Uhn, I can almost taste it.”
“If you spray it on your body, you really will!” He said as a jubilant child might. Quickly he removed a chocolate colored mini-atomizer and squirted her once.
Before she could complain there was a distinct flavor on the tip of her tongue. She smacked her lips several times. “That’s amazing! It did taste like I had chocolate in my mouth!”
“Each one does something different! The Cinnamon Kisses makes you feel like you’ve been kissed all over your face. The Shakespeare Mint improves your ability to speak. The Pilatte Coffee gives you the feeling of being instantly refreshed and there’s even more!”
Grandma Josephine had to laugh. “I don’t know how he does it. It’s as ingenious and ridiculous as Willy Wonka himself.”
“You know, you gave him a rather hard time this morning. It might have hurt his feelings.” This subject had been pestering his psyche all day.
“Joe, for Heaven’s sake, he’s a grown man. A professional and a businessman, I might add. If he can’t take a little old lady voicing legitimate concerns about her grandchild’s spirituality then he needs to grow up.” She was quite certain in her tone.
Her husband gave her a look that said he didn’t agree but didn’t want to challenge her.
“We’ll fix his silly Brussel sprout ice cream and then he’ll see I meant no ill will, alright?” She reminded herself that compromise was necessary in both marriage and business. Still, she was also working under the pretense of ‘know thy enemy’.
She sighed, “And I suppose I’ll have to look into that old world religion of his…even though it seems wrong to me. Then again, orange French fries and yellow ketchup seemed wrong until I tried them.”
“That’s wonderful Joesie! I’m so glad to hear you say that!” His wide smile unfolded again. The smile always balanced out his distinctive nose nicely. It also went with his large ears and wide, bright eyes.
The old man hesitated a moment before saying, “Uh, he made a fragrance for each of us too. I didn’t want to say anything if you were still upset.”
“Oh? And what are they pray tell?” She amused her husband by quoting a Shakespeare term without aid of the minty fragrance.
“Peanut Brain for Georgina – it improves mental clarity and is one of her favorite smells, Boulangerie for your daughter – it smells like a French bakery and causes relaxation, Butter Scotch for George - it smells like the drink and gives one a giggle, Cherry Moonmen for Mr. Bucket – smells sort of like cherry cola and will make him temporarily weightless.”
“I’m surprised he made something for Charlie’s father. They’re really at odds right now.” She scooped out a swallow of her vanilla milkshake. Her husband had chosen strawberry. Nearly any flavor was an option from the shake machine in the kitchenette.
“He’s been working on these since we entered the factory. I think he hoped it would help with the construction of that machine and allow him to get inspired about space. Obviously it’s too dangerous to release to the public.” The old man made a pickled frown while looking at the burgundy vile intended for his son-in-law. The engineer was certain to reject it.
“And wot’s my fragrance?” Grandma Josephine couldn’t help being slightly suspicious.
“Vanilla Envelops. I think this is the most thoughtful of his fragrances. I told him how you wore that kitchen ingredient as perfume when we were courting and that your letters would therefore smell of it.” He got a far away look as he described the reasoning in his usual storybook voice. Then the kind-faced old man produced another vile from his coat pocket and placed it over to her side of the dishes.
“Wot does it do?” She asked while picking up the crème colored vile.
“He said an intelligent person like you should be left to guess.” The old man tried to look reassuring.
“Cheeky Devil.” She tisked.
“Actually that’s my fragrance…Rosy Cheeks!” He pulled out a pink colored vile and spritzed himself.
“Oh my, Joe, you haven’t smelled of roses in ages! Men don’t even do that sort of thing anymore. It’s all about musky colognes now.” She waved her hand in the air in a way to shoo away the breeze. Her own tastes did not run in that direction. Mr. Bucket had been chastised more then once for overdoing his spicy cologne when they had two nickels to rub together. At least poverty had bought her nose peace.
“Ah, but girls like flowers.” Responded Grandpa Joe. As per the description, a wonderful plume of color had burst into his cheeks as if he were a young man in love for the first time.
“Quite true. You drove me mad with that! I loved borrowing your scarves and jackets.” Her own cheeks had grown rosy with the memories of being a far more beautiful woman. A lot of men bothered her, but she only had eyes for the earnest and poor Joe Bucket. Her family hadn’t approved. She married him anyway – even their names reassured her that they were destined to be together. It was the main reason that she hadn’t stood in her daughter’s way in her choice of husband.
“You see, he’s really not a bad chap. Sometimes…” He took her hand in mid-sentence, “the old ways are better and we old folks need to remind people of it.”
“Hmm, today’s turning out to be a pleasant day after all.” She leaned over and gave her husband a sincere kiss and thought about the day that the factory first opened. The gesture was punctuated by another cascade of tiny female giggles.

However, the day was less pleasant for others half way across the Never Neverland which called itself a chocolate factory.
Charlie had been through quite a lot in the time since they had left the safety of the tree house, least of which had been swinging down to the surface by way of vines. Their first task had been to gathering the flowers of an enormously bulbous man-eating plant. That wasn’t easy to do while dodging and splicing the deadly sting of whizzing whangdoodles. The reason for their presence being that while they tasted awful, it was the only thing that could pollinate some of the retched foliage that much tastier things came from or ate. It was also a great way to keep recipe thieves at bay.
Now, there was an even deadlier spin to this complication for Mr. Wonka had grown bored of fighting regular sized insects. A bit of genetic tampering and there were far larger whangdoodles and their mutant offspring to be found deeper in the jungle. Eventually Charlie grew to understand something about a “pace” and found himself able to dodge their well-aimed stingers as fast as his mentor. His fear turned into pride.
Still, being able to keep pace and collect items wasn’t enough in the fiercely inhabited growth. Each task seemed harder than the last and the shin gaurds on Mr. Wonka’s legs seemed to keep him from needing the cane. He was moving at a terrific speed in the humid overgrowth. The chocolatier had long since explained that the writing on the entrance had been Loompish for “DANGER - KEEP OUT!” This was not a place for tiny Oompa-Loompas. It was a place that Wonka used to work out his aggressions and near as his pupil could tell – his violent fantasies.
A man whose eyes looked like an animal’s turned to check for his safety again. He was splattered with the bright blue sap of the plant that had almost eaten him. The boy gripped at his athame with a shaky hand. Wonka believed in using the Pagan devices for more than metaphysical purposes. “C’mon, c’mon, I told ya to stay close.”
There was a slightly annoyed tone as he reached his bucket leather gloved hand back at his heir. Charlie couldn’t help it. He had suspected it existed, but actually seeing this side of his mentor was frightening him. As they had slid down the poles, from far above the treetops, something human had shut down inside of the chocolatier. The boy reluctantly dashed the few steps to his side. “I-I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Sir. I’ve never k-killed anything before.”
Someone wearing his friend’s face looked down at him in a puppet motion, “Sure ya have. What, ya never squished a bug? You ate a hot dog yesterday. Whatdaya think that’s made outta? Play-dough? Ha! It’s meat. Dead meat. That’s what.”
An uncertain look was still on the child’s face. He gripped the knife in both hands and nervously looked around. Strange noises were everywhere to be heard and nothing looked completely familiar. Since he had most definitely never been to a jungle, he wasn’t sure what one should look like, but textbooks and television specials had never covered things like caramel weaving spiders or two-headed snakes.
Willy stopped to wiff at the air. A quick smile revolved onto his features, “Smell that? That’s ripe tum-tum fruit!”
He gripped the boy’s hand and hurried toward a gnarled tree with draped, twisted branches. The name of the fruit was familiar to Charlie from Alice in Wonderland – he had assumed it was fictional. So much for that!
A succession of irate squealing growls greeted them. The beasts looked something like a tiger crossed with a boar and a buck – it had four eyes and was ferocious and hideous looking. The beasts also had horns exactly like the one that adorned Mr. Wonka’s cane-sword.
“Hornswagglers! They love tum-tum fruit almost as much as I do!” It was the joy in his voice that made the statement seem out of place. A depraved smile showed through the protective helmet. “Looks like they ain’t gonna part with them easily.”
“Stay here.” Instructed the man as he headed toward the small herd crouched down. Wonka was focused on the weakest beast in the lot – one that had a lot of silver amongst its sparse, coarse fur. He suddenly stood up and threw his sword straight through the side of the beast. The animal collapsed immediately leaving a long blackish tongue dangling out of its mouth.
Charlie screamed. He screamed louder when all the other beasts headed straight for the corpse to devour it. Wonka turned back and shouted, “Quick, grab the fruit while they’re distracted!”
Was it the fear of disobeying such a man that made his knees unlock? The child walked over to where the animals had been stuffing themselves on the fallen prickly-coated fruit. He shoved as many untouched ones as he could into one of his empty packs; the sound of eating and tearing flesh keenly in his ears behind him. As disturbing as those sounds were, he wanted to be sure they didn’t stop or the animals might head his way for their next meal. He froze in mid motion at the mixed sounds of:
Ka-SHING!
Thwup.
Thwup. Grrrwaooweeel!
Thwup. yeeark!!
Thwup. flump.
Thwup. flump.
flump.
flump.
Before the last odd noise, he turned to see that Mr. Wonka was hanging upside down by the grappling hook from wence he had retrieved his long sword and ensured that all the animals had lost their heads in one fell circular stroke. So sharp was the blade that they had been completely severed before the last one’s slack face fell to the floor, followed a second later by it’s quivering body.
flump.
Willy released himself from the grappling hook and safely flipped the six or so feet to the ground, a proud and triumphant look on his face. “Five at once! That’s a new record!”
His flexible tongue pressed with exactly the right pressure and at precisely the right angle to ensure that not so much as a paper-cut sized bit of damage was done to it as it ran along the blade; full eye contact on his young pupil. “Mmmn. They taste way better when they’ve been feasting on such delectable delicacies.”
The boy couldn’t help backing up as his mentor approached panting. “I did it for you Charlie. Couldn’t have them gobbling up my heir, could I? If you had come to the factory when I asked ya the first time, this wouldn’t be freakin’ you out so much. Those were valuable weeks of training that we lost.”
Yet another negative reference to the boy’s initial rejection of Willy Wonka’s generous offer.
The child had hit the back of the Tum-tum tree and could back up no further. The man kept approaching and was soon upon him. He stroked his face, “If you really wanna go into space, yer gonna need to be prepared to deal. Believe me, there are way worse things than a mutated Loompa-land. There’s stuff out there that would make ya wanna pass out dead just lookin’ at it! Of course there is also ethereal beauty…and raw power. Give and take, that’s the way of life Charlie boy. Get used tah it.”
The boy reflected on the bitterness in his tone and thought of their conversation inside the elevator. I survived…
The speech was delivered with intense (and if he wasn’t mistaken) hungry dilated pupils that were examining his face and form. It was an extended version of the one that the boy had seen in the Forbidden Room when he had been chained up to the man’s bed. It was the look he had fantasized about.
Then something else dawned on him, “Wait. You’ve seen aliens?! Real ones?!”
“Of course. I’m not the only one. The governments and militaries don’t like tah talk about it. Which is precisely why they’re gonna help me launch that magnificent satellite. Silence comes at a price. Especially mine.” He had started to lick and kiss at the jaw-line and throat of the child. His sword had been sunk into the ground in order to free up his other hand for additional groping. The object glowed as strangely as the athame knife currently re-sheathed and slung over the boy’s armor. A bit of light gleamed off the Corinthian helmet placed on top.
“We’re really gonna be something together, ya know that? Alexander the Great and his partner Hephaistion ruled over Ancient Greece like Gods. Warriors and lovers: the crowds cheered whenever they kissed.” He emphasized his words by wrapping one arm around the boy’s slim waist and removing the child’s smaller head gear before planting a firm taboo kiss onto his mouth; exactly what the chocolatier had been starving for since the gentle one he was given last night.
The words and aggression had become quite seductive together. Charlie’s head was spinning in a way that only Mr. Wonka could make it do. A different sort of weakness drained the strength from his form. Then again, maybe it was the same one. A lot of his feelings for Mr. Wonka seemed to be blurring together.
“The animals.” He gasped when finally released for air and made an unpleasant glance to the side where their dead bodies lay. Unlike his mentor, their presence was sort of ruining the ‘mood’ for him.
The man’s face hovered like a predator, a mere inch or so, above the child’s. Cruel thoughts about the penalties that the other children had suffered for their flaws were turning him on further. “Necessary sacrifices. There are always necessary sacrifices my dear boy.”
Perhaps the statement created a prophecy of its own for upon its completion, the sensation of the larger body being pressed against the boy was suddenly yanked away. The only thing Charlie saw was the rough skin of an elephant-like trunk pulling his struggling mentor upwards and into the dense vegetation.

Author’s Notes:
A quick tip of the hat to the play, Little Shop of Horrors which was the first bit of theature I ever saw. The man-eating plant is based on my beloved Audrey II: the big bad mama from outer space!
‘Nonagarian’ is a person in their nineties. Grandpa Joe says that all combined they are 381 years old! Do the math and you get an interesting set of numbers.
"Whoever heard a giraffe laugh?" is from Barbara Streisand's song, "A Kid Again I'm Five." *fiddles* Wut? I like giraffes.
"Men In Tights" is also a Mel Brooks film that is a farce of Robin Hood. Co-produced by Evan Chandler, the father of the accusor Jordy, in Michael Jackson's molestation settlement. Guess who got him the 'hook-up' from his dental work practice? Oh, and it is said that Jordy came up with many of the ideas for the film. The child is said to have been very imaginative. I don't like that Evan guy, but I do like Mel Brooks and recommend all of his films. Space Balls is a personal favorite of mine.
"Footles" is an actual word from the books. If you need a real definition take it up with Dahl.
"A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men." Here's to Gene Wilder Wonka and his autobiographical book, Kiss Me Like a Stranger, which discusses being molested by other boys and being hit on by much older men in his youth. Honest, he does!
"Blue-hazel" is a term that I use to describe Freddie Highmore's eyes. The actor seems to have predominantly meduim blue eyes with a great influence of green to me. Where there is green, there is frequently brown. Hence, the term blue-hazel for multi-colored eyes with a predominant color (in this case blue). I know Johnny says they are completely blue, but on screen, they do not appear that way to me. I must meet him in person some day (and completely withhold my fiction writing abilities) to see this for myself.
I also appreciate those who have continued reading this long tale and I certainly hope to continue to keep it interesting until I sum things up. So many of you have been an inspiration. I know the story is better because of you all. Therefore, reviews from those who enjoy the tale are always welcome and appreciated: be they small like Charlie or large like Willy believes himself to be.
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