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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
- 13
- 14
- 15
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 XIV
By: IDOL HANDS
Rating: Mature Demented Audiences
Warnings: For dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, Evil!Wonka (?), bondage undertones, violence, a child/adult slash (Shota or Chan) relationship, inappropriate scenes with family "members" *ahem* and a bit of cross-dressing as well. Don’t mind the weird warnings. Give me a chance – you’ll see.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp.
Summary: Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. It’s all cooking at the factory. What will happen to Mr. Bucket and how will it affect the family? A very interesting dinner ahead! Big secrets are revealed about them, Grandma Josephine finds out what her gift does and Willy tells a bedtime story. No really, he does!

"Humpty-Dumpty Had a Great Fall"

The brink of oblivion.
That’s what it would look like to anyone else - a great event horizon where time ceased, where life met death. This was where Willy Wonka currently stood. Where he commanded the essences of his ingredients to formulate into the invention of his mind. He’d been working on this recipe for a very long time and he’d made terrible mistakes along the way, worse than his usual sort. Such mistakes had led him into the snakepit of the Gnoolie’s limbo.
There was a balance to the universe; an order that Wonka learned to pull and tug like silly putty, but it still demanded checks and balances, an eternal give and take. No matter how much he attempted to cheat it. He stared and stared downward, suspended far above by some unknown force. Madame Rose stood below him and off to the side in a room that seemed to have no true floor or walls. There was only a dark engulfing void. This would be the very embodiment of ‘black magic’ to any Pagan worshipper; few who wouldn’t say that what he was doing was “wrong”, “unnatural”, or “going too far”. Even though nearly everyone ever born desired it. The man who called himself a chocolatier knew that he didn’t really stand here, this place didn’t really exist, or rather…it existed everywhere at once. Here, he merely focused and worked within a piece of it:
THE HOOF OF A MANTICORE
THE TRUNK (AND SUITCASE) OF AN ELEPHANT
THE YOLKS OF THREE EGGS FROM A WHIFFLEBIRD
A WART FROM A WART HOG
THE HORN OF A COW (A LOUD ONE)
THE FRONT TAIL OF A COCKATHRICE
SIX OUNCES OF SPRUNGE FROM A YOUNG SLIMESCRAPER
TWO HAIRS (AND ONE RABBIT) FROM THE HEAD OF A HIPPOCAMPUS
THE BEAK OF A RED-BREASTED WILBATROSS
A CORN FROM THE TOW OF A UNIHORN (NOT A UNICORN)
THE FOUR TENTACLES OF A QUADROPUS
THE HIP (PO AND POT) OF A HIPPOPOTAMUS
THE SNOUT OF A PROGHOPPER
A MOLE FROM A MOLE
THE HIDE (AND THE SEEK) OF A SPOTTED WHANGDOODLE
THE WHITES OF TWELVE EGGS FROM A TREESQUEAK
THE SQUARE ROOT OF A SOUTH AMERICAN ABACUS
THE FANGS OF A VIPER (IT MUST BE A VINDSHIELD VIPER)
THE CHEST (AND DRAWERS) OF A WILD GROUT

It was a brew of frightful and ridiculous things that only this person could have collected; that only his multi-demsional mind could even conjure from obscure texts & forgotten manuals. The ideas behind the craft were most important; the ingredients were nearly symbolic, but they would ensure a product that one could hold in the palm of one’s hand. Still, the chasm required one last item that he couldn’t previously posess. He needed the hearts from those snozzwhangers that died before the eyes and inside that high-pitched scream of a person truly frightened of death. He couldn’t provide it and neither could any of the Oompa-loompas. Until recently, Wonka had even denied its existence, since nothing seemed to be able to come close to killing him and his body barely aged. He chalked that fact up to how much quality chocolate he ate and left it at that. Like himself, the dwarf-like people were very long lived once they had the safety of the factory. They understood death intimately, but they didn’t fear it any longer.
Down farther than a normal person should have been able to see, glowed golden strands of light like nebulas in deepest space. The man’s hand swirled in slow counter-clockwise circles like he was stirring a giant stockpot and the dusty veins gathered into a singular mass.
“They’re ready.” Called Madame Rose from behind him. She had sensed the completion and needed to ascertain that the man had not drifted away in his mind. Until the arrival of his heir, her greatest fear was of him succumbing to this trance of nothingness in order to acquire peace. For a great turmoil fluctuated inside of their leader and she knew it.
“I see them.” His voice was trance-like and it sounded like it came from a hundred places at once. With great care he began to pull up the largest, longest ladle that had probably ever been crafted. The objects wriggled within the spoon. Without warning the man in the top hat let out a high-pitched, “OH!”
“What’s the matter? Has something gone wrong?” She didn’t dare move despite her concern.
“No, not here, somewhere else…I...lost one.” His eyes stared blankly forward into the engulfing darkness.
The man blinked them shut for the first time in a great, long while. Blackness faded to grey growing lighter and lighter. Opening them again, he stood upon a towering ladder in an empty, pale room. The walls were embellished with arcane lines and symbols that covered it from floor to ceiling, their visibility faded in the renewed light. The ladle reached to the bottom of the lone piece of furniture in the narrow, impossibly high vertical room.
Madame Rose could sense the change again. It would be safe to move now. Willy stayed motionless as she approached the bottom of the spoon. Lying inside was a hard brown lump; she removed the solidified object and cracked it open with the head of his cane. Inside was a singular radiating pellet that vibrated so quickly one could not discern an exact shape. The formation of each of these precious objects took great time, materials, and concentration to create. The chocolatier had worked to near exhaustion. She spoke gently and gathered the wriggling pill into an onyx jar. “This is enough for today. Let us leave and go looking for the missing piece you felt.”
“…’kay.” He began to step uncertainly off the skyscraper of a ladder, leaving the cascading utensil hooked to the top of it. He spoke only once more as he carefully clung to the railing. Luckily, backwards was a bit easier than forwards on his leg. “Sumthin’ is funny though…off. Huh.”
Once at the bottom he shuddered, consciousness completely back. Strangely, he seemed to notice the bottle and its contents for the first time. Despite the opaque color of the vessel there was a brightness threatening to escape. It was the same mystical appearance that the katana sword and athame dagger gave and to some extent, his own skin. With the sound of someone who had won at a carnival game, he said joyfully, “Hey, we did it!”
“You did it, Rescuer. I only supervised, only stood as a guide. The magick is too dangerous to do alone. That you even manage…” She didn’t hide the tone of awe in her voice.
“It’s easy. Really, I dunno know why everyone can’t do it.” The man casually took his cane and pushed for the elevator to come with an exacting motion of his finger. Unlike his candies and his inventions, he didn’t like to make a fuss about this sort of thing. His workers did though.
Her diminutive hands carefully clutched the container as she gazed at it. This was what she meant when she had told Charlie that she could see far more than a regular person. While true faces, delicate shadows, and the gestured language of her people where forever lost to her – entrancing, neon colored lights replaced those visions and disturbed the blackness of her world. It took Madame Rose a long time to understand what such things were and to learn how to interpret them. She could see the pills in a way that no one else but Willy Wonka could and she could see the chocolatier in a way that he refused accept. She replied, “Thank Loompaland they can’t. It’s the stuff of our oldest legends. Things we told children from generation to generation without knowing if there was even any truth to it.”
As usual, Wonka was both flattered and made nervous by Madame Rose’s comments. His eyes darted to her transfixed face then back to the empty glass tube while he tapped his foot. He stated, “At least one of those is for you, ya know.”
The tiny old woman fluttered her pupiless eyes in disbelief, “If you’re not worthy of them than I’m definitely not.”
“Hogwash, yer most definitely worthy if only to keep givin’ me a hard time.” The twinge of a smile pulled at one corner of his face. He didn’t have the energy for more exaggerated features than that. “Besides, Charlie likes ya too.”
Her finely lined lips pursed into a smile as well, “All right then, but only one.”
“And one for the chief.” He added pertly followed by a mysterious, “We know whom the rest are goin’ to.”
Thinking about life and death made her mind revert to the man’s earlier statements, “Have we lost a worker? Has something gone wrong?”
Something had gone wrong and it wasn’t the death of an Oompa-loompa, it nearly felt like a death, but the pain was wrong: piercing, not dull from old age, not the twinge of something that slipped away and he might get back, more like a cutting sensation inside of his soul (assuming that he still had a piece that he hadn’t sold).
He cocked his head to the side, “I’m not sure. It felt different than usual, like something’s been….severed.”
The elevator appeared at that second and both parties stepped aboard. Willy noticed that as usual the button for the Secret Room had moved. It would be hard for anyone to find since it moved regularly. In fact, one could think they read every single room in the factory and still miss it somehow.
Madame Rose looked deeply concerned. Far more upset than if she had actually been told that one of the inhabitants of the factory had died. Willy merely hummed as he pushed the transparent button for the Reverse Engineering Room where he had told Mr. Bucket he would pay him a visit. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could fulfill his promise to Charlie that he’d return to the Invention Room. That’s where his mind really was. It sure did take a lot of materials and a long time to cook things at the edge of eternity. Pesky business.

Another soul was facing an oblivion of his own. Mr. Bucket opened bleary eyes to the sight of a blindingly white light. Was this it then? Had he died? A soft sound of clicking heels let him know that at the very least there was a floor and he wasn’t alone. His mind focused on the sound of beeping medical equipment as well. Heaven probably didn’t have those things. He tried to move but found it exceedingly painful and impossible to accomplish. A weary groan escaped his narrow lips.
Tilting his eyes down and to the side, he could see a slim torso in a crisp, white garment rather like a medical attendant’s uniform. A gloved hand trailed down his unmarked left arm that was paralyzed by restraints. When his eyes caught sight of a large, pointed needle aimed for his vein, he looked back up again to avoid seeing it sink into his skin even although he could still feel the exacting prick. The engineer could now make out an operation lamp; the source of the glaring light hovering above his head, in the otherwise heavily shadowed room. He could also feel the unforgiving, cold, hard surface of a table beneath his form. His voice sounded quite woozy as he tried to focus on the figure near to him, “W-wot are..you doing? Where..am I?”
He could barely make out the fuzzy image of dark hair in a bob under a pointed white hat with a red cross on it. A full-sized nurse? Where had she come from? Where were the Oompa-loompas? Still unfocused, he fantasized that it could be his wife’s brown tresses in the get-up. A drugged feeling kicked in, “Mmmm…”
“Now, now, you need to rest.” Said a sweet, high-pitched voice.
The sound of it came from the foot of his bed this time. He tilted his eyes downward as much as he could, his head was being held in place by something as well. The back of the nurse’s figure came into view as well as an extremely short skirt that allowed her black underwear and garter belt to show. What sort of hospital was this? He must be delirious. That’s what he got for sneaking a peek at those adult magazines that his father brought home from work. The slim figure turned around and as it approached again, he caught sight of the stockings. They were dusty purple and made of latex. Of all things, he thought. The last two, bright red buttons, on the short uniform were undone giving view to the front of the undergarment. He found his eyes transfixed there, trying to discern something within his limited frame of sight. Were the shadows playing a trick on his eyes or was something out of place?
A few restraints were tightened as the body leaned over him. His other arm was hidden in shadow and he felt grateful for that. Something told him that he wouldn’t like what he saw. Especially since he still couldn’t feel a thing. A plunging neckline on the uniform was forced into view. He saw a white collar around the throat with another red cross. Unable to use any part of his body, his eyes wandered lower as the figure hummed a giddy tune. The light cast a shadow down a sensual crevice on the cream colored chest. However, it moved away too quickly for his modest imagination to decide what to make of it. Again, his sleepy gaze lowered to the groin of the figure.
He heard an amused giggle followed by, “Naughty boy.”
This scene wasn’t making sense. “A-are you a private nurse or something?”
“Well, I’m a nurse whose privates yer tryin’ tah look at. Does that count?” The figure had slipped one long, sculpted leg onto the table and over his body. The latex squelched as the entire figure came to rest on top of him in a straddling position.
At this point, he could see by the parting of the short material and tight underwear that it was definitely a male person dressed in female clothes. A thought finally dawned on him, a very disturbing one. Slowly his heavy lids rose to meet the face and white smile that he had been petrified to see. As soon as his charcoal eyes met those lavender ones, he shut them tightly and let out a scream.
The plastic coated hands stroked his face. When his protests didn’t cease, the sharp sting of a slap whipped across his cheek. The shock of it made the Englishman suddenly quiet.
As the dexterous hands started to stroke his face again, he heard the voice say gently, “No need tah get so bent outta shape. I’m only tryin’ tah make you feel better.”
He was surprised by his own pause at the words and gesture. He had never been in a situation like this and most certainly had never viewed any man this way before. The floating sensation washed over him again. Heavy breaths accompanied his stare up and down the androgynous form. The length of the legs running into stacked high-heeled boots, the illusion of hips rising to a nipped-in waist, long gloves that ran up to short cuffed sleeves, bright red lips curled into a Mona Lisa smile. Had his boss always been this pretty? This was very confusing on a lot of levels.
“Thaaat’s better. After all, ya don’t want tah bite the hand that feeds you, Mr. Bucket.” A musical sigh accompanied the man sliding off his form again. “But I know I’m not what ya truly want. Don’t worry, I know what will really make you feel better.”
Wonka snapped his fingers into the air and a smaller form in a similar nurse’s uniform eagerly came to also stand at his bedside.
“After all, it always makes me feel better too.” The man gave a quick kiss to the petite figure before lifting it up and onto Mr. Bucket where his larger form had been resting a moment ago.
“Hi, Dad.” Said a simple, cheerful voice as he sat spread-legged across the Bucket father’s pelvis.
“…Ch-Charlie..?” The child looked like an adorable little girl in the tiny, form-fitted candy-striper ensemble. He barely recognized him. Somehow the chocolatier had gotten his son into an even more objectionable set of clothes!
The boy laughed and leaned over to give his father a lingering kiss on the mouth, then pulled up and perched himself back into his provocative position. A featherweight, like his skin and bones family.
After a second of hesitation, Mr. Bucket managed to state with some effort, “Sweetheart…that’s not the right way…to kiss your daddy.”
“But I love you.” Shrugged the boy. Then nonchalantly added, “I love you as much as I love Mr. Wonka and he likes it when I do that.”
The thin man’s cheeks flushed as he turned to glare at the chocolatier beside the singular bed. He knew it! But he couldn’t do anything about it in this position.
“Show him what else I taught ya.” Stated the faceless figure who had stayed right next to the unforgiving bed.
“Go ‘head, make yer papa real happy. He deserves it.” The gloved hand had reached over to stroke the hair that peeked under the child’s cute, pointed hat. An endearing dimpled smile leaned pet-like into the man’s touch.
Charlie leaned his hands back to press against the cool table and began grinding his compact bottom back and forth into his father. It was then that Mr. Bucket realized how thin the material of his cotton gown was; the pattern made up of tiny squiggled W’s. Even worse, the boy had put his fingers under the edge of the gown and was working the it upward where he was certain no underwear would be found.
It took the Englishman a moment to recover from the sensation to finally shout, “Charlie! Stop..ah…stop that immediately!”
“Why?” He said very puzzled with a wide-eyed expression. “I can tell you’re enjoying it.”
The boy started to move slowly again and panted, “And so am I.”
The man was disgusted with his own involuntary physical reaction. The rubbing was so centralized under the small, firm muscles and tight crevice that he couldn’t help it. Staring in disbelief at the spectacle, he caught the sight of a small pink bow that rested on the boy’s lace-trimmed panties under the ultra mini-skirt. From the small tenting in the shadows of the white silk, he could tell that the child was enjoying it. The man’s objections didn’t sound very convincing even to himself, “Mmn..no..ah..son...stop…”
A familiar giggle came from the side of the bed as cheerily it stated, “See Mr. Bucket? We have so much in common. Although yer sin is even worse than my own!”
A full, wicked laugh broke the sound of reluctant groans.
“Uh..no…no…NOOOO!” The sound of his shouting struck his own ears as his eyes flew open. He let out a huge gasp. It had only been a dream. A ghastly one!
The room he was truly lying in was dim, but not as heavily shadowed as the one in his nightmare. He relaxed slightly and turned his previously straining head to the side, pleased to see that he could actually do that, until a new awful vision crossed his sight. It was the half-melted face of an over-sized chubby puppet.
“AHH!” He shouted again. He’d be grey before the night was through at this rate!
Looking about the room, he was surrounded by lifeless plastic patients in similar disturbing states. This was the Puppet Hospital & Burn Center, a room that defied any sensible logic known to man. Mr. Wonka was more concerned with these lifeless of objects from his heyday than he was for any of the other golden ticket winners.
Attempting to move more, he saw that he was indeed tied to a bed, but a foamed cushioned one that was form fitted to his body. His restraints were more typical medical ones as opposed to leather rope and the white cotton pajamas that he was dressed in were far less revealing than the backless gown of his dreams. A clear glass bubble covered his entire form and he realized that the sound of medical equipment hissing and beeping was real. It must have seeped into his subconscious along with some of the other sensations that got warped there.
There was a light tapping on the other side of his glass chamber. He looked and saw something else that made him want to scream but resisted. It was Willy Wonka.
Gloriously overdressed, NOT in a nurse’s uniform, he stood with his arms crossed and a plaintive look on his sculpted features as he looked down upon the paralyzed patient. A distant, alien look was in the man’s gem-colored eyes. “Sounds like yer havin’ a rough night.”
Mr. Bucket stayed silent and shoved away the remnants of his dream. Why did he feel like the chocolatier could practically read his mind?
The man continued as he surveyed the readings on the side of the medical device. “I’m glad yer awake though. I told the family I’d stay on the lookout until ya came about. After all, it’s my fault right?”
He had expected Mr. Wonka to do everything but take responsibility for this. Long, slim eyebrows tilted upward and he parted his mouth open to speak. The sound of his British voice was quickly absorbed inside the device.
However, the chocolatier had been easily able to read his lips. In an eerily calm and pleasant voice he responded, “Don’t worry, they’re all honky dory. I’ll be sure to take super duper care of them until yer better.”
He didn’t like the ominous sound of that statement, no matter how pleasently the man said it. When was he going to get out of here? Mr. Bucket looked where his left arm was inserted slightly past its elbow into a pill-shaped, sleek white pod that was attached to the inner wall of the bed. He spoke, his muffled voice getting absorbed again.
Wonka understood every word despite having complained so ruthlessly toward Mike TeeVee during the tour. He replied in a tone that would make one think that the engineer was both hard of hearing and in kindergarten, “Yer inside an oxygen chamber. It maximizes tissue reconstruction and preserves cells. Yeah. I got the idea for it back in the eighties.”
He mused in an exaggeratedly forlorn voice, “That arm might be a goner though.”
Water welled up in the man’s eyes as he looked back at the place where his arm was inserted. How would he be able to live with only his left arm?
“Oh, stop fretting. I’ll think of somethin’ tah fix it. You know me and my imagination. Only fair since you saved my Oompa-loompa.” The voice sounded less-than-grateful though. More like frustrated. Indeed Willy Wonka’s mind had been desperately analyzing this entire situation since he’d learned it happened. It felt like fate messed up big this time. Fate wasn’t supposed to do that, especially where his chocolate factory was concerned.
Mr. Bucket looked up with uncertainty at the man while he seemed to be lost in deep thought. His health now depended on a candy maker that he kept suspecting of lunacy! He’d have to try hard to believe in the misunderstood genius of Grandpa Joe’s tales.
The chocolatier’s eyes widened as he refocused, he said brightly, “Anyway, you should get some more rest!”
He pushed a button on the side of the oxygen chamber and a hissing noise was made. Mr. Bucket found himself hopelessly groggy again as the last words filled his ears, “No matter what it takes Mr. Bucket, we’re gonna nurse ya back to health.”

Back inside of the cottage, the rest of the family was sedate but not morose. The ones who seemed the most inconsolable were Charlie and Mr. Wonka.
Mrs. Bucket looked at the two of them moping and said, “At least have some soup boys. It’s tomato alphabet, Willy. That’s your favorite. I even added extras of the W’s, B’s, and C’s.”
“Thanks Misses B.” Wonka said with a mild amount of mirth. His heir’s mother looked incredibly beautiful tonight for she was wearing one of the Victorian frocks that Pierre had designed for her. She had been in the middle of trying them on when the news had reached her. All of the family had paid the father a visit, but he was still unconscious at the time. Willy pushed his own initials near a pair of Charlie’s and swallowed the spoonful of bright red liquid.
“Please stop blaming yourself, Mr. Wonka. We all know it was an accident.” Stated Grandpa Joe in a deeply compassionate voice.
“The Oompa-loompas said he did it to save one of them. My son chose to do this because he’s an honorable person.” Added Grandpa George with pride. His wife, Georgina nodded in strong approval.
“And you’re giving him the very best medical treatment in the world.” Said Mrs. Bucket in her usual cheerful voice.
“That’s more than the toothpaste factory would have done.” Grandma Josephine felt compelled to say. It was a true statement despite anything else she was uncertain of.
Wonka gave a very weak smile to them all. Tonight he was sitting next to Charlie upon the boy’s request. The headband was currently tied around the child’s hand, crisscrossed through his fingers and wrapped twice around his wrist. He was pulling tightly on the black strip of fabric and the skin near it had gone pale with blood loss. The chocolatier had also noticed that the boy had spelled out a sentence in his bowl, it read: ITS / MY / FAULT.
The chocolatier took a very small nibble of the freshly baked honey wheat bread, as a distraction, while he rearranged letters in his own bowl (making the best of missing a couple of letters): UNPOSSIBLE
There was a pit of darkness inside the child’s soul, but somehow Willy Wonka had managed to cheer him up a drop by mimicking the secret method of communication. Although a smile did not appear on his face, it did frown less. The boy concentrated and spelled out: I / WAS / MAD / AT / HIM
His benefactor pointed into his bowl with a subtle turn of his eyes, giving the same answer in response to the new statement.
Grandma Josephine leaned over to see exactly what was going on. But before she could comprehend what was in Charlie’s soup, Willy took a big spoonful out of the child’s bowl and mixed up all the letters in the process.
When the family looked at him a bit startled for having done that, he gave a single chuckle and said, “He got more W’s than me.”
His childish response actually produced a mild amount of laughter at the tense table.
He swallowed down that spoonful as well, wishing he could have caught a taste of his heir mixed within the ingredients, but that was ‘unpossible’ since the boy hadn’t taken one sip or bite of anything. At least he knew that the child’s new team made sure that he’d eaten a very big lunch. Seeing the boy hurting was the only true bad part of this situation for him. It made him wonder how it would have impacted the child if the father had actually died. He still had a lot to learn by way of family ties.
“Um, you look very lovely tonight, Mum.” Charlie said trying to offer a distraction from Mr. Wonka’s poor table manners.
“Really? Do you think so? I feel a bit like a sow’s ear in a silk dress.” She said humbily and pulled at the ruffles near her neckline. The Goddess necklace rested on the outside of the garment’s high buttoned collar.
“Not at all. The ivory color really suits you.” Said her father, Grandpa Joe.
“Ya look like a fine lady.” Said the chocolatier with a polite round-cheeked smile that reminded Charlie of when he got a quick spanking earlier.
Just like her son, a rosy color filled Mrs. Bucket’s cheeks at all the compliments. She put her hands to her face to cover the embarrassment.
Grandma Josephine had been relieved to see that such elegantly reserved outfits had been the man’s choice of aesthetics where her daughter was concerned. “You know wot would be a nice addition dear? Why don’t you wear that old marriage ring of yours?”
A silence fell across the table.
“Oh. Oh, yes. That’s a wonderful idea.” Mrs. Bucket stood up to fetch the item.
Wonka looked thoroughly confused. “But you guys aren’t married. Not in any records that I ever found.”
Charlie’s jaw dropped open.
Both pairs of grandparents looked mortified.
“Is that true?” The boy looked at his family in utter disbelief.
His mother rushed over to him, “Darling, it cost a lot of money to get married in England. We couldn’t afford it, but in our hearts we’re married.”
“Oh.” Added Mr. Wonka. “I thought it was because you two were first cousins.”
Grandpa George glowered at him, “No point in having secrets when you’re around, is there blabbermouth?”
The chocolatier looked a tad offended. “Don’t get miffed at me for bein’ a thorough researcher. Hey, I had tah know all about who was winning my golden tickets. Particularly when they ended up in my home!”
He looked down at his startled heir, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spill the beans, but didn’t ya think it was a little weird that yer whole family had the exact same last name? I did, but it isn’t a big deal. Royalty did it all the time.”
“Sweetheart?” His mother said nervously, her angular features gentle as always.
Charlie stared at them blankly. So this was what Wonka had meant on their boat ride when he suggested that all family’s had secrets…even his. The boy gave his mentor a look of sad gratitude for having broken the truth to him. He lowered his shoulders and tilted his head downward, “It’s all right. I guess a lot of things aren’t always what they seem. Wot’s really important is that you love each other and that’s wot really makes a family anyway. That’s why Mr. Wonka is part of our family even if he isn’t related, right?”
“Of course, honey. Of course.” She kissed him on the top of his head and gave him a maternal hug to her bosom for his understanding.
Willy was deeply satisfied to have managed to play another card in his massive plan correctly, especially considering the lousy hand he got dealt earlier. What was he supposta’ do with that pair of two’s in his burn unit? Fortunately he always kept a Joker up his sleeve and everyone knew that Jokers were wild in his factory. Now it was time for one of the straight flushes that he’d been waiting for.
“Ya know…” He started wryly, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. “The Oompa-loompas are gonna have one of their lunar festivals soon and I’d love to make you guys the guests of honor since it’ll be the first one since you’ve been here.”
The family looked around at each other and Wonka added another thought, as if he’d just had it, “Tell ya wut. I’ll see to it that the two of you get a proper marriage at the thing. How’s that sound?”
Charlie’s face beamed for the first time that evening. He gripped the man tightly, “Oh, Mr. Wonka you’re the most wonderful person!”
The chocolatier gave the appearance of being entirely overwhelmed by the boy’s words and actions. How he had been missing his touch and smell. Charlie was his new favorite candy. Mmmm…Charlie candy? Heir cream? He started to giggle and wrapped his arms around his young lover. Savoring that he could do it without the blasted observations of Mr. Bucket around to make them self-conscious.
“I don’t know if I want my daughter getting married at some Moon festival.” Said Grandma Josephine ruining the chocolatier’s inner humor.
“Isn’t that better than no marriage at all?” Countered Grandpa George.
“There won’t be a marriage if Mr. Bucket isn’t there.” The old woman snapped in anger.
Wonka gave her a sour look and clutched his heir tightly, “Then I’ll just hafta’ see to it that he is, won’t I? In fact, I’ll make sure he’s better than he ever was!”
Charlie looked up at him with utter gratitude. The man’s eyes were positively sparkling with a brilliant idea. He heard him whisper in a distant voice, “Yeah. Better than he ever was.”

All of the dishes were being cleared away and the night wore on. Charlie was cleaning up and changing into his nightclothes (now that he had some). Wonka sidled up to Grandma Josephine in her chair by the fire. She had been resting her eyes a bit and yelped when they opened to his silly grin. Undaunted by her shock, he blurted out, “Have ya tried the fragrance that I made for you yet?”
She pulled her yarn shawl more tightly around herself. “No, not yet. Wot does it do again?”
“Ah, ah, ah, nice try Grandma, but ya gotta get up pretty darn early in the morning to outfox this fox. I didn’t say. You hafta guess.” He wiggled his eyebrows and broadened his porcelain grin.
“Has anyone ever told you that you bear a distinct resemblance to the Cheshire cat?” She said while digging through her pockets for the vile.
“Actually, I get a lot more of the Mad Hatter. But I can purr.” He proceeded to demonstrate his remarkable ability to do exactly that, even adding a couple of very convincing ‘meows’.
Grandma Georgina stopped knitting the small blue poncho that she was still working on. She announced, “I think the cat wants to be let out.”
Wonka replied, “Don’t worry Gina, I already let it outta the bag.”
Everyone smiled in reluctant amusement.
The old elf-faced woman continued with her knitting, content that the imaginary cat was taken care of. She began doing the type of thing that her job encouraged her to do, muttering rhymes: “Bag, Baggins, hag, Hobbits, sag, saggy, lag, flag….”
“Fag.” Added her husband with a laugh.
Wonka raised an eyebrow in his direction.
“Wot? I meant the fire. Nothing like a nice raging faggot.” The man was fancying word games himself since his wife started them.
The chocolatier smirked at his effort, but focused back on Grandma Josephine who had finally produced the crème colored small vile labeled Vanilla Envelopes. She misted it upon herself. It smelled absolutely delicious; like lying in a veritable field of vanilla beans. Her mind was a complete blank, ‘enveloped’ in the sugary fragrance.
Wonka studied her carefully and placed the books that he had been holding behind his back into her lap. “Ah, Yer husband told me that you’d been curious to read about Paganism. I sure would like that. Here are some books from my library. Enjoy them, savor every word, ‘kay?”
He carefully stepped away from her as she slowly looked down and picked up the first one. Turning toward the rest of the family who was nearly done cleaning up and settling down, he stated. “Um, are you guys sure you don’t want me to watch Charlie tonight. I got a room he’d never be able to sleepwalk out of.”
It was true that Mrs. Bucket was far more trusting of the chocolatier than her husband. She was a kind and simple woman who believed in the goodness of others, but something about Charlie spending a night far away from her and his grandparents made her maternal instincts grow especially protective. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll stay up and watch him. I feel a lot better since you had the Oompa-loompas build a picket fence around the chocolate river this afternoon. Too bad it wasn’t there when Augustus was visiting.”
“Yeaaah. Too bad about that.” The man pondered what else he could do in order to stay close to his heir if only for a little longer. This was the second time Mrs. Bucket (or should he say Miss?) had refused his offer. He knew better than to push it. Thinking back on his remarkable day with the boy, he got struck with inspiration. “Howsabout I tell him a bedtime story before I go? That’d be OK, right?”
Wonka’s eyes darted back and forth. No one voiced any objections. In fact it sounded quite thoughtful and family-like of the awkward man.
Climbing up into the boy’s room after the family had wished him a good night. A wide grin spread onto his face. He whispered, “Hey there.”
“Hey yourself.” Whispered back the boy, uncertain but excited by the situation. Under the sheets, he pulled at the fabric wrapped around his hand.
The chocolatier looked through the hole in the floor and saw his mother’s curious eyes peeking up as she dried a plate. He sat down on Charlie’s bed and began, “This is the story of The Dragon and The Mouse. Once upon a time, long, long ago there was a small mouse with…chestnut brown colored fur.”
Charlie’s dimples poked inward as he touched his own chestnut brown colored hair.
“So, this Mouse was out in the cold snow of winter lookin’ fer something to eat when a terrible blizzard struck. Seein’ no other choice, he wandered into the forbidden cave that all the other forest animals had told him was dangerous. A very curious Mouse, was he! ‘Cause even though he knew it was supposta’ be dangerous, he was often snooping around it anyway. Creeping in, he found entire skeletons lying around the entryway. It scared him half tah death and he almost left! But the storm picked up even worse and he was forced to stay inside and scurry around all of those ooold bones and hollowed-out empty skulls to get deeper into the cave.” Willy kept using all of his animated features and gestures to the best of their abilities to convey the bedtime story.
The Bucket child loved every second of it and had pulled his covers up over his mouth and nose as Mr. Wonka went on about the skeletons.
“The Mouse found the cave nice and toasty though. And insteada gettin’ darker, it seemed to be gettin' brighter as he headed toward its liar. Did the monster have a lamp? He thunk to himself. And then, it happened…” Wonka thrust his face right up in front of Charlie’s. “..he met, THE DRAGON!”
“It was staring right at him with piercing snake eyes and a hundred sharp, gleaming white teeth. Scales that reflected all shades of green, red, and purple shimmered around his face and down his long body while a wispy trail of smoke curled out of his nostrils. The Dragon spoke in a deep, dark voice. He said:
I will allow you one question. Shoot!”
Those words sounded awfully familiar to Charlie. Very similar to one’s the chocolatier had used on the Great Glass Elevator as they headed toward the Willy's bedroom. He said doubtfully, “The Dragon said ‘shoot’, Mr. Wonka?”
“Uh, yes he most certainly did. Were you there? I thought not. Whose tellin’ this tale anyhow?” The man cleared his throat while Charlie giggled, preparing to do more animal inspired voices, “Anyway, the little guy thought he was cooked fer sure. So he asked the first question in his tiny beating heart:
Why did you kill them all, Mr. Dragon?
The Dragon answered:
Because they came to HUNT me and HURT me.
Hearing this, The Mouse wiggled his itty-bitty whiskers and dared to ask a second question:
All of them? None of them just wanted to be friends?
Without hesitation and with pain in his voice, the mighty Dragon answered that question too:
Some only pretended to be my friend to get my GOLD and TREASURES. None of them really liked me.
The Mouse honestly felt pity for the massive lizard. He lowered his circular little ears:
Oh, that’s very sad. I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Dragon. I was only looking for a warm place to sleep for the night. If you let me leave, I’ll never bother you again.
The Dragon was so surprised by the Mouse’s honest compassion that he started tah let him go.” Charlie let out a sigh of relief. He’d been a little worried about the chestnut Mouse with the tiny voice and English accent. Mr. Wonka continued with a foreboding tone, “Then, he changed his mind:
Wait.
The Mouse's whole body shoke from fear, even his squiggly pink tail, as he said his prayers. He knew it was too good tah be true, that the beast would let him leave ALIVE. The Dragon leaned down and examined his tiny invader with an eye bigger than his whole body:
You’re much too small to hurt me, aren’t cha?
Th-that is t-true, Mr. Dragon, s-sir.
And you are much too tiny to steal more than a gold coin or a single gem.
I w-wouldn’t even do THAT your greatness!
The Mouse thought that he started to understand what the mythical reptile was gettin’ at. But just tah be sure, he squeaked:
And I wouldn’t even be enough meat to get stuck in between your sharp, sharp teeth.
Then The Dragon let out a mighty roar, but he wasn’t mad. He was laughin’!
Oh my, do you know how long it’s been since I laughed?!
No sir. How long?
All of a sudden, The Dragon got a weird blank look on his face.
…I can’t remember…perhaps it was shortly after I hatched. Little Mouse, I invite you inside my den. Stay.
But I have nothing that I can offer for your kindness. No gold, or silver, or even copper. I only have my company and my gratitude.
All around The Dragon was a great horde of possessions that men would travel the Earth for until the end of time. They shined like fire and candlelight, but they were cold and silent. And none of it could buy wut the tiny forest creature offered so freely. All of The Dragon’s treasures had only bought him TROUBLE and JEALOUSY. He turned back to The Mouse and said:
That is more than enough dear Mouse, for it can get very lonely bein’ a ferocious Dragon and I have never been thanked for anything.
Looking at his new friend, the fuzzy little guy realized how different they were, for he had no magnificent metallic scales, or razor sharp claws, or ginormous webbed wings. He said:
It’s not easy being a mouse either, sir. Everything wants to eat you or step on you.
He looked around the large and rather cluttered cave:
Where may I sleep?
The Dragon replied:
You may sleep by my side if you wish, for there no harm shall ever come to you.”
Timidly, The Mouse stated:
Thank you.
The chocolatier had laid his torso next to Charlie’s and put his own arm around the boy. “The Mouse slept most soundly, cradled in The Dragon’s long tail, that was wrapped up toward his warm breath as did The Dragon with the warm ball of fur on the tip of his tail. And that is how a very unlikely set of bedfellows met each other. The ever lovin’ end.”
Unbeknownst to the entire family, the two kissed each other intimately on the mouth.
“Stay.” Whispered Charlie, as The Dragon had to The Mouse.
“I can’t.” The man answered in the same hushed tone, “I’m really very tired and it’s important that I sleep in my own bed tonight. I’m safe there.”
Charlie lowered his eyes and thought about his mentor’s giant bed, the set of small furniture designed for his absent company, the pentagram markings on the floor, the presents, and all the strange, wonderful things in The Forbidden Room. “Can I visit your room again tomorrow?”
Wonka’s face brightened. “Hmm, it does seem like we should spend some time studying. You got a test comin’ up, don’t cha?”
The boy nodded as the man stood up with a small grunt. The child said, “Tomorrow. I’ll love ya tomarrow.”
The Oompa-loompas had done a production of Little Orphan Annie shortly after the family arrived. Willy smiled and added, “It’s only a day away.”
When he reached the bottom of the ladder he was surprised to see all of the Bucket’s (except Grandma Josephine who was absorbed in her texts) gazing at him with an overflow of compassion. They had all been silent as mice themselves in order to eavesdrop on Mr. Wonka's voices. He suddenly felt and also looked incredibly uncomfortable.
Grandma Goergina threw one of her spontaneous hugs onto him, which did nothing to relax his stiff posture.
“Oh Willy, that was so, so beautiful. Wherever did you hear that tale?” Mrs. Bucket was looking up at him with tears in her dark, glossy eyes. She sniffled and dabbed at them.
“Err, I..made it up. Just now, actually.” Great uncertainly and a strangled giggle followed the confession.
They all murmured their amazement, careful not to disturb the resting child.
“Genius! I keep telling you the man’s a genius! There’s nothing he can’t do. He’ll have our family back together lickity split! You’ll see.” Encouraged Grandpa Joe.
“I wonder if there’s such a thing as too smart.” Joshed Grandpa George.
“There isn’t.” Assured the candymaker. He had patted Grandma Georgina and shook free in order to regain his coat and cane.
“Sweet dreams folks.” He tipped the satin top hat, as he placed onto his head, and stepped gracefully out the front door.

Author’s Notes:
For those who don’t realize it, this entire tale has been named and inspired by a Michael Jackson song called “Is It Scary”. The poignant lyrics and rhythmic beats of that song touch me deeply. It is off his dance album, Blood On The Dance Floor. Another song of his that gives me great inspiration is "Keep The Faith" off of his Dangerous album.
"To Sleep, Per Chance to Dream" is from William Shakespeare's play, Hamlet.
The list of ingredients for one of Wonka’s most secret (and bizarre) recipe is practically the same as it appears in the book, Charlie and The Great Glass Elevator.
Blame the talents of AndreAla-Rae for the inspiration of Mr. Bucket’s dream. The idea of Wonka in a nurse’s uniform kept showing up in my imagination after I saw this! http://www.deviantart.com/view/25133761/
That and I’m a huge fan of Stephen King, particularly his book & movie titled Misery. Something “sprung” from there as well.
I don’t really need to tell you where Mr. Wonka got his idea for an oxygen chamber back in the 80’s, do I? Guess the tabloids were good for somthing after all.
Mr. Wonka made references to Poker with a pair of two’s, Joker’s wild, and his straight flush. He and playing cards belong together like Alice and Wonderland.
Americans use the words "fag" and "faggot" to mean a homosexual male, but in England those words refer to cigarettes and fire.
As far as Mr. Wonka and I know, we invented this specific children’s story about The Mouse and The Dragon, but there is a song (that I’ve never heard) with that same title written by Mickey Newbury. I found it when I googled the phrase just to make sure I wasn't accidently ripping anyone off. ‘Ginormous’ is not a word, but it should be. Oh, and it's a bit obscure in it's context to the story, but "Stay" is romantic & angsty song by David Bowie. Give it a listen, it may inspire you as well.
Special thanks to Piscaria who gave a magnificent review for the last chapter, is writing an amazing story herself called “Fondness Makes the Heart” at www.fanfiction.net and is an all around swell person. I got a lot of inspiration from her dedication to her own writing. Many at www.adult-fanfiction.org made my day this time around: Herald Soucree (everyone should read this person's reviews), Tanya, Saiyuki (what a familiar name!), Sailor Aurora, ethere, Firelady 113 (that was a BIG compliment from a place where I only BEGAN to enjoy fanfaction!), Hatii, Miku, Savoria, Yamscarf, Ash (It does take courage to write this and I'm dying to know about that dream!), Rose (another familiar name *smiles*), Dez, Liz, Anon, Lina (one of the very first!), Velvetina (whom I'm glad to have everywhere!), ethere, Okami-Neko-Jin and whoever said "Hawt yaoi smut" made me laugh. Lisa Jane, thank you for appreciating the tale as I meant it despite how wild I've gotten with certain personal interpritations. Sister Erotica (cool name), your review meant a whole lot to me and I don't think that you are weird at all, I've been known to do the exact same sort of thing. I have found Paganism, in its ancient historical form to be quite fascinating. I am enjoying learning more about this nearly forgotten form of religion. I also enjoyed imagining you doing a happy dance with Willy Wonka. *grins*
If you like my work and would like to read more, I have also written a CatCF slash tale called “Cravings” that you can find at www.adult-fanfiction.org and TWO tamer slash stories in the book category of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at www.fanfiction.net: called “The Talk” (a one shot so far) and the other is “Sweet Inspiration” (a playful tale with major references to The King of Pop).
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Is It Scary