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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
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.
Title: Is It Scary, volume XXI - Volume Twenty-One: Origin of a Prodigal Son
By: IDOL HANDS
Rating: Mature Demented Audiences ®
Warnings: Dark & Mature Themes, Violence, Angst, Kidnapping, Alternate Paganism, and an under-aged/adult slash (“shota” or “chan”) relationship.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of Roald Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and Johnny Depp.
Summary: Mix in the ingredients, cook them together and stir the pot. How did the stew get so hot? Things could have been different, could they have not? Willy Wonka himself was as carefully crafted into a creative genius and conniving gourmand as sure as any one of his satisfying secret recipes. How will the presence of the other candymakers affect the mix? And what of one small, Charlie whose been dropped into this boiling bucket of fate?
Special Treat: If you’d like, you can read the first part of this story in a storyboard form (place these links in your address bar):
http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a300/idolhands/Ringcopycopy.jpg
http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a300/idolhands/WillyCryingcopy.jpg
http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a300/idolhands/WillyReachingcopy.jpg
“No son of mine is going to be a chocolatier!”
Thunder rumbled overhead, marking the passage of another bolt of bright lightning. A storm was immanent. What had they said in school about Shakespeare’s plays? Dissent in the Heavens reflected discord on the Earth? That sounded about right.
It was the first night that the child had ever spent truly alone in his entire life. He wore the same old-fashioned, itchy, woolen schoolboy uniform that he’d left the house in that morning. The same sort of outfit he was forced to wear every single day. But today he sat desperate and perplexed within an alley that had never existed before. The alley’s creation was the result of the inexplicably swift absence of his entire home along with his sole family member, a Dr. Wilber Wonka. Awkwardly the boy turned his rigid form left, right, and backward. He even tilted his head toward the looming bruised sky, awaiting his father’s return from all possible directions.
“Go ahead, but I won’t be here when you come back!”
Those HAD been the towering dentist’s last words. The stern man never joked but this…this…was impossible! Where had he gone to?!
As the night wore on, the child shivered in his short pants. He fruitlessly tugged at the white cotton socks, trying to get every last centimeter of warmth out of their elasticity. Tug as he might however they would never be enough to cover his knobby little knees. Dampness crept into the air; it wasn’t exactly raining, it was more of a spritz, similar to being sprayed with spit, like when cruel classmates kids blew raspberries into his distorted face. He suddenly wished he had that scarf or coat he’d been lectured to take countless times. But the boy had felt particularly rebellious that day, hadn’t he? Yelled at his Papa then ‘stormed’ right out the door as if he would actually travel the globe to become the world’s greatest chocolatier! Well, The Flags of the World section at the museum wasn’t a bad start.
The child sighed glumly, lips permanently parted into a gruesome mock of a smile by the wired anchors of braces that traced all the way back to a valve at the base of his skull. He looked more like an appliance than a human being; a more complex design to align teeth had never been created. Dr. Wilbur Wonka patented the device and it certainly won him prestige within the medical communities. His son had been instructed to feel pride rather than humiliation by wearing it in public. Objections were met with the insistence that limiting it to night use wouldn’t obtain the maximum effect (nor would it show the invention off to its fullest). If anyone would have teeth beyond compare it would be this man’s child. Yes, Dr. Wonka lived by the creed that those who demand perfection often get it. And so the boy sat, his father’s breathing, walking testament to function above form; knees and gums mutually suffering from chill. His father believed that pain built character. And Willy himself would one day grow to be quite the character and would live to repeat the phrase, “Pain reminds us that we are alive.”
Perhaps the mean old man would decide that one night in the cold wet would be enough to teach him a lesson? He wondered. Another bolt of lightning cracked, flashing through the soot-colored clouds.
Then again…perhaps not.
After all, his father had probably discovered the many things Willy had ‘borrowed’ before leaving, stuffed deeply now into his knapsack – personal things Dr. Wonka kept hidden: a strange cane with a bone handle, a double-edged black dagger, old books filled with complex text & bizarre illustrations, and a precious pouch containing jewelry marked as his deceased mother’s. The missing horde would surely infuriate his controlling Papa.
Access to these items came from the discovery of an old set of keys. They had hung on a tarnished brass ring kept in the furthest reaches of the many apothecary jars on the doctor’s highest shelf. Despite all warnings and punishments, the child was a renowned snoop. How was he supposed to resist such tantalizing curiosities, particularly under the alluring guise that they were all poisonous? The little boy had slipped contents of this and that into classmates’ food discovering that though the ingredients could have unfortunate consequences, none so far had proven deadly. It was too bad since the world could have done with a few less of those rotters. But it revealed his father’s fib, leaving the boy to sleuth deeper during those rare absences when his every move was not being observed.
Most of the objects Willy had grabbed for “survival” purposes in his far-fetched dreams of confectionary exploration, but the jewelry was the only pieces of his mother that existed; nary a photo had he ever been permitted to see. In the seriousness and sadness of his situation the lonely child decided to pull out one of the mysterious items. By a flash of lightning its shine of gold, silver, and ruby captured the future candymaker’s rapture – such a fine thing it was. The scrollwork on the side, a complex pattern of Celtic knots, meant nothing to the lad at the time. However, the curved silver hands around the heart-shaped stone were easy to understand.
Love.
An emotion, which eluded him though, he craved it just the same. If only he’d had a mother, certainly she would have taught him; cuddled him and told stories that didn’t frighten him, without a doubt she would have rallied on his side and let him eat candy, and she never ever EVER would have let his daddy disappear like this…to-to leave him alone in a cold, dark, uncaring universe.
The child tried to emulate his father’s stiff constitution but tears began to flow anyway.
Crocodile tears! I should sell you to the gypsies with such an act!”
Even without physical presence, he could hear the man’s stern voice give the usual insults rather than sympathy in these sort of situations. The boy could not throw off his emotion and imaginings of harsh words only caused him to cry harder. Protective denial wore off. It was all sinking in.
Really, what WAS he going to do? How would he survive? Was there even a point to trying? Would his father prefer him dead? Would HE?! As the thoughts piled and mounted inside, the cries had become howls of pain, echoing between the perpendicular brick walls. A light appeared in one of the bedroom windows, on the outer facing of the rectangular box-shaped building. Windows on the side would have been quite impossible with the buildings previously squashed right against each other; demanding quiet imaginative play of the mind so as not to disturb the sensitive neighbors who were prone to complaining.
A voice shouted into the darkness, unable to see the child, “SHUT your bloody YAP, you steewpid MUTT!”
The boy immediately ceased all noise, reflexively reaching up to cover his mouth and cutting himself on one of the many sharp metal edges that encaged his face. It stung, but he did not cry again. He held in the pain as he’d often done when his father tightened the contraption.
Mutt?
The boy supposed that was all he was at this point, just some abandoned animal. Large, coal eyes much like a lost puppy suddenly widened with panic. Oh please don’t let them call the police! He thought. Don’t let anyone ever find out how I stupidly disobeyed my father and am now forced to suffer this humiliating punishment for the rest of my life! A minute sob escaped on that concept, but the neighbor decided they had been successful and slammed the window shut. The light went off leaving the night deathly black again.
Willy Wonka, son of a dentist, decided right then and there, within that minute bracket of time and space that he must not be worthy of love. And his heart began to harden.
There was no telling how long ago that scenario happened, but it was on a night not so different from tonight and not so very far away either. As if life had become as frozen as the frigid weather. The town’s near permanent cold had increased steadily over the years, damp frost glazing over every visible surface. A moon wide with silver light, not quite full, caused the scene to glitter beneath its cosmic view. In a populous composed mostly of simple people with simple dreams there were few souls awake so late. And those that were could not appreciate the enchanting view; for despite all outward appearances, this was not a tranquil evening.
A great clock rang out dull chimes, masking the noise of a lone ice cream truck as its worn rubber tires turned down the empty streets and toward the town’s center stage, the immense monolith which marked this bleak place worth mentioning at all – Wonka Industries.
Bonnnngggg…..
Bonnnngggg…..
Bonnnngggg…..
Bonnnngggg…..
Sounds would echo slowly until the count of a dozen was reached, marking the onset of “the witching hour” as some called it. Gates to the magnificent chocolate factory parted ghostly, as they only did during the earliest hours of morning, and even then, only when strictly scheduled. The truck entering was noticeably dinky and pale in comparison to the polished, bright-red armored ones it parked alongside. Black-tinted windows were worth noting as no form could ever be seen to actually drive the mysterious Wonka vans with their delectable contents. But many could be seen through the dusty windows of the Ficklegruber ‘Never-Melting’ Ice Cream truck. One by one, each body filed out cautiously, the last in a wheelchair.
Bonnnngggg…..
Bonnnngggg…..
Bonnnngggg…..
Bonnnngggg…..
Four of them craned their necks up high to take in the chimneystacks that climbed toward the stars, built-up soot on their exteriors causing the phallic cylinders to eventually blend into the tone of night. It gave a virile feel to any who looked though they probably were never certain why. Attention next went to the expanse of the building, how it stretched as far left and right as anyone could make out, mysterious curved chambers and boxy geometry contained all the promise of truffles filled with surprise centers. Never in their lives had the men been so close to “the largest chocolate factory in history, fifty times as big as any other ” as Grandpa Joe had rightly described it. It was a mighty thing worthy of awe and praise.
Bonnnngggg…..
Bonnnngggg…..
Bonnnngggg…..
Bonnnngggg…..
As the last chime rang, Slugworth could be heard to announce with great gasps of satisfaction, “Say ‘ello..to our new..home, lads!”
One small voice helplessly whimpered at that, but it was drowned out by a new set of echoing sounds filling the silence.
ribbit! RI-bit! Urrp.
hop. hop.
blork.
hop.
Brrop! ribbit.
RI-bit! RI-bit! brrock.
“Uh, wut’s with all the frogs?” The question came from young Mister Ficklegruber as he bruskly kicked one out of his way. The competitive trio of candymen found themselves inundated by an unpleasant chorus of belching coming from a plethora of unexplained amphibians. They had missed the televised event of their downfall with the rain after the toxic leak. Events in the boring town had been very exciting that day, but the new dawn promised to get stranger still. For the second time, a rare spectacle was to be seen – part inert, part mobile, the distinguishing differences for which was who up for debate.
crrreeeaaaaak…
Swwoooosh!
In the ever-changing realm of Willy Wonka where reality and fantasy blurred regularly, a receiving dock easily morphed into a theater. Broad panels slid open in opposite directions revealing dazzling colored spirals as the backdrop to a band of motionless, perfectly painted kewpie dolls. Each figurine was ossified in cheerfulness, donning aprons and wielding cooking utensils. The kitsch presentation harkened back to a bygone era of aesthetics. Regardless, it continued on as one of the many facets living inside whatever the shell of the world’s #1 chocolate maker was made out of.
Ficklegruber sneered, Slugworth grimaced, but Prodnose grinned back at them, round cheeks and distant gaze matching the puppets. The men had no way of appreciating the effort that was put forth to restore the previously melted cheerleaders (including “Johnny”) from the cursed day of the grand tour when their business sales fell to an all-time low. Unlike then however, no fireworks went off and no cute melody played out. But exactly as on that fateful day, a hidden panel opened on the floorboards.
Expressions fell as a mighty throne rose up; a shade of crimson so bold, colored the cushions that it could be made out even under the muted twilight. Golden trim worthy of Louis the XIV’s palace shimmered like antique picture frames. And there, seated in the ostentatiously opulent chair, sat a slender form with legs casually crossed - all detail lost to deep shadow. However the identity of the silhouette made up of a top hat, a fur-trimmed coat, and one hand propping up a lengthy walking cane was unmistakable. The King of the castle had arrived.
“Is it him, reallyhim?” Prodnose whispered, squinting through his bifocals.
“It…better…be.” Heaved Slugworth with a sharp look toward his distraught young prisoner.
The question of the stranger’s identity was answered when a one-of-a-kind voice, gently masculine with a musical lilt called out with unexpected mirth:
“Gentlemen, wilkommen, bienvenue, WELCOME!”
Relaxed posture transformed into a dancer’s grace as he stood, fully claiming the stage for his own. Footfalls, elegant like a thoroughbred horse sounded as he stepped forward, both arms warmly extended. The bead of his key fob and chain of the pocket watch tinkled, expensive fabrics brushed against each other. A silvery white beam from the moon served as a natural spotlight, begging the question, and not for the first time, of whether Willy Wonka bent nature to his whims or it did so for him.
The man tilted his head up, only enough to expose the eerie smile that was his lifelong fate to bear. The warmth in his voice came off as false as the alignment of the endlessly flat, luminescent teeth:
“Wie schön wäre ’ne Pause jetzt
Wo keiner schreit und keiner hetzt
Und jeder einfach mal die Schnauze hält
So ein Tag wär wunderschön
Es würd’ uns so viel besser gehen
Ein Durchatmen für die ganze Welt.”
A formal bow followed the chocolatier’s poetically spoken German phrase.
“…he’s completely fucking insane…”, Muttered Ficklegruber with concerned astonishment.
Slugworth warned, “No…funny business, Wonka. That…was our agreement.”
Psssst! ….hssst….
Psssst! ….hssst….
Psssst! ….hssst….
Psssst! ….hssst….
Much needed air was forced through the excited man’s decrepit lungs before he continued, “Remember…our bargain. One false move…*wheeze* and the boy gets it.”
He couldn’t be seen, but another whimper sounding nearly like his name confirmed Charlie’s presence. The two were still shadows to each other, neither could see the other clearly but both could see that the other was still alive – still a part of each other’s world distorted as that world might be.
Wonka took a deep, jagged breath that had nothing to do with a breathing apparatus. This was indeed going to be a tricky game. For a fraction of a second, from under the brim of the top hat, there was a glimmer of flashing colors – pupils more like warped cat’s eyes than the usual playful twinkle. He responded, “And I am a man of my word merely greeting you in the native tongue of some of the greatest chocolatiers.”
There was a twinge of amusement as Wonka continued, “A pity none of you understood. Now please, do come up here so that we may get a better look at one another…my old… friends.”
He slowly waved them upward, the gesture made more dramatic by the fanciful clothing and shining glove. Spinning on a tall heel to walk through the display toward the back as if he had no worries whatsoever. It left the other candymakers without time to object and besides they were all too anxious to gain their ill-gotten prize. Charlie was hoisted up like a sack of potatoes as the rest walked or wheeled forward. Without a word the men came up the ramp, following the candyman and entering the legendary factory through a gapping doorway. None noticing that the large archway was decorated to resemble an enormous mouth with an elongated rug like a serpent’s tongue beckoning them inside.
Psssst! ….hssst….
Psssst! ….hssst….
Psssst! ….hssst….
Psssst! ….hssst….
“Im…possible.” Stated Slugworth after a long pause.
Astonishingly, the comment was not aimed toward the idle golden hands on the wall that sprung to life and grasped their coats phantom-like (a bizarre improvement resulting from The Bucket’s suggestion that dropping things on the floor was not in good manners). No, it was because within the factory, in decent lighting, the long-time competitors had finally had an opportunity to give each the once over, which had turned into fifth-overs. Prodnose yanked his conductor’s hat back from one of the hands and stepped in front of the group, jaw agape, lifting his bifocals up and down. He gasped, “You-you look exactly the same.”
Face to face, despite the passing of so many years, Willy Wonka barely looked any older. And with his hair currently slicked back, he did look nearly as they had last seen him – as a mere shopkeeper with a single store on Cherry Street. As if time really had stood still for him. It was as ethereal as it was disturbing.
“Pftt!” Ficklegruber spouted, his American accent strong, “Except he’s the color of the walking dead. Geez, Willy ya really DON’T ever leave this factory, huh? There is such a thing as sun lamps, ya know.”
Wonka didn’t seem to notice the insult. Had he, then Ficklegruber might have gotten a comment about the fact that he could stand a little less time under said lamps unless he was attempting to become a roast beef. But instead Willy’s full attention was on their innocent captive.
Bound, gagged, dirty, dusty, clothes torn - Charlie couldn’t manage to make his eyes meet Mr. Wonka’s but he could feel their intense gaze upon his body. Being near his mentor again was like those savored nibbles of chocolate on his birthdays, the ones that he’d fantasize about all year long. And still it was always with guilt that he enjoyed those bars. He didn’t feel worthy of being the only member in the family to get a treat and he most certainly didn’t feel worthy of anything at the moment. Maybe wanting things was bad. Maybe it was what led to all the trouble in the first place. But still…he wanted it…so very badly whether it was ‘poisonous’ or not.
Soft chestnut-colored lashes lifted up. The child couldn’t speak a word through the tight gag, but those inexplicable blue twinkles in the candy genius’s eyes met watery, sad, ocean-colored ones. For a flicker they exchanged a mutual silent glee at seeing one another again. Then the light quickly faded as a tear ran down the English boy’s cheek. He lowered his gaze again as another tear dripped down. Everything about his posture spoke of guilt.
The self-absorbed man had recently learned to care about another person’s feelings, allowing him to realize that his heir must be blaming himself for the current awful circumstances. Willy slowly shook his head as one gloved hand reached out; noticeable squelching noises came from the latex. The other three candymen stared at the oddity and the growing nearness. But before any grape-colored fingertip drew near enough to touch – rough, uncovered hands pulled the child further away. The gloved hand ceased, Wonka’s posture became wooden as his eyes traveled all the way up the large and brutal looking individual who firmly held what he considered by all rights to be his. As the boy had seen so often, within a fraction of a second his idol’s character dramatically shifted - false smile vanishing entirely this time.
The chocolatier’s voice dropped down by octaves as he queried, “I’m sorry, have we met before?”
Though the forms were opposites in every way, one bulky, one slim, one in gentleman’s garb and one dressed like a biker, the look in the eyes locking on to one another was perfectly matched; both wicked and equally cold - neither looked away and neither blinked.
“Name’s M. You know, like a W, only upside down?” Said the unsavory man restraining Charlie. He gave a lazy smirk as he spoke.
Wonka tittered, the lump in his throat bobbing ever so slightly. The chocolatier was actually not amused at all. Glare still fixed, he stated with threat laced under gentle tone, “You promised me that the boy would be unharmed and here he stands bruised, his lovely new clothes torn to ribbons. What about yer end of the deal? Hm?”
Psssst! ….hssst….
Psssst! ….hssst….
“WE…did nothing. The children at his school…did this.” Said Slugworth snidely, an expectant look on his face as he observed his long-time rival.
Cherry-stained lips parted into an ‘o’ and thick, perfectly arched eyebrows reversed into pity. Then the features hardened again, “I don’t believe ya. If it’s true, take off that ding-dong gag and let Charlie tell me himself!”
“Ding-dong?” Murmured Ficklegruber.
“He…doesn’t curse. Too…good for that.” Slugworth said with sarcasm before nodding for the binding cloth to be loosened. The cloth had in fact been the lariat Willy had so carefully (and erotically) placed earlier around his throat. It lay there again now, loosely, but Charlie still did not speak only released a tiny dry cough.
Wonka cocked his head downward toward the boy. His voice was suddenly gentle as spring rain against a bedroom window, “Did school children really do this to you?”
A shamed glance to the side preceded a meek nod. Barely above a whisper, guilt still present, he admitted. “They were jealous, sir.”
The cane creaked, bearing Willy’s weight as he steadied himself - dizzy with emotion. He forced himself to meet M’s vacant, browless eyes again. They searched each other but the battle of wills was not the same this go round – something had changed, something Willy had found he could not control. The large man’s smirk grew wider. What had he exposed? The candymaker swallowed hard and rotated his head; quickly he’d changing focus to the nearby fellow in the bow tie who seemed obviously less of a challenge, although equally aggravating.
A quirky smile re-formed, “And who would you be?”
In an unimpressed tone the young man answered, “Ficklegruber Junior.”
“You’re his…heir. Francis had…a son.” Willy paused a strange length of time and seemed to be looking at nothing at all, his eyes tilted downward, pose rigid. The blonde-haired candyman said something else but the chocolatier heard nothing, only mildly aware that something was spoken he gave a distant, “Huh?”
Once again a disturbed expression crossed the youngest candymaker’s face as he examined this world famous figure. Ficklegruber re-stated himself like he was talking to a deaf person, “Where. Are. The. Rest. Of. The. Buckets?”
That caused a stiff blink. Face awkward Wonka darted his eyes around and stated with a slight shrug, “They’re preparing to move out. You don’t need some stuffy old family annoying ya once you take over, right?”
“I don’t know. Grandpa Joe seems useful enough. Guess he’d need a wife to look after him. The news said Grandma Georgina was your new idea woman and her husband is more on top of gossip than the paparazzi. The tot’s Dad is working on your top-secret project and his Mom is easy on the eyes if you catch my drift. Soooo, change of plans, I’m thinkin’ we should keep the whole lot of them. We can’t do all the work around this fortress.” Said Ficklegruber confidently, hands on hips.
The other men nodded and murmured agreement.
“B-but Charlie...he-he…” Willy could scarcely believe the words spilling out of his mouth, “..needs his family.”
Ficklegruber grinned wide, exposing large capped teeth, “Oh, the lil’ squirt is welcome to stay. I’m sure M won’t mind being his new playmate.”
M’s finger deliberately found its way under a tear on the tattered rainbow sweater to caress Charlie’s exposed skin. A distressed whimper followed. There was no point in expressing rage or begging for mercy. Any objection could be dangerous. These men were terrible people who had long been led astray; their words and their promises meant nothing. As the candyman was coming to understand being human, so was the boy coming to understand what it meant to truly be in those fanciful shoes of his mentor.
Willy’s face in that moment seemed to indicate that he could actually shoot laser beams from his sockets. His strength returned and he practically ceased to look human. The child’s sensitive ears picked up the lowest rubble of a growl which grew into, “I ain’t gonna show you parasites one more square inch or explain one single secret until that filthy beast removes himself from MY..er, ah, Charlie! Preposterous! Why d’ya need such a brute to control one helpless little boy anyhow?!”
“Quite…right.” Answered Slugworth with a limp-armed gesture toward his assistant. He seemed to be pleased with Wonka’s angry reaction. There was more than one manipulator at play in this chess game. Charlie was released, held by Mr. Prodnose instead.
The so-called ‘filthy brute’ was clunking his lace-up boots toward the chocolatier. Willy’s face scrunched up in nervous uncertainty as the man drew right up to him. The hot nostril air being blown onto his delicate skin reminded him of fighting bulls in Spain. So did the ring through the middle of his foe’s nose. Briefly, the candyman shut his lids in disgust. And in that second the wrist of the hand holding his cane was tightly gripped and placed into a metal cuff.
click!
M said slowly in his deep voice, “I’m actually here to restrain you.”
They locked eyes again. In a high voice at great speed Wonka retorted, “In a pig’s eye! When donkey’s fly! Restrained?! NEVER! not I!!”
“Greeaat, he rhymes too.” Ficklegruber added another oddity to the growing list.
The chocolatier attempted to tug his arm away, but it was immediately pulled back and twisted within the cuff links, causing the cane to drop with a fluty and pained, “Augh!”
Prodnose gave a panicked look toward Slugworth who only spread his thin, cracked lips into a smile and watched the scene unfold like a circus show. Ficklegruber picked the cane up from the floor and gave it a twirl, joining the small audience.
“Mr. Wonka!” Charlie shouted and also began to struggle. Prodnose wasn’t a young man but he was stout and definitely strong enough to control a skinny child not even into his teens. Ficklegruber waved Wonka’s cane up to the boy’s chin, pressing the end sharply into his skin, with a fierce look he stated, “Don’t do anything stupid kiddo or your teeth are gonna be as broken as they are crooked. Really should have them fixed anyway.”
“Shut up! He’s perfect the way he is! Leave him alone! It’s me you Zeroxed zeroes want! Let me go and we’ll get on with the tour!” Wonka continued to struggle while shouting.
Slugworth squinted at his competitor. “I’m…a sporting man. If…Willy can get free…he can stay…free.”
Upon hearing Slugworth’s terms, everyone’s attention immediately went back to the battle. The hired thug’s throaty laugh was ended by a surprisingly solid punch to the face. The candyman shook his free hand in comical expression of pain while M smiled, showing off his unbreakable metal teeth. Obviously someone had pulled that trick before. He repaid the sucker punch by grabbing Wonka’s other hand and knocking his forehead into the pale one, causing a top hat to fall to the floor. However the chocolatier’s stumble did not lead to a fall. They both looked impressed if not somewhat surprised.
“Gee, we outta tango more often. But next time I get to lead.” Willy quipped. Up slipped a leg as high as a Rockette dancer’s to slam into the broad chest of Slugworth’s aid. But it wasn’t withdrawn quick enough to keep him from grabbing the slim ankle connected to it. Even Willy’s very last limb was used to sweep under M’s foot and set him off balance. Unfortunately that led to the huge man falling on top of him.
“Ugh! Get offa’ me you steroid-pumped hairless mammoth!! Ya smell worse than a spoiled brat soaked in rotten garbage!” He shrieked, pushing upward, eyes squinted shut. This much touch really was torture to his sensitive nature, even if it had been fun to show off in front of his young friend again.
Mercilessly, the man pressed his muscular weight down while whispering provocatively into the curve of Mr. Wonka’s eardrum, “And you smell of sweet candy, reminds me of children. Yummm.”
THAT was distressing enough to cause Willy to collapse. Plus wresting was definitely M’s expertise, he deftly got the smaller man’s arms uncomfortably behind his back and handcuffed. After which he hoisted the chocolatier to his feet, exposing hair disheveled into its usual bobbed style. Both men’s chests heaved from their efforts. Lurched forward, arms behind his back, Willy blew a stray strand of long hair out of his face. A sneer of annoyance at the others followed. M stared in disbelief over Willy’s shoulder at them. He’d been told he’d be restraining a feisty, old man not an androgynous fop whose body felt like it was made out of steel springs!
Slugworth cackled a dry laugh. “I told you he was stronger *wheeze*…than he looked. And now we know exactly…*kaff* how strong.”
Ficklegruber laughed along, “He’s been hiding hair too. What do you think you are? A knight from the middle-ages?! I mean, Dad had said you were old-fashioned but that’s ridiculous!”
Mr. Prodnose commented, “I think he looks rather nice with longer locks.”
The other men stopped laughing and sighed in annoyance. Captors did not compliment their prisoners. It was basic evil training.
“Oh, and I suppose a pompadour is the latest trend?” Willy scoffed at the young man’s bouffant style. He squirmed within M’s grip and glared at Slugworth, “Or maybe I should try shiny and bald.”
“Can’t we gag him instead?” Said Ficklegruber flatly.
“Unfortunately, no. We’ll be…requiring that giant…mouth of his.” The wheelchair whirred forward toward their long-time rival. The shriveled man occupying the seat craned his neck upward, addressing the sometimes child-like man exactly like he was a child, “But *wheeze* we’ll get something clear first. You…are NOT in charge anymore. We are. And…if you are good…very good…*gasp* maybe I will let you stay as…an employee.”
Easy as he might have snapped every brittle bone in Mr. Ficklegruber’s withered body, in that moment there was nothing Willy could do. To the fire of reds and blues flickering in the candymaker’s eyes and to a body shaking like it would explode from anger, Slugworth added, “That way…once in a while…
Psssst! ….hssst….
Psssst! ….hssst….
“You could still see…your darling Charlie.”
All struggle ceased. The man bowed his head, form becoming limp within M’s grip. A heartbeat passed or the empty space where one should have been. Willy Wonka lifted up his face. He looked toward the child. He remembered how the boy had stood by those he cared about and a thousand other special moments that could not have existed without this new addition to his life. Despite the defeated posture, the features and voice were unusually calm. Wonka stared back at Slugworth, “Well then, yer wish is my command.”

Author’s Notes:
Firstly, I suck. Right? *laughs* But seriously, you all are right, I DID leave you on a cliff hanger. Second, I consider myself LUCKY to have people who take the time and have the courage to leave me those reviews. Thank you, I know each of your voices stand for many who, like myself when I was younger, do not speak up. I will tell you a personal tidbit as part of an explanation. I began college this year after quite a while out of school. Writing this tale (and a few others) took nearly every minute of my spare time when I was doing it and it was worth it, not only because it freed my own imagination but because there was a deep satisfaction in sparking others. That being said, I do not have much spare time anymore and I can’t afford to be totally burnt out at school or I’d keep pulling my all-nighters. Shit, these days I pull all-nighters just to keep up with homework!
I’m going to tell you something else important. I update first & frequently in fun little interactive groups on Livejournal, specifically:
1. Darksidewonka (where the story was born): http://community.livejournal.com/darksidewonka/
2. Wonkaslash: http://community.livejournal.com/wonkaslash/profile
3. Whangdoodles: http://community.livejournal.com/whangdoodles/
I LOVE ADULT FAN FICTION. NET like family but I have to re-code things to post them here. It’s a lot easier than the evil Fan Fiction.Net but it still takes a kind of tedious re-combing through my text. Further I use the live journal community as a way to “test” my work. It is much easier to fix mistakes or alter a line or two of the story in those posts then here (though again, both communities are far easier than FFN). And you may not believe this but…I’m really shy about re-reading my work once I put it out into the public. It’s like actors watching themselves on a movie screen I think.
To a reader named Scarlett, you understand EXACTLY what I’m hinting at and it was your comments at SPLAT! That spurned me to finally finish this volume. Thank you. Louie X, you are on to something as well, very clever. Onitsu, your question is answered in this chapter. I’m sorry if it upsets you, I do warn that this is shota/chan story and the first chapter states that Charlie has only been in the factory for weeks (not years) – he is as old as he is in the film. However, I did write a story where Charlie is 15 called “Sweet Inspiration” on Wonkaslash and Fanfiction.net I understand your concerns, really I do, but remember these characters are fictional. It’s OK to get “excited”, further…there is a special bond between these two particular characters that I’m suggesting surpasses age difference. ScathingSarcasm, you’re forgiven for giving me a laugh. OK, I’ll stop addressing people personally here. It’s been suggested to me once that this is obnoxious. I don’t mean it as such. I mean it to let you know that I “see” you all and your words are appreciated though not expected. *bows head*
OK, all that being said, here are my REAL notes with some tasty artistic treats!
Here is art from the previous volume (20) at my Deviant Art account ("idolhands"):
http://idolhands.deviantart.com/art/Death-by-Chocolate-60891655
Here is the full artwork, progress and original sketches done to accompany this volume:
http://idolhands.deviantart.com/art/No-Son-of-Mine-Young-Wonka-49344173
Story notes: Shakespeare did use the sky to add drama/set moods in his plays. This technique is still used today and dates back to the times of ancient theater. Also, “The Tempest” is a famous play written by him with great focus on a storm.
- 17
- 18
- 19
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