Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

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
- 19
- 20
- 21
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 XVII - Careful Not to Make a Scene!
By: IDOL HANDS
Rating: Mature Demented Audiences (This chapter PG-13, overall NC-17)
Warnings: For dramatic and adult themes, complete use of Dahl's characters (that means ALL the Buckets), mild angst, alternate Paganism, and an under-aged/adult slash (“shota” or “chan”) relationship. It is also long, but I promise that I try to keep it in complex but well-structured proportions. Bon appetit!
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Gene Wilder, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. They ALL deserve Oscars as far as I’m concerned!
Summary: His visions have thorns, his teeth have points, his ideas posses inconceivable might, but the voice of our Manticore candymaker proves to be pure delight. Good company makes for good conversation at breakfast, lunch or suppertime. Though it could be said that Willy’s way with words isn’t always sublime, his constant creations of surprise, never cease to amaze anyone’s eyes. However, with so many secrets swirling in abyss, some are certain to go amiss, at the very least, I promise you’ll learn a new way to kiss!
"He’s got the whole world in his hands"

Willy Wonka was elegantly sashaying up toward the four picnicking Buckets, the dessert pizza perfectly balanced upon his long, glove-covered fingers. The pale gold of this particular pair shimmered subtly in the dimming light of The Chocolate Room. His wardrobe still distinctly reflected the symbolism of a dragon in color and pattern, the prominence of his teeth in the wide grin wasn’t helping to remove any menace from the overall appearance; it would have been easy to imagine smoke curling out of his nostrils. This particular dragon’s impossible treasures were to be found everywhere within the well guarded ‘cave’ of the chocolate factory.
The family happily enjoyed their evening meal outdoors in the fairytale garden of eatable fantasies; a luxury easily afforded in a pest-free, warmth-controlled environment. It was as simple as laying down their old bed quilt on the sugar grass and taking in the surreal painting come to life that was born of the candy maker’s childhood dreams. The chocolate waterfall had been turned off for the evening while the Oompa-loompas cleaned some necessary propulsion equipment as well as the walls within the endless tunnels that made-up the intestinal system of underground rooms. There was only the occasional sound of a slow ripple along the river; even temporarily without a waterfall to churn it, the viscous fluid had enough built up force and heat to sustain itself for the few hours of maintenance.
All of a sudden, everyone’s good-natured conversation was disturbed by a strange sound floating upon the quiet fragrant air. They ceased to speak and all heads turned in the direction of a haunting melody, the words becoming clearer as the figure approached:
Come with me
And you'll be
In a world of
Pure imagination
Take a look
And you'll see
Into your imagination
We'll begin
With a spin
Traveling in
The world of my creation
What we'll see
Will defy
Explanation
If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to,
do it
Wanna change the world?
There's nothing
to it
“I didn’t know that crazy, old bastard could sing.” Began Grandpa George abruptly, “He’s rather good at--*”.
“SHHHsstt~!” His wife and Grandpa Joe quickly hushed him. They didn’t know if the grand chocolatier meant them to overhear this special song, especially with the lack of usual little men chiding in as chorus or dancers. This could be their only chance to catch a solo performance.
There was something hypnotic and sad about the slow, gentle way that Willy was allowing the lyrics to flow from his lips; his uniquely musical speaking voice and penchant for rhyming were suddenly put into perfect harmony. They couldn’t help and wonder why he hadn’t exposed this remarkable talent sooner as the theme song continued:
There is no
Life I know
To compare with
Pure imagination
Living there…
The man’s full form was slowly released from the dark, twisted shadows caused by the overgrowth of impossible horticulture in jukebox colors. Flowing tones within his voice stretched out like the undulating ripples upon the thickly flavored water. Wonka didn’t seem to mind the small audience’s stares as he completed the chorus with direct eye contact to each one of them:
You'll be free
If you truly
Wish to be.
Making a dramatic tilt at the waist the chocolatier laid the disc of heavily laden fruit & candied flowers onto the middle of the quilt, melodically finishing the last line. A slight dusting of powdered sugar had fallen upon the dessert when he left their home. It was even more beautiful than when it had been first created; Willy couldn’t help but mentally credit himself with the ability to improve anything with his mere touch. The Buckets had to applaud the entire performance.
Perhaps only feigning modesty, the candymaker waved their appreciation away. He brushed off the remaining white powder from his form. “Oh stop. It was only an impromptu ditty. I learned the ability from my workers, they’re the real masters of melody, the bringers of beat, the keepers of the Chthonic.”
A hidden wealth of knowledge dazzled behind those disconnected eyes.
“My daughter really outdid herself this time.” Said Grandpa Joe, breaking the curious silence that had followed Mr. Wonka’s cryptic comment. He beheld the dessert revealing his own wide, toothy smile. It was interesting how despite that striking similarity, the old man’s never conveyed any sense of threat as the chocolatier’s would frequently suggest.
Grandma Josephine was the first who managed to look away from the inviting pie. She spoke in a tone that was half nervous from his presence and half apologetic, “Willy, we weren’t expecting you. I’m afraid we ate all of dinner.”
“Quite alright, Josie, quite alright.” He tipped the brim of his top hat; an especially decorative, embroidered band caught her eye as he added, “Besides dessert is the best part of any meal!”
The old woman looked him up and down, his slacks and tailored finery as form-fitted as usual, “Seems to me you barely eat anything but sweets. You’d think you’d get sick all the time.”
“Oh, quit fussing, he isn’t even fat. Why he’s nearly as skinny as a scarecrow.” Added Grandpa George. He’d already begun to neatly slice up the chocolate dessert pizza.
“And a good job he’s doing of it too. Not a crow in sight!” Enthused Grandma Georgina while looking a teeny bit suspicious toward the factory ceiling. She didn’t want to take a chance that anything would swoop down and steal her after dinner treat.
“Why thank you. I do my best to ward off evil spirits.” Replied Wonka with that ever-menacing grin. Still, the voice sounded sweet as he insisted on adding, “I’d prefer ‘swimmer’s build’ to ‘scarecrow’ though, thanks so much. It’s not like I ain’t got muscles under here. I’m much more sturdy than I may look.”
Grandma Josephine’s mind flashed on that grip which had caused an audible pop of her son-in-law’s knuckles. In fact every single one of her experiences thus far would teach her that there was most definitely more to Willy Wonka than met the eye. And that was saying a lot considering how much one did ‘meet’ upon seeing him!
Speaking to them as if they were a small crowd who had come to hear him lecture, the candymaker began, “And to answer yer other questions, I find that I don’t really need to eat as much food as other people because I invented Supervitamin Candy! Yeah. All ya gotta do is swallow one of those every morning and ya get 150% of all yer daily allowances. Then you can eat all the candy and junkfood you want and you never have to worry for a second!”
Willy curled his tongue slightly around his upper lip, carefully positioned himself toward the ground. Grandpa Joe eagerly offered him his hand for balance. The chocolatier’s hesitation dissolved as the eldest member of the family complimented him, “Ooh, that’s very clever Mr. Wonka, very clever. I suppose we could all do with a piece of Supervitamin Candy every day.”
Allowing himself to lean, one leg bent and the other straight, he plopped onto the grass with a quick hop and gave a satisfactory sigh at reaching the ground. “It’s got everything you’d ever need; vitamins A through Z, though not S since it makes you sick or H because you’ll grow horns. But I invented and added Vitamin Wonka to the recipe!”
“Wot does that one do?” Said the drawn-faced eldest bucket, his clear blue eyes looking even larger than usual beneath his coke-bottle lenses.
“It makes yer toes grow out until they’re as long as fingers.” Willy said.
“Good gracious! How awful!” Exclaimed Grandma Josephine while staring directly at Wonka’s shoes. It suddenly occurred to her that the family had never seen the cha-cha heels off!
“Don’t be silly,” said Mr. Wonka. “It’s most useful. You’re able to play the piano with yer feet!”
Everyone sat quiet for a second in awkward silence as the candy maker was removing a slice from the dessert pizza for himself.
“You get freakier by the day Willy, but I’ll be damned if you don’t look exceptionally young!” Grandpa George chuckled.
Grandma Georgina grinned at the three handsome men across from herself and gave an equal sigh of satisfaction.
“Yup, fit as a fiddle. Hey Charlie, wanna feel my muscles?” Willy said with a boastful tone, his arm bent into a mock weight-lifters position. A serious look immediately erased it as he finally noticed something. The man swiftly looked all around as the others indulged their sweet tooth. It appeared that he’d gotten a little too caught up in his crooning. “Uh…where IS my heir?”
“He went to help his mother like a good little boy. Can I feel your muscles instead?” Answered Grandma Georgina with the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl. Wonka didn’t answer only began to look panicked, so without any objection to stop her, the older woman began to help herself and squeeze about his bent arm.
Wonka suddenly burst out laughing, “Hey, Stop it! That tickles!”
She did with a dimpled grin and an amused, “How cute, he’s ticklish like the Pillsbury Dough Boy on telly.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t run into him.” Said Grandpa George, who wasn’t ticklish in the slightest.
“The Pillsbury Dough Boy?” Asked Georgina baffled.
“No, Charlie.” Politely corrected Grandpa Joe.
Josephine paused before putting the slice of dessert into her mouth again. “So you were all alone in the house with my daughter?”
“Uh…” Wonka was still concerned about the lack of his heir. He didn’t need another thing to be nervous about. “I suppose I was. So wut?”
“Sew buttons.” She responded with an old-fashioned phrase, which meant that this was not something to be taken lightly. “Sir, in my day, we did not permit unmarried men to be alone around womenfolk.”
“Maybe that was a good idea.” Came Charlie’s young voice. It was only the slightest bit flat. He was carrying the crème-filled dessert pizza that his mother had been working on. Almond paste had been piped onto the top of it and the edge was decorated with a rainbow of gumdrops.
The chocolatier looked at him with a guilty-as-all-hell look. It seemed his heir had seen something objectionable. Question was, how much?
The boy calmly placed the new pie down next to the half-eaten chocolate one. The piping on top had been formed into a unicorn, clearly visible, for the edges of the figure had been carefully singed with a flame. Charlie deliberately avoided eye-contact as he also stated, “Mum said she wanted to clean up a bit before she joined us. She said to go ahead without her.”
To his Grandmothers’ surprise the boy chose to snuggle himself between the two of them rather than by Willy’s side (which the child had been doing since his father wasn’t around to object).
Both of the older women smiled, but Georgina objected with a gentle nuzzle to the other side, “It’s wives on this side and husbands on the other.”
Charlie blushed ever so slightly, but managed to recover himself with a, “Yes, well, I’m not married to anybody so I can sit where I like, right?”
“Aw, bless his heart. Wouldn’t it be nice if he could always stay this cute?” Grandma Josephine pulled him to her chest with a big hug.
“He will.” Said Wonka in a detached pitch that caused the others to look toward him. As usual, the distant look did nothing to explain his statement. He added breathlessly, “I’m sure of it.”
The candyman’s certainty had come as a result of asking the giant scrying mirror to show him what Charlie would look like when he got older. An idea that had struck him on that drunken evening after the kiss goodnight, he couldn’t resist. The requested image had been reluctant to arrive, for a long time he only saw himself… slowly aging; something he despised looking at but could do nothing about. He’d been forced to accept the process with the rude arrival of that single silver strand. In morbid curiosity he stared at his shifting reflection. How much time was passing? Would he really decay so quickly now that it had begun?
Willy Wonka had told his workers that “he wasn’t important enough” to take Wonkavite in order to preserve himself, but the truth was that he had taken it and it hadn’t worked. The chocolatier was more deeply upset by that event than the discovery made during his ‘semi-annual haircut’. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why it didn’t have an effect, so he’d kept it to himself. Why was he so different from other people? It troubled and frightened him a great deal at times. At any rate, the selfless statement had managed to improve his image with the workers who nearly sacrificed their own lives in order for him to develop the forbidden recipe in the first place!
So, staring into that reflection of the polished onyx he began to worry further. There were pronounced wrinkles, he bore more of a resemblance to his father than he liked (would he also grow a goatee one day?). Most curiously, exactly half his scalp had become silver, along with one silver eyebrow on the opposite side of his altered hair. It was a strange way to go grey, but then, what did the chocolatier ever do that was normal? The twinkle in his eye was still there though – maybe even a bit more deranged. He liked that part. But…where was his heir? Had he become hideous to the golden ticket winner? Or would the boy truly leave, as his paranoia kept telling him? A lump formed in his throat.
Finally, with that thought, from behind him the image of a young man perhaps only a young teenager in appearance, came forward off of the circular bed. Slowly the figure came to stand amorously by his side. The youth was clothed only in Wonka’s worn paisley shirt, which was threadbare but still slightly too large on the wearer; French cuffs falling to the knuckles with long, smooth legs left tantalizingly exposed. To the candymaker, the ragamuffin look was reminiscently charming and seductive in its vulnerability.
He was beautiful, still extremely slender but with a new grace, the chestnut hair was long with soft waves and his skin was as ethereal as his teacher’s. Things reflected in the glossy black surface were heavily drowned in shadow, it was difficult to make out detail, but something was strange about the boy’s gaze as well. The vision smiled to also reveal imperfect teeth but more-than-perfect dimples or Willy would not have been certain that this lovely stranger was the very same little boy who sat across from him now. The youth pressed two interlocked hands to Wonka’s robe-covered shoulder, the split in the sleeves parting to reveal a thin golden ring clearly visible. It was his Charlie and the lad leaned, lips puckered, in order to kiss the older man on the cheek. Wonka had closed his eyes to take in the sensations but they all disappeared, for he had broken the trance with that involuntary reaction of the scenario; completely swept away in the illusion.
The entire vision vanished despite immediately re-opening his eyes with a jagged gasp.
It proved to be an especially lonely night after that incident. He couldn’t manage to re-summon the image, but he did play it out inside his mind a few times more before reaching slumber…a slightly more X-rated version that is. The ‘Moon Festival’ couldn’t arrive soon enough as far as the chocolatier was concerned. This time he was quite ready to join in the same earthly pleasures that his workers did.
The family had left Willy to his ‘flashback’, they found it was best to do so and blamed their frequent occurrences on his senility, like Grandma Georgina’s own shortcomings. Of course, Wonka insisted that there wasn’t a thing wrong with her mind – that, to quote him, “Gina here is smarter than anyone else in the house!” The mad leading the mad they had muttered, but the cheerful elderly woman certainly took to his flattery.
Charlie hadn’t expected the purple eyes to suddenly dart up again; they had been staring far off for such a long period of time. He forced himself not to look away though, wanting to see if he could read something in them, trying to be more mature about things. Unexpectedly, the boy DID recognize a flicker of lust before it faded. He knew what that looked like in their multi-dimensional reflection at this point. The question was where the lustful thoughts were aimed.
The man’s expression had grown piteous, desperately trying to communicate with him some sort of apology or request. The boy let out a huff and looked away again taking a reluctant bite of the vanilla confection, it was too tasty to resist despite being upset.
“So, where were you all this time?” Inquired George. “Up to more inventions then?”
Almost entirely disinterested in his own response, Willy replied, “Err, I was with my psychologist.”
The family paused and said in unison, “psychologist?!”
“I know, hard to believe, huh?” Willy had snapped back into reality with a nervous giggle, realizing what he’d revealed. “Even us geniuses need to clear out our heads now and then. I got a whole lot goin’ on up here you know, sometimes even I can’t figure it all out!”
Charlie had continued to remain silent but was looking inquisitively at everyone. He had wondered who the tiny man in the three-piece suit was, but he didn’t know what a ‘psychologist’ was. Wonka had looked so confused, pained, and distraught when he’d seen the man get off the Great Glass Elevator. This new information might help explain some things.
Grandma Josephine was squeezing Charlie to herself with one arm, it seemed in reflex to the conversation. “So you employ an Oompa-loompa to the task?”
“Naturally, I have an Oompa-loompa to do nearly anything you can think of! They’re excellent at specialization, but running things as a whole isn’t really their bag. Hey, ya know, you could see him too if ya want. His name is Jung.”
The curly, silver haired woman looked at him with uncertainty. “Uh, thank you but I think I prefer prayer. Tell me, have you ever tried prayer, Mr. Wonka?”
Grandpa Joe gave her a slightly ambivalent look suggesting that she was looking to deliberately disrupt the mood.
However, Wonka’s jewel-colored orbs slowly slid to the precious human bundle in her arms, answering in a deliberate manner, “Yes. And they were answered.”
Snapping back into his childlike mode, the eyes darted back toward the rest of the family with apple cheeks, “I prefer tah call them wishes though.”
With all the humility he could muster, Grandpa Joe ventured, “Mr. Wonka since you’re kind enough to offer the services of your Oompa-loompa, I’d like to remind you that you’re equally free to come to us the next time you need someone to talk to.”
Mr. Wonka had taken another bite of his dessert, he responded with a muffled, “Mrph, really?”
“Of course.” Reassured the man he’d employed as the head of his Public Relations. “You’re family.”
There was another pause. The chocolatier seemed completely overwhelmed. If they weren’t mistaken, there were even tears in his eyes.
It was more than even a slightly disgruntled Charlie could bear. In truth, the boy didn’t want to hold a grudge against him for he was no longer sure that he knew who he was without this person. He said softly, “You know, since you’re family, I should tell you that it’s not polite to talk with your mouth full sir.”
Innocently he took a nibble of his own slice after the statement.
Like a bold brushstroke in one of the Japanese woodblock paintings in the rather ‘informative’ history book from the library, an eyebrow keenly raised. Willy was pleased to be addressed by the lad, that much was evident from the ever-so-slightly upturned corner of his mouth, but playful mischief was still on his mind. “Oh rilly? I’ll remember that the next time your mouth is full wise guy.”
For reason’s unknown to the family, the youngest Bucket turned the loveliest shade of crimson before he began to make helpless little coughing noises. Noises that, for Wonka, only added to his previous insinuations. Charlie excused himself to clear his throat. The candyman’s eyes shifted around, feeling presented with an opportunity. Looking around he snapped off the top of one of the curiously shaped flowers growing out of the swudge. He held up an object that previously resembled a mere yellow daffodil to reveal itself as a whimsical, dainty teacup. He swayed it upward and took a sip. “Cheers. Everyone help themselves, I believe I’ll deliver a daffodil to my distressed, dimpled delegate.”
Placing heft on his cane, the man managed to stand once again with a repressed grunt. He distracted from the effort by adding, “And you can eat the whole thing once you’ve drunk the tea!”
Josephine tried to crane her neck but it was as if the shadows reached out and swallowed their forms, leaving barely a silhouette to decipher. The sound of multiple loud crunches turned her attention back to the family amusing themselves by testing Wonka’s last comment. To their pleasure, the cups were indeed ‘eatible’ and left the lightest flavor of lemon & honeysuckle on the tongue.
“Leave them be. They’ll be fine.” Grandpa Joe said assuredly, plucking a fresh daffodil for his wife of many years. He offered with a smile, “Eat a cup of tea.”

Charlie had a feeling he would be followed, but wasn’t entirely certain until the gloved hand suddenly curled in front of his form, primly holding the flowered demitasse. How did a man with a limp manage to sneak up on people?! He reflexively flinched from surprise and glanced over his shoulder at the looming chocolatier. “Wot *cough* is it *cough*?”
“A sip of sweet nectar to sooth your soreness?” He said in a kind voice, head tilted to the side. There was an obvious second meaning to the sentence and an apologetic note in the tone.
Curse his cleverness, the boy thought as he held back any smile. Withdrawing from their closeness he slipped around the bend of the peppermint tree and drank what had been offered. The liquid did help. Willy had not attempted to get close again, he remained on the other side of the barber pole colored tree.
The next statement he heard came as a startlement. “I need to hear it.”
His eyes shifted all around, indicating how desperately Wonka was trying to solve the riddle he’d just been presented with. Brightly colored lips twisted into complete uncertainty.
Another soft-spoken clue was offered, “The three words that I keep telling you. If…you really feel the same way, I-I’d just like to know be-because if you don’t...”
Unable to withstand any more of the sound of his heir’s cracking voice, he interrupted, “Charlie, how could ya doubt it? You have a power over me now…can’t you see that? YOU’RE the one in control of breaking it.”
“Breaking wot?” He’d been unable to bring himself to look at the person whom he was addressing and now found himself confronted with a riddle.
“…my dear boy..” The man peeked around the trunk, looking lost and desperate. How could the child not understand? It was too painful to actually say aloud, lowering his eyes, he formed the familiar Oompa-loompa greeting for his young companion; a flat palm pushed downward, the tip of an invisible hat and two hands curved together to form…
Charlie spoke the well-known signs out loud, “Wonka’s…little..”
His heir paused as soon as he put it together. “…heart. You think I can break your heart? But I was just thinking…”
The chocolatier didn’t raise his head. This was a painful truth to reveal, but there was also a kind of anger inside of him. For the first time in a great long time, someone finally had power over him again and he couldn’t control it.
Sensing that they’d reached a sort of impasse, the child carefully reached out his hand to his mentor’s clutched one, but Wonka pulled away and backed up as the boy had done to him only a moment ago. They were entwined within a difficult and delicate dance. It distressed Charlie; it distressed him even more as it appeared the candymaker was going to walk away completely. “Mr. Wonka, don’t go. Please don’t go. Can’t you just tell me wot you and Mum were doing? That’s all I really want to know.”
Head still down, face still shrouded, a cold voice stated, “I thought we trusted each other.”
The jaw tilted up enough to reveal the swirling eyes again with a face as unusually serious as the one he’d worn when first ‘proposing’ their union. This was no small issue for the candymaker, the boy could have guessed that from when they first visited and Grandpa Joe had been asked, “Were you one of those despicable spies who everyday tried to steal my life's work and sell it to those parasitic copycat candy making cads?”
Violation of trust had nearly cost him everything he’d built his entire life upon. It was difficult to stay mad at him even after whatever he’d witnessed. It became obvious to Charlie that because of everything the man had been through Mr. Wonka was constantly waiting to be hurt, to have everything he loved or was familiar to him taken away again. Quickly he thought of the history that befell the world famous chocolate maker, his remarkable life and downfall. The twenty years of solitude followed by a contest that would eventually change his previously insignificant life forever. Of all the people on planet earth, one of those Golden Tickets fell to him; then out of that tiny group of five, from six billion people, he was chosen. That had to mean something, right?
After what felt like a mind-numbing moment to the chocolatier, his young friend looked back up to meet the wild gaze and desperately clenched teeth. The boy let out a little sigh, twisting one corner of his mouth enough to make a dimple appear. “I trust you.”
In the child’s mind it was as if immense webbed wings, sharp teeth, and large claws had been retracted while features hesitantly transformed from being prepared to battle into a vulnerable sort of gratitude. The previously arched fingers fiddled in their uncertainly of whatever to do with themselves now that there was no need to be defensive or threatening.
His heir finally released a tiny chuckle as he chose to settle down, cross-legged at the base of the twisting, reaching peppermint tree. With his head bent, he said, “You can be cute sometimes, you know that Mr. Wonka?”
“Moi? Cute?” The fingers found a place elegantly pressed against his upper chest. He comically batted his eyes and gave his cane a playful toss into the air. “I thought that was your job.”
Seeing Charlie’s comment and posture as an invitation, Wonka removed himself from the shadows of his side to join his heir.
The boy attempted to help the chocolatier get back to the ground again, with a hand of assistance as Grandpa Joe had offered, but things did not go as well as they had at the picnic for this arm was far shorter than the elderly grandparent (as Willy had oddly pointed out during the tour). The chocolatier slid on the bright grass during the second half of his descent with a very surprised, “OH!”
He ended up half in Charlie’s lap and giving it a second of thought, decided to stay there; removing the top hat to the boy’s head (despite it being slightly too large) and snuggling his own head into the perfectly sized cradle. His heir looked down at the unexpected turn of events with amusement. “Do you really have a bad leg Mr. Wonka?”
“Or am I just pullin’ yers?" Arms were casually brought up and crossed over his midriff, a pinch of the teacher sound back in his voice, “Since we’re bein’ so very honest with each other, yes, I do. However, and I wanna make this quite clear, it has nothing tah do with my age.”
Small, careful hands pushed back the sleek, long sides of his Prince Valiant haircut. Wonka’s expression got suspicious, “Whattaya doing?”
“Relax, I’m only admiring your face. You look nice with your hair back.” Actually Charlie couldn’t help attempting to discern said ageless candymaker’s true number of years on the planet. The child was fairly certain there was no point in actually asking and he honestly didn’t care if his hero was as old as his Grandparents. Age was not a fearful thing to him, if anything his experiences had taught him how valuable old age was; creating a person filled with treasure boxes. He stroked over the alabaster skin, from the nearly naked forehead to the unyielding cheekbones and down the strong jaw. It was a very nice face, a powerful one, especially when it stayed still for longer than a heartbeat. A heartbeat…
“Mr. Wonka?” The boy whispered again, a twinge of fear underneath his tone.
“Hmm?” Willy turned his face toward the gentle stroke of the boy’s hand, resembling a giant cat enjoying a good scratch.
“I’ve been wondering about something, when I put my head to your chest…” Eyes flashed open again as Charlie finished his question, “I couldn’t quite find your heartbeat.”
Pale lavender shone back as Wonka reached up to place a stroke on his heir’s features, “That’s cuz I don’t need one. Yer my heart now, remember?”
The candyman’s answer didn’t quite make sense, but it didn’t quite not make sense either, like a lot of things about his new universe; things that simply had to be accepted for no logic would ever explain them. Mr. Wonka alone was a walking contradiction: a remarkably brilliant, astoundingly immature, unbelievably unbreakable, yet unforgivingly fragile person who was currently residing right in his bowl-sized lap.
Cascading fingertips paused at Charlie’s realization of the unbelievable fact.
Strange eyes that could no more decide on a color than the man could on an emotion slid closed. “Keep goin’, I liked that brushing, like getting my portrait painted by yer little fingers instead of Madame Rose’s paintbox. Hmm, I can’t explain wut you’ve done tah me. Never really liked bein’ touched until I met you. And now, it’s like I can’t ever get enough…huh. I thought I’d be the one to change you, but you’ve made me different instead.”
Loving caresses began again, a pinky finger down the angular arch of his nose, the boy spoke softly, “I think I’m different too now, Mr. Wonka.”
The body in his lap stiffened slightly, though the lids stayed closed, “Heh. Uh, whaddaya mean by that?”
“Nothing bad, sir.” A forefinger absently traced the well-defined bow-shaped mouth. “I mean, since the day I’ve met you even my dreams have been different -- full of all this color and fantastical stuff, like the Chocolate Room took over the whole world. As if everything that never was came to life. Oh, it’s so beautiful Mr. Wonka, you’d love it, but…there’s something else in the dreams too, a-a shadowy darkness all around the edges that feels like it’s going to swallow everything, like it’s filled with monsters that never come out but I know they’re there.”
Willy had reached up and clutched Charlie’s hands, he looked his protégé in the eyes again, and they darkened in hue. “Listen tah me. NO monsters are gonna getcha, not while I’M around.”
Images of The Secret Ingredients Room flashed through the child’s memory. He’d seen and felt the protective, animalistic side of Willy Wonka -- the one that lay deep under layers of velvet, paisley, and Victorian facade. A shiver ran through his spine from the mixed feelings of comfort, arousal, and fear. The boy moved his hand up the side of the smooth skin, the cool sensation of it making the surface feel more like a breeze of air against his palm than any tangible substance, unreal like every inch of the factory. In a rather hushed, seductive way, Charlie instructed, “Close your eyes again.”
Ever suspicious when something was someone else’s idea rather than his own, Wonka responded, “Whhyyy?”
The boy hunched over his embedded companion, continuing his whispered coyness, “Because I want to share a secret with you.”
Glittering lights found their way back into the magical irises, “You think you know somethin’ that I don’t, do ya?”
A dimpled half-twist reappeared, “You don’t know everything, Mr. Wonka.”
“Oh, yes I do.” He immediately responded, only half joking as he finally shut his eyes again.
“No peeking.” The boy added.
“I’m not.” But the lids did squint up a little tighter, revealing that he had been.
The first thing Mr. Wonka felt was his heir’s warm breath against his face. It felt nice, but the chocolatier feared that his young teacher was about to get carried away, “Charlie, much as I’d like to, we shouldn’t, not out in the open like this…”
“Shhh…” The boy insisted, breathing the request right into the man’s sensitive ear.
Baby-fine strands of his the boy’s own hair brushed against his mentor’s facial skin and down the fragment of exposed throat. There was nothing more silken, even his bed-sheets lacked for the perfection of that sensation. Willy purred, “Mmmn, I like that.”
A second later he felt it, a quick whisk against the thin skin of his lips:
flit!
flick!
The tickling moved upward toward the side of his nose and onto the round part of his cheek, his thick eyebrows conveyed confusion, as he tried to discern the riddle of a sensation:
flit!
flick!
flit!
flick!
flit!
flick!
The speed between the miniscule motions had increased, creating the barest of tickles across the surface of his face. That feather-like touch spread until it felt like it was tickling his entire body. Not enough to make him laugh, only enough to arouse ALL of his curiosity. Willy gasped loudly. “Uhn! I can’t take anymore! Please, I must know, what is it that you’re doing?”
He opened his eyes to come directly in contact with Charlie’s, closer than they’d ever been before. They were the most lovely, brilliant shades of blue and green with miniscule flecks of brown and amber. Again, the candy maker was reminded of looking at Earth: the whole world…his whole world.
“They’re called ‘butterfly kisses’? Do you like them?” He laughed, completely unaware to the depth of Wonka’s thought.
“Like them?? You’re driving me mad with them! Show me how!” For the first time since they’d got this close, Wonka felt like he was the prisoner for a change. No, wait. There was that time before he realized how badly he needed the boy. That was painful though, this was more like pleasant torture. Placed his angelic face no more than a centimeter above the impossibly pale moonlit skin, it was explained, “It’s easy, you just lean down and…”
flit!
Down the thick fan of his boyish eyelashes went, then upward as he opened his eyes once more:
flick!
“Ooh…” The chocolatier’s own lids closed again.
Charlie couldn’t resist doing it some more. Laughing again as he did so. “You’re really enjoying this a lot more than Mum and I ever did.”
The boy’s tone changed as he finished, “She’s um, the one who taught me actually.”
Missing the child’s subtle remorse at having to credit his mother with the cleverness, he responded, “Hhhhnn…well…I’m probably a lot more sensitive…it’s ..uhnn…a blessing and a curse.”
“I think I’m getting more sensitive too.” Charlie commented while adding another dose of the pleasant torture.
His indulgent expression ceased as the twilight-colored eyes were exposed once more, a mixture of nervousness and excitement, “Really?”
“Yes. Firstly, I can read from a lot father than usual, I noticed that in your library when I spotted that book about Japan. Then last night, I could barely sleep because of all the noise. Normally I find those little noises of my family quite comforting really, but suddenly it was like trying to sleep with a symphony in there!”
“That’ll never do Charles, I need you to be bright, keen, and well-rested in the morning.” A mischievous smile appeared, “See? You need to start resting in yer rightful place.”
Wonka was given his own personal sunset as the color flushed to his heir’s cheeks right in front of him. The boy knew very well that his mentor meant the other side of his own bed was his ‘rightful place’. “Th-they’ll never go for it. A-a-and besides…”
Wonka raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips playfully at the youth, “Hm?”
Charlie shifted his eyes sideways, “I still wouldn’t get any sleep.”
A huge wolfish grin followed that admission, but he resisted saying anything more than, “Oh, you’d wear out eventually.”
“Speaking of sleeping.” Said a gentle, female voice. “Isn’t it time for the both of you to be doing that then? Big day tomorrow with school, a test and all, right?”
“Mother!” The boy gasped with more guilt than he would’ve liked. Willy’s hat had finally lost its battle with gravity and plunked over half his face, only stopping at the tip of his nose. Though temporarily blind, he managed, “I-I’ve been showing Mr. Wonka our butterfly kisses.”
“Mm-hm. I saw. A mother sees everything you know.” Her flowing gown brushed against the grass as her son’s hands had brushed the man’s face. She looked down at the chocolatier from an upside down position, “Comfortable?”
“Yes, indeedy.” He grinned refusing to show the nervousness that his heir had just exhibited. “You Buckets seem to be a very comfortable people. Makes gettin’ over my phobias a whole lot easier.”
Using both his little hands to lift off the hat, Charlie’s wide eyes stared up at his mother, “Yes, he sees um, a psy-cho-lo-gist! S-so it’s good that I’m helping him, right Mum?”
There was a funny tension around the muscles of her mouth that could indicate that she holding back a smile or a lecture. “Learned a new word did you? The family was telling me about that before we got around to where the two of you had wondered off to.”
Her dark eyes looked directly into Willy’s, “We’ve all headed back into the house. I expect you’ll allow Charlie to do the same momentarily?”
“Of course….momentarily.” He repeated the words with visible uncertainty. By his calculations, caught in such an intimate situation, Mrs. Bucket would have been either completely unaware of the further implications or very upset. However, the equation resulted in her being in a puzzling state of Mona Lisa awareness or so it seemed.
“See you soon for beddy-bye, Monkey face.” She smiled warmly at her son then turned and slowly walked away; shadows of the night engulfing the white dress as she went further into the distance.
It took only a few beats for Willy to grasp the words past his own twisting emotions, “Monkey face?”
“I don’t like that nick name anymore.” The boy pouted and crossed his arms, top hat teetering again. "I'm too grown up for it."
Wonka grinned. That pout was quite endearing despite his youthful annoyance. In some ways Charlie was too grown up, but in others he was still crystallized in his childhood -- such an exquisite recipe. With rare genuineness, the chocolatier forced himself to ask, “Charlie…would ya really and truly want tah be by my side, even…for as long as I should live?”
The child twitched his head downward from the shock of being asked such a thing. The hat plunked down again. Wonka reached up with his right arm and finally removed it. Anxiously, the boy stated, “Oh, Mr. Wonka, I could do it every bit as good as my Mum! I’ve watched her take care of my grandparents for years and years!”
The man sat up, placing the top hat back onto its ‘rightful position’. Years and years? Fantastic as this human being was, he also wasn't much older than a person could count on two hands. “Yes well, I can be as dotty as yer Grandma Georgina, grumpy as yer Grandpa George, as fulla’ mirth as Grandpa Joe, and in your business like Grandma Josephine, so I reckon that’ll make pretty good practice.”
Charlie had popped himself onto all fours, and crawled a step toward his benefactor. Awe on his face from the comparison of Mr. Wonka being the amalgam of all his grandparents. The brush of something sturdier than eyelashes met the man’s cheek, two small arms wrapped around from behind, and whispered into his ear those three all-important words. Unknown to the candymaker, the child had learned this pose of reassurance from watching his very own parents. And unknown to Charlie, Willy finally got his lost kiss.
He held still and enjoyed the pose for an instant, desperately tempted to return the phrase, but unable to do so because of the chains that still trapped his soul. Instead, he lightly tapped the young hand and muttered, “I know ya do.”
“So…help me stand.” Returned his usual silliness.

The boy had done so and Willy insisted that he be on his way without him, stating that he needed to remain a moment longer within the Chocolate Room to ensure that the engines would be turned back on momentarily. He stood alone, in silence, in the darkness; until a large click proceeded the familiar drown of churning which eventually led to the rush of the waterfall. No other factory in the world could do it. He sighed and clasped closed his equally one-of-a-kind pocket watch. The labored sound of his footsteps back to the Great Glass Elevator were completely lost, as was the singular sob that he’d wiped away with his handkerchief. He wasn’t sure if what was happening to him was wonderful or awful, certainly lay only in the knowledge that he didn’t want it to stop.
As the elevator lifted up and he decided to look down upon the recently added dwelling, a soft glowing white light caught his attention. He sniffled and squinted. It couldn’t be. But it was. As sure as he was standing, he caught the fastest glimpse of the singular horned animal running free and before he’d been transported completely out of sight, the mythical creature even looked directly at him!
In excitement, his hands slid across the buttons of the wall, causing him to use blasphemy in a bizarre string of words. For what he truly wanted to do was return and get a better look! Fast as his transparent contraption was, by the time it swung back around to the ever-growing secret garden, the horse was gone.
Still, he was grateful, perhaps more grateful than anyone could understand.

Author's Notes:
I don't think I mention enough that the inspiration for the title of this tale is from Michael Jackson's song "Is It Scary" from his album Blood On The Dance Floor. Buy it! If you've never seen the video "Ghosts" from the same album, you can see it here on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UwOA8H5Vaak
Manticores are extremely unpleasant mythical animals with the bodies of lions and the faces of men who sing as beautifully as a choirboy, luring humans to be their meals.
He’s got the whole world in his hands is a simple spiritual song often taught to children.
Gene Wilder originally sang “Pure Imagination” in the first movie interpretation of the book. It bothered me that Johnny did not attempt to sing in the film (did you know that Depp wanted very badly to be a musician in the early parts of his career and life?) so I made up for it here with my own, ‘imagination’. Although Charlie had heard the candymaker's singing voice, the Buckets had not, plus this song was sung with more meaning and rhapsody.
The eatible daffodils teacups are also from the first movie. "Piscaria" managed to mention them too in her wonderful fic found at fanfiction.net, Distance Makes the Heart. Look that up, I'm a big fan.
"Chthonic": adj. relating to the underworld (and the subconscious) as described in Greek mythology. Extra special thanks again to Live Journal user "piscaria" who provided me with this golden key of knowledge, allowing me to deeper understand the mythos that I’m attempting to weave. Serpents are seen as a powerful symbol to the chthonic. Jung wrote, "The serpent is the age-old representative of the lower worlds, of the belly with its contents and the intestines." Dragons are even more symbolic in such interpretations. You keep reading about such things and you’ll catch on to something.
"Supervitamin Candy" is in the original book and the lines about Vitamin Wonka and one’s toes are quoted directly. Sorta makes you wonder, huh?
Wonka’s appearance in the scrying mirror is meant to head him in the direction of the Quentin Blake and Roald Dahl’s original concepts, but with a bit of my own imaginings. The hairstyle is inspired by the British rock star Iggy Pop who really did don that style in the 70’s – seemed like the confectioner would be the only human being in the world who might actually age in such an eccentric way. You may also see such a look on Cruella Deville from 101 Dalmatians (although her eyebrows do match). Btw, Wonka and Cruella make an interesting duo. *evil grin*
Anyone catch the subtle reference to “chocolate” and “vanilla”? Those are sexual terms that represent how experienced you are and usually how kinky you like things. People will ask how “vanilla” you are and such.
“Moi?” As all Miss Piggy fans know, is French for “Me”.
“Listen tah me. NO monsters are gonna getcha, not while I’M around.” - whoops, I think I referenced Sweeney Todd without meaning to.
“Butterfly Kisses”, go ahead and try them out on someone you care about. I know you want to.
Permission was given to post this sketch by "loi_maga" (off Live Journal and Deviant Art) from Volume 14: http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a300/idolhands/dragonbyloi_maga.jpg
Please check out the sculpture work here too and feel free to leave a comment!! Just sign it with your user name here even if you don't have a Live Journal account! http://community.livejournal.com/darksidewonka/47627.html#cutid1
ART OF Teen!Charlie from Willy Wonka's image in the scrying mirror: http://community.livejournal.com/darksidewonka/48564.html
ALL COMMENTS, EVEN ANONYMOUS ONES ARE WELCOME, BUT PLEASE BE POLITE. I'M ALWAYS INTERESTED IN MEETING NEW FANS OF CatCF.
- 19
- 20
- 21
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Is It Scary