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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
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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 III
By: IDOL HANDS
Rating: PG-17 (for dramatic themes and perverted thoughts)
Warnings: It’s novel-like: I’m exploring themes and working up the plot. Suggested & historical under-aged slash.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. However, I am going to start charging rent if they keep living inside my head!
Summary: Charlie goes to seek out Mr. Wonka within the factory, but the chocolatier was already expecting him and has surprises in store. Also, insight into the boy and his family since they agreed to live inside of the factory. Now Wonka's heir is the one with questions!
"Come to my arms my beamish boy"

Charlie had finally finished reading the marvelous copy of Alice in Wonderland that he had borrowed from Mr. Wonka. He could have waited until the next day to return it, but he didn’t want to. It was an excuse to go and try to find his idol who had run off earlier in the day. He smoothed out his raggedy corduroy pants, fussed at the frayed edges of a patch on one leg, then went inside his familiar dilapidated cottage.
The child climbed up to his make-shift room; the floor partly made from an old door, the rest was no more than discarded planks of wood. The walls of his bedroom still bore the crayon illustrations of Mr. Wonka’s factory and the five candybar wrappers that took him five years to acquire. Quickly, the boy removed his beat-up, sturdy book bag from the rusted nail that served as a hook, and slung it across his shoulders. Then carefully, he placed the beautiful leather-bound book inside. He climbed back down the small wooden ladder telling his mother that he wouldn’t be gone too long. Besides, it was still a while until dinner.
Mrs. Bucket had her hands full at the moment. She was busy trying to create a new recipe out of the unnatural, yet tantalizing plants that now decorated their never-ending lawn. The boy watched her stick her index finger into a pot and lick a sticky, deep purple substance off it.
“All right Charlie, but don’t get lost in the factory.” Said his Mother gently.
She always said that. The rest of Charlie’s family hadn’t ventured much into Willy Wonka’s enormous candy-making facility. Grandpa Joe was the only exception, however even he would not venture without guidance from the man himself.
Charlie was the bravest, or perhaps simply the most curious. No one could blame him. The factory was said to be his one day, so he’d best get busy exploring it! Still, his family would worry sometimes. Charlie could be gone for very long periods of time indeed, though it would seem that he always found the great chocolatier at some point. The boy usually brought him home for dinner or at least made mentions of him.
“I’ll try!” Half-joked the Bucket child. After all, it was rather hard to promise such a thing.
Charlie entered the Great Glass Elevator and pressed the button for ‘Literary Allusions’ inside. That button lead to Mr. Wonka’s amazing library. The transportation device immediately whooshed off sideways and the young boy laughed in delight of its speed.
Most of his family would be glad if they never put another foot in the impossible vehicle, but not Charlie, he loved the rush that it gave him! His heart beat faster and his mind would get dizzy trying to process all of the sights that flashed past him. It was at times like this that he believed he was closest to understanding how his idol’s mind must work. He believed that Mr. Wonka’s imagination was capable of moving even faster than the Great Glass Elevator itself!
Charlie waved to the busy Oompa-loompas all over the factory. He had been able to tell them apart recently and was trying to learn their language so that he could talk to them better. Most of the language was silent, but the yoddle, which meant: “Summon” or “Come here” call was one of the loudest sounds that they made! It had seemed strange the first time the boy heard Mr. Wonka make that sharp, shrill noise, but he didn’t laugh. That would’ve been rude and, after all, it turned out there was a purpose to it. There generally was a purpose to all the things that the chocolatier did, no matter how strange it seemed to someone else.
Mr. Wonka had explained to Charlie that the tiny people’s language really wasn’t that complex, but the context into which things were put was most important. The young heir certainly didn’t want to insult an Oompa-loompa; they were far too nice to him and Mr. Wonka for that. Not to mention how important they were to the factory. So, the little boy began studying their language thoroughly. Currently, he could communicate only basic words. Nonetheless, it thrilled them; it showed that Charlie Bucket respected them and their culture. The rest of the Bucket family hadn’t been quite as ambitious. After all, they were still getting used to Willy Wonka himself!
The Oompa-loompas always acknowledged Charlie’s presence kindly and with reverence. They knew how important the child was to Willy and they worshipped the chocolatier as much as cocoa beans themselves. The small people knew that their mystical master made the right choice as usual; that truly the boy belonged as part of their factory, their world. Why, they had almost predicted his very presence.
The elevator came to a smooth but abrupt stop and made a pleasant little ‘ding’ sound. Charlie stepped off and heard the elevator whoosh away behind him. Someone else must have called it; in all likeliness it was Willy Wonka himself. Charlie twisted his head to his side and wondered what the man was up to. He seemed to always be wondering that…even before he met him. Though he saw nothing, the boy was pretty sure they would run into each other at some point, as usual, so he pulled out his tiny ring of keys and placed the third one into the brass keyhole on the door. Mr. Wonka had only given him keys to harmless rooms or rooms under heavy supervision by the Oompa-loompas. The key to the library was one of his favorites. Firstly, because he liked to read books; especially the many strange and wonderful ones that Mr. Wonka kept. Secondly, because he knew the library resided somewhere inside of the candy maker’s personal quarters. Being in the room made him feel closer to the man himself. That thought made his heart beat a bit faster, accompanied by the usual sensation of trepidation mixed with inquisitiveness. He took a small breath and steadied himself. Wonka probably wasn’t anywhere near the library anyway.
The keyhole to the vast room was designed to look like it had a face on it; the hole appeared as a startled mouth. It was a whimsical idea that his mentor may very well have gotten from the same book that the boy was carrying. A loud echoing click accompanied the automated opening of the heavy steel door. This room was locked up like a vault of money, for it contained something that Mr. Wonka valued even more than tender - knowledge.
Upon entering the room, Charlie would be greeted by rows, upon rows, upon rows, upon piles, upon stacks of books. Tightly packed shelves climbed up the vaulted ceiling. How long had it taken the candy maker to read them all?
The books varied dramatically in subject matter. Mr. Wonka had not forbidden Charlie to read anything that he desired, but he warned him that the books kept at the topmost of his shelves, those that could only be reached by special built-in swiveling ladders, were most disturbing. Charlie had not become brave enough to find out what they were yet. He only read the binder of one; that book contained ALL the reports of information gathered by Nazi Doctors. He wasn’t completely sure what the symbol on the binder meant, but he knew it was bad. He mentioned it privately to Mr. Wonka and with great concern as to why he had it. The man only responded that the way the knowledge was gained might be bad, but that knowledge itself could not be; it was how one used it that made the difference. Besides, he pointed out that he also had multiple translations of the Torah along with a hundred or more books on religion itself. All of them mingled among books on subjects as silly as knock-knock jokes, rubber, yo-yos, and platypuses.
Charlie sure was curious about those books at the top though. He craned his small neck upwards towards them…it wasn’t like his family would know if he read a few of them. He twiddled his fingers. Maybe he’d just sit down first.
He walked over to the large rectangular table. The table was a work of art itself! It was built by Mr. Wonka’s tiny workers, the top of the large table stood on thick carved legs that were sculptures of the Oompa-loompa people in traditional tribal garb. The polished top of the table had fanciful embellishments around the boarder that were the pictorial language of the tiny people. The tales all spoke of cocoa beans and the shape of cocoa beans were emblazoned all over their sculptures. Charlie smiled; they were charming and predictable in those ways. He traced the images with his finger.
A large stained ‘glass’ wall glowed and formed the entire back area of the room. Soft light emanating from somewhere behind the opaque, eatable structure, creating a relaxed and comforting atmosphere. The decorative window was actually made out of colored hard sugar, like lollypops; colors swirled into giant striped ripples, trapping warped air bubbles here and there. Only one bright-red stripe, curled into a giant cursive phrase: “Dare to Dream”.
Charlie hopped into one of the leather covered, throne-like chairs surrounding the long table, placing his book bag on top. He loved sitting in these ornate chairs and pretending that he was Sir Galahad from the Knights of the Round Table. Mr. Wonka could be Merlin, he had decided. The boy knew he wasn’t supposed to believe in magic, but he secretly did, and he also secretly thought, maybe more than thought, that Mr. Wonka knew magic. He let out the deepest sigh his young lungs could manage and leaned his arms dreamily onto the strange, elegant table. As he did so, his eyes noticed a plate of treats and a tall thermos.
The thermos had the phrase, “Drink Me”, etched artfully into its polished coppery surface. The treats were top hat shaped and all had icing that read, “Eat Me”. Charlie laughed, it seemed Mr. Wonka had left him the snack based off of the Lewis Carroll book. The boy was delighted to oblige the eatible commands. He just hoped they wouldn’t make him as big as a house!
He poured the drink out first and took the tiniest of sips. The thermos contained steaming hot, spiced caramel apple cider pressed from Mr. Wonka's candy trees. Nothing weird happened to him, so he allowed himself to gulp down a few big, delicious swallows. The drink went quite nicely with the fun-shaped cookies. The dough was as black as Mr. Wonka’s real top hat and tasted like spiced dark chocolate; an after flavor of black pepper and ginger lingered on his palette. He smacked his lips putting all the flavors together in his mouth. Mr. Wonka had been extremely pleased at how sensitive Charlie’s taste buds were and stated that all those years without proper nutrition had probably been the reason. The chocolatier had also quipped that as bad as those experiences probably were for Charlie, he should now consider what a useful effect they had on him now. The statement was followed by Wonka studying the boy with an odd, intense expression on his face.
The young heir to the factory pondered that memory while he licked the icing off the top of the cookie. The bright red frosting that decorated the cookies had the flavor of “snozzberries”; an intense, tart berry that only seemed to be known by the famous candymaker himself. There seemed to be a lot of things that the man knew about that no one else did. Despite being scared to ask, the child really, really wanted to know why that was.
A little after he consumed the wonderful treats he started to get very drowsy though. His small mouth released a giant yawn, surprising himself.
“Excuse me!” said Charlie to no one. He was one of those kids that would be polite even to thin air; his manners were that ingrained into him. Charlie released one more yawn before resting his head onto the table, on top of his crossed arms. Maybe a little nap was a good idea: he had been concentrating awfully hard lately. And with that last thought he fell soundly asleep.
A moment later, the library doors pushed open silently and revealed a pair of tiny glittering eyes, with a large, looming shadow behind them. The owner of the tiny black eyes stepped into the room and craned his neck to observe Charlie bent over the table, the open thermos, and the half eaten plate of baked goods. The little man in the brightly colored jumpsuit made an OK motion to the large wooden door, which then pushed open further, allowing the well-dressed form of Willy Wonka to enter. He resisted using his cane and awkwardly tiptoed over to Charlie’s side, tilting his torso down for a complete examination of the sleeping child. A wistful smile settled on his pale face; the plan had worked well, for Mr. Wonka had eyes and ears all over his factory – he always knew where the boy and his family was.
The little man was now motioning again toward the door and a second Oompa-loompa came in wearing a tiny elegant suit and a tiny bolo hat. He shut the door to the library carefully behind himself and locked it. Wonka made a “shush” gesture to both of the men who returned the motion back to him.
The first Oompa loompa walked under the table and gently picked up Charlie’s legs onto his back. Wonka placed his cane off to the side and moved a second throne-like chair to meet the boy’s legs creating an impromptu bed for the boy to be layed-out across. An expression of concentrated admiration for Charlie’s unconscious form spread across his face until the Oompa-loompa in the bolo hat tugged at his employer’s pant leg. Wonka made an “Oh yes” kind of gesture and proceeded to step away from the chairs.
The two Oompa-loompas worked quickly and started to pull out tape measures and take notes of all of Charlie’s body parts; his lanky legs, long arms, slim waist, large shoes, delicate neck, everything. Charlie didn’t move at all, only his chest rose and fell with deep breathes. He was in a very sound sleep now. Wonka just kept watching, clutching his cane in one hand, while playing with something in his velvet coat pocket with the other, smiling, his lips sealed. After a bit, the chocolatier started to look around his library, quirking one eyebrow and pressing a plastic-covered finger to his reddish lips. Willy walked away and cautiously began to climb one of the strong, tall ladders in the library.
Some time later, Charlie woke up and groggily wondered what time it was. How long had he been asleep? He had some very interesting dreams: strange, frightening, wonderful, fantasy-like dreams of himself and Willy Wonka. Such dreams had started since the fateful day that he had met the man. Wonka never knew how torn-up the experience of meeting the chocolatier had left him. One part of him was deeply glad when he showed up at the shoeshine booth, but another part was preparing to be hurt again. So, he played along, pretending not to notice the loud sound and parking of the Great Glass Elevator; pretending that the over-dressed man, who awkwardly walked and sat down holding a newspaper over his face the entire time, was really a customer. Charlie had wanted to laugh then too, but wasn’t sure what Mr. Wonka wanted this time. So, he deliberately kept a hard look on his face.
It had turned out that all the chocolatier wanted was advice; he wanted to know how to ‘feel better’. It wasn’t his health that was faltering though - it was his spirit.
After accompanying Mr. Wonka to the remote location of his father’s dental office, the candy man had been barely able to speak. He stood tensed and pulled into himself inside of the elevator. Charlie saw him as not much older than himself in that moment. He couldn’t see the candymaker's eyes through the bulky glasses, but inside of Dr. Wonka's office (which was also Mr. Wonka's former home) they had looked so large, so lost. Exactly like a child's.
“Thank you, Charlie.” Was all he managed to say after a long moment.
“Anytime.” Charlie had quite sincerely replied.
The Glass Elevator gave one the eerie feeling of drifting in mid-air, birds passing to the side and clouds below your very feet. It also made almost no noise once it was air-borne, giving the silence a deafening voice of it’s own. The whole experience was surreal; a worthy story unto itself. It made the boy a little sad to think that would be all he would have, a few stories. He bet that everyday with the famous man would be an adventure.
Charlie heard Mr. Wonka take a deep breath.
“I-I’ve missed you.” He stated quietly, not looking at the boy.
He could sense that statement wasn’t easy for Mr. Wonka. From what he knew about the chocolatier’s own stonewalled relationship with his father, the man could be far more stubborn than even his Grandpa George!
“I missed you too.” He concurred in his small English voice. The boy finally allowed his face to show a smile in Willy Wonka’s direction.
“Really?!” Mr. Wonka seemed quite pleased to hear that, his voice had shot up an octave. Quickly, nervously, he gathered himself again. The clouds in the sky reflected in the sizable, circular lenses.
“Ah, so, I was thinkin’ maybe yer, uh, family could also come live with me in the factory.” He took a distasteful swallow after the statement. “I mean, if you would still like to have the factory that is.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. He gasped. “Do you mean that? Do you really mean it, Mr. Wonka?”
“Uh-huh.” He said with a quiver in his voice and a large toothy grin.
The boy really wanted to hug Mr. Wonka right then, but prevented himself from doing it. He recalled vividly how the man had reacted to Violet Beauregarde’s embrace. No, he wouldn’t risk offending him, especially after such a gracious offer.
“Oh, but I don’t know if my grandparents would like living anywhere but our old home.” Pondered Charlie.
Willy pursed his lips in thought for only seconds, “Well then, we’ll just hafta move the whole thing then, won’t we? Why not? There’s plenty of room! Howsabout that?!” He giggled brightly. “Yer all gonna just love it! Think about it, all the candy you can eat!”
Charlie was smiling broadly now; he couldn’t help it.
Mr. Wonka could be so simple at times, it made the boy instantly forgive him the grief that his own heart and family had been put through on his behalf. Poor, strange, lonely, silly, amazing Willy Wonka – he never, ever, in a thousand million years would have guessed that the famous candy maker would have needed, an insignificant person like himself, as much as he needed the mythical man…
Charlie sat up and stretched, thoughts like that had a tendency to pervade his brain upon rising. He rubbed the sand out of his eyes and noticed something that he could have sworn wasn’t there before. It was a new leather-covered book; it was titled, Alexander the Great and The Greco-Roman Empire. What a neat name! Hm, “Charlie the Great?” Maybe. But what did that man have to do with candy & chocolate making? Oh well, probably as much as Alice in her "Wonderland" did. Mr. Wonka’s mind related things in unconventional, but to many people, ingenious ways. The boy started to flip through the rough-edged, dusty pages: a rather intimidating amount of information was contained along with many illustrations! Still he was willing to try; this aspect of his personality was something else that Mr. Wonka admired. Things that Charlie did not understand did not tend to put off the boy.
Suddenly the child turned around wondering if Mr. Wonka might just still be in the room. He sort of felt as if he was being watched, but…his friend was nowhere to be seen. So, the boy hopped out of the elaborate chair. He decided that while he would love to look for Mr. Wonka some more, he better get back to his family. They could be worried. He placed the new, large volume into his book-bag, removing the former one.
Charlie’s family was only mildly concerned. He was gone for a while, but the Oompa-loompas had brought a note from Mr. Wonka himself, explaining that Charlie was helping him with a very important project. Charlie was puzzled by the wording on the watermarked note, but didn’t question anything in front of his family.
He admired Mr. Wonka’s artistic penmanship. It looked like something written on the American Constitution! Mrs. Bucket smiled watching Charlie’s adoration for a mere piece of paper that reminded him of his mentor. Mr. Bucket’s long, thin mouth bore a smile as well, but it was weaker. Willy Wonka was a lot to compete with for attention lately. Grandpa Joe came over and squinted at the paper until he could see it more clearly, then got a face that looked a lot like Charlie’s. “Fine penmanship is the mark of a true scholar and gentleman, Charlie.” The slender old man stated. Charlie thought about his own rather unremarkable writing skills and got a slightly worried look on his face.
His father laughed, reading his son’s thoughts in the boy’s expression, “Don’t worry Charlie, you have a lot of time to catch up with old Mr. Wonka.”
“Is Willy going to join us for dinner?” asked Grandma Josephine casually.
Charlie froze and looked up from concentrated efforts. “Oh, ah…I’m not sure actually.”
“Didn’t you spend hours with him? What did he say?” asked his Mother, her usual curly bob looking especially nice tied up with a silk hair ribbon. It had come from a fanciful box of chocolates given to the family by his benefactor.
Charlie felt guilty for the first time since he had gotten to the factory. He hadn’t quite told the truth now had he? But he didn’t want to ruin Mr. Wonka’s letter either. Perhaps there was a way to avoid getting either of them into trouble. After all, hadn’t Mr. Wonka gotten him out of trouble for being away so long?
“Uhh…I forgot to ask about dinner.” He finally stated, very nervously. It wasn’t a lie, he told himself.
“Charlie, that was rude of you. Since we don’t want him to feel uninvited, I’ll set an extra place just in case.” She said in a gentle tone. His mother was never harsh when she reprimanded him.
Mr. Wonka did not make an appearance that evening, but Grandpa Joe told another fascinating tale about him from the days when he worked at the chocolatier's factory. It was a tale of Mr. Wonka getting even with Mr. Ficklegruber and Mr. Prodnose for trying to pull a practical joke on him. Long story short, no one should mess with Willy Wonka on April Fool’s day! In fact, Mr. Wonka took the day quite seriously and didn’t appreciate anyone pulling pranks on that particular day, but especially not at his expense.
When Charlie asked his grandparents what was so important about the first of April, only Grandpa Joe answered by telling Charlie that he could learn a lot by remembering King Arthur’s tale (another book he'd borrowed recently). The boy tried, but a lot of the story had gone over his head; he liked it anyway though. The rest of his family looked a little nervous for some reason.
Grandma Josephine decided to clarify things a little more by simply stating that Willy Wonka had a rather ancient set of beliefs that almost no one understood anymore. This only made Charlie more interested, but he let the subject change when his mother brought up her day with the Oompa-loompas. She had been given the job of assisting them with their children during the day and she really liked it. Mr. Bucket and his wife had not managed to have another child, so the little people were all like Charlie’s cousins now.
Mr. Wonka had seen to it that they all had jobs within the factory. Now, while they were all free to leave the factory at any time of course, they found that their jobs kept them far too busy to even think about the world outside. Mr. Wonka’s factory was an entire world unto itself!
Charlie had no luck getting to sleep that evening. His mind was haunted with the events of the day. He found himself just staring up at his ceiling onto which he had taped the note for further study. He especially liked his idol’s signature. Wasn’t Mr. Wonka the most remarkable person in the whole wide world? He sighed. How could he ever fill his elegant shoes? He looked at his own worn-out, clunky boots on the floor and twisted his little face into annoyance; wriggling up his nose. Suddenly he wasn’t sure if he liked his clothes anymore.
The pale blue light of the false moon was all that lit up his tiny bedroom, but it was enough to view things with. Restless, he pulled out the book Mr. Wonka had given him from under his bed and pulled off the old cloth that he had wrapped around it for protection. He started to try and read it. It was a little dry, but one subject in the table of contents caught his attention right away: "How Christianity replaced Paganism". Immediately he flipped to that chapter and started to read.
Eventually, he came to a sentence that stated Christian people pulled pranks on the day of the Pagan New Year in order to insult the old religion: to infer that it was “a joke”. The date of the Pagan New Year was April 1st. Charlie gasped. Was this was why Mr. Wonka wanted him to read the huge book? Then he wondered exactly what a 'Pagan' was? He never heard of such a thing. Checking the text for a date, there were references to 300 B.C. and earlier! That was over two thousand years ago! Wow…He eagerly flipped through more of the book. There was mention of witches, a later form of Paganism, but nothing in-depth. Perhaps there was another book on that subject! He had a feeling he was on to something very important about his mentor.
The text in the following chapters stunned, yet intrigued him. It was about the famous and handsome ‘Alexander the Great’. It was about how they trained warriors. The phrase “boy lovers” was used along with various art illustrating the concepts. He flushed imagining the whole scenario. No one ever told him about this before!
Much to his shock, the image of kissing his benefactor drifted into his mind. The boy clasped his hands to his mouth! Shame on him! It was an accident! He shoved the thought away, but it popped back into his head again. He couldn’t help it! It was like the more he told himself NOT to think about it, the more his brain managed to. Some of the illustrations were a LOT more graphic than kissing! He squinted his eyes closed and tried to chase the images away. He should stop looking at them, he supposed, but it WAS all true! They weren’t just “dirty pictures”. The boy consoled himself with the thought that it was just history. He reminded himself about Mr. Wonka’s phrase, that there was no such thing as bad knowledge, and relaxed, somewhat. As he continued to read the chapter, it stated that even the philosophers and great thinkers of that age embraced these relationships. It was all socially acceptable and not considered harmful in the slightest. The child’s mentors often later chose wives for their young lovers. Until then, the boys were like wives to the men; with all the responsibilities that relationship would entail. Charlie’s eyes swelled at this new information. He read and read late into the night, having no idea when his tired eyes gave up or when his body fell asleep on top of the book, one slim arm draped off the bed…
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