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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
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 VI
By: Idol Hands
Rating: Demented Mature Audiences
Warnings: Mention of porn, cursing, suggested chan slash, and some sickeningly cute scenes.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. I blame them for this and so should you.
Summary: Charlie wants to know what Mr. Wonka and his father talked about and the two pay a visit to his mother where secrets about the Oompa-Loompas and the contest are revealed. Mr. Bucket starts up a back-up plan, but he’s not the only one plotting...

"We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad."

Wonka gently, but forcibly, turned Charlie away from his father after they exchanged their heart-shaped farewells. The two men exchanging one last glace between each other before the chocolatier and the boy started to head toward the giant sea-horse shaped pink boat waiting for them in the chocolate river; entirely carved out of eatable hard candy it was one of countless impossibilities existing inside the fabled factory. The young Bucket boy loved how the light would pass through the chiseled ridges of its aquatic shape adding a glow to it.
Since it was only the two of them boarding, only half the Oompa-Loompas were needed; each clad in their bright blue jumpsuits and swim caps, with one designated man as the drummer. His heavy handed pounding would keep the little men rowing in a powerful, synchronized motion and whether to increase or decrease the speed. It was the exact same technique used by Vikings in days of yore. Mr. Wonka studied all cultures and times to find good ideas. He did not foolishly dismiss things as irrelevant merely because they were outdated.
Charlie unexpectedly paused before boarding. “We left behind all those dishes and food! Shouldn’t we go back and clean up the mess?” He still thought like a humble, responsible child rather than the heir to a vast fortune and a palace of dreams. This was a quality that greatly endeared him to his family as well as his benefactor.
“My dear boy, all you ever have to worry about again is learning everything you can as my pupil. My workers will take care of everything else, they’re glad tah do it.” Mr. Wonka carefully prodded the boy’s back with the spiraled ball of his cane, motioning him into the vessel. “Now c’mon we have so little to do today and so much time to do it in!”
“Um, don’t you mean the reverse of that sir?” Charlie said puzzled as he stepped on.
“I mean what I said little boy, now hop aboard.” Wonka retorted in a sweet but commanding tone. He didn’t like being contradicted and his mind was still irritated by the confrontation with Mr. Bucket from a few moments ago. He had known it was going to happen, but that still didn’t mean he liked being challenged.
The boy stepped aboard the boat and tipped his new, little top hat at the tiny oarsmen. His next motion was to offer a hand to Mr. Wonka who was steadying himself aboard the vehicle while clutching his candy-filled walking stick. The boy had often wondered what the tiny pastel pellets inside the hard glass would taste like. One day, he might find out, but for now it was better not to mess with the cane - for it was a mere extension of the mighty man who used it.
“Mr. Wonka, what did you and my dad talk about?” Charlie hesitantly inquired once they were seated. It was really weighing on his mind, along with a few dozen other questions that he hoped to get answered today.
The beating of the drum man started up, adding to the rhythms of the suction device and the sloshing of the hot thick liquid river. The opaque, bright pink boat began on its journey. Mr. Wonka had almost seemed to ignore the boy. He was looking at him sideways though and had started to bounce his head back and forth, as well as tap his foot to a beat. Soon he broke out into a song-like rhyme:
We spoke of promises and we spoke of lies,
About dreams only half-realized,
Of what is seen inside one’s eyes,
How wishes may fall from the skies,
But not if they offend sacred family ties,
Of those things that make my worries sigh,
For all my hopes can only soar up high,
If the nest will let the little birdie fly!
He had crossed his hands together and formed flying wings, flapping them thusly at the end of his prose. The Oompa-Loompa with the drum had been happy to oblige Mr. Wonka’s physical cues for a beat to accompany the spontaneous ditty.
At first Charlie was terribly impressed that Willy Wonka was singing in a fashion similar to the Oompa-Loompas! How clever! However, the chocolatier’s companion’s face had fallen as the lyrics continued. He believed he understood what the man was getting at.
“You had a fight?” The boy said with great concern.
Mr. Wonka only lowered his head shamefully. Charlie concluded that in an emotionally difficult situation, his friend preferred to speak indirectly through rhyme. Maybe he learned the habit from the native people of Loompaland. Yet he still wondered about all those performances the workers had put on during the factory tour. Who truly had taught whom? Now wasn’t the time to address that though.
“Did you tell him about…our promise?” He had lowered his youthful voice, speaking near Willy’s ear.
Mr. Wonka lightly shook his head, his bobbed shiny chocolate-colored hair swishing to the movement. The boy let out a breath that he had been holding in. It would probably be better if he broached that subject with his family first.
“He doesn’t trust me like you do.” Wonka answered simply.
Charlie knew what an important word that was to the chocolatier at his point. He carefully put a hand on Mr. Wonka’s velveteen sleeve. He felt more comfortable touching him now, but he still didn’t want to overstep his bounds; his idol’s odd lick aside (which he was trying not to think about). “Sir, I’ll talk to my Dad. I’ll make him understand. They don’t mean any harm, honest they don’t.”
The chocolatier looked up and sideways at the child, a weak smile tugged at the side of his mouth. “Would ya? ‘Cause I don’t seem to be much good at it and really, I need yer father; he’s a valuable engineer. I got him workin’ on my most top secret project after all.”
“He is?! What is it?!” The boy forgot the seriousness from a second ago in his inquisitiveness.
Wonka only responded with a secretive face; eyes upturned, lips pursed together, both hands on his ball of his cane standing between his legs.
“What is it?!” He asked more pleadingly, tugging at his sleeve. The boy noted the weakening expression on the chocolatier’s face from his sweet, insistent tone.
“Tunnel.” Responded Wonka simply.
“Tunnel?” Charlie looked bamboozled. Then he felt the familiar plunge of the boat whizzing into the main currents. His ears were filled with Willy’s laughter; the man relished the rush of the whole thing, every time. He felt one of the Wonka’s hands pressing to hold the hat onto his heir’s head - Charlie hadn’t had much practice at that yet. The boat twisted and turned like it might tip over for several minutes before finally coming to a graceful halt in the middle of the main arterial tunnel. A glowing smile filled both their faces.
“To the Children’s Only Room!” Called out Willy with a hand up to his face. Then he turned to his heir, “I’d like to check up on yer Mom before pressing on.”
The boy smiled, he only had a chance to see the place his mother worked once. His mind went back to that matter they were discussing before being distracted by the thrill ride.
“Tell ME!” He said with a mock huff, now yanking his benefactor’s sleeve, which won him a quick slap on his hand.
“Oh, all right, ya squeezed it outta me. It’s…a satellite!” Wonka confessed with an excited flair of his arms and a broad direct grin at the child.
“No Way!” Charlie had picked up that jargon from his mentor.
“WAY!” Exclaimed the chocolatier. His speech punctuated with lots of gestures. “See, it’s the only way to make Wonkavision work! We’re still workin’ out the kinks, but soon everyone in the world with a television should be able to get a bar of Wonka chocolate! Just reach out and…grab it! It’ll be pricey, but what a gimmick!”
“Thas’ amazing! Wow!” Charlie was blown away. “You mean you’re going to launch something into outer space?”
“Sure am! And when it’s ready, you can watch!” He giggled in his familiar jubilant trill.
“I bet everyone and their mom will be watching!” The boy responded, eyes distant, trying to imagine the whole spectacle.
“Yeah, but not from outer space. That Great Glass Elevator of mine is equipped for space travel too!” Said Mr. Wonka while holding the lapel on his plum-colored coat with pride.
Charlie lost his composure and grabbed him in a huge, excited hug. He shouted, “I’m going to be an astronaut!”
Wonka was caught off guard, but he quickly relaxed and placed an arm around him. Charlie took advantage of the accepted embrace and rubbed his face against the plush material of his coat. The man was pleased that he’d managed to excite the boy. He had to admit, it was a part of the motivation to complete the project so quickly. That and really stickin’ it to that Mike TeeVee brat. Call me an ‘idiot’ will you? Fine, ya wanna spend all yer time staring at a two-dimensional screen, then live the rest of yer life that way! Hah!
In fact, Mr. Wonka very much wanted Charlie and the whole world to see him as more than a ‘confectioner’; they should see him as an undeniable force! Candy was only the beginning…
“Wait’ll I tell Mom that I’m going to be an astronaut!” He was repeating the word with more emphasis. It was one of the coolest things in the whole wide world and thanks to his mentor and new best friend he was going to be one!
“No, yer gonna be a ‘choconaut’!” Joked Mr. Wonka.
Charlie laughed; he liked Mr. Wonka’s silly banter, it made him so child-like. He often thought of the mythical candy maker like a kind of Peter Pan. Then again, there were times that he seemed like a Captain Hook too. He chuckled a little louder at his own thoughts – Mr. Wonka either in tights or with an eye patch.
The chocolatier had become distant again. His next statement was more serious, “Well, that is, if everything goes according to plan, which it should. I’m just bummed about yer father; I hope he wasn’t speakin’ for your whole family. I know I can’t force them to stay and I know you’d have to go with them.” He had deliberately placed his left hand over Charlie’s then closed his eyes in concern.
The boy’s mouth was open, his delicate brows tilted up, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Would he leave? Why did he have to ask himself that now? Perhaps, because he knew more about Wonka now: his pain, the giant steps the isolated man had taken, and the special friendship they had now cemented. No, he wouldn’t think about having to make that awful decision again. Instead, he’d have to do his best to make sure that he never had to make such a choice. Mr. Wonka studied Charlie’s concerned face, desperate to know what he was thinking in that moment: calculating whether he had played his hand correctly.
A sudden, quick pounding of the drum indicated they had arrived at their destination. Far down the river, this room required a special code to get into. Charlie released Mr. Wonka, allowing him to get up. He leaned over the bow of the ship and pressed the buttons by the unmarked hatched door with the tip of his cane:
“Gliddy! Glub! Gloopy! Nibby! Nabby! Noopy! La! La! La! Lo! Lo!”
Came the musical tones of the glowing, unmarked buttons. The code triggered the release valve to move counter clockwise, popping the door open and permitting the boat to pass into its dock. Who would’ve thought it would make such complex, whimsical sounds? It was stuff like this that made the factory and the man who created it impossible to resist.
Inside were the littlest people anyone ever saw! Clusters of them gathered around miniature versions of many of the facilities within the factory. This was how they got initiated to what their lives would one day entail, for these were the children of the Oompa-Loompas. So fragile and precious, that Willy Wonka protected them behind the special code and inside an unmarked room, lest an intruder should ever enter the factory. The rooms were sectioned off into large, open cubicles that Mr. Wonka and Charlie could survey as they descended down the balcony. Most of the instructors were female, but there were a few older men too. The Oompa-Loompas were what some would term a ‘sexist’ society, though Mr. Wonka preferred the term ‘traditional roles’. After all, as caretakers and healers, the women of the tribes were highly regarded.
Charlie Bucket thought that finding a woman four times bigger and several shades lighter than the rest would have been easy, but his mother was nowhere in sight. Mr. Wonka inquired as to Mrs. Bucket’s whereabouts and one of the women whispered the answer into his ear. The chocolatier knew all the Oompa-Loompas who spoke English since they always understood him and could usually answer without sign language. At least that was the way it seemed. Wonka let out a slight gasp at this one’s answer.
“Is something the matter?” The boy sincerely hoped there wasn’t any more bad news about his parents.
“No, no, not at all. Walk this way.” Said Wonka with a genuine grin and a ridiculous gate that Charlie knew he expected him to mimic. Something had cheered the chocolatier up for him to pull that old joke. The child followed him and gleefully copied the dance-like movements down the small corridors, his heels making slightly smaller clicks right after his mentor’s louder ones. He couldn’t get over how small everything was, like a dollhouse version of everything!
The children gasped and pointed at Wonka and Charlie. Willy stopped and allowed all the miniature people to gather at his feet, most no taller than his shin. He had pressed his hand to his chest and his eyes looked a little watery. The children’s voices also ranged in tone but were higher-pitched than their parents. They seemed to be squeaking praises at him. The Oompa-Loompa caretakers quickly ran after the run-away children, chastising them, especially the ones that had dared to tug at their employer’s pant legs. Charlie had a few admirers of his own. The boy was so embarrassed, but it was too cute to make them stop. He felt like Gulliver in his ‘travels’!
Wonka started jubilantly signing things with his hands while making whooping and grunting sounds. The adults stopped trying to control the minute children. The crowd of children all stood at attention with their arms at their sides; their big, dark eyes wide with anticipation. Then, the chocolatier lifted up his cane and unscrewed the top.
“Charlie, give me your hands please.” He directed.
The boy did so and Mr. Wonka began filling them with the bright-colored pellets, laughing as he did so, exposing nearly every one of his gleaming teeth. “Go ahead, give it to them! They’re sprinkle candy made outta their favorite flavors: sour papaya, star fruit, passionberry, azuremelon and marshmallow!”
The boy’s heart melted. So, that’s what the tiny candies inside the cane was for! How could his Dad have given his hero a hard time? How could he not see past the strangeness to what truly lay underneath? Then again, Charlie sort of liked the ‘strangeness’ too. Wonka’s heir bent down and each Oompa-Loompa child politely took little scoops out of his hand. They had fists the size of human babies! Happy crunching sounds could be heard afterward followed by itty-bitty giggles. What could possibly be more adorable than this?!
Funny, Willy Wonka was thinking the exact same thing about Charlie Bucket becoming initiated to this practice.
“Mr. Wonka?” A familiar, soft voice called.
“Ah, Mrs. Bucket, you found us before we found you!” Wonka was pouring more candy into Charlie’s cupped hands, emptying half the cane of its contents. It was easier for the boy to bend that low then himself.
When the Bucket child came back up, he saw that his mother was holding five tiny, well-wrapped bundles cradled in her arms. Each was the size of a newborn puppy leaving more than enough room for all of their bodies within the human woman’s embrace. So there was something cuter than Oompa-Loompa children…their babies! The boy pressed both gloved hands, prayer-like to his mouth, over-whelmed with emotion. Wonka had a milder, but equally gentle look on his face.
“This is the last batch of newborns, Mr. Wonka. They asked that I bring them to you for your blessing.” The woman stood close to the chocolatier, extending her cradled arms. She was wearing her usual handmade, patchwork clothing and the satin ribbon in her curly brown hair.
Her eyes caught her son’s clothes. She gushed, “Charlie, you look so handsome! A real top hat and everything!”
The boy flushed a bit at this praise, but he was more focused on watching how Mr. Wonka was hovering his hand above each of the diminutive dark-skinned infants, how he was muttering something as he did so. It seemed to mesmerize them and they stopped every bit of fussing while he duplicated the process for each one. The sleeping ones immediately opened their eyes at their turns. His heir wondered if it was some sort of spell that was being placed by the man and his heart sped up at the mere prospect of that.
After the last one Willy closed his eyes for only a second before flipping them back open and announcing giddily, “Thank you Mrs. Bucket! You’re doing a fabulous job! All my workers say so and I’m so glad that you like Charlie’s outfit!”
“I do! Mr. Wonka you must be one of the most stylish men I’ve ever known! I only wish I had your flair for fashion. You have to give me some pointers some time.” His mother said this as shyly as Charlie himself might. Her eyes were examining her own sleeves and apron ruffles with an uncertain expression.
Mr. Wonka took off his top hat and pressed it to his chest, he flashed a perfect smile at her, his strange lavender eyes glittering. “Why Mrs. Bucket, I think you always look charming. But, if you insist, I’d be absolutely delighted to try out some dress designs on you. I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit though, my tailor, Pierre, is a genius in his own right!”
Something clicked inside of Charlie’s head. Pierre? He never met any Pierre. “Mr. Wonka, how did you manage to get these clothes to fit me so well?”
“What?” He responded, a bit jilted.
The boy thought he might feign deafness or accuse him of mumbling (not an unusual response to a question he didn’t want to answer), instead an off-the-cuff sentence came after, “Oh, I found ya asleep in my library yesterday and secretly had you measured.”
The boy thought back to the incident and the cookies…
“Sneaky, huh?” He giggled and replaced the hat back onto his head. Shifting his eyes between them, he lifted his finger and stated. “BUT I did that for more than one reason! Mrs. Bucket, please hand the new little bundles of joy back to the women and follow me. C’mon there’s sumthin’ I wanna show ya both!”

Meanwhile, in the immense hanger of The Reverse Engineering Room, Charlie’s father was having a difficult time concentrating on his work. He kept staring at the blueprints for the satellite but replaying the confrontation with Mr. Wonka in his head. Had he made a mistake? Why did the candy maker become so angry if he did? I mean he didn’t imagine that, the man threatened him and his whole family, right? Why had he let himself loose his resolve so quickly? What if the chocolatier was doing something awful to his son right now?!
“Argh!” He should be with his son, not working on this lunatic’s new gadget…amazing challenge that it was. He let out an enormous sigh and pulled off his goggles throwing them at the plans.
Inside the concave steel walls lay the grand contraption, sprawling and half-constructed like a mechanical behemoth. This room was one of the few close to the ceiling and the outside world. Sometimes when there was a moment of quiet, Mr. Bucket swore he could make out the sound of a bird or perhaps even a group of people walking by. It was difficult to be sure though, for the factory itself was isolated a great distance inside those jaw-like iron gates. No person could really approach it without being granted access.
The small workmen inside were keeping a sharp watch on his actions; there was far less talking than usual and no singing whatsoever, which was most unusual. He knew that they knew about the confrontation, all of them; that somehow those few in the Chocolate Room had related everything to his crew like some vast network of spies. Without a doubt they would report his every word and action to Willy Wonka himself. These men didn’t work for him, it was only an illusion provided by the famous man.
Mr. Bucket tried to pretend that he was oblivious to their attention, acting extra polite in an attempt to make up for his earlier outburst. Why was he afraid of such small people? Maybe it was because of the songs; the lyrics were often riddle-like and dotted with dark humor, just like the man they were sung for. The slender engineer knew he couldn’t keep this bottled up all day. He needed to talk to someone else in the family about this whole situation; he couldn’t fight a battle against Willy Wonka alone. No one ever could.
As soon as he got a break, he stealthily wondered off to his office and locked the door. Mr. Wonka was a man of extreme privacy; supposedly he had given the family the same right. The Buckets had been allowed to have special, self-chosen codes to dial each other with on the videophones. Since he was an engineer and becoming more and more familiar with the wacky ways that the factory’s machinery worked, he was fairly certain that the lines were safeguarded.

The line rang several times, each time chirping out the first bars of the “Willy Wonka Welcome Song” and making Mr. Bucket even more paranoid. Blimey! Didn’t the man every get sick of himself? Again came the ‘the amazing chocolatier’s anthem. C’mon, pick up already!! The father shouted inside his skull.
Finally the image of his father came into view. As usual, he was dressed in a plush bathrobe, an undershirt, and presumably his full-cut striped boxer shorts underneath. The slightly paunchy man was seated in a masculine furnished boardroom complete with ornate sculpted furniture like that in Mr. Wonka’s library. The heads of strange beasts hung on the wall along with a never-ending digital tickertape of the stock market numbers. Several televisions were on and talking at once and a half-nude sculpture of Venus could be seen in one corner. Piles of magazines, newspapers, tabloids, and unwrapped candy littered the top of Grandpa George’s sizable desk.
A pasty-faced man with sunken eyes, heavy lids, and thin lips similiar to Mr. Bucket's appeared, “Hey son, what’s up? Wonka wants me to summarize all the latest news from Europe today. It’s a real pain in the arse, but this is still the best goddamn job I ever had! That crazy old bastard let’s me come to work in my pajamas and those Oompa-Loompas of his bring me any thing I want. Get a gander at this!”
He shoved a chunky cigar into the view of the small digital camera. “Cuban tobacco cured with the essence of his own cocoa beans, comes from his own personal stash. Oh, it’s absolutely brilliant I tell ya! I’ll bring one home for you to try.” And with that, the stern-faced old man put his feet up on the desk revealing an old, scuffed up pair of slippers. Grandpa George started to take a big drag off of the cigar.
“POP!” Shouted Mr. Bucket, desperate to get a word in edgewise.
The silver-haired, balding man choked out of surprise. “What?! You nearly scared the shite outta me! If you’ve got something to say son, spit it out already! I don’t have all day to sit around talking to you ya know.”
He put out his hand and an Oompa-Loompa immediately appeared with a crystal-cut rock candy ashtray at the ready.
“This is serious, Pop. I need you to ask all the OL’s to leave.” The lines around Mr. Bucket’s mouth were especially deep with tension. “OL’s” was the family nickname for the Oompa-Loompa people. Hopefully they weren’t aware of that yet.
“Whatever for?” Grandpa George protested, taking another puff of the chocolate scented cigar then releasing a perfect circle of smoke.
“Please, just do it.” Mr. Bucket said almost in a whine. It was amazing how, no matter what age you were, your parents always reduced you to a child.
Clearly, whatever this was about was important to his son, so he politely asked them to leave until he summoned them to return. As usual, they fulfilled his wishes. He bothered to give a quick wink to the female who was his main secretary. Funny, when he first met the little people it gave him the willies, sorta’ like Willy himself he bemused, but now there was one he got a kick out of flirting with. ‘Yup’, he thought, ‘still got it’.
“Alright, they’re all gone son. What’s eating you?” He was still leaning back in his leather covered swivel-back chair, most of his white undershirt visible.
Of all the expressions to use, thought the Bucket father. That was another thing that had somewhat disturbed him about the candymaker. Previously, he had dismissed that concern as far too outrageous to entertain. However, since he found himself on this road perhaps he should put ‘possible cannibal’ back on the list. He started, “I’m worried about Mr. Wonka’s relationship with Charlie.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll warm up to the lad. The old coot’s just a bit standoffish.” Grandpa George was half-eying the videophone and half-eyeing a translated German television program. Apparently Augustus Gloop was still in confinement to keep him from consuming any more parts of his own body.
“No, Pop!” Mr. Bucket said annoyed, “It’s the opposite that I’m worried about; that he likes the boy a little too much, if you catch my drift.”
Grandpa George tilted his head downward and furrowed his brows. “Son, that’s a very serious thing to accuse someone of. Wonka may seem a bit, that is…he likes to put on airs, but he subscribes to Playboy and Penthouse. I should know, I have to read it for him as part of my job.”
Mr. Bucket found that statement distasteful on several levels at once and winced in response before bluntly stating, “So long as he doesn’t do it in order to show them to Charlie.”
“Why? What’s wrong with pictures of beautiful naked women? It’s natural for boys his age to start to gettin’ curious.” He stated gruffly. In fact, maybe he should bring home a copy himself. Working so hard to keep Willy Wonka updated about everything going on outside of the factory had done a lot for his vitality as of late. Wasn’t hurting his wife any either.
These were not the reactions Mr. Bucket had been expecting. When they first entered the factory his father was the man’s harshest critic! “Jesus, Pop, have you been blinded by all this glitz?! I mean he could be hurting our little boy!”
Grandpa George took his feet off the desk and leaned into the screen. “What have you seen that’s got you riled up like this? I mean, what proof do you have?”
The thin man looked away, “None really, it’s mostly a feeling. This morning I had to return home to get some blueprints that I’d accidentally left behind and I walked in on them.”
“Doing what?!” The jowls of the older man shook from his exclamation, afraid of what his son was going to tell him next.
“Eating breakfast.” He saw his father give him a doubtful look at that response, “but Charlie had cooked it for him! And he was wearing this frilly little outfit! And Willy was standing so close to him! I got this weird feeling that something had been going on before I walked in. I’m telling you, something wasn’t right.”
“Hmm…” Grandpa George twisted the cigar around in his mouth. “But he’s a germaphobe, he doesn’t touch people, how could he be molesting anybody?”
“He does touch somebody, he touches Charlie!! How come I’m the only one noticing these things?!” Mr. Bucket was practically pulling his hair out with frustration.
“Alright, alright, calm down.” This was his only son who was worried about his only grandson, he had to give his words merit, “Listen to me, I’ll talk to him tonight. You talk to the boy. We’ll get this thing straightened up; make sure there aren’t any shenanigans going on.”
“Uh! That would be a huge weight off of my mind, because I think all I did was upset him and…he’s scary when he’s upset.” It gave Mr. Bucket a prickly sensation to have to admit that out loud. He sounded like an absolute child; being afraid of a man who makes candy for a living with people the size of toddlers. Munchkins, I’m petrified of bleedin’ Munchkins, he thought.
“Leave it to me. I know how to handle him.” Grandpa George boasted while synching up his bathroom a bit more. “I’m a cantankerous old fart too ya know? He doesn’t scare me. I’ll be late to dinner though, OK?”
“OK. Thanks Pop. Sounds like a plan.” It was times like this that his father’s straight-forward, shoot from the hip mentality came in handy. The two Buckets signed off and went about their assigned tasks, each formulating how they would go about the rest of their evening.
Mr. Bucket was also glad to have someone else on his side. He wanted to try and get to the truth of the matter before he bothered his wife with any of it. She had already teased him for being jealous when he first voiced basic concerns. Grandpa Joe was no help either; the old man practically sang Mr. Wonka’s praises all day long like some giant, honorary Oompa-Loompa.

Back in the Children’s Only Room Mr. Wonka was blissfully unaware of any such pre-arranged plans. He was busy showing Charlie and Mrs. Bucket his latest project. At the center of the play area for the Oompa-Loompa children was a regal statue of Willy Wonka in his traditional coat tails, cane, top hat, and Prince Valiant haircut. However, a new addition was being added! The scaffolding for a slightly smaller statue had started next to the original monument. From what had been completed, it was obvious that Charlie was the new subject.
“Oh my goodness! I haven’t been in here all day. You must have started this only this morning.” Mrs. Bucket was holding her son’s hand and walking with him around the new statue.
This was turning into a very exciting day for the new heir. Giant pancake breakfast, Wonka’s proposa-- ah, promise, the prospect of becoming an astronaut, and now his own statue! He protested, “I don’t deserve this Mr. Wonka! I’ve barely gotten here!”
Mr. Wonka got that deranged, determined look in his eyes. His lovely features making the expressions on his face seem more pronounced and out of place. “Well maybe you only got here, but the Oompa-Loompas were already expecting you.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Mrs. Bucket said inquisitively, glancing at her equally confused son.
“They have these little festivals during the phases of the moon, kinda like big parties, oodles of fun!” He got a goofy look on his face and nudged Mrs. Bucket with his elbow, speaking softly, “Why do ya think all the babies get born in batches?”
She chuckled a little and blushed comprehending his inference that the small people must have all gotten intimate at the same time during such celebrations. It made sense, since usually they worked nearly non-stop to keep the factory going. The semi-monthly breaks must have been much needed times of relaxation for them.
“Anywho, a little while back they got to talkin’ about this…how should I put it?” Mr. Wonka paused to rub his jaw. “Like a divine soul, someone who would be my perfect partner and bring forth unforeseen prosperity. Yeah. That’s how they put it.”
The boy and Mrs. Bucket got startled looks on their faces.
“I betcha yer thinkin’ what I was…waaaay too many cocoa beans guys, but then a little after that I got my wild hair. Naturally, I totally panicked! EXCEPT, I remembered what they had said about a ‘partner’ and I knew…I needed AN HEIR, that musta’ been the message!” Mr. Wonka had been saying all of this with complete enthusiasm and lots of hand gestures. Learing how to speak Loompish must have come quite naturally to him.
A few of the children had gathered around again and were sitting in the pleasant courtyard listening to Mr. Wonka’s story. Charlie noticed that there were even small amusement rides for them to enjoy, plenty of things for them to climb on as well. Looking to his left, there was a boy who had climbed up to his eye-level and was comfortably sitting in a sphere-shaped resting spot. The tiny child waved at the mother and son, who politely waved back. The young Bucket boy wondered how many Oompa-Loompas were currently residing inside the chocolate factory.
Mr. Wonka continued explaining the historical plan, his eyes distant, “I had to think for a bit as to how I was gonna find this person. Then I thought, what about a message? A message that would reach everyone who loved my candy? Something that would invite such a person to meet me! Like a contest, everybody likes contests ‘cause then everybody gets a chance to win! Next question was, how? By putting it IN the candy of course! The Oompa-Loompas also said that they foresaw the color gold, so I figured why not put it on ‘golden tickets’ to get the ‘golden child’? Not to mention that IF the whole thing was successful, I'd probably make a lot of money. Since I wasn't completely certain that folks wanted tah see my old factory, I added lots of prizes too! Then, my next thought was how many tickets should I send?”
Charlie was finding this as fascinating as the children. He was learning that the army of workers had some sort of psychic abilities and a little bit about how Mr. Wonka’s got ideas. His mother on the other hand, had a slightly baffled look on her face; eyebrows pushed up and her lips parted into a circle. The boy would explain it to her again later – she found the inner workings of Mr. Wonka’s mind as confusing as his factory but she loved hearing stories as much as the rest of the family.
“FIVE, ya see, is a very special number, it’s the number that represents harmony and humanity – if I was gonna trust another person then I needed to send a special message into the world. SO, there it was, five golden tickets inside my finest product, my candy bars. I only needed ONE heir, so I figured that was plenty! Then I started tah sweat bullets when I saw who was winnin’ them. I mean, those other bra-, uh children, probably weren’t the Oompa-Loompa’s bringer of prosperity. Then, right there, right at the very last moment…you found it. Lucky number five.” The eccentric man’s eyes were very wide at that last comment and he had bent down to look right at Charlie, leaning heavily on the half-filled glassine cane.
The dark eyes flecked with spokes of lavender scanned all over the child’s face causing Charlie apprehension mixed with honor. A slight flush rose to his cheeks, why was Willy Wonka looking at him so closely? Why could he only hear his own breathing all of a sudden? Didn’t the man breath? Maybe his own heart was just beating too loud for him to hear it. Charlie slowly looked away from the man’s exotic gaze. He didn’t want to be disrespectful, but he couldn’t help it, it was so intense like being on top of a roaring fireplace. Yet, there was the glimmer of a child’s eyes in there as well. That was his favorite part. It reminded him of his Grandpa Joe though his old eyes did not have the complexity of Mr. Wonka’s. Then again, whose did?
A tiny round of applause broke up their trance. Mr. Wonka stood back up and took a little bow. “Thank you, but I couldn’t have done it without you, my beloved workers…or you.”
Mr. Wonka had turned his eyes to Mrs. Bucket to her surprise. She protested, “I—I didn’t do anything.”
“You most certainly did, you gave Charlie life.” His voice had become gentle and he was digging into his coat pocket. “Earlier today, I gave your son a piece of jewelry made out of something that belonged to my…my mother. I’d like to give you something of hers as well.”
She put out her hands to receive the satin black box from his pocket that his purple gloved hands readily plopped there. She carefully opened it and inside was a golden pendant. It was shaped like a curvaceous woman with her arms pressed prayer-like across her ample bosom. The broad hips of the figure formed a heart shape. She held it up by its chain examining the one-inch charm and allowing Charlie to do the same.
“I don’t know what to say. Are you sure that you want to give this to me? I know how…special this must be to you.” Mrs. Bucket could hardly believe he was doing this.
“Posilutely! You’ve been every bit the mother goddess to all of us since you’ve gotten here.” Mr. Wonka sounded cheerful, but he looked vulnerable and was twisting his cane around nervously.
Mrs. Bucket took one look at him and handed Charlie the empty box. She put the necklace on immediately. Once it was on, she clasped it between her fingers again and said simply, “I’ll treasure it, Mr. Wonka. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” He answered back with emphasis. His heir was beaming at him again as he put the box into his mother’s apron then allowed her to put a big kiss on his cheek.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, your son and I have a date with my portrait painter, Madame Rose.” He gave another little bow.
“A hand-painted portrait? What a wonderful, old-fashioned idea! I don’t know how you’ll keep Charlie from squirming though, he’s like you, bundles of engery!” She giggled. She had the urge to giggle quite a bit at the moment. Her cheeks were a little flushed as well.
The two of them headed back up the way they came leaving the overwhelmed and smiling mother behind.
“We’ll hafta take the Great Glass Elevator for the rest of the journey ‘cause its the only thing that goes to The Forbidden Room.” He finished the statement with an almost ominous smile to Charlie’s sweet one and took the boy’s hand.
Charlie was more worried for his mentor than at the strange sound of the room. “Um, Mr. Wonka, you should watch where you’re—“
KA-THWACK!
“-going.”

Author's Notes: The number five IS a signifcant number which also represents marriage and harmony of balance. Funny how Willy left that part out when talking to Mrs. Bucket, huh? Also, the 'humorlarious' (Simpson's/psuedo-Wonka reference) noises that the buttons made are thanks to a recent journal entry by where the artist typed out the nonsense part of the lyrics to "Good Morning Starshine". I love finding new ways to incorporate elements established by the movie and as I wrote in my other fan fiction "Sweet Inspiration", I DO think Wonka would like all of those wacky words. You'll notice yet another reference to Wilder's Wonka, but again, I gave it another spin. I also like to incorporate ALL of the Wonka's into my work when I can, because to me, they really are just one marvelous man in different forms. Oh, and "posilutely" isn' t a real word, but don't bother telling that to 'the amazing chocolatier'.
Nice read for a weekday! This chapter is what I think you Slash people call "fluff", but I swear there is subtext, I'm establishing plot and evil soon to "come". Hey, it's still Willy Wonka we're talking about and I gotta give all his sides a chance to "expose" themselves. OK, I'll stop with the double entendres. Here's to crossing my fingers and hoping that I don't dissipoint anyone though!
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