Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

Is It Scary	By : Idolhands Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Views: 18253 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
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 VIII
By: Idol Hands
Rating: Mature Demented Audiences
Warnings: for dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, under-aged slash, mild bondage, and randy characters.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. Not to mention A.A. Milne from Winnie the Pooh.
Summary: How will the boy feel upon awakening from his sex induced slumber? Madame Rose has a lot to say to Willy and Charlie alike. More information is revealed.

"Through the Looking Glass"

The Oompa-Loompa, known as Madame Rose, turned her head at the familiar sound of clicking heels entering the kitchen area. There was a definite spring to them and the steps seemed especially airy, indicating that he was sashaying.
“Feeling better?” Said the minute woman in the puffy green dress calmly. There was a curl on her lips. She didn’t bother to look his way, merely took a slow sip of her hot spicy chocolate after she spoke.
Willy Wonka’s cheeks turned a shade worthy of her name. He was quite glad the scrying mirror was not in the room. He trilled out, “How did you know?”
Now the old woman turned in her specially designed highchair to face him, her milky blue eyes raised approximately to his level, her lips allowing a complete smirk to show, “I’m blind, not deaf, and certainly not dumb, Rescuer.”
A singular and bashful, “Heh” was the response.
She dabbed at the sides of her mouth with a linen napkin embroidered with the flower representing her name and began to speak again. “It was probably inevitable; you are clearly drawn to each other. On the surface, Charlie may seem ordinary…
Mr. Wonka interrupted, offended, “No, he’s not! He’s special! Very, very special!”
She had to grin again, “I was going to say that there is something special inside of him and that for you, he’s just perfect.”
This pleased the chocolatier significantly more. He pulled out the regular sized chair nearest her and twisted it round, so that he could sit on it backwards; legs spread open and arms crossed over the top. His cherry-colored lips had a broad, closed smile and there was a gaze in his half-closed eyes.
“You guys have been really great about all of this.” Mr. Wonka said thoughtfully.
“Because we want you to be happy. You deserve it, especially after so much pain in your life.” She put her dainty teacup down and aimed the oddly timbered croak of her voice in his direction. “Are you happy?”
“Check fer yourself.” He took her hand and placed it onto his face, which was laid upon his crossed arms. The broad grin stayed on his face while he closed his eyes and allowed Madame Rose to stroke over his features.
“You are.” She confirmed with a satisfied tone and far away stare, imagining how he looked in her mind’s eye.
He let out a long content sigh, “Ahh, very, but I’m also confused and…and…something else, like when I think about the Gnoolies or…my Dad.”
“You’re scared.” The white-haired woman said gently.
“Am not!” Wonka instantly protested in a juvenile tone.
The wise portrait painter removed her diminutive hands from his face, placing them on her hips. She raised one eyebrow and gave him a knowing look.
He frowned, then reluctantly caved, “Alright, I am…but why?”
“Because that is the penalty of love; the fear of loosing it.” She responded wisely then took another bite of her chocolate themed meal. Every single item had something to do with cocoa beans. There was even chocolate in the sauce of her chicken mole.
Mr. Wonka’s eyes bulged, his lips turned down into a clown-like expression. Her words had hit him very hard. All of the light had drained from his lavender irises making them look like a distant, dark nebula in the expanse of outer space. He barely uttered, “No. No, I…can’t.”
“Hm?” Questioned the old Oompa-Loompa.
He took her tiny hand again, but with a firm and unsteady grip this time; his insides felt all twisted, “Please, I can’t loose him.”
She could sense how upset he was. His voice had a helpless child-like quality to it. She stroked his long chocolate-colored hair. “Shh…Shh…it’s alright.”
He wasn’t wearing his top hat at the moment, which made him seem younger still to her. Madame Rose and her people were accustomed to Willy Wonka reacting in such ways though never before on such a topic.
“His father is suspicious.” Wonka stated with eyes as empty as the old woman’s blind ones. The expression was void of any emotion.
Her face showed mild anger, “Unfortunate, but not unexpected. Not without merit either, but his worries are misplaced.”
After a few seconds, she asked, “Did you try the spell?”
Mr. Wonka blushed a little again, remembering how he had attempted the pleasurable procedure. He admitted quietly and with a little disappointment, “It didn’t work.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, as she often did when in thought, “He must not be ripe yet. It’ll be soon though, you’ll have to keep trying.”
A wolf-like grin spread over his face, “Well, if you insist.”
Madame Rose was pleased that her people’s savior was distracted from his worries again. He was not at his best when his insecurities were weighing him down. Perverted distraction that it was, it would suffice. It wasn’t like her people didn’t enjoy sexual activities. In fact their culture fancied themselves quite educated on the subject. Cocoa beans were an aphrodisiac.
Now, amusing as it was to finally see their provider understand the interest - Madame Rose and her people were most concerned with Willy Wonka. They were concerned that he was vulnerable in his current state. However, they hoped that ultimately he would be made more powerful through the union and therefore were doing whatever they could to encourage it. “He is special, Rescuer, but he is not of you. You could mark him.”
Then she gave him a look of slight chastisement, “You didn’t attempt to do that yet, did you?”
“Certainly not, what do you take me for? Some cad?” Willy Wonka had gotten up from the table and started to open his own cabinets, pulling food out. The kitchen area was what Charlie had taken for a laboratory earlier; an easy mistake to make with all the labeled bottles, rubber tubes, glass viles, large beakers, centrifuges, sleek storage devices, etc. In truth, it served as both since Mr. Wonka’s lab experiments were of the ‘eatible’ variety.
“Good, because it’s most powerful when it is done correctly the first time. Especially when that is true for both parties.” Said the wise, old woman as she ate a bite of the devil’s food cake she had picked for dessert. It was a rather large slice for an Oompa-Loompa. What made Wonka’s version special was the barest hint of lavender along with the special rich frosting. The cream in it was from Wonka’s herd of special cows. They were fed partly on a diet of his own chocolate bars. It made their milk extra creamy and the whipping made the stuff light and fluffy before it ever left their bodies. Traveling the world had taught Mr. Wonka quite a bit about weaponry. He had become especially expert on the use of whips as the dedication to two rooms in his factory attested.
“See? I got lots of practice controlling myself though…it is getting more difficult. I mean, at first it was mere whimsy, then it was a sort of curiosity, but now…tsk, sometimes my brains feel like scrambled eggs these days.” The sound of more items being pulled out and a frying pan being heated up were in her ears.
Madame Rose only chuckled in her strange vibrato, “Normal, completely normal. You can see why I never permitted myself a union; too much sacrifice. Wait until I tell Jung what we have been discussing, he’ll be so jealous!”
Mr. Wonka turned around from his meal-making efforts, “Eeek! No, don’t tell Jung!
It’s too mystical and-and…intimate. Besides, he’s my shrink, not my personal advisor.”
He held his jaw up with an air of command again and with a quick wave of his pointed finger, stated, “Uh, this is all in confidence.”
“Nothing is in confidence with Oompa-Loompas, you should know that.” Madame Rose said in a teasing tone. She was sniffing the air, trying to determine the fragrances that her nose was making out.
He wasted an annoyed, unseen glance in her direction - it was true, they were horrible gossips. However, much like the unique tribe had accepted the good with the bad in his character. Wonka would simply have to do the same for them. Further, they grew and adjusted to his needs and even evolved within their new environment of the factory.
At first the tiny people were just replacements for the workers that he had lost, but over time, they grew to mean much more than that to him. There was a lot that he and them had in common, especially once he had a deeper understanding of life and death. Then select ones became friends and personal confidants. In every single respect that people had failed him, Oompa-Loompas had succeeded. The Buckets could prove to be the exception or it could be only Charlie. Time would tell. His thoughts were broken by a small voice.
“What are you making for lunch?” Curiosity got the better of his portrait painter.

“Oh, ah…nuthin’ fancy.” Wonka stated with a secretive grin.

Downstairs the body of a shoeless little boy in a fancy schoolboy outfit lay stretched out upon the top of a magnificent circular bed. Charlie had barely stirred from the distant whirring sound in the distance. His lithe body snuggled into the warmth and comfort that surrounded his body. He had never felt so wonderfully drowsy and peaceful in his whole life; it was womb-like as if he were wrapped in a dream. He snuggled into the warmth a little deeper. The boy was laying face down on something that felt like a cloud, like someone had spun the fluff from the very sky and made a quilt out of it.
“Hurrmm…”, was the most intelligent sound he could currently formulate. He opened his eyes a crack and made out that his cloud was the shade of cotton candy. The child maneuvered the outspread fingers of his left hand through it. Was it fur? He thought back to his tour of the factory and recalled the round, fluffy, pink sheep. He let out a weak giggle. A deep breath filled his lungs with the musky sweet scent of his mentor.
“Oh!” His eyes flashed open. Mr. Wonka! The thought of the famous chocolatier alone was causing multiple reactions inside of his body, but the realization that he was on his very bed made him wake up with a start. The boy attempted to turn his body over only to realize that one part of him was not moving like the rest - his right arm. There was also the jingle of some kind of metallic noise. His two thin eyebrows immediately pushed together and a befuddled look gave his mouth a cute frown. Looking up his arm, he saw it was cuffed and attached by a short chain to the headboard. The boy’s jaw dropped from a shock that he might have verbalized if his eyes hadn’t caught the very work of chocolate art that Wonka had mentioned during the portrait painting.
There inside the heavy curtained bed, looming high on the frame - it hung. An eerie 3-D relief of himself and Mr. Wonka in the Chocolate Room depicted a detailed, cartoon-like style. It was very suiting of his mentor actually: as was the disturbing element of the image. There was an etching of himself standing next to Mr. Wonka. The candymaker with one hand on his shoulder and Charlie’s own face depicted in astonishment. Coincidently that was exactly as he looked right now. The other children who won the famous Golden Tickets were present too, but were represented as limbs and heads that had been absorbed by the Chocolate Room which was looking grotesquely overgrown and wild; more like a nightmarish forest than the fantasyland that he usually saw.
The one thing that really stood out was a single red spot being held in the wild looking version of chocolatier. The boy instantly recognized it as the ‘Never-ending Gobstopper?’. It was the very first gift that Mr. Wonka ever gave him upon entering the factory. It was even released to the public in his honor; “a candy that never lost its flavor, for children with very little pocket money.” Those were his exact words. He recalled the man’s insistence that he try it right away. How content Mr. Wonka seemed to watch him suck away at it while his new heir vouched for it’s delectable flavor. He had in fact occupied his mouth with it for days as Wonka took him and his family on a much more thorough tour of the factory. Had he somehow inspired the candy before ever meeting Willy Wonka? Did Mr. Wonka predict him winning the contest or did he…sabotage it?
Charlie could only continue to stare at the complex work of eatable art. The child was in such a deep trance of concentration that he was caught entirely off guard when a familiar trill filled the room with, “So, ya ready for lunch?”
“AHH!” He uncontrollably shouted, jerking against the bed, rattling the chain loudly while trying to turn and face his eccentric benefactor who was either psychic or masochistically crafty. Either option was over-whelming especially mixed with the other feelings that recently ran through his body. The child’s blue hazel eyes were now completed exposed and surrounded by white. The candy maker was wearing his trademark top hat again and carrying a full bed tray complete with sprigs of a tiny white bell-shaped flower inside a test tube vase.
Wonka only chuckled in response, “Sorry fer sneakin’ up on ya, I was bein’ extra quiet in case you weren’t awake yet.”
Charlie blinked at him, his breath a little rapid. He was confused by the welcoming posture of the man placing the tray onto a stand near the bed, juxtaposed with his current bound situation. He was feeling a lot more intimidated by him than usual.
Mr. Wonka eyed the boy’s prone body as Charlie had attempted to turn his body around again. He was now face-up but his chest and back were arched upward as his right arm was twisted upward and well above his head. His youthful eyes were still quite wide. For a few mere seconds there was a very strange look on the chocolatier’s face before it slid into something familiar, something...kind. The man formed a gentile smile and spoke, “Oh here, let me release you.”
As if it were the most normal thing in the world to shackle a child to your bed. Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out his ring of keys and proceeded to lean over Charlie. The boy’s chest was still moving like he had been running a marathon; the keen movements of his eyes could be traced in every flicker of his fawn-colored eyelashes.
“Oops, wrong one.” Wonka stated, keeping himself in position while filling through the cumbersome ring once more. Funny how sometimes he would loose track of all those keys while at other times he could find exactly the one he needed in a flash. Their chests were pressed together and his heir’s mind was flooded with recent intimate sensations. Suddenly, Charlie was surprised to find that he didn’t mind being chained up so very much. In the barest of whispers, afraid to speak he said, “Did you know that I was going to win the contest?”
Wonka had just inserted another key into the lock of the wide, leather-lined cuff. He stopped moving entirely then glanced down at Charlie’s face. “Whaddaya think?”
The child paused dramatically before answering with a question, “But how?”
“I saw that in the mirror.” Wonka and Charlie’s eyes both traveled to the shrine-like image adorning the headboard. It struck his heir that the chocolatier’s current grin looked exactly like the one on the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. So much for his father’s comment that he was more like the Mad Hatter.
Strangely, such a mysterious answer made the boy feel better. Maybe it meant that Mr. Wonka didn’t rig the contest, that he wasn’t completely in control of the fates those children ultimately suffered.
Mr. Wonka twisted the key, but nothing happened. “Strike two. Lemme try again.”
Charlie let out a sound that resembled a small whimper, pulling against the bondage strap again. Willy closed his eyes for a second after that sound. He knew he shouldn’t like this situation as much as he did. The man also knew that he had been trying to extend the moment for as long as possible. Who wouldn’t have a hard time resisting everything that they ever secretly wanted?
The boy hesitantly put a hand on the arm that his mentor had been searching for keys with. He whispered again, “You don’t have to lock me up. I’m not going to run away.”
Purple eyes opened again and examined him, how did this little boy manage to reach right into his soul like that? He covered up the seriousness of his thoughts with, “I just didn’t want ya to touch anything is all.”
Charlie didn’t buy that or the giggle that followed, but he knew that his, uh…mentor had heard his words. The way he was feeling being this close to Mr. Wonka made him realize that he needed a new word for what this person meant to him now. One came to mind, though he wasn’t ready to use that one yet. It really was an incredible experience, yet…
Click!
Seemed there was a correct key to the lock after all. Willy pulled himself back up to a standing position, watching the child rub his wrist while he replaced the keys to their rightful place. He spoke a little softly with his usual grin in place, “I’ll get a seat, you stay right there.”
Mr. Wonka sat down in his nearby desk chair and proceeded to wheel over by use of his feet. It made him look quite young at heart. Charlie then watched as the supposedly full-grown man proceeded to spin around in circles once he was close again. There he went, wildly switching personalities as usual. What happened to the person who had studied him with that alien expression on his face? But that was Willy Wonka, bouncing all over the place, figuratively and literally. A lot like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh – no wonder he sung that song before they entered his abode. However, the boy had something else that he wiashed to address before he could return to enjoying their previous friendship. “Mr. Wonka…”
“Wheeee!” He continued to spin around in circles, head thrown back toward his curtained ceiling.
“Mr. Wonka.” Charlie said more insistently, causing him to finally stop with a scuff noise. The boy averted his eyes and toyed with one of the garters on his socks as he asked his question, “Is what we did…wrong?”
A small, knowing smile tugged at the edges of Mr. Wonka’s mouth. He responded to the boy’s question with one of his own, “Did it feel wrong?”
Charlie blushed darted his eyes to and away as he truthfully answered. “No…it…it felt really good.”
“Good, ‘cause actually…” Mr. Wonka wheeled over the short distance and leaned in to finish, “it was the most special thing that ever happened to me.” He stared right at the boy waiting for him to look back up at him. He wanted him to feel those words.
As soon as the Bucket child glanced back up at him, he copied the boy’s previously averted expression before gently adding, “I feel very close to you now.”
The boy repressed how broadly he wanted to smile at that; the depth of his dimples giving that fact away. He had given Willy Wonka the most special experience that he had ever had?! Little, unimportant, impoverished him? Not to mention he rather enjoyed the whole thing himself. Still, there was something else bothering him.
“I can’t tell my family though, can I?” His head was still tilted down while he leaned against the many pillows and stuffed animals across the back of Wonka’s bed. He had glanced back up at his benefactor at the end of his sentence.
Ick. The ‘F’-word. He couldn’t keep his upper lip from curling ever so slightly in a nauseated fashion. If only they weren’t so important to the boy – it made his life so difficult managing them all while trying to groom Charlie for his purposes. He took a breath, “I’m not gonna tell you what to tell ‘em, but I promise not to say anything.”
After a quiet second he added, “Don’t think of it as lying, it’s…a secret. Yeah! They don’t have to know, do they? I mean, you don’t tell them everything, do you?”
Charlie had pulled himself completely upright and was petting a large stuffed cow under his right arm like it was real. It was so charming! Wonka swore he would have to get a portrait painted of the boy lying in his bed like that. Just for him to enjoy. Hm, maybe more than one…maybe a nude…
“Sure I do.” The child automatically answered. Forgetting his caveat of Mr. Wonka’s occasional discipline and the circumstances of the recent note that was taped to his ceiling.
“Oh, really?” Challenged Wonka, flaring one hand into the air, “When you were dirt poor and wanted a toy that there was no way of affording, did you tell them?”
“Nooo.” The child responded slowly, wondering what that had to do with anything. His mentor being able to infer something that personal about his life also caught him off guard.
“And when your belly ached from hunger, did you complain? Every single time?” The candymaker continued. Walking his fingers across the bed spread and rubbing the boy’s stomach.
“I didn’t.” He answered truthfully, failing to repress a chuckle at Mr. Wonka’s teasing touch despite his concentrated mode of thought.
“SO, was that lying? Weren’t you holding something back?” Were Wonka’s next leading questions. All said in an exaggeratedly simple tone.
“It would only have upset them to tell them those things.” Charlie’s gentle British voice responded.
“Ah-hah.” Was Wonka’s only comment. He pressed one plastic covered fingertip to they boy’s lips in a “shhh” fashion. After a second he removed it and sat back up, legs crossed. He had proven his case.
“Hmm.” Charlie looked off to the side considering the thorough argument with his mentor smiling at him as he did such. He restated Wonka’s earlier statement like he was pondering it, twirling it around in his brain, “Not a lie…a secret?”
“Uh-huh, but only because we don’t want to upset people and because we can trust each other.” Mr. Wonka had motioned his hands in-between Charlie and himself when he said ‘we’. There was a very intense look in his eyes again, but it wasn’t the usual one for there was no smile or twinkle to accompany it.
A twist of the child’s bow-shaped mouth, eyes tilted to the side, and a quick nod of the head indicated a form of agreement.
The twinkle and smile returned to his friend’s face. “Good! Let’s eat!”
The boy could give this more thought later meanwhile he had nearly forgotten that there was food! He found himself unusually hungry and quickly scooted himself toward the impromptu table. Upon a plate with a spiral on it was a plump hot dog, orange-colored French fries, and a tall shake. The shake was an odd shade of light green. Charlie looked up at a pleased and expectant Wonka. “Where’s yours?”
“Er, I already had a bite tah eat while I was making this. You go ‘head.” He made a quick ‘shoo-shoo’ motion with his purple-gloved covered hands.
Unlike his mentor, the boy removed both of his gloves before chowing down. Willy watched him captivated. The boy had decided to try the cool shake first. He had to suck very hard to get the substance only halfway up the long, winding Wonka-shaped straw. One side of his lips still attached, he looked up at Mr. Wonka whose expression had dramatically changed before his heir’s eyes reached him.
“It’s really thick.” His voice was nearly a complaint.
“Yeah! It’s better that way.” Mr. Wonka said in a sweet voice, squeezing his eyes closed for a second in a cheerful smile.
Charlie shrugged, took a deep breath, and went back to giving the thing his all. His cheeks were quite sunken from the intense effort. The man in the striped maroon velvet jacket clutched at the seat of the chair he was sitting in, fingers curled underneath. The predator like expression had re-appeared. All he could think was that he couldn’t wait to watch the boy wrap those same lips around the large hot dog. Who knew his genius could be applied in such new and marvelous ways?
The child had finally achieved a taste of the substance only to react with a slightly repulsed look on his face. He reluctantly wiped the flavor off the roof of his mouth with his tongue, resisting the intense urge to say ‘Blech’. “Wot flavor of ice cream is this?”
“Brussel sprout.” Answered Mr. Wonka immediately. “Figured ya oughta’ get some veggies into yer system.”
The boy’s expression got a bit worse, “Mr. Wonka, I’d rather eat real vegetables than ice creamed ones. Do you like this then?”
“Uh, actually, no.” His smile fell. “I think it’s pretty gross too. I was hopin’ you would, since I gotta whole room fulla’ the junk that I don’t know what to do with. It was one of those flops that I came up with before you moved in.”
He felt a bit guilty for causing the man to create such a terrible flavor. The child said off the top of his head. “You could sell it as a gag gift. People could buy it for their enemies and pretend that it was pistachio.”
Wonka put a hand to his chin, a comical pondering expression accompanied it. “Ya know that ain’t a bad idea. Yer gettin’ real good at this partner thing. Hm, maybe I’ll send a pint to my not-so-friendly competitors. Let the scoundrels steal that recipe! Ha!”
The boy smiled proudly at that and picked up the sausage in its fluffy bun. Wonka’s eyes lit up again and his mouth stayed slightly parted with a look of anticipation.
Just before placing it into his mouth, his heir paused and looked at him. “Is there anything weird about this that I should know about?”
“The ketchup looks like mustard and the mustard looks like ketchup.” The candymaker replied while pointing a finger toward the substances.
Charlie could only blink at him before laughing out loud. Only Willy Wonka would create something so absurd and unnecessary. The man added his own trickle of amusement. As their chuckles wore out the boy added, “It won’t put me to sleep, will it?”
That took Mr. Wonka completely aback, his hand recoiled as he clenched his perfectly flat teeth. His heir’s face became apprehensive; he hadn’t meant to deliberately disturb the joyful mood.
“Rescuer, there is a call on the line for you; a private call.” Interrupted Madame Rose from the top of the staircase.
Willy dropped his hand to his side and stood up robotically. He raised one eyebrow before speaking without much inflection, “Uh, no, it will not, but you might want to avoid eating the flower…every part of the Lily of the Valley plant is extremely poisonous. Won’t you excuse me for a moment?”
He did not look back towards Charlie as he ascended the spiral stairs again, a tall heel clanking with each step upon their metal surface. Once he reached the top he bent down low and whispered something into the diminutive Oompa-Loompa’s ear, then listened as she did the same to him. Once Mr. Wonka entered the upstairs rooms, she started her way down the less steep set of stairs alongside it; a smile aimed toward his heir as she did so.
Charlie watched as she gripped one side of her green spotted dress, keeping it from bundling under her feet, but not exposing them either: only moving lumps appeared as she took her methodical steps. It looked cute to the boy and he managed a small smile back in her direction.
Madame Rose had to have a private chuckle as the boy took a sullen bite off of his hot dog. With the aid of the planaterium-sized scrying mirror in the room, she could now see in its reflection what the man had prepared for his pupil. Shameless, but she supposed they could excuse him a few indulgences since he’d never been through anything like this before. It was also a bit funny to see Willy Wonka behave in such a manner and Loompas loved strange humor.

Once she was closer to Charlie she stated, “You mustn’t spoil his games. He hates that. Why he locked himself up for half a day in the Tantrum Room after the one called ‘Mike Teevee’ cracked his code for the contest.”
Humble chews and a guilty look returned her words. “I only wanted to stay awake to see more amazing things. I wasn’t mad at him or anything.”
Madame Rose reached out and patted one of his dangling legs. “Of course. He’s just being a big baby.”
The boy grinned at that and took another, this time heartier bite of his meal. The French fries turned out to be made out of sweet potatoes and were quite tasty, especially dipped in the yellow ketchup. Maybe he could take a bottle of it home to surprise his family with. That would be better to talk about then certain other events…
“There is something else I would like to tell you while he is out of the room. Myself and the other Oompa-Loompas are very pleased about your…union with our Rescuer. We will do whatever we can to help the two of you.” Her voice kept its croaking sound as she spoke in a slow and gentle way. It reminded him of his mother but with a far deeper wisdom in the manner.
Charlie gave her a nervous glance before realizing that she couldn’t see his expression. Was she trying to say that the tiny people knew how close the two of them had started to become? He decided to play it safe with a simple, “Thank you.”
“That being said,” she continued “I want you to know that we think Willy Wonka is very special.”
“So do I!” Charlie said with great enthusiasm.
The woman’s lips pursed a smile. “Yes, but you must be careful how you express that. Your mentor is sensitive about being different from other people. It has bothered him for most of his life.”
The boy looked very thoughtful, “He isn’t like other people though. That’s not a bad thing.”
“No, he isn’t and you’re right, it’s not a bad thing.” She smiled more broadly. Everyone kept calling this boy the lucky one, but it was the famous chocolate maker who had really gotten lucky finding someone as big-hearted as this Charlie Bucket.
“I’m trying to say something to you without using certain words. Allow me to rephrase myself. All Willy Wonka wants to be is a very smart and well-liked man, nothing more. He doesn’t want be what your people call…a freak.” She wished she could truly look into the boy’s eyes at that moment. However, the old woman preferred to face him, rather than the mirror, while she spoke such important words.
A welling of compassion on his heir’s face was what she would have seen. “People called him that?! How could they be so cruel? So bli--”
The child managed to stop himself before using the word ‘blind’ to describe what he felt was a foolish, misguided way of looking at his hero. He would have been quite embarrassed to use the word so casually in front of someone with the condition.
“They’ve said and done a lot worse.” Her voice was reduced to more of a whisper. “What do you think your people would call my people? We heard the other contest winners call us that very same word. The Rescuer knows that we cannot leave this factory for more reasons than simply the harsh weather outside. I believe he imposes the same penalty of isolation onto himself. He truly feels bad that his world probably wouldn’t accept us. Together, we have done our best to create our own world; maybe an even better one.”
The boy was taking the barest nibbles on one of the orange fried potatoes sticks, processing her words. So, it wasn’t merely an extremely anti-social nature that kept Mr. Wonka locked up – it was a type of loyalty to the Oompa-Loompas as well.
Madame Rose cocked her head to the side when she heard the child sniffle. “Charlie?”
“He’s been hurt very badly by the world, hasn’t he?” Said his heir in a trembling voice while wiping a tear off his cheek.
“Yes, very badly child. He is rather sensitive and the world can be very cruel. I believe all the pain in his life has even wounded his soul. Therefore, I beg that you forgive him when he misbehaves or loses his temper.” Again she reached to touch him.
Charlie hopped off of the bed and knelt down to her height. He reached out and placed a hand no bigger than a toddler’s to his small ring. “I’ve already promised to do that.”
Madame Rose felt the thin, notched band that she had known the man wanted to give him. With her other hand she patted the boy’s slightly damp, round cheek. “My people call Willy Wonka, Rescuer. We have a second name for you as well…it’s, Restorer.”
A look of awe formed on the boy’s face.
“You two better not be gettin’ in cahoots against me.” Came another unique, but familiar voice from the stairs. It was worthy of note how quiet he could be when he wanted to be for neither party had heard him descend.
“You can strike that and reverse it. We’re getting in ‘cahoots’ for you.” Retorted his portrait painter and personal advisor.
The boy sprang up and ran over to Mr. Wonka in his stocking feet. His benefactor was carrying another small tray with another shake on it, keeping Charlie from attacking him with the giant hug that was now bottled up inside.
The mad hatter of chocolate started to nervously explain himself while shoving the object toward his pupil, “Here! I felt bad about my last one, so I made ya a better milkshake this time. My favorite one actually – banana split! See, it has swirls of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry with ribbons of syrup in banana, fudge, marshmallow, super-berry, and pineapple all swirled up inside. Then I add my whip cream, mixed nuts, and for you…a mini gobstopper on top! It’s everything you’d want and more!”
Charlie had taken it with a look of complete admiration. It was a work of frozen art! Then something dawned on the boy - this was probably a kind of confectionary ‘peace offering’. He got a private little grin on his face. “This was very nice of you.”
“You could eat it while I’m givin’ ya the tour…of my room that is.” And with that Willy Wonka began to completely distract Charlie from who or what it was that he had been communicating with or on. Madame Rose saw the chocolatier make a few gestures in the mirror while the boy was taking in the vast self-playing pipe organ. His last gesture was a simple “OK” symbol.
“I want to see more drawings!” Charlie bubbled. Sugar was a good thing. He licked off a smear of fudge off of his spoon. The substance was hot despite the ice-cold temperature of the flavored swirls. Magically, it didn’t melt the rest of the dessert and all the colors perfectly held their soft shape against the sleek glass. It shouldn’t have been possible, but there it was. And it was unbelievably delicious.
“Okey-Dokey.” Wonka walked over to the side of the black mirror where he had posted up many of his sketches – some being far more abstract than others.
“Wot’s this one?” He gestured his head towards a sheet covered in random swipes of paint with splatters of color.
“I dunno.” He stated, twisting his head all the way to the left, and causing his bob to tilt. “Sometimes, I try to paint blindfolded like Madame Rose. I mean, if she don’t need eyesight to see visions, why should I?”
Charlie took in that idea while the chocolatier adjusted the drawing a few times.
“I think it’s upside down.” He stated, then frowned, “Or…maybe not.”
The boy leaned in to study the one that had caught his eye from across the room. It was sketchy with only a few violent brushes of color detailing it. Charlie instantly recognized the factory in the background, but not the windmills. He was uncertain of the identity of the man drawn at the front of the paper. It looked almost like Mr. Wonka, but the form was depicted as being quite old: wrinkled with wiry hair stuck out of the top hat along with a goatee. One gloved hand clutched a lance made out of a hodgepodge of scrap yard material. The form wore equally mismatched jumble of armor on top of the elegant outfit. The man had wide eyes, dotted with a splash of red & blue to form the allegory of purple; most of the illustrations were monochromatic in style with such bold splashes of color.
“This is you, isn’t it?” The boy hesitantly guessed.
“Uh-huh, self-portrait of sorts. I drew it back when I only had one shop. It was an exploration of aspiration, a formulation of my inspiration, far before the materialization of our hybridization.” He riddled eloquently.
That sentence caused a very confused look to cross Charlie’s face.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist the condensation of my alliteration.” Was followed by a strained giggle and a clasping of squeaky hands.
The Bucket child swore he was never going to be this kind of witty. He concentrated and attempted to copy the method, “I require more explanation as to your…depreciation?”
It was his mentor’s turn to look confused.
“Um, that is, why do you look so old in the picture?” He was resisting every urge to reach out and touch the picture or the fantastically glossy surface of the mirror’s edge that he was standing near.
“Oooh. That was a good try though!” He responded sincerely. It was nice to have someone who wanted to mimic him all the time. It beat the daylights out of being made fun of for being different. He continued. “Simple, I wanted to show my desire to grow to be very old and very wise.”
“Wot about these?” The child pointed toward but deliberately did not touch a certain element in the drawing.
“Those are the ‘windmills of my mind’ of course. They’re uh…symbolic, part of a really good song and a pretty good play too.” A far away look came across his features. He was standing in the room but his mind wasn’t there anymore.
“What do unicorns represent, Mr. Wonka?” Asked Charlie leaning cautiously toward the chocolatier.
The man half-snapped out of his trance. “Wha? Unicorns?”
“I thought I saw one in the mirror before I fell asleep.” His heir admitted twisting the long silver spoon through the remnants of his treat creating a spiral of the colors.
Mr. Wonka immediately placed a hand on either one of the boy’s slim shoulders, “It worked! Ya see! You did magick!”
The child pressed his left hand up to his abashed grinning face, forcing himself to stay in contact with those glittering purple eyes and that bright smile. “No, we did it.”
Madame Rose had been busying herself with adding details to the portrait but those words arose her attention. “A unicorn is a rare and powerful thing. Not everyone can see them.”
“I can’t!” Announced Mr. Wonka as if he were proud that his heir could do something that he could not. Then he gave the boy a more lustful look and a once-over his body. In a quieter, more masculine voice he added, “Bet you’d like tah see it again too.”
That forced Charlie to flush and look away. He was really trying not to blush around Mr. Wonka so much, but it wasn’t easy! Knowing full well what the man meant, he still managed to mutter, “Y-yes sir.”
The hands resting on the boy’s shoulders shook a little at that. Charlie wasn’t the only one in the room desperately resisting the urge to ‘touch things’.
Madame Rose thought she was going to have to throw ice on the both of them in a minute. She’d have to settle for words that would hopefully give the same effect. With a scornful face she proclaimed, “Unicorns represent purity and innocence – they only appear to people with the same sort of nature.”
Mr. Wonka got the hint, cleared his throat, and stood up. He tugged at his flared multi-colored paisley sleeves attempting to re-establish his authority. “Go put on yer shoes little boy. We should finish the portrait today.”
Charlie nodded and dashed off toward the bed to reassemble his outfit: shoes, one glove, and the small navy top hat with peacock-like feathers. Before he pulled on his brightly colored right glove, he noticed a slight bruise where his mentor had struck him with the cane. That was going to be tricky to explain. The child decided to worry about it later and hurriedly walked back over to the chair where Mr. Wonka was seated again. Gently, he replaced himself onto the man’s lap with an affectionate look.
Willy stayed stoic – he would force himself into control this time. After all, he’d had his ‘taste’ today, no need to be a glutton. Even so, his hands lingered around the slim waist before restoring them to their original pose. He wondered if he had finally found something even more tempting than sweets.
“You must have a lot of other things to do today besides this, right?” The child said humbly, facing forward.
“Not really. I already told ya that I had so little to do and so much time to do it in. I cleared my schedule for this. Sometimes, doing very little takes a great deal of time.” Leaning closer toward his heir Mr. Wonka’s eyelids lowered slightly. He could smell himself on the child. A smirk pulled at his lips for a second and he stroked the top of the child’s bare hand. Wouldn’t that upset Mr. Bucket?
Madame Rose pulled out a bit of pink from her shoebox sized paint kit; there was a new glow to both of them that she wished to capture…

Author’s Notes:
Wonka really has a Tantrum Room and a Brussel Sprout Ice Cream Room. "Switch that and reverse it." and "So little to do and so much time to do it in." is a tip of the hat to old Gene Wilder, who will always be a part of Willy Wonka too. I just like playing with all the elements. *grins*
- 7
- 8
- 9
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