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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
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 IX
By: Idol Hands
Rating: Mature Demented Audiences (NC-17 ish)
Warnings: for dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, religion, under-aged/adult slash (Shouta), naughty thoughts, ossification, and auto-eroticism.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp.
Summary: Mr. Bucket comes home to many "sur-prizes". There is a lot to discuss at the Bucket household tonight. Things are shifting in new directions, old memories and ideals are being revealed, and there is still Grandpa George to consider! How will Wonka handle him? Bet you’ll never guess. Last, but not least what effects might these recent effects have on dear Charlie?

"Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at!"

Mr. Bucket entered the house later that night, “Evening Buckets! Dad won’t be joining us tonight, he has some…overtime that he needs to do. Yeah, that’s it.” The head of the household had had a very long day. He was tired, stressed out, and his nerves were frayed and the worst wasn’t over yet. There was the matter of talking to his son.
Charlie was happily sitting at the kitchen table practicing his penmanship; Wonka’s note and a new one with the entire alphabet were right next to the paper he was working on. His cursive was improving a great deal, but it was like everywhere Mr. Bucket looked there his new ‘boss’ was. He couldn’t get away from the guy! Much to his relief, his son had changed back into his usual worn clothes. He frowned a little noticing that Charlie was still wearing his new shoes as well as a pair of brightly colored gloves.
“Hi, Dad.” He said very shyly. Charlie was anxious about talking to his father. Anxious because he had things that he very much wanted to discuss and things that he very much did not.
“I thought Grandpa George was going to talk with Mr. Wonka tonight?” The child’s bluish eyes looked up innocently at Mr. Bucket.
“Ah...well, yes, that’s…what I meant. It’s sort of like overtime.” So, Mr. Wonka knew AND told the boy about it. Hm. It was tricky to predict the candyman.
The boy gave his father a curious look. Mr. Wonka and him had a few more little conversations in his bedroom. One was about the fact that family didn’t always tell the truth either, even his. His own father had fibbed just then. That was evidence that he shouldn’t feel too guilty about withholding information himself. He couldn’t get his mentor to tell him exactly what secrets he knew about the Buckets. His plaintive begging and pouting didn’t pry it out of him this time. It only made the man twist up the corners of his mouth in a 'cat who swallowed the canary' kind of a way.
“How did things go today?” The slender Englishman sat down next to his young son and ruffled his unruly, soft brown hair. The gesture felt less natural than usual. He noticed that the child’s hair was a trifle damp, as if he had taken a bath before dinner. Quickly he scanned their house to ensure that the metal tub looked used. Ensuring where the bathing took place. Thank goodness there were towels draped over it's side and fresh suds on the bar of soap.
“…Wonderful.” Was the word Charlie managed to choose after a second. He added with more enthusiasm. “They’re always wonderful! Even when it gets..er, heywire. Um, we went to see Mum today!”
“Really?” That was very unusual: Mr. Wonka actually including the family in Charlie’s routine before dinner.
When it came to meals, at first Mr. Bucket had thought it flattering that the famous man ate with them. Recently he figured that it was only so that Willy could spend a little more time with their son. The man’s eyes hardly ever left the child. Sometimes it seemed like the two were sharing secret telepathic communication; he saw those subtle faces that they would make at each other. In his mind, it went from cute to creepy very quickly.
Mrs. Bucket took her husband’s pondering silence as a chance to speak up from her cooking activities, “It was a really pleasant surprise! He gave Charlie that tiny candy out of his cane to feed the Oompa-Loompa children! Then he blessed the babies and showed us a statue that’s being built in the courtyard. Our little boy has his very own statue!”
Candy from his cane? Blessing babies? A statue? It was a baffling amount of new information to absorb. Did his wife really say blessing? Did their child need ‘his very own statue’? The sweet sound of the new statue owner’s voice distracted his thoughts.
“Show Dad wot he gave you!” Beamed Charlie to his mother.
His mother and him had already had a discussion when he first came home. They had decided on a kind of script and order for explaining everything since they boy told her about her husband and Wonka having a fight of some sort.
Mr. Bucket was surprised to see a slight grimace on Grandma Josephine’s face. She was sitting in the bed near the fireplace and reading her Bible. She was quieter than usual. Grandpa Joe was shelling sugar peas, while Grandma Georgina was seated by the fireplace humming peacefully to herself; lost in her own thoughts. The father’s glance went back over to his wife with a bit of apprehension.
Mrs. Bucket came over to the table and parted open the collar of her old printed cotton dress to expose the stylized golden pendant. “He said that it used to belong to his mother and that he wanted me to have it for taking such good care of the Oompa-Loompas.”
“And for giving me life!” Charlie added hopefully with a wide, nervous grin.
A type of grimace was on the pale engineer’s face. The Bucket man wasn’t sure what to make of all of this. It was a dramatic gesture for someone who didn’t seem to give a wit about family and was possibly misconstruing his relationship with their son. Of course he remembered when the subject of Wonka’s mother came up. He had thought the chocolatier would never snap out of the coma he went into. It took Charlie to finally bring him around. Bringing up Dr. Wonka had similarly awkward reactions. Screwed up old bugger. His dark eyes lowered for a second thinking about that, then realized that everyone was expecting him to say something. Oops, seemed he had a little ‘flashback’ there himself. He struggled to say, “Uh…Tha-that was nice of him.”
It came out as more of a question as he squinted to examine the necklace. He hadn’t given his wife a piece of jewelry since their wedding day and even that had been a very modest item before being traded many times after. The current one was a cheap piece of metal that mimicked the first more valuable one. Both of them had finally been forced to pawn their real ones and had not been able to get them back. What was left was merely symbolic. There was no real value to them.
Charlie had taken off his left glove while his father was in deep thought. Preparing to tell of the other gift that had been given.
A small, concentrated breath brought Mr. Bucket’s gaze back toward his child seated next to him. The glitter on his son’s hand caught his attention, “Wot’s that?”
“Mr. Wonka gave that to Charlie. Isn’t it sweet?” Responded his wife.
Mr. Bucket was too stunned to talk for a second. Then commanded in a loud voice, “Take that off right now!”
“What? Why?” Charlie grabbed at his own hand, hiding it. His father’s tone was scaring him.
“Because no son of mine is wearing a golden band given to him by an eccentric, old, unmarried man! That’s why!” This new development was comming at a really bad moment or he wouldn’t have made such a blatant statement. Mr. Bucket attempted to grab the boy’s hand while speaking to no avail. Charlie was resisting and making small determined grunting sounds as he did so. It was most unusual for him to disobey his parents like this.
“Sweetheart!” Exclaimed his wife with a chuckle. “Relax, it’s harmless, it’s just a friendship ring.”
Grandpa Joe had stood up and started to cautiously head over to the irate father. His wife had put down her religious text to watch with concern.
“Give it to me, Charlie!” Shouted Mr. Bucket, unswayed by her words. He had finally gotten the child’s hand and was attempting to pull the delicate band off. Charlie squeezed up his eyes, shoulder blades squashed together, and a deep frown wrinkled up the bottom of his face. He was going to cry in a moment.
To the father’s complete amazement…the delicate ring simply wouldn’t budge. He pulled with all his strength, but it was as if it were glued in place; the boy’s skin didn’t even move! Shocked, he released his son’s hand with a startled look on his face.
Once freed, Charlie got up, tears in his eyes, and ran as fast as he could outside.
“Son, that’s a very special thing that Mr. Wonka gave to Charlie.” Grandpa Joe started gingerly.
“It’s a very inappropriate thing! Where does he get off doing this stuff without checking first?! That’s MY son and that’s MY wife!” He persisted.
“He likes surprises. That’s all.” Grandpa Joe defended calmly. Sounds of Charlie weeping outside caught his ears.
“I’m going to check on the lad outside. He sounds very upset.” He made a nod to his mother, who nodded back and sat next to her husband. Grandpa Joe stepped outside.
Grandma Georgina seemed startled by all the events, but had stayed silent, only observing everything with glossy eyes and a small elfish smile. She gave a giggle toward Grandma Josephine, who couldn’t imagine what was funny about any of this. The sweet, apple-faced woman would have to forgive her old sister-in-law though. She knew Georgina’s mind still wasn’t what it used to be. Even in her glory days she had been a simple woman. Still, Willy loved the way she thought and entrusted her with inspiring him every day. In a special room, her every word and antic was recorded for his amusement.
Charlie was leaned against the flaking wall of the house, under the window; knees up to his chin, wiping away tears with a balled fist. One Oompa-Loompa was by his side; they still roamed around at night, only in far fewer numbers. The small man looked at Grandpa Joe with concern. Charlie looked at his Grandfather and wailed, “Why does he hate him?!”
His parents muffled conversation couldn’t be made out from outside.
The rail thin figure of Grandpa Joe did his best to crouch down to Charlie’s level. He spoke slowly and gently, “Charlie, no one hates anyone. Don’t talk like that. Your father simply doesn’t understand his ‘old ways’, that’s all. My wife doesn’t care for it either. I’m in a lot of hot water too you know.”
He gave a bit of a laugh and a broad reassuring smile. Charlie always felt that was his favorite feature about his old grandfather. His smile. It was why he didn’t really mind Wonka’s large, ever-changing one. The reliable elder suggested, “We’ll explain it all together, OK?”
He patted the boy’s tense back. Charlie had stopped crying but he was still heaving out moans. The boy looked back at his beloved Grandpa Joe and managed a weak smile. At least he wasn’t the only Bucket defying a loved one for Mr. Wonka. He said hesitantly, “OK.”
“Thank you.” Said Grandpa Joe slowly to the lone Oompa-Loompa. Charlie signed the gratitude; similar to ‘please’, one placed the hands on the middle of the rib cage, made a prayer-like motion, but allowed a gap in-between. This was supposed to symbolize a cocoa bean, the ultimate in gratitude.
Then he told his grandfather, “This one is called Alec”.
Grandpa Joe was still amazed at how Charlie was beginning to tell them apart! How spectacular it must be to see things the way Willy Wonka does, to do more than only be able to appreciate it. He spent many an hour near the man in order to get better as his Public Relations person. It was a big step up from the occasional minutes he was lucky to get in that first candy shop. Many years had past since he had last seen him, but he found Mr. Wonka as impressive and magical as ever; especially after the conversation they had when his grandson came home today. Just like Charlie, he felt there was something remarkable and hypnotizing about the chocolatier. He didn’t blame the boy a bit for his infatuation. Not one bit at all…
The Oompa-Loompa signed ‘Don’t cry, we all want Charlie happy’. Charlie smiled a bit more at that. The sign for his name was a flat palm pushed downward indicating “small” followed by the tipping of a hat to imply ‘Wonka’ (minus the grin) with the heart gesture to the chest. There was also the sound of a bugle announcing something. His name translated to something like “Little Wonka” and “Wonka’s heart” combined, with the added implication of a ‘welcoming’ noise.
These were actually nicknames that the native people used for them. He had seen them use a more complicated gesture for what they called Mr. Wonka between each other. Now he knew what that word was. He wondered what the true symbol for himself looked like. Should he tell his father about that? Wouldn’t it only upset him more? Oh, he had learned so many amazing things today! And now his father was being a complete soggy biscuit about everything.
The boy proceeded to take his hunched-over Grandfather’s large, skinny hand and head back inside.
Mr. Bucket immediately got down and hugged his son upon entering. Charlie was a tad surprised at the sudden change. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s not you I’m mad at.”
Charlie couldn’t talk and didn’t quite return the gesture. There was too much emotion inside him and a lump had formed in his throat. I know, it's Mr. Wonka you're mad at, thought the boy. Watery eyes looked up at his sympathetic mother’s face: her large, dark ones reassuring him.
The father let out a sigh and pulled back to look his son in the face, “So, your mum tells me that the ring was a part of his own mother’s. That’s…pretty special I guess.”
“Yeah.” Said Charlie through a broken voice. He clutched his hand again and withdrew completely from his father’s now loose embrace. Through rough breaths he managed to form his heartfelt thoughts into words. “H-he did it because…we’re not related. He wanted to…give me something…to make us feel…more connected.”
“See.” His wife said in a flat, but still mild tone. She had seen her husband lose his temper, but that was a long time ago and she had never seen him behave that way towards their child.
“I can’t believe you thought he wanted to marry Charlie!” Cackled Grandma Georgina. “Everybody knows that the poor man has an awful crush on me. It’s a wonder how he manages to contain himself.”
That lightened the mood in the room considerably. A few tiny grins were exchanged and they decided to try and proceed with dinner as normal. Mr. Bucket discovered that he preferred his ketchup red, after squirting a good blob of what he thought was mustard onto his turkey. However, everyone else thanked Charlie for bringing home some of Mr. Wonka’s clever invention.
Charlie was only occasionally glancing nervously at his father throughout dinner. He didn’t talk much or about his day. His mother and Grandpa Joe held up most of the conversation. Grandma Josephine made an unusual speech about the teachings of Jesus. No one disagreed with her, but Charlie wondered what it had to do with anything. He noticed that his mother seemed somewhat fidgety. Still, the evening was going well considering the previous disagreement. Mr. Bucket wasn’t going to disrupt the evening further. He could wait until later to address other issues with his son. As they were nearing toward dessert, Mrs. Bucket stated, “Where have your father and Mr. Wonka gotten to?”
Mr. Bucket got nervous. It was true, they had been gone a while, missing dinner all together; not that he missed seeing, or worse hearing, Willy. He recalled how threatening the chocolatier had seemed when last he saw him. Oh God, he had sent his own father to accuse the man of the exact same thing that he had tried to accuse Wonka of earlier. The Bucket father got a bit worried, but remembered how secure his Grandfather had been that he could ‘handle him’. Besides, Mr. Wonka would just explain to him what Charlie just did, right? No, that thought didn’t calm his nerves. Especially since he wasn’t really all right with all of this – he simply wasn’t sure how to react yet. He glanced at his wife’s neck. Was that glued to her as well? What the hell was that about anyhow? He gave an angry look at Charlie’s ring. His son’s hand curled away. Then he noticed that the right one was wearing a plaster across the top. He looked at his son, who immediately averted his gaze and tucked the other hand under the table as well. What was the explanation for that surprise going to be?
Mrs. Bucket came to the table with two pints of ice cream. One was pale green and the other one a swirl of rainbow colors. “Charlie wanted us to try some new flavors that Mr. Wonka has been working on. The green one is actually Brussel sprout ice cream. Not very good, but he’s hoping we can fix it.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of it’s flavor.
“Oh my, we used to have ‘cabbage candy’ as children. I bet it’s a similar idea. Remember that dear?” Stated Grandma Josephine to her husband.
“I certainly do. Pass it over here. I bet we can fix it up!” Grandpa Joe was eager to do Mr. Wonka a favor. A chance to impress such a clever man was rare!
“I hear singing!” Announced Grandma Georgina. Everyone thought she was contributing her usual random comments until they heard it for themselves. A raucous singing could be heard in the distance:
”Chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing all day long,”
“Chewing, chewing all day long!”
Followed by malicious laughter in two tones; one deep, one high.
“For years and years she chews away, her jaws get stronger every day.
And with one great tremendous chew…they bite the poor girl’s tongue in two!”
“Too bad she didn’t! Bossy little thing!” Came the billowing sound of Grandpa George’s voice. And again there was an echoing of wicked laughter. The sound of it sent shivers down the spines of the women in the Bucket household.
Before any one could utter a word, the two of them booted open the door and burst into the house, still cackling like demons. They also each had an arm draped over the other one’s shoulders. So much for Mr. Bucket’s accusation about Wonka only touching Charlie.
“What in Heaven’s name?!” Exclaimed Grandma Josephine.
Both Grandpa George and Willy Wonka looked less than themselves. Actually, if the family didn’t know better….
“I LOVE this crazy, old bastard!” Announced Grandpa George loudly and with a heavy slur.
“Pop! Not in front of the boy!” Exclaimed the perplexed and now standing Mr. Bucket.
Wonka had pressed a hand to his vest, laughing with his eyes squinted shut. Charlie also laughed out loud, quickly clasping both hands to his mouth in order to silence himself.
“You’re completely sauced!” Exclaimed an amused Grandma Georgina.
“Are you both drunk? Asked Grandma Josephine, scarcely believing the words that came out of her mouth.
“Quite.” Assured Mr. Wonka, his face looking very dreamy. He tipped his hat at Mr. Bucket, fixating his eyes on him though not exactly glaring, then gave a wink to Charlie.
The boy smiled shyly in return, lowering his eyelashes. His father watching with one long eyebrow keenly raised.
“Our sincerest –hic- apologies!” Broadcast the chocolatier. He appeared far more relaxed than usual.
“Well, sit down before you fall over.” Mrs. Bucket stated, getting up and pushing a chair over to them. At least one of them probably needed to sit down. Grandpa George took her up on the offer, placing his bottom a tad too firmly into the creaky chair. With equal speed and lack of grace he raised one arm from under the table creating a loud:
CLUNK!
The tipsy old man had slammed down a large, cut-crystal decanter filled with a golden fluid onto the cloth tabletop. “Butter Scotch, literally!”
He proudly announced, like it was a major discovery. Quickly he reached for an empty glass.
That sound was promptly followed by a second one:
Thud!
“Butter Rum, figuratively!” Added Wonka with a wide, toothy grin. He loved semantics! He had placed down (with slightly less enthusiasm than Grandpa George) a long and elegantly corked bottle with pale orange fluid inside.
Everyone else was still in astonishment of the whole situation. Charlie was intently studying his mentor in this current state. It was pretty amusing. He noticed that Mr. Wonka’s five o’ clock shadow was slightly visible. Childlike as he could be, it appeared that the chocolatier could grow a beard as heavy as his own father!
“It seems –hic- some explanation is in order, George.” Commented Willy while clasping at his bobbing Adam’s apple.
“What’s to explain? We had a boy’s night out! Maybe next time Joe here can come along.” He looked over at the frail man in the thick glasses while pouring a bit more of the Butter Scotch to offer up.
“Ooh, no. I’m not much for drinking. Maybe Charlie’s father could go though.” Stated Grandpa Joe humbly.
“Not until he apologizes to Mr. Wonka for threatening him.” He said pointedly, then took a guzzle out of the glass.
Mr. Wonka immediately began waving a purple gloved hand, pursing his lips and face in protest to the statement. “Pfft! Please, not necessary.”
“He threatened you.” Insisted Grandpa George with a frown.
“B-but I..!” Mr. Bucket started. He had been completely caught off guard! Everyone was more shocked by that statement than by both men (especially Willy Wonka) being drunk. Charlie had a look on his face like part of his world had been shattered.
“Listen, -hic- isss all forgiven. In the past!” His voice went up at the end and each word came out sluggishly. “I mean if you don’t like my taste in fashion that’s –hic- perfectly fine. I don’t really like yours either!“
He giggled.
Mr. Bucket senior added in a gruff tone, “And Charlie learning to cook is good for candy making. Doesn’t make him a sissy.”
The boy focused a really frustrated look at his father.
Wonka grinned a drunken, satisfied smile. He thought…Mess with the master, will ya? “Well, I musst be gooing, uh going. Releasing a new line of -hic- perfumes tomarrow. Maybe one of ‘em will make the Salts ssshtink less. Who knew all that garbage would –hic- never wash off? I got big hopes for Scrumpfudge, wait, Fudgemallow, no, uh…oh, you know.”
“Whipplescrumptous Fudgemallow Delight perfume?” Charlie said perfectly.
“Thas’ the one! Boy, thassa doooozie of a mouthful, huh? What wuz I thinkin’?” His exaggerated expressions weren’t quite keeping up with his words tonight.
-Hic!-
He put one hand up to his face. “Sorry. That’s why I don’t usually drink. I won’t bother you folks another minute.” He giggled, then furrowed his brow. “Now, where did I put my cane?”
Charlie stopped examining his father like the rest of his family was now currently doing. He politely stated, “It’s in your hand, Mr. Wonka.”
“So it is!” Wonka said, amused at the discovery, and lifting it up for everyone to see. He tottered some while he doing so, but successfully recovered his balance.
“Um, Charlie darling, why don’t you accompany Mr. Wonka back to his vehicle.” Said his mother. Her motives were concern and a moment or two of privacy with her husband.
Mr. Wonka bent out his free arm and Charlie was happy to oblige with a ‘so there’ look at his father. Arm in arm, Mr. Wonka tipped his hat again, and wished them a, “–hic- Good Night.”
The quarreling of the family drifted away as the duo headed to the river where the boat awaited them; its pink color barely visible in the false blue moon. Willy didn’t understand why ‘blue moons’ only had to come once in a great while. He wanted one every night and so he made sure that he got one!
“Boy, I ssseemed to have caused quit, ah, quite the ruckas.” Said the chocolatier looking down at the boy, waving slightly as he stood before the vessel. He was trying very hard to remain composed and failing riotously.
“No. It wasn’t your fault.” Charlie said glumly. Funny as he found Mr. Wonka’s current condition, he was far more worried about everything that was going on with him and his family.
“Hephalumps and Woozles, Charlie, don’t look –hic- so sad. It’ll all work out. One way or… another.” The pause in his speech was not due to his inebriation, but rather a brief thought. However, the young Bucket boy had no way of knowing that.
Stepping into the boat, he surveyed the chocolate room one last time. A heavy sloshing noise nearly drowned out the sound of the family in the background. Mr. Wonka gazed affectionately at his creation and danced his fingers about as he said, “It’s sssucha luverly night. Lookit how the moonlight reflects off the chocolate river. Sssimply ssscruptious!”
Charlie said simply. “Mr. Wonka, I want to give you something before you go.”
“Hm? What is it?” He leaned over the bow only to be met with Charlie’s lips in a full kiss. They were warm and a bit wet like he had licked them first. Wonka was pleasently, but completely startled – he didn’t even have a chance to close his eyes.
“I love you.” Was the next thing he heard whispered into his ear. It sounded especially charming in the child’s English voice. The boy quickly pulled away from the forward gesture. Then he ran off like a shot back into his house. It was due to his timidity, but it was probably a good thing since Willy wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have pulled him into the ship and whisked him back to his room again if the boy had lingered one second longer. The man stayed frozen like a statue, slowly raising one hand to his mouth and closing his eyes. The oarsmen stood by equally motionless awaiting his command.
The moment of deep meaning was suddenly disturbed by a rather vocal:
-Hic!-
“Damn hiccups!” Wonka cursed. It seemed Grandpa George had an effect on him as well.
Both physical reactions caused a unison of giggles from the Oompa-Loompas. Their employer turned and looked at them all. “Ooh, just sstart rowin'.” He said in a grumpy tone, followed by a more polite, “…please. I need tah get home and get the sssmell of cigars offa me and get these clothes sssterilized. Ugh! Honestly, the thingss I’ve done fer that boy!”
The Oompa-Loompas all laughed again and began to row. The Bucket child watched his mentor sail off, waving at him as he groggily waved back. He would probably be asleep before too long.
The child steeled himself before entered his own house. Then turned the old brass nob and entered. Everyone grew completely silent the moment he stepped in, various expressions meeting his own.
“Please” Charlie began, “don’t spoil everything. Mr. Wonka is a fantastic man. He’s my friend and...”
He fought back tears again before finishing with, “I love him.”
Again there was silence and various expressions. Mr. Bucket felt like he had been hit in the head with a hammer. Grandma Georgina was still smiling, though Grandma Josephine looked more concerned. Mrs. Bucket kneeled down to hug Charlie and give him a kiss on his head.
“Maybe we should skip dessert tonight. We’ve had our fair share as of late and an early bedtime will give us all time to sleep on this.” Offered Grandpa Joe.
“That sounds like a grand idea.” Announced Grandpa George with a large yawn.
“Yes, perhaps we’ve all had a bit too much…excitement today.” Stated Mrs. Bucket while toying with the pendant around her neck. She gave a concerned look toward her husband who was biting his lip and avoiding his son’s gaze.
The child lay in bed a great while listening to the family quietly attempt to settle down without much talking; Grandpa George snoring the whole time. His family had never been this out of joint before. The boy wanted Mr. Wonka to like him and he really, really liked everything about the man, but he liked his family too. How was everything going to fit together? The child let out a dissatisfied, muffled noise. It made his head hurt thinking about it all sometimes.
It was deep into the night now and he decided to let his thoughts drift to something more pleasant: something more soothing. He started to think about all the ways Mr. Wonka felt. The warm velvet of the coat, the rough tickle of the stubble against his face, the slight sharpness of his teeth at the nape of his neck, the sting of the slaps and cane, then about the contrast of the smoothness of the skin on his hand skin, that same cool hand on his thigh and the feel of the latex glove on his…
An emotion was welling up in him. He held his breath to make sure he could hear the noise of everyone asleep below him before engaging in a private little fantasy. The boy wondered if he could mimic those sensations from earlier today. Reaching down, he tried to duplicate the position of his fingers. It didn’t feel exactly like Mr. Wonka, but it would do.

“Mmmn…” He let out his pleasant little groan. Suddenly he paused again, panicked, making sure no one heard him. There wasn’t a rustle. He continued to gently mimic the stroking motions, he allowed his mind to think thoughts of things that didn’t occur, but maybe he wanted to happen. Mostly, he wanted to get closer and try more magic. He leaned deeper into his pillow and pretended it was the chocolatier. Too bad he had wash the smell off of his skin earlier.
His mother had only stated, “Oh Charlie, you smell like chocolate from head to foot!” Sniffing him closer, she added in a puzzled voice, “And something else…” That did it.
Maybe he could get some of that chocolate perfume later to spray his sheets with. Mr. Wonka did smell so enticing and he tasted like the sweetest, most exotic fruit. He parted his mouth in the memory and desire to experience it all again.
Getting more aroused, the child thought of more outrageous fantasies; about that chained cuff and their chests pressed together in that enormous, cozy bed. His slim hips began to rock faster. His heart raced pleasently recalling how afraid he had been at the time. He wondered what else had been on Mr. Wonka’s mind when he was looking at him; how easy it would have been for his mentor to do anything to him in that moment. His mind raced with various ideas of being helpless in his embrace. He used the visual of his mentor standing, before he covered himself up with the coat, as further reference.
The tingling sensation was rising inside of him, building up before a dizzying shudder ran through him again. He bit the top of his left hand to keep from shouting. His body was pulsing with a rhythm of his own in the self-induced afterglow. It reminded him of the secret beat of life that his mentor kept mentioning.
Raising his right hand up, breathing heavy, he looked at the clear fluid and took a little lick. It wasn’t disgusting. It barely had any flavor at all; only bit of salt. Not entirely unlike Mum’s old soup actually. He resisted the urge to laugh at the thought. Since he couldn’t decide what to do with the rest of the bit of evidence from his ‘indulgence’, mimicking Mr. Wonka seemed like the best solution. While he did so, he couldn’t help wonder…what would his taste like? Shortly after that, he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. A small smile graced his angelic features.

A small while later Mr. Bucket felt an insistent tapping on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he saw the familiar round face and knit-cap of his mother-in-law. Clutching her shawl in one hand, she motioned for him to get up with the other. Carefully, he did so, looking back to make sure that he had not disturbed his wife. He followed her to the outside of the house. There wasn’t an Oompa-Loompa in sight in the dark Chocolate Room.
The blue moon caused deep shadows on both of their distinctive features. Their darkly colored, mismatched patchwork clothes made the pair look completely out of place among the brightly colored, fantasy landscape of the engulfing edible forest.
“You’re worried about Willy’s influence on Charlie, right?” Whispered the old English woman.
“Yes.” He replied anxiously, squinting through blood-shot eyes.
“So am I. I’m worried about my daughter too. Now, I know we’ve been thinking of the candymaker as ‘eccentric’ or ‘old-fashioned’, but I never heard of half the gibberish that Charlie came home talking about.” She tucked back up one of the silver curls that had freed itself from her hat while she had been lying in bed tossing and turning.
She stared into Mr. Bucket’s eyes, fear in her own light colored ones. The expression was more obvious against a face whose pale eyebrows blended into the skin. “The man sees visions in a giant, black mirror. Their portrait was painted by a blind, old OL who can SEE when she looks into it. It sent shivers up my spine to hear the boy say it.”
Mr. Bucket’s face was shock mixed with disbelief. He wasn’t sure what Grandma Josephine was going to say, but he certainly hadn’t something as peculiar as that!
“That’s NOT normal. I mean nothing in his factory is normal, but…I can barely say it…” Her voice went down to the quietest of a whisper, “it sounds like the work of something other than God.”
Mr. Bucket’s eyes were now completely open. He ignored how cold he was and stood with his arms wrapped around him. It was more than the chill that was affecting his posture.
“The child has been going on and on about Paganism. I think Mr. Wonka wants to convert Charlie to his weird, old religion. Tolerance is one thing, but this is going too far. And mind you, I don’t like that piece of jewelry the man gave to my daughter either. He called her a goddess, you know! My daughter is not a goddess. She should be wearing a cross if anything!” Clearly the old woman was feeling as frustrated as Charlie’s father, only on a slightly different topic.
Furrowing his brows, Mr. Bucket had never considered the man being inappropriate toward his wife before. Yes, he had to admit that he had taken him for a homosexual of some kind. Grandpa Joe never mentioned how…well ‘faniciful’ and, for lack of a better term, ‘pretty’ his former boss had been. When the father nervously brought it up, the old man stated a tad fondly that Willy Wonka was as “beautiful as a woman in his youth; androgynous like an innocent child”. He certainly didn’t seem innocent anymore! He and Grandpa George once worried that the old man might flirt with them! Now, the chocolatier’s actions were confusing him further still. His son’s anger certainly wasn’t helping to resolve anything. The boy had never been this upset with him and, what hurt more, was that Charlie had never been this upset with anyone.
‘I love him’ haunted his ears. He worried about Charlie being hurt or victimized. Those words were painful and confusing in the light of such concerns. Should he be more worried at this point or less?
“You think he’s a…witch or something?” He inquired of his mother-in-law, brows still in deep concern over this new subject.
They were standing face to face when Grandma Josephine pointedly aksed, “How does anyone make plants grow without sunshine or insects? Where is this Loompaland? Have you ever heard of it? It’s unnatural. Something is simply not right and Charlie is too trusting to realize it. He loves everybody. Joe is the same way; kind to a fault. There is more than one kind of magic in the world my dear…”
Her speech was cut off by the sight of Charlie leaving the house. The two Buckets thought the boy had been eavesdropping on them. They suddenly felt terribly guilty for their actions. However, the child never looked towards them, he simply kept slowly walking. Barefoot into the swudge, one arm outstretched, the blue light cutting through his white cotton robe revealing his willowy form underneath.
“Charlie?” Said Grandma Georgina to the wondering child.
The boy still didn’t look their way and kept walking. Mr. Bucket suddenly became concerned that his son was going to find himself in the river before long and ran to catch up to him. He stood in front of him gripping the slim shoulders. The boy’s eyes were open, but completely unfocused, his face was without any expression. “Charlie! Charlie, wake up!”
A few blinks and the eyes barely looked at his father’s. “Daaad?” His voice was far-away and distant. “Isn’t it…simply lovely…?”
“Isn’t what lovely, son?” The creases around his mouth emphasized his concern.
“The…unicorn. Can’t you see it? It has lavender eyes, almost like Mr. Wonka’s.” A slow smile accompanied his daze.
Mr. Bucket’s body got rigid again. He swallowed hard and managed to keep his voice gentle. “There isn’t any unicorn Charlie. You’re having a dream. Let’s go back to bed now, alright?”
“M’kay…” The boy allowed his father to pick him up, leaning his head against his shoulder.
Grandma Georgina was behind the two of them. She reached up and stroked Charlie’s straight edged bangs into place. “Oh, the poor thing, he was sleep-walking. It must be all the stress.”
Mr. Bucket made the treck back into their house and precariously climbed up into the boy’s make-shift bedroom while Grandma Josephine rejoined her three bedmates. He knew they would have to try to talk again soon.
The child could bounce up the back of the couch and leap up the skinny wooden ladder in two shakes of a rabbit’s tale, but it was a different story for a full grown man carrying said child. Charlie was also getting big for such treatment. He knew it wouldn’t be long until his son wasn’t a little boy at all anymore. He sighed. If only he could freeze him at this age.
Carefully, he laid his son back into the bed and tucked him in. “Mmn”, a soft contented noise was made as he was finishing. While pulling up the sheets, Mr. Bucket’s foot hit something heavy and hard under the bowed twin mattress. Looking, it was the boy’s old book bag. What was that doing there? It belonged hanging off the nail on the wall. Lifting it up, the sack was unnaturally heavy. What was inside? He opened the bag to see something wrapped up in an old dishtowel and a metal object of some sort. He pulled it out by its leather cord to reveal a black dagger in a small decorative sheath. Why did his son have a knife? He pulled out the book wrapped in cloth to reveal the weighty book on Greek and Roman history. At least that made more sense, probably part of his history learning for school. They had entrusted this man with educating their child after all. They had trusted him not long ago, most of the family still did. How were they going to work this out? He heard Charlie stir in his sleep.
“…promise…I promise…” the child muttered.
The boy’s father carefully replaced the things into the bag. He’d try to talk to him again when it was truly morning. It would be awful if he did one more thing to upset his son right now. Mr. Bucket hung the bag onto its old, rusted nail and noticed the new, shiny hat rack in the corner that held the child’s new outfits and top hat. Yet another piece of Wonka had entered his home without his knowledge.
Soundlessly, he made his way back to his own bed. For what it was worth, he attempted to get back to sleep. His wife’s arm instinctually wrapped around him as she snuggled into his warmth. Reaching up, he placed his hand over hers, closed his tired eyes, and filtered out the familiar sound of his father snoring.

Author’s Notes:
Another thanks to Looney Lucifer who inspired me to use one of the greatest lines from the book, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. I hope it hits home a second time. Here’s Lucifer’s interpretation of art for the same quote:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v717/appleheadstudios/Wonka/WonkaxCharlie-hug.jpg
“Butter Rum” and “Butter Gin” are mentioned in book, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and I LOVE the idea of a drunken Wonka. Simply had to do it. But, I still can't believe what I did with his heir. He,he,he!
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