This is intended to be a shorter story. Not too long, yet not quite that short. We'll see what becomes of this sooner or later. The characters, Willy Wonka and Charlie Bucket, belong to that genius of a man, Tim Burton and the amazing Roald Dahl.

It was 3:33 in the morning. All was deathly tranquil and still in the factory as Willy Wonka lay sprawled out, drooling beneath the sea of pillows on top of his king sized mattress. The moonlight shone peacefully through the drapes and illuminated the ridiculous expression of the chocolateer. His mouth was opened dramatically with his white teeth reflecting blinding moon beams into the room. Wonka's chestnut hair lay disheveled in a tremendous mess falling across his face. His 'W' embroidered eye sleepwear sat crooked on his face as he inhaled multiple gasping breaths. He snorted and muttered something along the lines of, 'No, not the chocolate...anything but the chocolate...'

The bedroom door opened ever so slowly and something stumbled in quietly. It made sure not to awaken the chocolateer in a disruptive way as it quickly shut the door without a sound. Its shiny eyes didn't blink as it circled the bed in a stealth-like manner, stalking its prey.

It was only me, Charlie Bucket. I tip toed as silently as I could to the side of his enormous bed and tried to make out the outline of his figure laying on the surface. To tell you the truth, it was impossible. There could have been multiple Wonkas sleeping under the heap of covers and I would have not second guessed it. Why does one need so many cushions on their bed?

The only sound in the room was his ragged snores and my heartbeat slamming in my head. I never would have dreamt that the happy childish Willy Wonka could actually make such horrible growling noises. It frightened me a bit.

I finally found his arm and ungloved hand hanging carelessly off the left side of his mattress and used that as my first clue as to finding the rest of him. My eyes followed the arm up to a colossal mountain of pillows burying Willy Wonka underneath. I clambered up into his bed, still trying not to make a sound and started digging through the clutter.

No matter how many pillows I threw off the bed and behind my shoulder, the number never seemed to cease. I was beginning to think I was having a peculiar dream. I had never been in Wonka's bedroom before and the reason I decided to now still floated unaware somewhere in my mind.

I discovered another arm! Things were finally starting to fall into place, thank goodness. Next to be uncovered were a torso, then legs, and at last, a familiar face. I smiled for some reason and tapped him on the shoulder in a cautious manner.

"Mr. Wonka?" I whispered a little too quietly and bit my bottom lip. I tapped him again, harder this time and repeated myself. "Mr. Wonka?"

Nothing. All he did was close his mouth to some degree and then turn over in bed. He flailed his arm about, attempting to find a pillow to hug, but thanks to me, didn't discover one there.

I eyed one of the many clocks hanging on his walls and saw that seven minutes had already passed. I was getting nowhere and my anxiety was beginning to sink in. I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him softly. "Mr. Wonka, wake up. Please, wake up."

He shifted his weight about and ignored me. 'But I never said I didn't like bunny rabbits, ma'am...'

Frustration was one of my least favorite things, and this was just so happening to frustrate me a bit. I climbed over him so I could see his face and said his name again. 'Mr. Wonka, it's Charlie. Wake up. Wake up, please!"

I might as well have started singing a lullaby to him, for he remained as he was- sound asleep and having conversations with imaginary dream people. That was it. Hopping off the bed, I grabbed one of the many cushions, climbed back up, and held the pillow high over my head. "Mr. Wonka! Hello? Wake up!" I began to shout without realizing it.

He didn't move. Waking a famous chocolateer was tougher than it looked. So finally with all of my aggravation building up inside of me, I brought the pillow down over my head and began smacking him repeatedly. "WAKE-UP, MR. WONKA! WAKE-UP! WAKE-UP!"

He sat up unexpectedly and scrambled into a ball with his arms in front of his face to shield him from harm. "AAAggh! What is it! I-I-I didn't do it! No! No! No! AAAAGGH!"

I took hold of his skinny shoulders and steadied him out. "Mr. Wonka, relax! It's only me. Charlie Bucket."

With both hands, he slid the eye mask high on his brow. His delirious violet eyes darted about the room and were finally laid on me. The moonlight coming through the window caused them to look unusual and eerie. He looked so much different than when he did in the daytime. I had never noticed him to look in such a way before.

"Oh, why, Charlie…it's only you." He patted me on the head and checked the time. "Do you have any idea what time it is, mister?"

I nodded.

"For goodness sake, my dear boy, the sun hasn't woken up yet!" He sighed and rolled over on his side to switch the dresser lamp on. Dark spots burned across my eyelids as I grew accustomed to the light. "Monster under your bed? Whangdoodle in the closet? Vermicious Knid outside the window?"

I shook my head no and sat on my knees. "I think I got it, Mr. Wonka. This time, I actually really ido/i think I got it. Come with me, I want you to see!"

He moaned and rubbed his face with his hands. " iNow/i!"

"Yes, now." I responded with my hands together. "Please, Mr. Wonka!"