Writing Prompt: A new neighbor has moved in next door. He’s a retired candy maker, but that’s all you know about him and you have yet to meet. For weeks, several moving trucks have been delivering unmarked boxes into his house, always at night. After several unsuccessful attempts to make contact and welcome him to the neighborhood, you hear a knock on your door, but when you answer, no one is there. Before you go back inside, you see an envelope. Inside is a dinner invitation to your new neighbor’s home. It’s signed, W. Wonka.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning, Mr. Smith,” The officer asked Roger as his head was being attended to by the EMT. He had a small gash on the top of his head, but not so serious that it required stitches. Roger sat at the rear of the ambulance, his legs resting on the step used to climb into the back and his arms were holding tight to the blanket that was thrown over his shoulders by EMTs when they arrived on the scene. They reached the residence moments before the police and just after the fire department.

Roger’s eyes remained fixed on the burning house before him, though he couldn’t see it; only the night’s events played in front of him like a projector on a screen. His body was shaking, partly from the storm overhead and his lack of shoes, but mostly it came from the shock of what he just went through. 

The officer spoke up again, this time a bit louder, “Mr. Smith?” with a blink, Roger snapped out of his daze and looked up in the direction of the voice that brought him back to the present. There were two officers: one holding a pen and notebook and the other holding an umbrella to block the rain for all three of them. The men were staring down at Roger as he turned his head towards them, but both made repeated side glances at the house as though something enticing was vying for their attention. The expressions in their eyes however, reflected fear and concern.

“I’m sorry?” Roger asked in response, doing his best not to look back at what he knew the officers were having a hard time not staring at, themselves.

“Tell us what happened, from the beginning, please.” The officer with the pen asked as he brought his focus solely to Roger.

A mix of PTSD and terror filled Roger’s eyes with such an intensity, it sent a shiver through both of the officers, that was heightened by the sudden cackle of thunder above. The officer holding the umbrella used his free hand to rub his eyes, trying to remove any shock or fear from his expression and regain a semblance of control. Roger looked through the two men as he began with, “he invited us to dinner.”

“Us?” asked the officer as he put pen to paper, “who was with you? Is that who’s on the ground?”

Roger looked at the body laying in the grass. The house continued to burn even though several firemen and the rain were fighting against the growing blaze, but the body was outside of the commotion, silent and still, covered in what looked like solid mud.

“My wife, but that’s not her.” His eyes seemed to sink further in sadness as he continued, “That’s our host.”

“It started when we walked up to his front door. My wife, Molly, knocked on the door first, as she was most curious to meet our mysterious neighbor. When no one answered, we looked for a bell or buzzer, but no button could be found. Then I knocked on the door with a bit more force than Molly, and pressed my ear against the door, hoping to hear footsteps or a voice in response. Still nothing. Our elation started to fade every second we stood without answer on that porch. Honestly, I was pretty upset that we had spent so many months creating theories and intricate back stories about our neighbor and his life as a candy maker; all the places he may have seen or the recipes that he personally came up with; anticipating this night for so long, only to have our hopes ripped from our hearts like children first finding out there’s no Santa or a magical fairy that takes their teeth. 

But, just as Molly started storming off, a series of audible clicks and clacks came from behind the door. Molly ran back up to me, faster than I’d ever seen her move and she hit punched me in the arm and asked how I could let her just leave like that. I didn’t even notice though because my eyes were glued to the mulish door that played havoc on my emotions and left me wanting.

When the final lock clicked, there was a short pause before the door finally started to open. As soon as it did, fanfare music came on suddenly. The quality of the sound reminded me of a loudspeaker from the 50’s that I’d seen in movies. It had no base and it crackled. In the entryway, there was, nothing. No one was on the other side and all we could see was an ordinary hallway that led to a door. Light could be seen coming from under the door, but there were no shadows and no other sounds other than the music that just then shut off with a series of loud pops and cracks.

Molly took a step through the doorway and I put my hand on her shoulder, “What’re you doing?! We can’t just go in!”

“Of course we can! We were invited! Plus, they opened the door!” Molly said as she removed my hand and entered, putting an end to the conversation. I reluctantly followed after her down the hallway which seemed to go on for longer than it appeared. In fact, it seemed as though every step we took, the door got further away. Molly started picking up the pace and I did as well. We went from a light trot to a frantic run. But still, we were no closer to the other end of the hall. 

I glanced behind me just in time to see the entryway slam shut, leaving us in complete darkness, save for the light under the door, but it wasn’t enough to improve our vision.

“This is crazy!” I panted, “How is this even possible?! When will this stop?!”

And that’s when it did. As soon as I said the word stop, Molly and I crashed into the door and fell backwards. It was very painful to go from a full sprint to a dead stop. Thankfully, we weren’t seriously hurt, yet, and it didn’t take us long to compose ourselves. We stood up and faced the new door. I felt for a doorknob, but couldn’t find one.

“Open the door!” Molly said, annoyed, but I’m fairly certain it was at me and not the situation that just occurred.

“I can’t open the door! There’s no handle!” I snapped back.

“Hello.” We both screamed out loud. I’m not sure which of us was louder or more girlie, but it was close. Also, it went on for longer than it probably should have, but considering we were in the dark, inside an unknown house and had just spent the past few minutes running as though we were on a magical treadmill, I think it was justified.” Roger’s breathing got heavier as he became defensive for no reason and his speech was rapid and tense.

The officers looked at eachother, shrugged and looked back at Roger, waiting intently for what happened next. Clearly, they didn’t care about the girlie scream.

Roger realized he got over-excited, so he took a deep breathe, composed himself and continued: 

“The voice came from directly behind us. It had a very unsettling tone and though it was loud enough to interrupt our conversation, it was quite whisper-like. We couldn’t see any features at all, but there was a faint silhouette of a thin man with wide hips and an abnormally large head. It was freaky and definitely didn’t help calm us down! Before either of us could speak, or more likely scream, the man’s arms moved swiftly upwards and removed the top half of his enormous head!” Roger paused to wait for the officers to react, but they stood there motionless and glass-eyed. Roger sighed and moved on, “ok, well, that’s what we thought in the moment, but we quickly realized he just removed a top hat from his head, because once he did, the door behind us opened on its own, revealing a massive room, filled with exotic plants, shrubs, trees, water fixtures, balloons, statues and so many beautiful colors. 

For a moment, the two of us completely forgot about the creep in a tophat and tried to take in our new surroundings. It was far too much to take in and that was just as well because we honestly should’ve been more concerned about our host, than his dwelling.

“Welcome to my home!” The man said in the same disturbing voice that we heard in the hallway, but louder. We turned to face him and both of us gasped audibly. He was a sight to see. He was dressed in a shabby, shaggy, velvet, purple suit with matching frock and top hat that he held in on of his outstretched hands. The other hand held what looked like a broken cane that came to a sinister looking point at the end, like it was a large toothpick used for spearing watermelons to put in a massive martini. He had a tiny bowtie that looked like it was made of someone else’s hair, and no shoes, revealing perfectly clean and well groomed feet, of which the skin-tone nowhere nearly matched the tone of his face.

His features were even more chilling than his voice and attire. His hair was large on the sides, scraggly and a mix of faded orange and burnt white. The top of his head was greasy and flattened by the hat. His ashen face was wrinkly and as twisted as the wide smile that revealed remarkably white teeth that all came to very sharp points as if filed on purpose. They definitely didn’t go with the rest of him. His eyes were uncomfortably wide and dark, and sat underneath huge, unkempt brows that matched the hair on his head. 

Looking back now, that’s when we should’ve left, if we could have.

“My name is Williford Wonka, but you can call me Willy, or Wonka, or Ford, or Mr. Willy, or Tim-tim! Thank you for coming! We have little to do and much time to do it!” He said, not moving an inch but keeping to the awkward pose of arms out, legs straight and back slightly bent backwards.

Molly and I looked at each other confused and I replied, “Don’t you mean, ‘much to do and little time to do it?’ ”

“Do I? Maybe it’s you. Either way, let’s get started!” Suddenly a faint scream came from another room that caused Wonka’s smile to broaden even more as he placed his top hat back upon his head and brought his arms back to his sides. His back was still bent, slightly. “Sounds like the Saunders are ready!” Wonka reached into his front lapel pocket and pulled out a tiny whistle, put it to his thin, dark lips and played nine eerie notes in quick succession, holding the last one far too long.

After the last note was finished, a large section of grass opened out of the side of a hill, revealing a passageway. Out of the hole came two sets of four tiny people pushing large, human-sized, brown statues on carts. They pushed the carts over to a staircase that led to an ornate door at the top. The positioned a statue on each side of the stairs. The statues themselves were very odd and in weird poses. One was of a woman cowering in fear with her hands in front of her face and her mouth open wide as if screaming. The other was of a man without arms but the same expression that was on the woman. Both of the statues looked as though they had no shoes on. It was hard to tell at first, but the statues looked very familiar. Of course, our host’s next statement told us why.

“Introducing the Saunders! I imagine you know them?! They’ve been your neighbors for quite some time, haven’t they?!”

I don’t know what was worse; the fact that our friends were turned into bronze statues, or that they were carted out by several, tiny, orange faced, green haired versions of our host. Each one looked like they were groomed and made to look like Wonka, except clad in off-white and without the cane and top hat. They too, had no shoes on.

Molly was the first to speak, “What have you done to Matt and Sherry?!?” Why are they bronzed?!?” She shouted.

“Bronzed?” Wonka sounded insulted, “my dear lady, they are not bronzed! They are covered in chocolate! Not just any chocolate, but my special, delectable, mouth-watering, teeth breaking, hard forming chocolate! It goes on smooth and dries instantly! Now they have the tremendous honor of being fixtures in my glorious garden!”

I looked around and realized that there were dozens of other statues of people, all in similar poses, all made of the same chocolate. Realizing that we were about to suffer the same fate as our friends, I thought quickly and asked Wonka, “can we have a tour?! I mean, we want to see all that your amazing garden has to offer!” Molly looked at me as if I was crazy.

Wonka regarded me for a moment, looked down at my shoes and said, “oh my fine fellow. That would be impossible. See, when you enter a home, the polite thing to do is take off your disgusting, germ-ridden shoes, especially before you enter an edible garden!” And with that, Wonka played the same horrible tune out of the whistle and his minions rushed towards us while Wonka screamed with excitement. It was piercing.

Before I could react, I had several tiny hands all over me, throwing me to the ground and ripping off my shoes. Apparently there were many more of his helpers behind us, because I was down before the ones by the statues could even get to me. I couldn’t see, but I had assumed Molly was suffering the same. But that wasn’t true. I was able to move my head enough to see Molly fighting Wonka with what looked like a large candy cane. She was swinging it wildly at him, screaming a battle cry that I’d never heard before. Minions tried approaching her from each side, but couldn’t get close enough because between the strikes at Wonka, she flailed her legs and swung the cane in every direction. Finally, Wonka ran to the same hole his helpers brought the Saunders out of and disappeared, the grass door closing behind him. 

“GET OUT MOLLY, NOW!!” I shouted before hands covered my mouth.

Molly didn’t listen. Instead, she ran over to me and kicked, punched and beat as many minions as she could before they all scattered. She reached for my hand and pulled me up. “Let’s get out of here!”

We ran to the door we had come through and again, found no handle to open it. I kicked it violently, but it wouldn’t budge. I looked to the grand staircase that the Saunders were guarding and told Molly to follow me. We gave little thought to the Saunders as we rushed past and up to the door at the top. It seemed locked for a second, but it was just stuck. When it opened we were in what looked like a dank basement. The exact opposite of the previous room. There were shelves with dusty objects and old books. Cans of paint, candy wrappers, and even an old lawnmower from the 60’s.

“Look, a window!” Molly pointed to a dirty window in the opposite side of the room. I picked up a can of paint on my way over and without trying to open it by hand first, threw the can, smashing the window to pieces. 

“You go first!” I told Molly as I glanced a figure in the corner of my eye. Wonka came in from behind a bookshelf, followed by a handful of his goons. “GO GO!” I pushed Molly through the window to the outside, as I picked up another can and ran full speed towards Wonka. His minions scattered as I threw the can before tackling Wonka through the doorway he just came through. He was tougher than he looked and far more solid than I thought. We wrestled for awhile in a room that looked a lot like a lab and had a strong smell of chocolate and blood. That’s when I realized we were in the same room that was used to turn his victims into statues. There were large vats, metal tables and several medieval weapons and torture devices. 

“I will make you one of my pets!” Wonka screamed as I hit him over the head with a mallet I was able to reach while he had me pinned to the ground. He was out. I couldn’t believe it. I stood up and looked down upon the mess of a man, crumpled on the ground. I was breathing so hard and felt pain all over. I was so relieved that he was down, that I forgot that there were still a bunch of his workers still somewhere within this freak house. I tossed the mallet and heard a loud, mechanical noise, like a switch being thrown. I looked just in time to see one of the vats falling. I thought it was because of the mallet I had just thrown, but some of his minions were pushing it over. I jumped out of the way as it came crashing down, flowing throughout the room and covering their leader, Wonka. The minions yelled and scrambled quickly, each carrying a weapon, but instead of coming after me, they rushed to help Wonka. They were hacking frantically at the chocolate around him, but they were too late. The chocolate hardened far too quick, as advertised by the maker himself.

I admired the dedication at first, but realized that I was still there and that it was probably wise to get out while their attention was clouded. I turned and ran for the room with the window. Before I left, I glanced back in time to see the workers pick up the chocolate Wonka and out of the corner of my eye, I saw fire climbing the walls. My mallet had hit some burners and caused them to topple over. I continued to the other room and leapt through the window. Molly was nowhere to be seen, but I assumed she ran to our house to call the police.

I ran to the front of the house and saw the statue of Wonka laying on the grass, but no sign of tiny people anywhere. I walked over to Wonka and looked down. His expression was that of horrified, just like the others. Funny though, because that’s not the expression he had before being consumed by chocolate. As I was pondering that question, the house exploded, throwing me to the ground.

“And that officers, is where my story ends. I awoke to the EMTs standing over me.”

The officers stared in awe. Neither of them said anything at first. They couldn’t believe what they had just heard. Then the officer with the pad and paper spoke, “um, well Mr. Smith, we, uh, I guess we probably will pass this off to the detectives and they will more than likely have more questions for you, right Dan?” The officer with the umbrella said nothing but nodded, still staring agape at Roger. “So, why don’t you go with the EMTs to the hospital to get checked out. We’ll go check on your wife and escort her to be with you.” And with that, the officer with the pad walked away, into the rain. The officer with the umbrella stayed for a moment staring, until his name was called and he ran to be with his partner.

The EMT who had also heard the entire story, helped Roger up into the ambulance and on to the stretcher, staring widely at him the entire time. “We’ll get you to the hospital now, Mr. Smith. You just, you, you lay here.” And with that, the EMT jumped from the back and closed the door behind him. Roger laid down and looked up at the ceiling. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes, reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small whistle. He put it to his lips and played nine notes in quick succession.