Prologue

In Which Something Unpleasant Happens

He could hardly believe his eyes as he held up the chocolate bar, the ticket reflecting glowing gold in his eyes, making him look briefly like a boy possessed; which he was, in a sense: possessed with the wonder of having won a trip to the magical, mystical chocolate factory. A chance to make his dreams come true, or, at least, his dreams of walking inside the gates that closed the chocolate factory off from the rest of the world. And these dreams were most important to him, often played out and replayed in his mind just before he drifted off to sleep. He was a poor boy; he couldn't afford many dreams.

When the news about the golden tickets had reached him, for one moment he was positive that it was his great chance to do something, to be somebody. It seemed that his destiny was handed to him on a silver platter, or perhaps a gold one— the light that shone in his eyes was not all reflected glory. A great deal of it was the slightly manic glow of an over-excited child.

With this ticket in hand, what wouldn't he do— he could conquer the world, suddenly, fold it up small and put it in his back pocket, wear a crown, be somebody. He could be— a contender.

As he rushed from the shop, that strange light still in his eyes, the shopkeeper turned to a customer with a slight shake of his head.

"Rabies," he said.

The customer folded up his newspaper and gave a corresponding sigh of world-weariness. "Sad," he agreed.

Charlie paid them no heed, mostly because he was out of the store by that point and running home.

I've got a golden ticket— I've got a golden ticket— I've got a golden chance to win the day—

Even then, in the midst of his euphoria and in the back of his mind, he thought what great song lyrics that would make, with, perhaps, a little altering. But truly he was too much concerned with running home as fast as he could, not letting anyone stand in his way. His excitement carried him on winged feet closer and closer to his destination.

As he passed the alley across from the chocolate factory, he turned to look at it, a great growing smile appearing on his face, and this is when an unseen someone clocked him over the head with a cricket bat.

He hit the ground rather hard, and as he began to pass out, heard the following conversation.

"It is kind of mean to take it from a poor kid like that—"

"You already knocked him out! Was that for nothing? You just do that for kicks, or what?"

"No, I was just— having second thoughts, I guess."

"Look, he's lying on the ground, fast asleep. In one hand, a half-eaten chocolate bar. In the other hand, a golden ticket. So, so, when he wakes up—"

"Yes?" The first voice sounded hopeful.

"Well, he'll still have the chocolate, won't he?"

"Yes, but—"

"For God's sake, Mandy," snapped the second voice irritably, "just reach out and grab it!"

After that, he knew no more.