It Must Be Believed To Be Seen

The Chocolate Room

"Hold your breath. Make a wish. Count to three." Em heard the chocolatier's voice wash over them as they entered the new room slowly, eyes wide, mouths agape.

They were stood on the edge of what appeared to be a meadow, the grass greener than anything Em had ever seen. Trees stood calmly, no breeze to rustle their delicate leaves. Flowers of every kind, in their bright summery bloom, were dotted throughout the field like specks of paint on a canvas. Giant toadstools stood proud, their red and white spots vibrant and just waiting to be sat on, perfect for a magical tea party. There was the sound of running water in the distance, hypnotic and calming as paths snaked their way all around the room.

"I – I thought you said everything was edible?" Em queried, glancing at the back of the man's head in confusion.

He turned to her and gave her a quick grin.

"Take a closer look, my dear." He took a step forward and turned to face the rest of the group who were huddled together, almost too scared to touch anything. "I've never shown this room to anyone before," he divulged, "you're the first to see it."

Em felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction at this – the things people would give to have a glimpse of this.

"Everything you see: every tree, every flower, is made completely and entirely out of chocolate," he announced, proudly.

"Em," gawked Charlie, his voice barely above a whisper, "it's like ... it's like some kind of edible dream." His eyes bulged and Em could only nod.

Almost as if a spell were broken, the children dispersed immediately. Augustus, leading the mob, had his hands outstretched, his chubby fingers ready to grab the first thing they made contact with, as Veruca sprinted over a small bridge and out of sight.

Mr. Wonka led the adults down a small path, Em and Charlie following slowly behind, taking in every sweet sight the room had to offer.

"So, Wonka," Mr. Salt said, suddenly business-like. "What's the point in all this stuff?" It was clear from his tone that he was not impressed by the chocolate marvel.

"The point?" Mr. Wonka paused and looked around, baffled.

"Well, what's it for?" elaborated Mr. Salt, quickly becoming annoyed.

"It's my creation," smiled Mr. Wonka, turning to continue his stroll.

Mr. Salt let out a short laugh before venturing further.

"But how does it make money?"

It was Mr. Wonka's turn to laugh and Em was alarmed to note it sent a tingle of warmth down her spine as he did so.

"It doesn't," he replied, happily, clearly enjoying Mr. Salt's supposed sense of humour.

"It's a little cupboard of treats for a midnight snack?" guessed Mrs. Gloop, her eyes drinking in the rows of chocolate tree trunks.

"No, Madam." Mr. Wonka shook his head, ludicrously. Em could sense he was becoming uncomfortable, as was she. Why couldn't they just appreciate it for what it was?

"You use it to relax?" questioned Mrs. Beauregarde, taking a tottery, high heeled step towards Mr. Wonka

"Not at all." Em, despite herself, was relieved to see him take a tiny step away from the advancing woman.

"Well, if it isn't for anything and it doesn't make any money, then why on earth does it need to exist at all?" Mr. Salt finished, looking around baffled.

That was the last straw. Em, convinced she'd seen a tiny spark of panic light up Mr. Wonka's eyes, spoke up.

"You really don't see, do you?"