HEARTH OF HEALING: THE MUTILATOR MOTHER'S MOST CURATIVE CONFECTIONS
By Quillon42
For certain it was a good thing that Edelle still had some of her locally-acclaimed ambrosia in the refrigerator, that afternoon her son had so "accidentally" shot her through the back while she was concocting her man's birthday cake like the conscientious wife that she was.
(NB: Sarcasm, yo; everyone take a chill).
Yep, young Edsel's fingers just barely brushed the trigger, those dallying digits precipitating the rifle's discharge ever inadvertently, as was stated by so many synopses of this celluloid saga—forget the fact that the tactless tyke had aimed said firearm directly at a ribbon situated upon the door to his's daddy's study.
Well, no matter…everyone knew the Edlavitch homestead concocted the most delectable desserts in the entirety of the Tar Heel State, and Edelle's ambrosia was definitely no exception. People said that her baking could patch up an ailing appetite in an instant. As it turned out, the temptress's tarts could help out with so much more than that.
As such, after a dramatic drag of her slender frame to the fridge, this seductress of sugars succeeded with said sweets in excising the injury within that the bastardly bullet brought upon her. Upon doing so, though, the lady lifted herself to her feet and abruptly took her leave of the Edlavitch Estate. The boy already seemed to exhibit the same sadistic inclinations as his father now, after all, and her cake-crafting svelte self just couldn't coexist with that.
It would be several seasons of Edelle's espying her son's progress from afar nonetheless, however, before the femme's faraway surveillance would finally pay off. Noticing that her hateful husband Edward was seeking to erase Edsel and all his allies from the Earth, upon their alighting at his abode at the beach, the meticulous mother herself set upon stalking as well, she seeking to stitch back together all her spouse's slashees, once he was done with them.
The following fixups did not go down in the order elucidated herein, mind you: this author is merely taking license in presenting to the reader a crescendo of confectionary correctives.
The policeman who was padding around outside the shore shack, and who suffered a saw between his teeth and a bit more than an axe nick to the neck…for him, Edelle offered a Gingerbread Cookie, which the decapitated dome of the detective had itself beheaded most readily, his cranium then having the oomph to careen back toward his body and make himself whole once more.
The de-feeted deputy known to a select few as Conrad Cocol (whose surname had translated roughly to "Cop Of Cut Off Legs")—for him, Edsel's mother had made a cobbler, which when proffered to the policeman had made the man feel his shoes again (consistent with the profession with the same name as this paragraph's pastry), as all his extremities had again become intact after consuming the sweets.
For the airheaded hillbilly Mike, who was most duly disemboweled via outboard motor—and who frightened audiences exponentially all the more through his utterly illusory acting talent at perpetrating the accompanying pain and suffering—Mama had erected a brilliant banana split that shunted the hick's halves together anew, giving the Southern gent a new lease on lewd teasing and limp thespianing.
Due the drowned, deluged dame Linda, as far as Edelle deemed it, was the Boricua victual known as the piragua—its dubbing derived from the Spanish "piramide," or "pyramid" and of course "agua," or "water"—this treat so appropriate given that this university pupil's prodigious pair of pyramids were submerged beneath the surface of a swimming pool nearby, courtesy of the murderous man of the house to which Mrs. Edlavitch once pertained.
Concerning the Deep-South-drawl-afflicted Sue, whose most intimate area had been invaded with a horrid, humongous hook, Mother had meted out a wondrous Whoopie Pie; this tastiness in turn had rehabilitated that most saccharine socket belonging to the babe, and enabled her to continue to copulate as well as carry on the remainder of her enduringly obscure existence.
Whipped together for the wacked-out wisecracker Ralph was a chipper candy apple, its stick-y character conjuring caustic thoughts of his throat's perforation by pitchfork…yet a couple of chomps upon this fructose-fraught fruit had cleared the congestion from collar to cortex most quickly.
Particularly for Pam, the sweetheart of the somewhat innocent Edsel, a most poignant parfait was put together, as the Edsel's maternal benefactress was aware of how perfect in fact that privileged princess would always act around her son. It had admittedly been the matron's most ardent, covert of hopes that the young woman's constitution would crumble expeditiously upon the ingestion of the sundae, which the lady had laced with pungent poisons after all now.
Regarding her resourceful son himself, the wily wife of Edward had conceived the chewiest of cheesecakes. Ever so apropros for the acumen of acting emanating from the entire production of this perniciously pitiful parable.
Then finally and for certain feeblest, Edelle had something special whipped up for her ever adoring husband Edward.
The man was still beaten and bisected near to the driveway of his beachside bungalow. Empress Edlavtich fell upon the hunter of humans with much haste, and in addition with the ensemble of ignorami that the asshole had dismembered, had murdered…had so mutilated this very evening.
"I'm aware you're a major cake connoisseur," began lady whom both Eds had believed for so long to have been laid low by Junior's poorest judgment.
"But I used up all the batter for Edsel's dish.
"No matter." Edelle worked her way toward the trunk of the vehicle that vivisected her unsavory spouse only moments before. Seconds more and she brought out a small tank of something that smelled utterly awful, hateful to all except the most vehement of vapor huffers.
The bastard's ball and chain peeked deep into the noxious container, then looked back to the upper half of her man and smiled. "This'll be perfect for what ails ya, honey. Just a spoon or two and you'll feel whole all over, once again."
Edward was most definitely not laughing now, as he sensed the stench of what was approaching. His detached torso reared back in abject fear at what he imagined was within that tank.
"You were an enthusiast of weapons, I well know, Ed," said Edelle, as the cyan and green sickness of liquid sloshed out of the baneful bottle she brought forth. From the shore house itself, Sue and Ralph kissed once more, cozy in their assured security; Mike and Linda embraced smotheringly, at knowing they were both safe; Edsel did all he could to assuage Pam's shivering self, as neither knew of the venom with which the latter was afflicted at present.
"Well, Ed…no more cake or ice cream at this party…
"But there is still some…Antifrozen Yogurt to go around."
The bifurcated fuck beneath Mrs. Edlavitch attempted to scuttle off, but his wife was too swift. Setting upon the shithead, Edelle emptied the innards of the tank upon the fifty percent of a pissant that was once her spouse, the man screaming shrilly as he was showered upon by antifreeze, freon, and all sorts of other unpleasant chemicals. Enough cascaded into his craw for the sleazy slaughterer to be drawn that much closer to death now. (As if his being cut in twain wasn't enough as it was).
Sneering down now at the freon-froyoed fool was his ever-beleaguered life partner. "You always placed me into that role, Ed…to make the meals, to set the table…all while you went off hunting and gathering and such. Just figured I'd fulfill my lot in life to the fullest, one last time."
She broke into song then, that abominable, incessant "Fall Break" anthem to this entire ordeal, as she watched her fallen, broken beast of a husband breathe his last.
"It's a fall break, fall break, fall break…
"…Fall break, fall break, fall break…
"You're gonna fall in love
"And I'm gonna break into your heaaaaarrrrrt…"
Edelle checked back at the teeny boppers in the bungalow, gladdened that she could undo all the unspeakable that her husband had done. Nonetheless, she mocked and mutilated the theme, which sounded like a 1958 throwback for this 1985 film:
"Fall break, fall break, fall break…
"You're gonna fall in love
"And I'm gonna break into your intimate thingamajig with a fiiiiissssshing gaaaaaff…most inappropriately now, even for a slasher story and all…"