When Soccer Moms Go Bad

The ice cream had really been the final straw for Elizabeth Bakker. The little shits had screamed and sobbed and tantrumed until she had finally caved and broken out the gallon tub of neopolitan, long before dinner and, therefore, long before the children should have been allowed any dessert. She had tried to get them to sit at the table for their treat, but Elizabeth was crap at enforcing rules when it came to her own child, not to mention a hord of equally whiny, spoiled brats. 1

She had watched, stricken with grief and horror, as a large, sticky, glomp of strawberry began melting before her eyes, permanently staining her new, snowy white armchair as it expired. For an instant she saw red, and the blood rushed in her ears so strongly that she couldn't even make out the unintelligable rantings of the children in the background.2

She had attempted to give Tyler everything for his birthday. Tyler, being a rather spoiled 9 year old, felt that everything was never quite enough. He had screamed when she said they couldn't watch the Godfather because it was too violent, and so now The Godfather was now playing as the background noise to the party. He had screamed when she said that they couldn't have a tent outside and play inside as well, and now there was a big camo tent in the backyard, and the boys were inside playing. Somewhere between the stomping and spitting Elizabeth began to wonder if her son was becoming just a tad bit pampered.3

Then, after all of the cuddling and cooing and caving to his whims the ungrateful brat had the nerve, the nerve, to throw strawberry ice cream at her. But it hadn't hit her, had it? Oh no, the armchair; the scoop had landed on her very beautiful, and very expensive, armchair. The brat was going to suffer, and so were all the other little ingrates who had started to laugh at the shocked look on her face.4

Elizabeth remembered forcing a smile to her face as she had walked around locking all the doors a windows, remembered humming a happy little tune as she went to the kitchen and reached for the knife. 5

She smiled fondly at the memory as she cleaned the last spot of blood from her bathroom floor. Lying in the tub were the bleached skeletons of four little boys, the rest of them packed into a trunk full of zip-lock baggies, along with their party favors. She would have to send the packages to their parents tommorrow, she thought idley.6

Still, something was wrong, something was missing, and it was knawing at the back of her mind. Baggies, check. Boy-sized shipping crates, check. Bleach, check. Guests, check. Oh...and an evil smile crept onto her lips as she washed the last speck of gore from her hands and smoothed her fresh apron. "Tyler pumpkin" she called out sweetly "would you come here for a minute? We have your surprise ready now!" 7

The cruel grin broadened as she heard shuffleing footsteps hurry towards the bathroom. 8

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