Murdersocks: Chapter 8: In which an unknown quantity of black birds are baked in a pie

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A Murder of Crows (album)

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Just as planned, the murder of crows came for the food and was trapped in the pie as the top crust fell upon them from above with a hearty “splounkcht”.  The extra-doughy dough I had prepared ensnared their murderous little feet and weighed down their wings like a patch of nutritious, delicious, and deadly whole-grain quicksand.
No sound escaped that chewy prison, though I knew they would be calling out with the full murderous strength of their birdy throats.  The silence filled me with a rush of victorious mirth.
“I won!” I said and cackled aloud with gusto as I carried the pie to old iron pie oven.
I carefully slid the pan onto the already hot oven rack and stood there, watching it bake.  I’d normally be too busy, but this was too important to miss.  It wasn’t as if there were customers waiting either way.
The crust began to acquire a golden-brownosity only a few minutes later.
And then the Socks began to glow with their regular murderosity.  They were on to me now, but I had the upper hand.  Without the crows, they couldn’t do anything.
“Yeeheeheeheeheeee!”  I looked into the oven and saw a marked increase in appetizingness.  I would have to serve this pie at a party with all my nonmurdered friends.  I had to stop to think about this..  Did I have any unmurdered friends?  My dead friends were now avenged, and would be celebrated, but they were not big eaters.
No matter, I could meet new friends.  New friends who like delicious pies made with murderous birds.  That was what I, Jephrold Gratchfield McNerrister diFlansworth-Smythe, would do right after I left here.
But what was this?
Another glance into the oven revealed that the pie was different now.  Still looking more and more delicious, but also changing in other ways.  It was redder for one, which was odd because it’s ingredients were light brown or black.  It had also somehow divided itself into two equal sized shapes that didn’t quite look like pies any more.  It was a mystery of great mysteriousity, but it would still be foodtastic and full of now-harmless murder.
I placed it on the cooling rack and started the exilerating task of seeking out still-living party guests.
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