Creeping in the shadows, producing only the faintest noise, progressed a dark, scraggly beast, revealed by little more than the faint illuminated hair on its mangy head and the evanescent gleam of its eyes. It came forth and was nearing a stranger; it had smelt them already not long ago. Within seconds it could see the horrible thing as it peered through the underbrush. In a sudden burst of madness, it lept out into the open.

"MY CAKE WAS MURDERED BY A GIANT KNIFE!"

The stranger fell backwards all at once, but not before letting a shriek of terror escape her lips. She skid a good bit across the grass, at least a foot or so. Her floral printed dress would never be the same.
"Good heavens, Peter!" one of them barked. This one was vicious. She began marching toward the scraggle-beast, like a voracious shark in a sea of angry faces. He withdrew to a corner but found himself to be trapped between a thick hedge and a boulder. She kept on until she was standing directly over him, burning his mind with those flaming eyes and erupting fury.

"Peter."

Who would have known such a short word could be spoken so sharply. It made him cringe. She then reached out and seized his arm, took him through the yard past the angry mob, and then inside. He knew it was the end.
"Where have you been?" Her eyebrows were so deeply furrowed that they reminded him of a trench in the middle of a war zone. They had stopped in the kitchen - surrounded by knives of course. He feared he might be tenderized by the tiny soldiers running about on his mom's forehead, and then he'd be chopped up and barbecued for the angry mob outside. Before he could answer, her mouth burst open once more.

"You're covered in dirt! Your hair is unspeakably wild! You've scared poor Martha half to death. And then, murdered cake!"
"But the cake WAS murdered," Peter pleaded.
"I'm not pleased," she said. "Go take a bath and don't come out until you're all cleaned up, and well behaved, too."