You see it, don't you? The sinister subtext practically leaps off the screen!
The granny cannibal—the Grannibal—offers up her grandkids baked into a pie. "Hello, weary traveler. Come in, come in. Can I get you someone—that is to say, something to eat?" Her eagerness lends a pathetic note to her treachery.
Is the Otis Poultry Farm a house of horrors? Oh sure, the two chicken caryatids flanking the doorway, luring unsuspecting visitors, give the impression that this is a place that honors chickendom, a temple of poultry, a shrine to Those Who Peck. Don't be fooled.
We are reminded of other true believers we've encountered. Like them, the Otis chickens have clearly subordinated themselves to the collective, to the brotherhood of death-worshippers. They have dedicated their short lives to their own destruction, and the destruction of their kin.