The Taylor Swift Slayings: Vignettes of Musical Horror

Taylor wiped the sweat from her brow, then patted down the dirt with her shovel. Although she said she’d see him in Hell, she really knew that they were never, ever, getting back together.
~~~~~~~~~

Loving him was red, but stabbing him was redder. She saw red. The knife was red. Her hands were red. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed them, but the red didn’t go away. His eyes remained white, then suddenly more so.

~~~~~~~~~

“The stakes are high, the water’s rough, but this trophy room of conquered skulls is ours,” she proclaimed. She hadn’t expected him to understand it, but his trepidation disappointed her nonetheless. “Just like all the rest,” she whispered sadly. A week later, she found she couldn’t even tell his skull from the others.

~~~~~~~~~

To be honest, Taylor knew she had danced goofily. But Veronica had openly laughed at her during the Kid’s Choice Awards, and that was a slight one couldn’t ignore. She glanced at her watch; the hydrofluoric acid needed another 15 minutes. She scrolled until she found “Cruise” on her iPod, and began doing what was arguably the robot.

~~~~~~~~~

Taylor wakes up in the graveyard and reaches for his arm. There’s no one there. Old habits and boyfriends die hard, she thinks bitterly.

~~~~~~~~~

“Jesus H. Christ.” Lt. Stephen Murphy knows he can’t empty his mind at what he just saw, so he instead fills his lungs with another Camel. After 25 years on the force, you assume you’ve seen everything. But scumbags have a knack for surprise. He looks down to find the cigarette trembling uncontrollably in his hand. Another puff calms it down. He can’t let the rookie see him rattled. Officer Hodges returns from vomiting in the bushes.
“Talk to me, rookie.”
“Well sir, I only had time to examine the first (gulp) pile, but from what I gather, all the victims are males between 18–25. Some are older, not in a gross way, but like in a mature older guy kind of way. I think we can safely classify some of the victims “bad boys”, but in tussled hair, band-name tattoo sort of fashion. And I doubt I need to tell you, but all the skulls have been removed.” Hodges considers mentioning how he thought the crime scene smelled like cinnamon and unrequited love, but thinks better of it.

~~~~~~~~~

Now he was lying on the cold hard ground.
Oh
Bludgeon
Oh
Bludgeon
Oh
Bludgeon bludgeon bludgeon.
After it was over, she felt intense anger at him. There was no dignity in his final moments. If anything, the life had escaped him in the form of goat-like bleats. But perhaps it suited him. He had gone as the animal she knew him to be.

~~~~~~~~~

Even though her Lorde album was on full volume, Taylor could still hear muffled screams coming from the trunk. Yell all you want, she thought, the highway don’t care. She doubted any of his family would either.

~~~~~~~~~

Taylor’s eyes followed the garbage bag until the depths of the murky waters hid it from sight. Maybe there’s a quarry for the heart too, she thought pensively.

~~~~~~~~~

The second “Just To See You Smile” played on the radio, Ed Sheeren collapses to the floor. Memories begin to bombard him like the many blows she had once rained upon him. Curly blonde hair. High-waisted shorts. That empty laugh. The small, cold room. The knotted rope. The knotted rope again. Again. Again. Tim McGraw’s Greatest Hits Volume II blaring from her iPod dock. They traded off on hits, him singing one, then her delivering another. When she was distractedly switching to Volume III, he made a mad dash to freedom. Although his body had made it out, part of his soul remained in that small cold room, forever listening to “My Little Girl.”

They kissed under the moonlit sky while the fireworks exploded like a thousand embers from the fires of their souls. When he was too busy getting lost in her eyes, Taylor swabbed his DNA from her mouth for later use. No sooner had the swab left her mouth did his tongue slide back in. She impatiently waited for him to finish. Bad kisses were like first murders: mostly sloppy crimes of passion.

~~~~~~~~~

One swing of her axe, and the padlock to the orphanage gate split off. Her heart panged in sympathy. She was brethren to all broken things.

~~~~~~~~~

THE KNASHVILLE KNIVE KING SWITCHES TO STRANGLING, LEAVES FANS MIFFED, the headlines raved. This peeved Taylor. She was her own person, and had every right to switch her murder methods. If they were true fans, they’d support her and her new style. She shook her head and went back to polishing the skull.

~~~~~~~~~

Lt. Murphy stands transfixed at his corkboard, a rubber banded monstrosity of rumors and dead-ends. Adorning it are pictures of skull-less heads, a Nashville quarry, an old timey bicycle they found at the last crime scene. People kept asking him what progress he’d made on the case, and he always found himself at a loss for words. A cigarette was now perpetually perched in his lips. His mouth sure as hell wasn’t too busy talkin’.
Hodges rushes into the room. “Hey Murph, we got a caller on the hotline, and he don’t sound like no crank.”
“What does he sound like?” Hodges starts to speak, then pauses, and then begins again with renewed confidence.
“An angel. A little British ginger angel.”
“Put him on speaker.”

~~~~~~~~~

Only after she’d wiped off all the doorknobs and light switches did she realize that the rag she used was actually the old scarf that smelled like him. Half of her wanted to keep it, but she knew that she’d have to burn it. She smiled weakly. How fitting, seeing as he once burned her.

~~~~~~~~~

We’re happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time. To Taylor these lyrics may as well have been Arabic. Perhaps they should have been. She’d have a better shot at understanding that than human emotion.

~~~~~~~~~

Taylor thinks for a moment, then answers, “Patrick Bateman, Dexter Morgan, and Norman Bates.” Ellen DeGeneres stares at her, uncertain of where to go from there. Slowly, she rises and begins to dance. Taylor joins her, doing what is arguably the robot.

~~~~~~~~~

“Sorry ma’am, visiting hours are over.”
I SHAKE IT OFF
“Listen, the Ted Bundy exhibit will still be here tomorrow, just come back then.”
I SHAKE IT OFF
“Wait, are you holding knotted ro-“
I SHAKE IT OFF

~~~~~~~~~

“Alright Mr. Sheeren, are any of these women the one you saw that night?” Ed scans the lineup. She stands amidst Lena Dunham and what looks like the class a team. Taylor stands cocksure, her posture defiant and her eyes staring at him.
“Are you sure she can’t see us?” he asks weakly. After getting the Lt.’s affirmative nod, Ed hesitatingly points out Taylor. The second it happens, she smiles. It was a leer that shivered up his spine.

~~~~~~~~~

“Because when you’re 15 and somebody tells you you’re going to jail, you’re not gonna believe them because you’re a minor and y’all can’t do nothing.” Lt. Murphy knows that this, plus the Jonas DNA they found at the most recent crime scene, won’t give this case a leg to stand on. He looks at her dead in the eyes. She stares back, unblinking. He averts his gaze, but can’t say why.

~~~~~~~~~

Ed bolts awake. He could have sworn he heard the screen door slam. He dismisses it to the wind. Suddenly he hears a slight tapping at his window. He runs over to find no one there. Before he can begin to relax, his phone rings. Quivering hands answer the call. “Hello?” he asks, not so much as a greeting than a gauging. “You’re mother doesn’t know I’m calling you,” the voice whispers, with speech as slow as it is merciless.

She located the S section of the evidence locker and crept down the corridor, knowing her name would be near the end. The only sounds were the picking of locks, the shuffling of papers, and the small clicking of her tongue. This one, this one, this one, all of these are pictures to burn…

~~~~~~~~~

Taylor threw down the magazine, disgusted at its fascination with her love life. You’d have a lot of boyfriends too if your skull trophy room had that much shelf space.

~~~~~~~~~

She closes her eyes and imagines the land dying. Visions of the paradise wild being devoured by Man’s machines, of animals desperately scurrying over their fallen, the sky choked by the black smog’s tendrils.
Wide eyes and a wider smile. “Yes, I will lend my voice to The Lorax.” Her agent nods, then attempts to back out of the room without Taylor noticing. She fails.

~~~~~~~~~

She missed the simple things, like holding his hand. She had to settle for the throat now. Relationships died on compromises like these.

~~~~~~~~~

Taylor doesn’t even consider touching Kanye. She’s well aware that he has barricaded himself in his mansion, keeping a 3 Kardashian body shield around him at all times. He interrupted her at one point. Now fear interrupts his whole life. No, killing him would let him off far too yeezy.

~~~~~~~~~

“You’re late.” Murphy slides into his chair at the table, the candles melted down to nubs, the cold chicken still on the plate, which he knew she left to prove a point.
“Work ran a little longer than usual, sorry.”
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to. You promised you’d go to Johnny’s game today.” He groans and runs his hands through his matted hair.
“Christ, Cheryl, the only reason I’m doing this is cuz while SHE’S still out there, it’s not safe for Johnny.“
“That doesn’t make u-“
“DAMNIT.” His frustration channels through his fists and slams onto the table, scattering the chicken. “You think I want it to be like this? Workin’ every night, not seein’ Johnny grow up? Every step we take, she’s three laps ahead of us. All of our surveillance photos? Ashes. All our witnesses? They either get backstage passes from her or end up skull-less in some back-alley. Hodges has been surveying her house for the past 4 mon-.“ Murphy freezes and checks his watch. Hodges should have called him 2 hours ago. He quickly gets up to leave.
“If you go right now, I might not be here when you get back,” Cheryl sobs. But he was already gone.

~~~~~~~~~

She sees that he’s calling, and it takes everything in her to hit ignore. However, it takes considerably less effort to hit the cop bound before her. “WHAT DO YOU KNOW,” she screams in his face. To his credit, he remains silent. There’s a resilience there, a resilience that needs to be broken. She’s about to fetch the knotted rope when she notices a silhouette in her window. It promptly smashes through.

~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Stephen, I know looks can be deceiving, and that’s exactly the case here. I swear he was bound and gagged when I got here. Stephen? Stephen what are you doing? Stephen put down that phone if you know what’s good for you.”

~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know about you, but I’m feelin’ 22 is well beyond what’s considered a minor,” says Murphy “Why don’t you look at me in the eye when you say that, Stephen,” she whispers. Three officers hold him back as she remains seated, her body unperturbed by the commotion, her eyes just daring him for more.

~~~~~~~~~

“Ms. Swift, how do you plead?”
“Guilty… of loving the refreshing taste of Diet Coke!” She winks at the camera. “But not guilty to all that murder horseshit.”

~~~~~~~~~

Although she claimed not guilty for all the charges, she actually had no hand in the Lautner case. That career had killed itself without any of her help.

~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Gyllenhaal, could you please tell the court what Ms. Swift said about this dagger?” Jake hesitates, then builds up the courage to lean in and softly whisper.
“This is the best dagger that’s ever been mine.” Taylor stares daggers at him all the while. Inside it feels like her heart is daggered. Where was the disturbed teenage loner that she fell in love with all those years ago? The one who saw giant rabbits?

~~~~~~~~~

“Ms. Swift, where were you the night of December 13th?” She frowns. The prosecutor kept going back to December. That was the night of the orphanage fire.

~~~~~~~~~
“This was found at the crime scene, your honor.” The prosecutor holds up a torn short skirt and blood-soaked pom-poms. Taylor can’t help grinning with nostalgia.

~~~~~~~~~

The attorney began to speak, then paused, seeking the most delicate way to approach the subject “Ms. Swift, I hope you trust me and my many years of legal experience when I say that “Haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate” is not the best defense we can put up.”
“How about we just straight up ask them why they have to be so mean?” The attorney goes to rebut her, but then stops to think. The office is silent, save for his mind and all preconceived notions exploding like a thousand embers from the fires of their souls.

~~~~~~~~~

Lt. Murphy stumbles into his new, crummy apartment, whiskey on his breath and a whole mess of things on his mind. He pulls out a Camel from the shirt pocket where his badge used to be. He couldn’t stand to stay in an organization that let the monster go twice. As he breathes in the smoke, he seems to inflate with new life. Screw the system, he thinks. Who says you need the law to have justice? I’ll start my own investig- His planning screeches to a halt. Amongst the smoke, he scents a foreign fragrance. He can’t be positive, but he swears it smells like cinnamon.

)

Written by

College graduate. Mediocre Catholic. Critics say I have the "shifty eyes" of a young Ben Foster.

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