Those People: Serial Killers Come In Pairs

Those People: Serial Killers Come In Pairs

Three people, two serial killers, one unexpected friendship

Daisy Trauff was in the middle of cutting holes across her live neighbor’s body when she heard a knock on the door.

“Shit,” she mumbled, wiping some blood off her cheek. Her neighbor tried to scream, but Daisy Trauff kicked his head and he was quiet. Daisy Trauff then gently covered the body with a plastic tarp and called out, “One moment!” She ran to the bathroom, washed her hands, and dried her face; no blood was left on her body after she threw her smock into the shower and pulled the curtain. She flushed the toilet to be safe and rushed to her guest.

There was a suave looking man leaning on the door frame who looked up when Daisy Trauff opened the door.

“Greetings friend! I am looking for one Daisy Trauff.”

“Present. Whom, may I ask, is asking?”

“My name is Simon Hauser.”

“The Quiet Killer??” Daisy Trauff’s eyes went wide at the sight of the inspiration for her current occupation.

“In the flesh.” Simon Hauser was used to fame amongst fellow serial killers. He took the exclamation with a shrug and a knowing smile.

“Oh man! You’re an icon, sir. Your work is absolutely legendary.”

“Hate to brag, but what can I say? It’s a gift.”
“Come in come in! I’m actually in the middle of a project right now.” Daisy Trauff stepped aside and Simon Hauser entered the apartment, surveying the slight mess that was Mr. Moore, the neighbor.

“Very nice! I must say, I’m impressed.” Daisy Trauff felt a surge of pride at her idol’s praise.

“Please don’t think me rude, Mr. Hauser, but what brings you here? Surely you must have more important people to see.”

“Dear Ms. Trauff, I’m here to visit you! I’ve heard so many great things about your work and I thought, ‘I just have to see this woman myself!’”

Daisy Trauff lifted a hand to her heart, truly touched. “Mr. Hauser, I must say it is an honor you think so highly of me.” At that moment, Daisy Trauff’s neighbor woke up, and began to shriek and thrash. “Please be quiet, Mr. Moore. Can’t you see I have company?”

“Ha ha,” Simon Hauser chuckled. “It is alright. I understand how some victims can be.” Simon Hauser, The Quiet Killer, kicked Mr. Moore right in the gaping hole under his left rib. Silently, of course. Mr. Moore fell into a pleasant blackout.

“Would you like anything to eat or drink, Mr. Hauser?”

“Oh no, I’m alright thank you. If you don’t mind, Ms. Trauff, I would love to help you finish off Mr. Moore here.”

“Of course! By all means, make yourself comfortable.”
“Such a polite hostess you are, Ms. Trauff,” Daisy Trauff’s guest replied, removing his jacket and pulling on a second smock that had been hanging on a nearby hook. Wordlessly, he picked up the axe that had been propped up against Daisy Trauff’s couch and hacked open Mr. Moore’s skull. Daisy Trauff was in awe, watching Simon Hauser take each swing with the same wonder of a young child at their first baseball game.

Once Mr. Moore, the neighbor, was completely disemboweled, Daisy Trauff began clapping. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye as Simon Hauser glowingly accepted the praise. He then removed the smock and wrapped up the remains of Mr. Moore.

Simon Hauser approached his hostess and asked, “May I trouble you for a cup of coffee, Ms. Trauff?”

“Would be my pleasure, Mr. Hauser.” The two serial killers began to share their favorite stories over coffee as if they were old friends catching up after a good deal of time apart.

“Now don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Hauser, but sometimes your clean up is a little messy. This is just something I personally have observed.”

“No hard feelings, Ms. Trauff. I know, it is a flaw of mine to get a little lackadaisical coming off of a high. You understand, right?”
“Completely, Mr. Hauser. Please let it be known that if you ever need any help, give me a call. I am notorious for leaving a spotless sight, which I believe is why it has taken my work so long to be noticed.”

“I would like nothing more than a friendship like that with you, Ms. Trauff.”

“Here, Mr. Hauser,” Daisy Trauff said, grabbing a pen and a pad of paper from the drawer next to her. She wrote out her number and handed it to her new friend.

“Well, Ms. Trauff,” said Simon Hauser, The Quiet Killer. “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Cover Image Credit:

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9 Reasons Crocs Are The Only Shoes You Need

Crocs have holes so your swag can breathe.

Do you have fond childhood objects that make you nostalgic just thinking about your favorite Barbie or sequenced purse? Well for me, its my navy Crocs. Those shoes put me through elementary school. I eventually wore them out so much that I had to say goodbye. I tried Airwalks and sandals, but nothing compared. Then on my senior trip in New York City, a four story Crocs store gleamed at me from across the street and I bought another pair of Navy Blue Crocs. The rest is history. I wear them every morning to the lake for practice and then throughout the day to help air out my soaking feet. I love my Crocs so much, that I was in shock when it became apparent to me that people don't feel the same. Here are nine reasons why you should just throw out all of your other shoes and settle on Crocs.

1. They are waterproof.

These bad boys can take on the wettest of water. Nobody is sure what they are made of, though. The debate is still out there on foam vs. rubber. You can wear these bad boys any place water may or may not be: to the lake for practice or to the club where all the thirsty boys are. But honestly who cares because they're buoyant and water proof. Raise the roof.

2. Your most reliable support system

There is a reason nurses and swimming instructors alike swear by Crocs. Comfort. Croc's clogs will make you feel like your are walking on a cloud of Laffy Taffy. They are wide enough that your toes are not squished, and the rubbery material forms perfectly around your foot. Added bonus: The holes let in a nice breeze while riding around on your Razor Scooter.

3. Insane durability

Have you ever been so angry you could throw a Croc 'cause same? Have you ever had a Croc bitten while wrestling a great white shark? Me too. Have you ever had your entire foot rolled like a fruit roll up but had your Crocs still intact? Also me. All I know is that Seal Team 6 may or may not have worn these shoes to find and kill Osama Bin Laden. Just sayin'.

4. Bling, bling, bling

Jibbitz, am I right?! These are basically they're own money in the industry of comfortable footwear. From Spongebob to Christmas to your favorite fossil, Jibbitz has it all. There's nothing more swag-tastic than pimped out crocs. Lady. Killer.

5. So many options

From the classic clog to fashionable sneakers, Crocs offer so many options that are just too good to pass up on. They have fur lined boots, wedges, sandals, loafers, Maryjane's, glow in the dark, Minion themed, and best of all, CAMO! Where did your feet go?!

6. Affordable

Crocs: $30

Feeling like a boss: Priceless

7. Two words: Adventure Straps

Because you know that when you move the strap from casual mode chillin' in the front to behind the heal, it's like using a shell on Mario Cart.

8. Crocs cares

Okay, but for real, Crocs is a great company because they have donated over 3 million pairs of crocs to people in need around the world. Move over Toms, the Croc is in the house.

9. Stylish AF

The boys will be coming for you like Steve Irwin.

Who cares what the haters say, right? Wear with pride, and go forth in style.

Cover Image Credit: Chicago Tribune

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From One Nerd To Another

My contemplation of the complexities between different forms of art.


Aside from reading Guy Harrison's guide to eliminating scientific ignorance called, "At Least Know This: Essential Science to Enhance Your Life" and, "The Breakthrough: Immunotherapy and the Race to Cure Cancer" by Charles Graeber, an informative and emotional historical account explaining the potential use of our own immune systems to cure cancer, I read articles and worked on my own writing in order to keep learning while enjoying my winter break back in December. I also took a trip to the Guggenheim Museum.

I wish I was artistic. Generally, I walk through museums in awe of what artists can do. The colors and dainty details simultaneously inspire me and remind me of what little talent I posses holding a paintbrush. Walking through the Guggenheim was no exception. Most of the pieces are done by Hilma af Klint, a 20th-century Swedish artist expressing her beliefs and curiosity about the universe through her abstract painting. I was mostly at the exhibit to appease my mom (a K - 8th-grade art teacher), but as we continued to look at each piece and read their descriptions, I slowly began to appreciate them and their underlying meanings.

I like writing that integrates symbols, double meanings, and metaphors into its message because I think that the best works of art are the ones that have to be sought after. If the writer simply tells you exactly what they were thinking and how their words should be interpreted, there's no room for imagination. An unpopular opinion in high school was that reading "The Scarlet Letter" by Nathaniel Hawthorne was fun. Well, I thought it was. At the beginning of the book, there's a scene where Hawthorne describes a wild rosebush that sits just outside of the community prison. As you read, you are free to decide whether it's an image of morality, the last taste of freedom and natural beauty for criminals walking toward their doom, or a symbol of the relationship between the Puritans with their prison-like expectations and Hester, the main character, who blossoms into herself throughout the novel. Whichever one you think it is doesn't matter, the point is that the rosebush can symbolize whatever you want it to. It's the same with paintings - they can be interpreted however you want them to be.

As we walked through the building, its spiral design leading us further and further upwards, we were able to catch glimpses of af Klint's life through the strokes of her brush. My favorite of her collections was one titled, "Evolution." As a science nerd myself, the idea that the story of our existence was being incorporated into art intrigued me. One piece represented the eras of geological time through her use of spirals and snails colored abstractly. She clued you into the story she was telling by using different colors and tones to represent different periods. It felt like reading "The Scarlet Letter" and my biology textbook at the same time. Maybe that sounds like the worst thing ever, but to me it was heaven. Art isn't just art and science isn't just science. Aspects of different studies coexist and join together to form something amazing that will speak to even the most untalented patron walking through the museum halls.

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