Norman collapsed, exhausted into his small armchair. The end of his move overseas to London, England was now punctuated by the last of his meager furniture being moved up a rickety flight of stairs to his small flat above an antique shop.
This move came upon the advice of his therapist back in the States, to move far away from his mother, who was very domineering. Some thought a move across the Atlantic Ocean was a bit extreme, but Norman always partial to overkill.
He breathed a heavy sigh, and reached to the small table next to his chair, to retrieve the remote control that worked the TV across the room.
"Oh," he said, "One more thing." He sprung from his chair and ran a cold glass of water from the tap, then returned to his seat in front of the TV. A soft click heralded the power being turned on to the TV and a dramatic voice, laced with an urgent sounding British accent filled the room. On the screen, a British true crime show was in progress.
"Welcome to Bloody London," Norman snickered at the name of the show, "Today we are going to examine one of the darkest serial killers in the history of London," Norman braced himself for the name Jack the Ripper. The narrator continued. "I speak of course, of none other than the notorious Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street."
Fleet Street, thought Norman, That's my new address. Hmmmm, how interesting.
"This innocuous antique shop was once the home of something far more sinister; Mrs. Lovett's World Famous Meat Pies. These meat pies were made from the meat that Sweeney Todd furnish her with, from the bodies of his victims. Norman gagged slightly, slipping his hand over his mouth in astonishment and disgust. When the watering in his eyes subsided he gagged again, realizing the antique shop was the same one above which he had just moved. Trembling, he listened to the snide narrator tell the tale of Sweeney Todd, whose skin was pale and whose eye was odd.
"With a flick of his razor and a pump of a pedal, he sent over a dozen gentlemen to their demise when all they wanted was a shave. All the while he was practicing for his intended kill; a Judge named Turpin, who stole his love and banished him to the penal colony in Australia, which was a settlement in it's infancy. For fifteen years he slaved away and plotted his revenge, and he certainly got it!"
The video cut to an image of what the interior of Sweeney Todd's barber shop once looked like, and Norman jumped out of his chair. While it was merely a drawing, it was a drawing of Norman's flat. At least with regards to the shape of the room, it's large, slanted window over looking the city of London.
"A trap door was installed behind where his barber chair stood, a trap door that opened up to swallow the remains of any man unfortunate enough to stop in for a shave, when supplies for the meat pie shop were needed."
Norman eyed the large oval rug in the center of the room, and bent down to pull it aside.
"Holy mother!" Norman shouted, having uncovered a rectangular anomaly in the wooden floor, which was clearly a patch job to seal off the trap door being spoken of by the true crime show. "What the hell, why didn't anyone tell me about this?" Norman backed away from the former trap door, stopping as he bumped into the arm of his chair.
Suddenly Norman heard a loud pop! and another section of flooring blew into the air. A razor that was guided by an invisible hand swing close to Norman's face – and with a cold deliberateness, it slowly clicked open, exposing a gleaming steel blade. Norman's terrified eyes examined the chaste silver handle and it drew away from him, completing a two part motion by swishing through the air – heading directly for Norman's neck! Norman ducked to the side, the blade narrowly missing him.
"Leave me alone!" he shouted, "Why are you doing this to me!" The blade – which had become skewed with the downward motion of the first attack, flicked itself fully open again with an icy snick sound, and once again looped through the air. Norman once again yelped, and ducked for cover in the direction of the door.
"Help me! Help!" Norman Bates flung open the door and practically threw himself down the stairs. "I'm coming home to you, mother! I promise I'll never leave you alone again!"
Back upstairs in the small flat, the silver-handled blade fell to the floor with a loud thud, slowly coming to a halt as the deadly blade it's final slow turn. Somewhere on the heels of the breeze that entered the flat, a whisper could be heard.
How about a shave?