A/N Every one who was waiting for my super-duper-top-secret side project..? Weeeell.. This is it. Don't hate me... I just thought it would be hilarious. Honestly, zombies? Don't runaway please! -grabs- There's a plot.. (eventually..) Yes, 'Nightmare on Fleet Street' makes you think of Freddy Kruger but I liked it better than 'Pie Shop of Horrors' which made me think of 'Little Shop of Horrors'; though as a musical that might have been more appropriate..
1
The blade slid over the man's throat, spraying it's one observer with a stream of crimson. Sweeney smirked as the man in the barber's chair began to jerk, struggling against the embrace of death. When his spastic twitches died, the barber pressed upon the chair's pedal with a satisfactory smirk on his face. The chair titled back and the trapdoor swung open, but the corpse remained oddly stubborn.
Frowning, Sweeney gave the man's feet a nudge towards the abyss. Instead of starting its slide downwards, the body began to twitch and jerk again. Shocked, Sweeney gripped his friend tightly and made to slash at the man's throat again. The body slid towards the floor as he hacked into the man's neck, all the while the corpse stared at him, attempting to sit up.
Not meant to stay open for long, the trap door stuck on part of the body, while the chair straightened itself, flipped the body over and sapping its spine in an irregular fashion.
Sweeney watched in horrid fascination as the corpse attempted to dislodge itself. Coming to his senses, he tapped the pedal with his foot again, sending the broken, somehow still moving, body down to the bake house floor.
A faint scream echoed up from the dark chute as the trapdoor closed once more.
"Mrs. Lovett!" He snarled, annoyed at his own foolishness. Of course she would be down there when he sent a freak of nature down. Ignoring his bloodied appearance the barber ran for his shop door and skipped down the stairs.
The pie-shop costumers watched in surprise as he sped past them into the other shop. Running into the parlor, he stood gasping for breath.
Mrs. Lovett was brandishing a rolling pin, beating at a slit-throat customer, backing towards the fire where Toby stood. Several more men were stumbling into the room, necks painted red. They were coming from the bake house.
About to dash forward, the barber stopped himself when he noticed what Toby was doing. The boy held a partially full bottle of gin and was stuffing a piece of cloth into the bottle's thin neck. Hurriedly holding the rag's end into the fireplace, he waited until it caught fire before tossing it at the nearest corpse.
Mrs. Lovett stumbled back from the burning man, whose clothes had caught fire with the alcohol. She was panting, clutching her bloodied rolling pin with a shaky hand.
"Mr. T!" She gasped, finally noticing him. "I don' know wot happen'd! They jus'-"
A scream from outside drew the trio's attention away from the burning body and other confused corpses in the door. Dashing outside, the three of them saw the cause of the new commotion.
"Me 'usband!" A woman was shrieking, kneeling over a man on the ground. "Somethins poisoned 'im! These awful pies 'ave poisoned 'im!"
The entire crowd stared in wide-eyed shock as the man suddenly grabbed his wife, and bit into her neck.
"Toby," Sweeney said as calmly as he could, grip tightening on his razor. "We need more gin."