This is kind of a crossover between Sweeney Todd and Sleepy Hollow. You have been warned.
London wasn't the first place that the constable would've chosen to visit. The gloomy thick air suffocated him and the nippy cold was as irksome as a fly. Its bleak atmosphere rivaled Sleepy Hollow's, which isn't an easy feat. The constable trotted nervously on the cobblestone sidewalks, clutching his bags of possessions protectively. The wind whistled a haunting tune that sent cold tremors down his spine.
The constable abruptly froze in front of a certain run-down building. The wood was nibbled away by cockroaches and the glass windows were scratched by unknown ghosts. Just the mere sight of it made the wind's tune grow more menacing, the air more frigid, the sky darker. The constable's dark eyes glanced at the sign made of gold, peeling letters, reading "Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies."
The constable tentatively peered through the dust-encrusted windows. The place hadn't been inhabited for about ten years, from what he heard. There was still leftover gray dough rotting away in the bowl of ashy flour. The scent of rotting meat wafted in his nose and made him shudder with distaste. The whole scenery appeared fuzzy since there was several inches of feathery dust on everything.
At that moment, the constable's guts seemed to wring in anxiety, like the hand of fear clenching his insides. A cold sensation gripped onto his entire body, like being dosed in ice. It felt as if a familiar nightmare had flitted through the constable's mind, all the horrors of the world intertwined together and presenting itself in a deserted pie shop. For meager seconds, the blobs of shadows morphed into undefined figures that seemed to peel of the walls and stagger across the dark rooms, as if the demon barber still lingered. The constable's eyes widened and his hands automatically reached for his bag of brass binoculars to scrutinize it, but the mysterious shadows already drifted away, leaving the air even colder and more unfathomable.
"Do you want t' buy i'?"
The constable gasped and whirled around. He was face-to-face with a silhouette of a thin stranger. A dog-eared hat obscured his petite face, and a large overcoat was draped over his shoulders, overwhelming him. The constable cleared his throat and regained his posture.
"No, I was merely examining the area. I am a police constable from New York and was sent here to investigate the mystery of Sweeney Todd, the demon barber on Fleet Street," the constable replied professionally.
At the mere sound of the name 'Sweeney Todd', the stranger shuddered.
"Do you own this building?" asked the constable.
The stranger chuckled gravely. "I wouldn't own i' even if meant gaining all the riches of the world. Rumors floatin' around 'ere about this place. People say it's 'aunted."
"Haunted..." repeated the constable nervously. The word felt rough on his tongue, sending his brain warning signals immediately. He had enough of haunted rubbish, thank you very much.
"I don't blame 'em for thinking i'. 'Ave you ever 'eard the real stories, Mr. Constable? Not the ones fabrica'ed by ol' crones on the street."
The constable cleared his throat. "I have...heard the stories, yes."
"Do you believe 'em, then?" the stranger pressed on.
"Well, personally, I have to admit I'm a little skeptical..." The constable bit his cheek uncomfortably. The stranger's voice, though no doubt young, seemed to scratch and crackle at every syllable. His aura felt frightening and mysterious, sending goosebumps crawling up the constable's pale skin. "Did you personally know Sweeney Todd?"
The stranger didn't answer immediately, drowning the air with unbearable silence. "I 'eard of 'im."
"I see," the constable said slowly, narrowing his eyes slightly. He could sense a prick of a lie sour the stranger's voice. His prim gentlemanly character took the best of him and he held out a hand.
"My name's Ichabod Crane. Delighted to meet you."
The stranger hesitated before taking Mr. Crane's hand. His hand wore a glove of ice that electrocuted Ichabod's entire body.
"The name's Tobias Ragg. The pleasure is all mine."
Zomg. My first continual story, and Sweeney's not even in it. This takes place ten years after Sweeney died. According to Tim Burton's version of Sleepy Hollow, the movie ended at 1800. According to Peter Haining, the father of Sweeney Todd himself, Sweeney did his killing spree around 1800, even if it was published around 1840. Ah well, might as well follow their facts!