It was a chilly day in London, the remains of an autumn storm still lingering in the air as the civilians of London stomped through puddles to their destination. While the people on the streets cursed the weather, those in cars ignored their murky damp surroundings as they rushed to their next locations.
"Is this the street you're meeting the person, Father?" The driver asked as he peered down the street, his fingers dancing nervously on the worn steering wheel. The priest grumbled in annoyance as he looked for a street sign. He found the sign, an old copper sign that read Fleet Street.
"This is the street. Thank you for bringing me here, Roger," The priest said as he opened the door and stepped out. He scowled as he stepped into a large puddle, drenching his feet and ankles in cold water. He roughly shook one of his legs in hopes of draining the water from his shoe, but it only made his feet colder. He gave up on the idea and ducked down to the open window of the car.
"It's no problem, Father. It's always a pleasure to help you. You have my number, right? Call me when the meeting's done with and I'll come straight away to pick you up. Good luck, Father," The driver yelled. The priest smiled and waved good-bye as the car drove off, leaving him on the sidewalk. After watching the car hurtle down the windy avenue and vanish around a corner, he turned and started walking down the road. His smile vanished as he observed his surroundings, old buildings revamped by naive owners hoping to join in on the grand nightlife of London. He saw pubs, restaurants, clubs, and stores all along both sides of the street. Rutherford disliked those sorts of buildings with their loud music, bright neon lights, and large suggestive advertisements. Such buildings often enticed people to follow their carnal desires, rather than their reasoning and conscience. He quickly shifted away from his thoughts about the materialistic buildings and thought about the call that had been made two days earlier. The secretary of a wealthy businessman had arrived at the church, begging to meet the priest. When he had met the nervous man, the man had asked that he meet with his employer at Fleet Street.
He stared around at the street, looking for the supposed man he was supposed to meet. The street was near empty, minus a hungry stray cat searching for rodents in the nearby gutter. Suddenly, he noticed a man standing near the end of the street, slowly puffing on a cigarette as he glanced around. Once he noticed the priest, he quickly put out the cigarette's flame and smiled, a cold business-like smile.
"Father Rutherford?" The man called out as he walked towards him.
"That would be me, yes," The priest replied as he glared at the man before him. For a man of supposed wealth, he dressed like any ordinary person. He wore a faded brown suit with a dark green tie and a light yellow stain on a near unblemished white shirt. Despite the smile, he looked as a man who had gone many years without a respite from hard work. His face was prematurely lined with thin wrinkles and Rutherford could see faint gray roots in his yellow hair.
"Thank God. I'm truly glad you came to help. I was worried you wouldn't come, seeing as my secretary is sometimes unreliable. I trust you can solve this issue, I wish to convert this location into a pub or restaurant. God knows this filthy excuse of a building needs a refreshing change," The man said as he checked his watch. Rutherford felt a thrum of disapproval towards the man, recognizing him as another hopeful businessman edging into the nightlife of London.
"What exactly is the problem, Mr. York?" The priest asked questioningly. The smile on the man's face slipped away momentarily and was replaced with one of mixed worry and annoyance.
"Perhaps this conversation could be held inside. It's bad enough that the whole bloody street's superstitious; I wouldn't want to attract any more unwanted attention. Come in," Mr. York said as he turned to walk away. Rutherford followed the man and found himself in front of two story old-fashioned brick store building, its wide grimy windows covered with thin gray curtains and faded gold letterings in the aged wood reading Mrs.…Pie Emporium. The man opened the door and gestured for the priest to enter. Father Rutherford nodded at the gesture and was appalled at the stench that reached his nose the minute he stepped across the threshold. The odor was unlike anything he had ever smelled before, a retched mixture of heavy musty reek of mildew and decaying flesh.
"I do apologize for the smell, whatever it is. It seems to be coming from the basement. No matter how hard we scrub and sanitize, the stench never goes away. As for now, we can only assume that it's the sewer. Please, sit down," Mr. York with a wave of his hands. The priest sat down at a small table, Mr. York taking the seat opposite of them.
"Father, quite frankly this whole meeting and request is probably just some superstitious folly that was concocted by the quibbling gullible neighbors and nervous business-competitors. However, if I ever want this neighborhood to accept my business, I have to follow through their request," He said in annoyance.
"What could bother a businessmen like you? I am afraid I am confused," Father Rutherford asked.
"This disgusting excuse for a building is supposedly haunted by its previous owners, a duo of unsavory charlatans that performed some very vile deeds while they were alive. It was many years ago, but still the superstitions abound about their deeds and such," The man said, rolling his eyes.
"Are you saying you called me here for a exorcism?" Father Rutherford asked incredulously. He had never heard of anyone asking for an exorcism during his life, with the decline in demonic possessions and the sharp rise in science and lawsuits.
"Yes, unfortunately. I've already lost many workers to this supposed duo. Those that are not injured pretend to be sick and avoid coming to work. It's almost fascinating; the strange things that happen once someone enter the loft. I've seen workers go insane, attack their fellow partners, gorge their eyes out with their tools, and commit suicide days later. It's ridiculous," Mr. York replied as he pulled out another cigarette and lit it. Father Rutherford grimaced, an expression that the businessman noticed. He shrugged apologetically before snuffing out the cigarette.
"I can see what you are talking about. Have these incidents only been occurring in the room above?" Father Rutherford asked quietly, glancing upwards towards the ceiling.
"Most of the incidents occur in the upper room, although several accidents have occurred in the basement. I promised my workers that a priest would expel the 'ghost' and assure that no harm would befall them should they return to work," Mr. York replied, a thin smile stretched across his face.
"Do you even know what you are asking for, Mr. York?" The priest asked.
"Yes, I do. I ask for a simple exorcism, Father. I am not a religious man, if anything I am a shrewd follower of science and reason. However, my workers are very gullible. If I am to follow my plans for the renovations, I must have this done. Rest assured, once this is illogical mess is over with, I will donate a good sum of money to your church," Mr. York stated, his smile twisting to a self-satisfied smirk. Father Rutherford debated the issue before deciding it wouldn't hurt to check the upstairs room. Even if the man asked for an exorcism without knowing what it entailed or truly believing in it, it would be wrong not to investigate and ease the fears of the workers that had to work for the man.
"How am I to get to the upper part of the store?" He asked. The man's smirk widened as he stood up.
"Outside the building, there is a staircase that you can use. It's old, but is well preserved for such an old structure. Come, I'll show it to you," He said. Father Rutherford followed the man out and was greeted with the sight of a ragged pair of children standing on the curb, a boy and girl. Their clothes were soiled from muddy water and food stains and their faces were emotionless as they stared up at them. Father Rutherford stared at the children, astonished that their parents allowed them to be in such a state. Mr. York, however, had no sympathy for the children.
"Go on, get out of here! I told you two not to loiter around here," Mr. York growled at the children before walking around the corner. As Father Rutherford passed them, the children turned their cold stares onto him. Their faces darkened as they watched him pass by. He broke eye contact with the children in order to meet up with the businessman. Mr. York stood by a rickety old staircase, which looked barely strong enough to withstand any wind that chanced to pass by, let alone the weight of a single person.
"I apologize, Father, but I do have to stay down here. My secretary is due back any moment and I cannot have him run off again and find someplace unsavory to stick his long nose into," Mr. York said, vanishing back into the building before Father Rutherford could protest. He sighed in annoyance before he started up the stairs. The steps creaked and wobbled, but managed to hold his weight.
"Sweeney Todd waits for you, Father," A cold shiver crept over Father Rutherford as he heard the soft cold words. He looked around and saw the two children staring up at him from the street. They had moved away from the curb in front of the store in order to see him clearly.
"I don't think you two should linger here any longer, you could get in trouble," He called out. The boy remained emotionless, but a faint smile came to the girl's face and she giggled. He glanced around and noticed the door to the supposed cursed room.
"Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd, his skin was pale and his eye was odd," The two children began singing, their voices syncing to create a dark threatening hum. He smiled, the children were most likely waiting to see him perform some sort of mystical rite and dispel the supposed spirit.
"…He shaved the faces of gentlemen who never thereafter were heard of again," He tried to ignore their song as he tried to door. To his surprise, the wooden door swung into the room without protest. He took a glance inside, noticing that it was much darker in the room than he had expected, and he walked into the room.
"…The demon barber of Fleet Street," He heard the children sing just before the door slammed behind him.