I own neither Sweeney Todd nor Ed, Edd n Eddy
The Demon Barber of Fleet ED
A tale of woe by The Mauve Lantern
Prologue: The Ballad of Sweeney Todd
In which a dead man is buried and the chorus sings a ballad
In the dark of night on the outskirts of London, two young men were hard at work digging a grave. The wind nipped at any flesh that was left bare by their filthy clothes, which made them work quicker so they could escape from the cold grip of the midnight air. Not a speck of light was shining in the graveyard save for a single lantern, though its flame was flickering and sputtering, clinging onto its final moments of life with tenacity. At one point, the smaller gravedigger had to pause in his work for he couldn't stop shaking from fear. The lonesome cemetery he was in was closing in on him, he could feel it.
"Return to your work, Johnny-boy, lest you incur the wrath of our master yet again," the taller gravedigger said to the frightened boy.
"I can't help it, Rolf; there's something here, something about this place now. We've dug graves before, sure, but now…now just being here makes me sick," Johnny shivered as he took shovel in hand again.
As the night wore on, the two boys dug deeper and deeper into the ground until they finally had reached a proper depth. They quickly climbed from the grave, and not a moment too soon, for the constable had arrived with the body. A pair of workmen from the town lifted the wrapped corpse from its spot on the wagon, marched somberly to the open grave, and tossed the body in. The sickening howl of a factory whistle broke the stony silence for a moment, and Rolf looked back at the grave; already it was being filled again.
A second noise joined the factory whistle, though from where it originated, Rolf could not tell. There was a strange melody to it, like some ghostly funeral dirge. It filled his head with horrible images as he thought of the man in the ground, and the darkness dragged out a twisted, bass melody past his lips. He sang softly, away from the small procession that had followed the constable, yet his words echoed all around him, reaching all who listened.
Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd.
His skin was pale and his eye was odd.
He shaved the faces of gentlemen
who never thereafter were heard from again
He trod a path that few have trod,
Did Sweeney Todd,
The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.
Johnny took no notice of his friend's singing, for he himself was transfixed on the grave in front of him. The song passed on to Johnny who began to sing in his own, mangled way.
He kept a shop in London town,
Of fancy clients and good renown.
And what if none of their souls were saved?
They went to their maker impeccably shaved
By Sweeney,
By Sweeney Todd,
The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.
The dark melody passed on to the company that had gathered for the burial, who all seemed to sing at once, screaming aloud as if possessed.
Swing your razor high, Sweeney!
Hold it to the skies!
Freely flows the blood of those
Who moralize!
An old woman approached the grave, carrying with her a flour tin, as the company sang on. She hobbled over to the edge of the grave and tilted the tin, pouring a heap of black ashes atop of the body. And though the members of the company wanted to leave, there was an otherworldly power there in that cemetery that held them back and forced them to remain there as the gravediggers returned to work. Soon they began to whisper amongst themselves as time went on: an aged general turning to his distressed wife, a priest conversing with his aide, and two ugly sisters chatting back and forth. All spoke in soft hushes of the man buried in the ground.
His needs were few, his room was bare:
A lavabo and a fancy chair,
A mug of suds and a leather strop,
An apron, a towel, a pail and a mop.
For neatness, he deserved a nod,
Did Sweeney Todd,
The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.
The women who watched the grave be filled almost immediately began to gossip amongst each other, glancing back and forth occasionally at the grave to see if the man inside would come out if they spoke of him.
Inconspicuous Sweeney was,
Quick and quiet and clean 'e was.
Back of his smile, under his word,
Sweeney heard music that nobody heard.
Sweeney pondered and Sweeney planned,
Like a perfect machine 'e planned.
While the women spoke of him, the men in the company joined in as they glared down at the coffin. Every word they sang was laden with venom, hatred, and fear.
Sweeney was smooth, Sweeney was subtle,
Sweeney would blink and rats would scuttle.
Inconspicuous Sweeney was,
Quick and quiet and clean 'e was,
Like a perfect machine 'e was,
Was Sweeney!
Sweeney!
Sweeney!
Sweeeeeeeneeeeey!
The singing devolved into chanting as a dark mist crept into the cemetery, seeping around the men and women there. Their cries of fury and terror reached up to the heavens and deep into hell. And there, standing before the grave where his body lay, was Sweeney Todd, looking down on man as he always did. It was the barber's wrathful spirit that haunted the graveyard and made the gathered people sing out in ghastly harmony. He glared at the people and then down at his wrapped body in the grave, and Sweeney sang out again in the darkness, his words echoed by the possessed company.
Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd.
He served a dark and a vengeful god.
What happened then- well, that's the play,
And he wouldn't want us to give it away,
Not Sweeney,
Not Sweeney Todd,
The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.
From the town, the bells of a clock tower began to ring, and just as suddenly as he appeared, Sweeney's spirit vanished. The gathered company was released from their trance and they too dispersed back into the night, returning to the safety of their homes. Only the gravediggers were left, and they continued to sing as the night passed on.
When finally dawn broke in the cloudy London sky, the boys had finished covering the grave. Rolf pounded a wooden cross into the ground in front before saying a silent prayer to God, and then gestured for Johnny to follow him.
As he walked beside his friend back into town, Johnny asked, "Rolf, do you suppose the rumors are true? What they say about…about the barber and that boy at the pie shop?"
"It is possible that those words are true, my friend, but it makes no matter now. Both are gone away forever," Rolf replied. "All this talk is but the chatter of old women who have nothing better to do but spread lies and spin tales."
"Perhaps…"
Before they left the graveyard behind, the boys took one look back at where the grave for Sweeney Todd lay. Somewhere, the grinding factory whistle sounded again, and the dark melody returned for but a moment. Rolf and Johnny sung together as new words filled their minds, desperate to be heard.
There's but one part was left unsung;
He will not leave till we are done.
Though this story may be old,
A crucial part has not been told:
The fate of the long-forgotten son
Of Sweeney Todd,
The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.
The melody passed and, fearing it would return, Johnny and Rolf ran as fast as they could from the cursed place.