The Tattered Apron

Saint Dunstan's

"Now, the building was once a butcher shop." a rounded man with a dusty white toupee spoke as he walked along the creaking floorboards to the backdrop of stained walls, his golden pocket watch chain pinging against the buttons of his tan wool coat that protected him from the chilly, late September air. "Would work up here, send the meat down - you don't have kids do you?" he turned to the young couple behind him, the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Barker.

"No, my Lord," Benjamin said.

"Not yet," Lucy smiled, her hand clasping tighter around her husband's.

"Not yet," he smiled down at her, his voice soft and full of hope.

"Well, it's a good thing," the old man huffed, "see, sir, the butcher would send the meat down to the cellar by this shoot over here," he led them to the corner of the room, his foot pressing on random areas of the floor as if there were bugs up his trousers. His heel scraped a lighter plank and opened a hatch then led to a dark abyss, looking like a slide down to hell itself. "Quite a modern setup he had here, after he smoked it down there, he would take it to the first floor where he would sell. Christopher his name was I believe. Best meats in all of London."

Lucy glared into the black pit, finding herself clinging closer to Benjamin as a cool, misty breeze rose out of it. "If he had such a nice set up, why ever did he leave Fleet Street?" she asked, earning an odd look from her husband who believed her to be more of an optimistic woman.

"Eh, he had grown old, you see, his eyes weren't what they used to be and while working one day the man mistook his own wrist for a hog's hoof. He bled out after that," he managed to maintain his melancholy tone though the horrendous story was enough to frighten the young couple.

"Lord Rutledge, you mustn't mean the man died here?" Benjamin asked, trying his best to remain calm in the moment of terror.

"Oh, no, of course not," the man breathed out a chuckle, "not inside the building."

"What does that mean?"

"He died on his way out, body was found at the downstairs entrance, right over the threshold."

"Oh, God," Lucy muttered, turning away to hide her flushed cheeks in an attempt to get the thought out of her mind.

"Shall we venture to the bedrooms?" Lord Rutledge asked.

Benjamin expressed a newly found uncomfortable grin before nodding. The man's lips puckered out with a soft hum before walking past them and down a few steps into the rear of the house. Benjamin followed suit until Lucy grabbed his hand with such force she could've pulled him to the floor, "My love, I thought you had said this was the perfect home for us. We can't live somewhere - No, why can't raise a family somewhere where a man had died a brutal death. And this Rutledge fellow doesn't seem so honest, after all he is attempting to sell us a home covered in the stench of death!"

"Rutledge is - of all things - honest. Not many would tell us if something bad would've happened on a property. Even the prisons have tried to hide that," he said, "besides, it's London, people die everywhere, everyday."

"Benjamin, there is a pit to hell in-"

"You worry too much, my sweet." he smiled softly, taking her shoulders into his hands to pull her close, placing a warm, gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Mr. and Mrs. Barker? Will you be joining me?" Lord Rutledge's gruff voice flowed down the hall and into the air of the room.

"In a moment, my Lord," Benjamin replied before looking back at his meek and frightened wife. "It's hard to find a good property for this cheap where I would do good business. Here, what if the first thing I do once we move in is go to market and buy supplies to board up your so-called pit of hell?"