“Come in, come in.” A middle aged man’s voice said as you came through the door. As you expected from a barber, he was holding one of his cut-throat knives. But instead of wiping off any shaving cream, the cloth he was cleaning it with was splattered in a blood red. It sent a chill down your spine.

Perhaps you should’ve gone to the bakery downstairs instead. Apparently the baker who runs it, Nellie Lovett, has made some absolutely killer meat pies.

“How may I help you?” The barber asked.