You break into his house.

He’s your best friend and he won’t answer the door. He hasn’t come to class in weeks or answer your texts. You decide it’s a reasonable enough response.

“Andrew?” You call out softly but get no response. It’s so dark.

And then you notice it: his father’s mangled corpse, his neck half eaten. Blood coats the walls and the floors. Andrew sits quietly in the corner, watching you. His face is bloody, his eyes sunken.

He licks his lips at the sight of you.