I flicked a match and lit my lantern, lifting it above me and stepping towards the door. I heard Sam furiously scratching at the wood.
“Sam, try to control yourself,” I said, sliding the latch open, and stepping back.
The door handle rotated, and the door swung inwards. Sam stood in the doorway, staring at me. His eyes were shrouded by his brow. His fingernails were bloody from scratching at the door. Beads of sweat were falling from his forehead and his breathing was deep, and heavy. His feet padded along the ground as he lumbered towards me.
“Sam, you’ve got three seconds to get out or I’m going to kill you.”
He froze in his spot and looked up at me. His lips were blue and his right eye had a long strand of mould blooming from it. His left eye was blood red. He snarled, and ran straight into my knife. It drove its way into his chest, crunching through his sternum and tearing into his heart. His teeth gnashed by my ear, so I pushed him back. Once he was far enough away, I kicked him back. He collapsed to the ground, writing and choking. I jumped onto him, and brought the knife down, driving it into his skull. A warm torrent of blood climbed up the knife and bathed my hands. The red pool expanded beside him, until his struggling stopped, and he finally died.
I could feel my eyes tearing up. The stench was unbearable. A deep, stinging sensation filled my limbs, and the back of my throat; the feeling of panic. I looked down at his corpse, which was frozen still, and out of the corner of his mouth I spotted it, jammed in the side of his cheek, and covered in brown, sticky blood. It was the reed to the saxophone.