The Missing Roommate

My roommate and I went to eat copper-pot hot pot. It was dinner time, yet the restaurant was strangely quiet.

The owner brought us four bowls of dipping sauce.

The maroon sesame paste, bright-red fermented tofu, and black oyster sauce formed a sinister smiley face in the bowls.

I picked up a bowl and sniffed. It reeked of blood.

Looking toward the kitchen, I saw the owner's scarred face reflected in a bloodstained cleaver. He was smiling at us.