Food

It was about 7 pm on a Friday, and a man had been gazing aimlessly out of a window for a few minutes when the doorbell rang. He was feeling somewhat hungry, so it was a pleasant surprise to find that it was only some food that he had ordered.

He ate and went to bed, keeping the leftovers in the fridge. He went to sleep and woke up to another ring of the doorbell, and this time it was a man in a long coat with a police badge pinned to his shirt.

“I’m an investigative officer working with the local police department. I don’t have a warrant to enter, but it would be great if you would answer some questions I have,” said the man.

“Go ahead.”

“Preferably inside, sir?”

The door creaked open to reveal a massive penthouse filled with every conceivable luxury. The walls were covered with art, the furniture with velvet, and a state-of-the-art entertainment system lay in the midst of it all. “It’s a pretty nice place you got here”, the detective commented. “Where do you work?”

“I don’t work. Could you get to the point, officer? I want to eat my breakfast” The detective grinned apologetically. “Of course. And how rude of me not to introduce myself. You can call me T.J.” He wrinkled his nose. He picked up a strange smell. Like sour milk but with a sickly sweet undertone. “I’m actually here to ask you about someone who was last seen here a little while ago? Yesterday evening?”

“I’m afraid I never left the house yesterday, so I wouldn't have seen anyone,” said the man. “Yes,” replied T.J. “But according to the receptionist, a delivery boy came to your apartment with an order?”

“Of course. It must have slipped my mind.” He glanced uncomfortably around the room. “Is this going to take much longer? I have to eat.”

“ Why can’t you eat while I’m here?”

“It’s bad manners.”

“I assure you, I don’t mind if you-”

“No. Get to the point.” The man was now tapping his feet and twisting his hands anxiously.

“Very well. The person in question was the delivery boy who you talked to. You were the last person who saw him. Would you know anything about his whereabouts?”

The man stood bolt upright. “What are you implying?”

“Absolutely nothing, sir, but you won’t mind if I have a look around your apartment?”

“It’s a penthouse, and I actually do mind. I think that you have overstayed your welcome, and you should leave if you don’t have a warrant.” He glanced towards the kitchen while speaking.

“Let me just get some water, and I’ll be on my way.” The man turned pale and was breathing heavily. The detective walked slowly to the kitchen and reached for the door of the fridge. There was a moment of silence as the detective stared confusedly at the contents. Confusion turned to horror. He turned to the man, whose demeanour had changed entirely. Brandishing a butcher's knife, the man proclaimed: “Since you’ve seen what’s for breakfast, it’s only right that you stay for lunch!”