Jocelyn barley slept that night. She flinched at every shadow. Held her breath at every sound. And with the smell... well, she didn't smell anything until the morning. At about six a.m. she smelled something. Bacon? No, eggs. No, pancakes? No way to find out but to go see. She looked around. The light spilled in from her dusty window. She thought it was safe but the second she set her foot on the ground she jumped back at a sound of a creak.
After a minute she tried again and finally made it into the kitchen. Her grandmother was already in there and said, "Hello, dear! How are you this morning."
"Fine, and you?" she asked as nice as possible.
"That's nice. I have breakfast ready if you want any."
"Sure, that would be great," she said, assuming that it was bacon or something. She regretted it as she saw the chunky, foul smelling, oatmeal. She still ate it as it was given to her, but didn't enjoy it. She was planing on asking about the voices but chickened out.