Potatoes.
Kept in the cellar in a woven sack. My pillow for the last three weeks since Grandpa decided I was too bad to live with the rest of them.
Not that I did anything wrong by normal people's standards.
Grandpa was funny in the head. Grandma was scared of him so went along with his punishments for us kids, and took a beating herself too.
Life was hard for her. Grandpa had a way that could make himself look like a regular person when he met other folks. No-one knew what was really going on in our home.
The neighbours and Mrs Mason the school teacher all thought I was in bed with a nasty case of chicken pox as it had been all round the town lately.
I spent my time hunting for spiders, breaking up their webs and poking rats. There were plenty of them down here with me.
Food was shoved through the hole in the door once a day, mouldy bread and water something a bit of cheese. I will be very thin when I get out.
If I get out that is.
If I don't die.
Funny enough I quite like it here. Safe from Grandpa's belt.
Maybe it can be my new home.
Potatoes.