[ Wynonna clambers up alongside him, less for speech-making and more just to put some distance between herself and the specters, milling uncertainly around the kitchen's stone floor. The eyeless ghost looks miffed, but cranes an ear towards her companion, apparently willing to listen, if not see.

The doors remain shut, locked by some invisible force from the gourmands around them, which seems unfair. They almost finished the dish. That should count for something. Since it doesn't, she addresses them directly. ]

Look, sorry I ruined your, uh, supper.

[ Were the ghosts planning on eating that junk? ]

I think all it needs is a pinch of relief. Why don't you guys open the door and we'll see if that does the trick?