Ransom Riggs

I thought about it, looking at the pictures and then at my grandfather, his face so earnest and open. What reason would he have to lie?

“I believe you,” I said.

And I really did believe him—for a few years, at least—though mostly because I wanted to, like other kids my age wanted to believe in Santa Claus. We cling to our fairy tales until the price for believing them becomes too high,

Then again, it’s easy to say you don’t care about money when you have plenty of it.

Then again, it’s easy to say you don’t care about money when you have plenty of it.

I did love her, of course, but mostly just because loving your mom is mandatory, not because she was someone I think I’d like very much if I met her walking down the street.

“But he was your dad. How could you just give up?”

“It wasn’t me who gave up!” he said a little too loudly, then looked down, embarrassed and swirled the beer in his glass. “It’s just that—the truth is, I think your grandpa didn’t know how to be a dad, but he felt like he had to be one anyway, because none of his brothers or sisters survived the war. So he dealt with it by being gone all the time—on hunting trips, business trips, you name it. And even when he was around, it was like he wasn’t.”

cried harder. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I couldn’t stop myself, so I thought about all the bad things and I fed it and fed it until I was crying so hard I had to gasp for breath between sobs.