Lana Smalls Grandpa

“You were thinking it,” he says, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “Electricity lies. Fire tells the truth.”

Silas was a man of few words. He had hands that looked like twisted roots, rough and stained with soil, and he walked with a slight limp he’d earned in a mining accident decades ago. To the rest of the world, he was just a poor farmer on the outskirts of town. To Lana, he was a giant who knew the secrets of the woods.

"Old Jack," Silas whispered. Their ancient coonhound had refused to come inside earlier, stubbornly guarding his spot near the cellar doors. lana smalls grandpa

"Lana, fear is a shadow. It looks big and scary, but it has no substance. It only exists if there is a light to cast it. You understand?"

"Grandpa," she asked, breaking the rhythmic scrape of the saw. "Why do you keep the lantern by the door? The power never goes out here." “You were thinking it,” he says, and the

The house at the end of the dirt road was old, the kind of old that seemed to grow directly out of the earth. For Lana Smalls, it was a palace of mysteries, presided over by the quiet, steady presence of her Grandpa Silas.

Lana felt a primal fear grip her chest. "Grandpa?" He had hands that looked like twisted roots,

Silas reached out and took the lantern, turning the wick down until the flame was a gentle glow. Then he smiled—a rare, wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.