Capter One: The Beginning

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Years before my... "encounter" with Hillary I lived in her house. Actually I doubt she was even born, Hell, I doubt her mother was born. Well anyway the year was 1968 and me and my brother were in my room listening to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts club Band that he stole from Groof-Records and managed to hide from dad. I didn't really care about The Beetle's enough to contract the Beetlemania fad my brother Johnathan had gone crazy over (along with the rest of the world) but I was just happy to escape the impersonal sound of Elvis that usually clogs the airways. But anyways me and my brother were listening to the album when I heard my dad coming through the front door, downstairs.

"Bryan! Get your ass down here now!" I heard my dad shout from downstairs. Obviously drunk again... I started down the stairs. "Bryan!" I swear he was blind, I was already in the room.

"Yes sir?" I said looking him in his drunk eyes. He circled around me, taking out his belt.

"What the hell is this?!" He slammed a book I quickly reconized as my Book of Spells. I was silent. "Are you going to tell me boy?!" He slammed his belt on it.

"It's my book..." I barely said this loud enough for him to hear. He back handed me with the belt.

"Don't you be smart with me, boy!" He growled this inches from my face. "Well?! Care to explain what this pagan trash is doing in my God loving house?!"

I didn't respond... It was best to attempt to ignore him most of the time.

"You little punk!!" He punch me in the stomach and pushed me into the still coal, smoldering fireplace. I managed to stop myself from cooking by sheilding my body with my arms. I screamed in pain and the flesh on my hands smoldered and bubbled slightly. "That'll teach ya, you little punk!" He kick my back and left the house, slamming the door.

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