School life had never suited me, and that's why the care home arranged a private tutor for myself. I learnt a lot, but not enough of what I REALLY wanted to learn. Deamonology is generally not taught in Schools, so most of my Saturday's comprised of trips to the library to study the topic. And the topic was not nice. Fascinating, but not nice. Pictures of exorcisms in practice and devil scars littered the pages, converting dreams to nightmares, and sending chills down my body. And then Father Rodger died, and my love of hell became even more pronounced....
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