When I was 4 years old, an evil book became the center of my universe. See, the cover was terrifying. (Even more terrifying than the one with Charles Manson’s green face on it, which I had made the mistake of making eye contact with and then backed out of the room in slow motion a few times.) This cover had what I believed to be the face of an actual dead person on it – the skin puckered in odd places, the eyes were …
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