Mom grabbed his face and began to lash out in anger. "You pussy motherfucker. I can't believe you just put your hands on a woman. I’m going to call ...he police. No, I'm going to call Paul." Paul was her older Brother, my Uncle. "He is going to fuck you up. Get out of my house," Mom yelled at the top of her lungs. I wouldn’t be shocked if everyone in the neighborhood heard her. Dad stood his ground and refused to go anywhere. "I'm not going anywhere. I pay the damn bills in this house. You can. Ever since I found a forbidden copy of the Glassnerian Gospels in my grandpa's chest, and read the Epistle of Isabel, I had been filled with a foolish desire to summon the Tyrants. The Epistle claimed it was easy. Take a box, place a lock of your hair, a lavender flower, and the foot of a white rabbit in it, then bury the box at the center of a crossroads at midnight. Supposedly, the Tyrants of Hell, the Living Gods, would appear, and they would grant three wishes in exchange for your. More

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