I. JAMES In 1993, my mother told me there were Satan worshippers kidnapping little boys and cutting their pee-pees off. Those were her exact crude words. I was nine years old, just like the three kids found in Robin Hood Hills. I lived in a town called Lexson, a stone’s throw from the crime scene. This was the first summer my mother did not employ a babysitter. I stayed alone so she could save money. All a Satanist needed to do was hit I-40 to Law Road, Exit 93, to find me. Luckily, the authorities caught the bastards by June. It was all over the news. The authorities found evidence: knives, heavy metal cassettes, and books. I wanted to know which books. I craved knowledge. I believed no text could possess me. One of the books was by the infamous Aleister Crowley who wrote extensively on ritual sacrifice. I wouldn’t find any of his works until much later in life. By then, I’d long changed. I became of age. I moved away. I wore a denim jacket with the sleeves torn off. I enjoyed body modification.…