When I was a kid growing up my rural town, I found what looked like a secret entrance into a church located within seconds of walking distance from my family's house. 

I always imagined what it would feel like to sneak through this oddly placed hole located about six feet below the elevated surface of the church floor and see what was on the other side.  

So one late night when I was eleven, I teamed up with my best friend and managed to take a peek under the church floor by prying the wooden planks covering the entrance out of place. 

What we saw was nothing but old, rusty pipes turning orange due to erosion probably caused by a leak through the floor. 

All that time spent imagining and anticipating a trap door leading up into the sacristy where rituals were held , or a ladder down into the ground, was now invalidated by the boring truth. My best friend and I both left to our separate homes, except I was caught by my dad. He sentenced me to a week without TV on the basis that sneaking into God's house for fun was comparable to using his name in vain and that I should be ashamed of my actions. Being on the fence about whether or not I believed in God, I simply nodded and went to my room. 

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That night I had a vivid dream about being someone who hid under the floor in the church. I was looking at myself in a mirror: I had a jack-o-lantern for a head and a human body. Then I was pouring fluids into a bubbling cauldron like a witch preparing a serum. I was in a lab. I did not know what I was concocting, but I found myself making my way out from under the church and into the house I grew up in. I then proceeded to feed the mysterious potion to my family members in real life. It felt like I was not in control of my movements, but at least I knew I was in a dream. 

I woke up in cold sweats, feeling like something terrible had happened. I headed down the hallway and into my parents' room - it was empty.  "What happened' , I could not find it in me to stop repeating these words as I walk into the bathroom where I looked in the mirror. It was me, my eleven year old self, no pumpkin for a head. I was battling the urge to look outside, then I broke. 

The sight I experienced next was something I couldn't believe.

I stood by the window in complete shock, looking at dozens of pumpkin headed spawns on eight legs pouring out of what now appeared as a growing exit from beneath the church floor. It was a grossly disturbing thing to watch. What had I done?