The pastor’s son cuts this kid with a knife immediately and he falls over crying and bleeding (the blood in this dream is incredibly vivid, and the dream-camera occasionally does artsy closeups like an episode of Hannibal). The pastor’s son starts carving off all the boy’s toes and fingers, one by one, very sacramental. The congregation seems into it but the kid is screaming and bleeding like a slow river.

It goes on and on. The pastor’s son saws at the boy with a short knife.

I run outside and flee down a hill into the woods to call 911 but I can’t find reception. After a while a bunch of other people run out after me, equally horrified, and we all agree that This Shit’s Fucked Up and we have to run.

When we look back the pastor and his congregation are rolling down the hill like summer frolickers, surfing the grass on their own bloodstained clothes and leaving huge dripping smears on the green. Then they get up and come for us and we sure run like hell.

After fleeing through a thunderstorm with the pastor and his sword-wielding son on our heels we take shelter with a hermit in a little house. We tell her what’s happening and ask if she can get a landline phone. She doesn’t have a phone, she explains, because she’s in touch with older powers, powers in the land.

She explains to us that our local predilection for blood is because we are all, deep inside, dinosaurs. We have the souls of dinosaurs in us.

We speak on this a while and realize we can fight the pastor and his flock. Then we charge out into the forest and turn into dinosaurs. The pastor and his flock are dinosaurs too and he’s like this enormous fucking armored megalodon thrashing around. Everyone’s a stegosaurus or an anklyodon or some shit and we’re knocking all the trees over, crushing stone, bellowing. Battle is joined. There are jet planes I guess (maybe the national guard showed up)

The last thing I do is get the pastor by the neck but then I wake up.