that was life , anyway , until one night he found himself in the vestibule of the methodist church with a five-gallon can of gasoline , splashing it everywhere - especially on the heaps of old hymnals in the corner - and he had stopped and thought , this is bad , and maybe worse than that , it 's stupid , they 'll know who did it , they 'd know who did it even if someone else did it , and they 'll `` put you away `` ; he thought about it and smelled gas while the voices fluttered and circled in his head like bats in a haunted belfry .