I saw something that isn't supposed to exist.

My therapist says it was either the alcohol or the PTSD leftover from Afghanistan, and I guess out of the two, I'd take drunk over crazy. But I'd only had two drinks that night and I hold my liquor pretty well these days. Wasn't much like the flashbacks, either. I think I really saw something and, hey, you guys look like you believe in that sort of stuff, so it's worth a try.

It was two weeks ago, Saturday night. Like I said, I'd had a couple drinks at Mo's, the bar I go to, and I got to thinking about the guys who never came back from Afghanistan. All of a sudden I was tired of all the noise and the people, so I figured I'd swing by the cemetary, maybe drink a few in their honor. Sad way to spend a Saturday night, I know, but I've been doing it a lot lately.

Anyway, I get to the cemetary. It's closed at night and on weekends, but I can get in over the fence just fine. After all, the taxpayers paid through their noses to make me one of the nation's finest. Should be good for something. There were eight of us in Afghanistan. Brad and Matt are buried here, or what's left of them is. It isn't much, and I can say that with authority, since I saw them die. Didn't take me too long to get to their graves, especially since I could pretty much sleepwalk the route. I'd brought along a bottle of Jack from the bar and I settled down against the tombstones to get more familiar with it.

I'm pretty sure I'd only had a couple sips when I saw something moving a couple rows over. I get kind of jumpy these days when something startles me, so it damn sure caught my attention. I was pretty annoyed at myself for freaking out, but at the same time I wondered who else would be wandering around the cemetary in the middle of the night. To tell you the truth, I kind of think of it as my time and I felt a little cheated, so I kept my head down and crawled in that direction to get a better look, keeping a good hold on my bottle. All I can say is that it's lucky I know better than to give myself away when I spot an enemy, because otherwise I would've shrieked like a little girl when I saw what I was sharing the cemetary with.

It had partly dug up the grave and I guess it had gotten the coffin open, because there were decaying body parts scattered around and the thing was munching down on them like it was Thanksgiving. I've seen a horrible thing or two, so I guess that didn't bother me as much as it should have. What did bother me is that there's no way this thing was human. No way. I mean, maybe once upon a time, but it was down to skin and bones, and in a years-dead way, not a starvation victim kind of way. Maybe I caught my breath or something, because it turned around way too fast and it saw me. I always figured if you're close enough to touch the bad guy, then you're way too close, but I had one of those fight or flight moments, and for me, that pretty much always comes up fight. I lunged at the thing and tried to fucking brain it with my bottle of Jack, but it wiggled away and I only smashed the bottle on its arm. Then the thing took off and I was left alone in the graveyard with a pile of rotting gnawed-on people parts. Oh, yeah, and my Jack was dribbling down into the grave.

So there you have it. That's what happened. My subconscious is pretty messed up, but I don't think it came up with this. I guess if it doesn't sound crazy to you, let me know.

The area would have to be investigated and forensic evidence gathered. Then a determination as to your inebriation might be made.

Huh. Well, I think gathering the forensic evidence would be tough, since it was mostly eaten and then got drenched in whiskey before I kicked it all back in the grave. I guess it's probably still there. As for the inebriation, I'm not arguing that. I just don't think I was that drunk. Overall, I think I'd rather take Caliburn's option one. Jury's still out on you all, but I'm gonna go with me not being crazy. So if I wasn't, then what'd I see?

Evidence should still be gathered before any declarations of identification are made. On the surface, it would seem to be some sort of undead.

It is possible that whatever it was could be encountered in that vicinity again.

As for PTSD. Having it does not make one 'crazy'. PTSD is not something to be ashamed of. But most importantly, it is treatable with an amazingly high ratio of success. We've come a long way since the post-Veitnam days. It takes time and it takes therapy. What it does not need is self-medication with alcohol.

You seem to be seeing a therapist. That's a good thing. Keep it up.

A little education on this particular subject may be of great help to a lot of people on this site. I think I may write an article about it later. In the meantime, check out this link.

Look, I appreciate the concern, but I know what's wrong with me and how to deal with it just fine myself. If you're interested in checking out where this happened, it was at Marshall Cemetery in DC. I don't remember the name on the grave that the thing had dug up, but if you go down the cemetery's main circle and then up towards the hills, it was by the little copse of trees.

You don't sound like someone who knows what is wrong with them nor as one who knows how best to deal with it. But if you do not want help in that regard, there is nothing to be done for you.

In any case, I'm not in the DC area and don't plan to be. It will have to be someone else who investigates the situation.

I went back yesterday to take a look, just to make sure that I saw what I thought I saw. This time, I found a place in the trees to watch the whole night and I definitely saw the same thing again. Actually, I saw more than one of the same thing. I didn't try to do anything to them, cause I sure as hell don't know how to kill them and I don't want to be mobbed by those things. Especially cause I think they'd eat me afterwards. But they were definitely there. Caliburn, if you go back, mind if I come? Don't worry, I know enough to keep the hell out of the way when I don't know what I'm doing, but I want to see what you do.

I can handle that.

2300, roger that.