A pet cemetery – The Suburban Times

Submitted by Greg Alderete.

The curious who dare to seek it must first endure the climb—Engineer Bluff, its presence looming over Fort Lewis like a silent sentinel. The ascent alone is enough to unsettle the mind, a steep and unrelenting road veiled in mist, the ever-present scent of pine thick in the air. But it is what lies beyond the road, buried beneath the shadow of towering evergreens, that will stain itself upon your soul.

Here, in the heart of the forest where even the wind seems to whisper in hushed tones, lies a place of forgotten sorrow. The pet cemetery. Ancient, decaying, nearly swallowed by time itself. Moss blankets the carved stones, inscriptions barely visible beneath years of rain and neglect. They stand like solemn sentries, eerily human in their craftsmanship, as if the creatures beneath them once bore spirits too great for this world.

Step carefully, for the ground here does not rest easy. Among the graves, half-buried in the damp earth, lie relics of devotion—a cracked ceramic dog bowl, a rotting plastic bone protruding from the moss like some ghastly, grasping hand. They are remnants of love, yes… but love that has long since curdled into something else. Something that lingers.

There are those who say that at night, when the fog thickens and the trees sway though no wind dares to blow, you can hear them. The soft, scratching sounds. The whimper of something not quite living, yet not entirely gone. Some claim to have seen the earth shift, as if the graves breathe in uneasy slumber, waiting.

So, go if you must. Seek out this place if your curiosity outweighs your caution. But understand this—you will not leave unchanged. There are places in this world where love and grief intertwine too tightly, where memories refuse to die. And sometimes… neither do the ones left behind.