Bodies don't just bury themselves...or maybe they do.

He trekked through the snow in November, the crunching sound the only noise in the silence of the forest. Shovel in hand and bundled in warmth, he stopped at the grave where he was going to bury the body.

It now lay full and buried with a pretty little marking stone.

He stared down at it with unfeeling eyes and searched his memory for anything that would tell him how it was buried without his knowledge.

Introspection is a hard pill to swallow sometimes.