He stumbled toward the edge of the cliff. The beer bottle chilled his hand. Leaning forward, he peered over the edge. Shoot, it was only a six-foot drop.

The night whirled around him. Jim swerved closer to the edge, collapsed onto his knees. As his vision blurred for the tenth time, he squinted at the beer bottle. Two beers. Hit him like a twelve pack. He struggled to his feet, shuffled in a half circle, and baby-stepped in the direction from which he had come, homing in on the flickering of the campfire.

"Buddy," he slurred, "wuz this stuff you're feeding me? Tastes like beer, feels like gasoline."

The man seated by the fire chuckled. He sat close enough that the fire warmed him, yet far enough that its light didn't reveal his features.

"Yah," Buddy said. "Beer."

Jim lifted the bottle to his lips and swigged more beer. Damn, the stuff burned going down. Looked like beer. Tasted like beer. Felt like 200-proof vodka. "You sure izz beer?"

Buddy chuckled again.

Jim shook his head. "You're a weird one, Buddy."

Jim turned toward the cliff. Beyond the edge, over the tops of the birch trees and evergreens below, the stars glimmered. The moon smiled at him. He waved at the silvery disk.

"Want some beer, Mister Moon?"

He scuffled closer to the edge. The moon looked so pretty. So peaceful. He wanted to share his celebration with the moon, his folks, Annabelle, everybody.

Over his shoulder, he said, "Wanna see the body again?"

"I've seen enough, Jim. An amazing find."

"You get a look at the head? Those eyes, man, they're … unreal."

"I saw them." Buddy's voice sounded right behind him. "I like you, Jim. Wish you had never found that thing. I'm sorry it has to end this way, very sorry."

Something pressed against his back. Jim lurched forward.

"Hey what you do — "

Buddy shoved him over the cliff.

He let go of the beer bottle. As his body hit the water, he knew he was dying. And he knew why.

For the truth.