My dad was a good man, and took a lot of pride in teaching me his 'life lessons' from a young age. "Listen here, Carl", he spoke assuredly. "There are no winners in war, only the losers and the dead". I never quite understood what he meant by that, as he had always had some kind of fascination with sharing inspiring war quotes with me. For obvious reasons, this one stuck out, as I had only been 13 at the time. I'd seen my fair share of violence and learned plenty about all the wars over the years, but I always felt like It had been too soon. At least then, I still had my innocence.

Over following years, he would regale me with tales of his father, and his father's father and so on. Going into disturbingly great detail as to how they lived their lives, what historic periods and events they may or may not have been a part of. One such tale stood out to me though.

The story of my great grandfather during World War 2, and how he had fought the Germans to retake Berlin from Nazi control. He went on to explain how he fared in each battle he had fought, however towards the end of his retelling, he started to visibly shake. I almost didn't notice it at first.

"Son...", my dad went on. "What I'm about to tell you next, I have every bit of confidence you will not believe me, but I assure you it is 100% true".

This took me aback. The start of his story had been very normal, generic wartime stuff. Running into battle, firing off round after round and ducking into cover wherever necessary. I'd never seen my dad get so shaken by his retelling of what he explained to me next.

"My father told me this, as I am now about to tell you", my dad muttered. "Swear to me you will not tell another living soul of this story". I nodded and agreed, haphazardly. I wasn't sure what to expect.

I won't bore you with all the details, but in summary, he'd essentially explained to me how my great grandfather had entered a derelict, abandoned home in Berlin, as the allied forces were retaking it. This part I'd been told a dozen times. He went on to say my great grandad had found a secret compartment beneath the home, that led to a den containing... zombies.

I'm writing this here because as my father had predicted, I did not believe him. I mean really, zombies? I knew all about them but finding them in some random den in the middle of a war-torn city was an absurd concept. Sure enough, I nodded and smiled as though I could empathize with what he told me, and left it at that.

I won't bore you with too much more of my family drama. I only felt it necessary adding this to the record so you could see where I was coming from. I had no idea whether my father had become senile in his old age, or if he was telling a real story. I guess I know now.

Several years later, now in my adulthood, my father had passed away from a brain tumor. It was a complete shock to me and everyone else. He had never told anyone he had it, or if he experienced any symptoms. One day he was here and the next just, gone. I went to the reading of his will with a few other family members and met my father's lawyer.

The man looked to be extremely sickly. He wore a suit and tie, and spoke in a cordial manner like any other lawyer would, but he was completely pale-faced and looked like he'd keel over next. I sat down before him and prepared myself for the reading. My father wasn't a very rich or materialistic man, so I didn't expect much of anything.

"Mr [REDACTED] has asked that I read out his will on his behalf, in light of his passing", the lawyer spoke firmly. "All assets and funds are to be divvied up amongst all the family, with Carl being the exception". I tilted my head slightly, not really upset or angry, just perplexed that he'd leave me out of the will on purpose.

"Carl will instead receive an especially marked box containing the possessions carried on by the men of the family, in line with their tradition in passing it down generation through generation". I could tell the lawyer was uncomfortable reading this part of the will, and didn't blame him. My father and his fathers were all ingratiated with some inherent misogyny. An interpretation I made based on the way they all grew up.

After all the paperwork had been completed and family started to disperse, the lawyer pulled me aside and handed me a key, looking as nervously as he did when I entered the room. "This key unlocks a safety deposit box at the [REDACTED] bank on the corner of 5th and gold", he stuttered. "That's where you'll find the lockbox. But between you and me, don't open it".

This took me by surprise. Was the lawyer connected to this in some way? I don't recall my dad ever having shared stories with any of his co-workers or friends. Why this guy?

"Your father told me a story about this box I found hard to believe", the lawyer went on. "So outside working hours, I took it upon myself to see the contents. I wish I hadn't". The lawyer, in a complete 180-degree twist, snapped back to his normal demeanor, thanked me for coming and left in a haste.

As I exited the building and made my way to the bank, the fears in the back of my mind were mounting. I couldn't make heads or tails of why my father, this lawyer or any of my grandfathers were so terrified of what they saw or heard about. I'll admit it shook me to my core, and I wanted to just forget about all of it. Toss the key into the ocean or something. But that feeling... that nagging feeling kept me going. Kept me inquisitive.

Sparing all the details, I got hold of the box and brought it home with me. Opening it I was startled to find what appeared to be a very roughly covered, war-torn diary containing only a few pages. And a fully loaded revolver. What caught me by surprise so much was the distinct appearance of dried blood on the cover of the diary.

Pushing all my fears aside I opened the diary, interested in finding out what was so terrifying about all of it. Needless to say that now, I really wish I hadn't.

DAY 3 - 2:23PM

The boys and I just came back from [REDACTED]. Holy hell it is a goddamn warzone over there. Heard from Colonel Riolls that the krauts are pushing back into the Ardennes Forest. Don't know how well that'll work for them. Hoo fuckin' rah

DAY 19 - 5:45AM

Shit, shit the krauts are attacking. They're fuckin' everywhere. I'm gonna get my ass chewed out by the cap if he catches me writing in this journal, but fuck it all. I need to leave a record for my wife if I go down. I can't let her think I died a coward.

DAY 139

Been a while since I've written in this shit. Lost 2 good men a few days ago, felt like getting it off my chest. We're pushing into Berlin now. I swear on my granpappy I'll cut the head off that nazi snake. I love you, Mary-Anne.

DAY 141

We did it, we won the battle for Berlin. Halle-fuckin'-lujah! It wouldn't have been possible without my sarge. That crazy bastard threw a live grenade that fell on top of me clean into the air. Im damn surprised he didn't get his arms blown off.

DAY 156

Something weird happened today. We were clearing out buildings here in Berlin lookin for some krauts that may be in hiding. Found one building with a neat little trapdoor in the corner. Thought for sure I was gonna get a medal for smoking out whoever was hiding in there. I saw something else though, not a kraut... a goddamn man, ordinary civilian, with half his jaw missing, stumbling towards me. Damn near pissed myself before running out of that damn place.

DAY 158

Got a hold of Sarge and told him to help me clear that weird ass building I found. I don't know how exactly to word this, but we went in there and ...nothing. Damn shambler was fuckin' missing all of a sudden. Who the hell knows where he ended up. Almost got roasted over a fire for wasting his time. Still though, I know what I saw.

DAY 159

Sarge and rest of the company is telling us to clear out, get ready to pack up and move back home to the states. The thought of seeing my Mary-Anne again has got me in a real good mood, but I still can't shake the feeling of there being something else in that fuckin' basement. I'm not a believer in them ghosts and whatnot, but there's gotta be an explanation for this. I'm gonna go back in tonight and see what I find.

DAY 160 - 1:37AM

Jesus fucking christ above what the hell was that. I need to calm myself down. I need to make this a clear record. I went back in just a few minutes ago and saw not 1 but 5 of those goddamn mutilated monsters down there. I'd run to get sarge but I ain't gonna let them disappear on me again. I'm going back in with my revolver. If I don't make it, if someone finds this, tell Mary-Anne how much I love her.

DAY 160 - 2:30 - 3:30AM ???

fuCk... one of those godamn monsters bit me i Think. gotta make it home... can't die like this.

------------

The diary ended there. What remained were torn up pages in the front and loose pages in the back, hanging on by a thread. What a strange story my great granddad wrote up. Then again, my dad, his dad and so on have affirmed that he never returned from the war. He'd been declared missing by his senior officers and pronounced dead a few months later by the family.

Strange and coincidental as it may seem, maybe he had just gotten hurt somehow and died in a place no one could find him. It's certainly a lot more believable than a zombie outbreak. But then again, the whole concept of a Zombie was never really brought up until George Romero's 'Night of the Living Dead' back in 1968. So why would my father lie? Why would my great grandfather lie? It's simply too much to come to grips with. I... I think I have to see it for myself.

A couple months later I took vacation off work and travelled to Germany. Told my family I was going for vacation, so they didn't think anything of it. My first few days were nothing too eventful. Checking into my hotel, relaxing at the pool. Then the diary started to nag at me again, I just had to know for sure.

I began the very, very long and arduous process of looking for buildings that were renovated or built upon the foundations of older derelict buildings back from World War 2. This may sound impossible, but my grandfather left a lot of context clues in his diary about locations, sights. I won't lie, despite what information I had to go on, it was incredibly difficult. But eventually I had found it. Perhaps at the time I felt lucky. Maybe even curious. Now I really can't stress enough, this was the worst mistake of my life, and I fear even all of humanty.

It was at the sight of the [REDACTED] building in the central square of [REDACTED] that I found my mark. Naturally it had looked nothing like the buiding my granddad had described in his diary, but this was to be expected. I walked inside and looked around. At the time it had only been occupied by a few people. I hadn't seen staff or anyone else nearby me, so I did a bit of snooping.

Eventually I had come to the sight of a service hatch, in the middle of a storage room. I wasn't sure if this would lead anywhere. At the time I had thought it was a dead end that'd lead into sewers or something. Instead to my chagrin, upon entering the hatch, I found what looked like an old basement. It didn't seem to fit the description of the basement my granddad found, but I pressed onwards anyway. Looking for any connections I could find.

I didn't find anything visually, at first, but as I stepped back towards the ladder in defeat, I heard it. Moans coming from the walls in the back corner. I turned my head back, both bewildered and unquestionably terrified of what I was hearing. I wanted to believe in my mind I had just heard pipes groaning or floorboards creaking.

"Hello?" I cried out. No response. In what is to be the worst decision I've ever made, I foolishly decided to investigate the noise I had heard. I made my way to the back corner and pressed my ear against the wall, to listen for the sounds again. All I could hear at first were small scratching noises. Then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I was jolted back by a loud thump on the wall.

I fell back onto my ass and stared back up towards the wall, now thumping loudly as if someone was trying to break out of it. Trying to catch my breath, I picked myself up and tried to make my way back to the exit. I say tried because after I took my first step, I froze. I couldn't move my body. I don't know if it was the abundance of adrenaline or if I was paralyzed in fear. I suppose it doesn't matter now.

The loud thumping continued until I heard cracking against the walls, and suddenly a loud crash as pieces of the wall, foundation and debris were scattered all over the room. Still standing, paralyzed, I stared in absolute horror through the opening of the wall. What I saw made me realize, in that moment, my father wasn't crazy.

Exactly as my great grandfather had described, there stood a roughly 6-foot tall humanoid with extremely emaciated, discolored skin, and giving off a foul odor that I'm honestly surprised didn't knock me out on the spot.

"H-H-Hello?". The creature, which I doubt had the ability to see, immediately started whipping it's head around back and forth, scanning for the noise it had just heard. Now slightly regaining some of my movement, I slowly etched myself backwards towards the ladder exit. A few more steps and I was once again frozen in fear.

To my complete shock, I witnessed as another figure, cloaked in the shadows of the dimly lit room, shambled it's way forwards towards me, scanning around for noise as the other one had. Only to my dismay, this creature bore a striking resemblance to my great grandfather. He looked almost exactly the same as he had in his pictures, with the exception being that the entire lower half of his jaw was missing.

Using every fiber of my body trying not to cry out or scream, I continued etching my way backwards. I felt the rough gravely texture of the floor bumping along the soles of my feet as I pushed on, and as suddenly as I had started moving again, I had tripped on the floor, falling backwards onto my ass again.

The 2 corpses heard it, and shambled their way towards me. Without hesitation I jumped back up and ran for the ladder, not caring to look behind me. As I started climbing up, the shamblers had picked up their pace as well. My great grandfather had grabbed my leg as I climbed, and taken a sizeable chunk out of it. Screaming from the horror and now the wincing pain in my leg, I kicked him off of me, threw myself back up the open hatch, and closed it shut.

I now write this, laying on the ground of the storage room with my body pressed against the manhole cover. I am in complete agony, but more than that, I feel that something isn't right. Something inside of me is changing, and I don't know what I should do. I still have my great granddad's revolver with me, but I'm too chickenshit to use it on myself. Would there even be a cure?

If anyone is reading this, I'm probably dead. I don't know if I'll turn like them or kill myself yet. I'm not exactly in a secured room, so godforbid I do turn, I may end up breaking out of here and biting someone else. I still can't believe this is happening. I'm so sorry dad. I should've believed you...