Vulture
Night descended over the small European town, the blackest of nights. Norman could barely see three feet in front of him, though he knew the way by heart. He stumbled, often, not knowing where the juts in the cobblestone road were, and occasionally even tripping over his own talons. He kept it up, despite the fact that both his body and his conscience were trying to convince his brain to turn around. Only desire kept him going... and his stomach.
In front of him he carried a bodybag, not heavy but certainly awkward. He had tried holding it over his head, under one wing, behind him, and everything else he could think of, partly to pass the time and partly to make sure his limbs weren't numb. It was the middle of winter, and he was chilled to the bone.
Norman arrived at his destination, a small graveyard. He looked about in vain, then sighed and threw his bodybag onto the ground. The vulture unzipped it carefully, pulling out a lantern. He closed the shutters on three sides and lit it, squinting as the fire stung his completely dilated eyes. Norman set the lantern on the ground and zipped up his body bag, lifting it up with both wings. After about a minute of standing there he became vaguely aware that he couldn't carry a taper with one arm and a bodybag with two at once. He sighed and picked up the lamp with his beak, letting it hang just under his head. The light made a great deal of glare and stung his eyes, but at least he could see now.
Every grave looked the same. Even when he got close the vulture had to pat the ground with his talons and squint at the gravestone before he was sure it had been there a while. He had been to this graveyard the previous day, watching a burial from afar. He couldn't stand old bodies, and some had no meat on them at all, merely skeletons now. Eventually Norman found what he was looking for, freshly dug dirt. He read the inscription on the tombstone and nodded to himself. This was it. The date of death was too recent for any doubt.
Norman opened his bodybag again, pulling everything out and taking inventory. He certainly had his lantern, resting atop the tombstone. Canvas sheet, check. Wooden shovel, check. Crobar, check. Ropes, with hooks at the ends, check check. Norman had everything he needed. He felt along the ground, drawing an outline with his spade, and began to dig.
Digging is much harder work than most people think, and it's much harder when you don't have hands, fingers, or opposable thumbs to help you. Even so, Norman was reasonably fast and fairly good at digging, mostly through experience. In the dim light he piled on shovelfull after shovelfull of dirt onto the stretched out canvas, careful not to make a mess. Before too long Norman halted, having heard a dull thud. He pushed his spade into the dirt, but it would only go in so far. He had found the coffin.
Norman cleared all the dirt around the coffin and unearthed the handles, attaching hooks to them. He jumped out of the hole, quite easily thanks to his hollow bones, and pulled the ropes up. this was the most grueling task, but it was an essential step. He dug his claws into the dirt for traction and stability, and began to hoist the coffin out.
It had been three quarters of an hour since he started, and now he had reached the final step. He took his crobar and wedged it under the lid, prying it off. He was in luck! Just inside the coffin lay the body of a young woman, a wolf perhaps. Her body had not seen any of the stages of decay to come, and in fact she looked as if she were asleep in bed. Norman poked the body a few times with his beak, then removed her from her resting place and laid her in the bodybag. He lowered the casket back into the grave and shoveled the dirt back in. He put his tools in the bodybag along with the corpse and zipped it up, lifting it over his shoulder. The vulture took the lantern and blew it out, leaving no trace of his ever being there.
It was almost daylight when Norman got home. He pushed the cottage's front door open, dragging the bag inside. Birds, perhaps Norman's distant relatives, where chirping cheerfully outside, and the sky had the faintest tint of blue to it. Norman immediately started a fire, humming quietly to himself as the little fireplace lit up. The flickering lit up the little cottage, the fire and shadows it created dancing silently. The vulture put a pot of water over the fire to boil.
The avian's home was really only one room, with a bed along the side, a fireplace opposite the door and a small table with two chairs. He put the lamp on the table and lit it again, pulling out a chair. From the bodybag he extracted the wolf's corpse, propping it up in the chair and pushing it in so she wouldn't tilt or fall over. Norman continued to hum as he poured some boiling water into two mugs, putting one in front of the wolf and one on his side of the table. Finally, from a cabinet he pulled two tea bags, dropping them into the mugs. Norman took a seat, opposite the corpse.
"You're very pretty." Norman seemed a little surprised at how loud his voice sounded. "You must have been quite the looker in life, I can tell. I have an eagle eye, you know. Mother's side."
The corpse said nothing.
"I didn't read the name on the tombstone. I'm sorry about that. I'd address you properly if I knew how, believe me. Considering the circumstances, I don't suppose you'd mind if I dubbed you Jennifer? It's a pretty name; I've always liked it. Do you mind?
Jennifer said nothing.
Norman took a sip of tea. "I don't suppose you could keep a secret?"
Jennifer said nothing.
"I've always wished I was born a woman, like you. I know, in today's society men have the power, but there's always been something I've craved about the opposite gender. I wouldn't mind trying to lay an egg, for example. Though, I guess if I had been born a woman I'd spend my whole life wishing I was a man. Jennifer, by the way, is the name I'd like to have if I was female. Norman, by the way. Nice to meet you."
Jennifer said nothing.
Norman laughed. "I suppose you're thinking this is a rather insane set-up. Well, I suppose it is. I've always kind of wished that I was insane. I don't want it, but I do. I don't know, it's kind of hard to explain. I suppose you think I'm insane, talking to corpses. No doubt you're wondering how many other men and women I've exhumed and taken home. Well, the short answer is many, but... I don't always name them Jennifer. In fact, you're the first in that respect. Kind of a nice feeling, isn't it?"
Jennifer said nothing.
"When I was a child (a chick, if you will), I realized something. People are motivated solely for selfish reasons. If you give money to a homeless man, you do it because you feel gratified for doing so, correct? Every effect has a cause. Remember that. Look." Norman raised his left wing. "Why the hell did I just lift my wing? Well, two reasons. One, I had no reason to. That, in itself, is a fair reason for doing something. Two, I'm proving a point."
Jennifer said nothing.
"In this you must realize that the secret to happiness is not helping others, but rather, feeling that you helped others. The true secret to inner joy is self-deception, and while that may sound rather cynical I strongly believe it to be true. What say you?"
Jennifer said nothing.
Norman nodded. "Yes, that's what I thought. This brings me to why we're having this chat. If I can convince myself (and I can) that you are a real living being, then I don't get lonely. You corpses are the only people I've spoken to in years and years, and yet the only times I really feel alone is when you bodies aren't around."
Jennifer said nothing.
"You haven't touched your tea. Not thirsty? It's a pity, it'll go to waste if you don't drink it. I've finished my tea, so if you're content I wouldn't mind having yours. Any objection?"
Jennifer said nothing.
"Very well." Norman reached out, pulling the mug to his side of the table. The firelight had died down along with the fire, but the sun had risen, and now sunlight was streaming in through the blinds. The tea had a pleasant aroma that had now permeated the air, giving the cottage a quaint, cozy, homely smell to it. Along with the faint flickering of the candle between them, growing ever fainter as daylight emerged, the cottage seemed even more homely. If not for the dead body propped up at the table, the house was the very picture of comfort and coziness.
"I suppose you're wondering where the other bodies are, correct?" Norman threw the question out innocently.
Jennifer said nothing.
"I was hoping we could talk more, but I grow hungrier by the hour. In short, I eat you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I'm really equally sorry I told you so soon. I had a lot to talk about. It's a pity, really. Would you mind, then, if I, ah... devoured your innards?"
Jennifer said nothing.
"Very well. I apologize in advance for desecrating your body and humbly pray that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Come." Norman stood up, pulling Jennifer from her chair and laying he flat on the table face up. His hooked beak tore into her naked stomach, pulling out out skin and muscle and fur. She didn't bleed, as her blood was no longer pumping, but the blood that was already there leaked onto the tabletop as he ripped her belly open. Before long Norman found her liver, pulling it out and swallowing it. Soon her lungs, heart, and intestines followed.
Norman wiped his beak with a napkin he had laid out beforehand, sighing to himself. He had had his fill, but he wished he could have waited a bit. But... Really, what was any different? Norman put her back in her chair, taking care that none of her torn organs came out, and pushed her in again. He sat opposite her, and began to talk about his childhood.