Unknown Location “Feeding Time”

“I've been feeding them every morning, and so far I haven't been caught. Part of me knows that it is likely a bad idea, that if the neighbors find out that they would likely call the police and have a big fine planted on me. Even worse, it will mean the discovery of these little creatures, and I don't want to think about what would happen then.

But it is starting to get cold, and I can tell by the state of them that they aren't ready for winter. So I leave out what I can and quietly watch in the mid morning as the things go to work on my offering.

The birds are hard to catch, so I have had to go about drugging the birdseed I leave out for them. I don't put enough to knock out all of them, just enough so the bigger ones that reach the feeder first get their fill. I get my offering for the things I feed, and the smaller birds no longer have to wait in line to eat.

Obviously I can't feed them every day. They need to be able to keep their wits about them and I certainly would kill the entire bird population if I didn't show some restraint. But they seem to prefer live prey, though I have been able to add an extra day of feeding by adding a few eggs, warmed to room temperature. There is a local farmer who gives me what his hens provide, and I like to think that proves a benefit to both of us.

The things I feed develop a taste for eggs and more difficult prey, and the farmer need only worry about foxes and the like going after his hens.

These things I feed, they have made it a habit of gathering up all the feathers from the birds, and that alone makes cleaning up after them a lot easier. At first I assumed that they were grabbing them as a sort of snack, but the last few times I have found strange arrangements of feathers sitting by my front door. I've heard such behavior occurring with crows, but I wasn't expecting these sort of “gifts” from them.

I have tried to keep the feedings onto days when I don't have to be anywhere, just so I have a chance to watch them eat. It has become one of my simple pleasures, waking up and putting out the offering a little before daybreak.

I put the coffee on, and by the time it is done they have arrived, taking turns as they tear off pieces to munch on.

I sometimes wonder if maybe they smell me making coffee, and that it is that which attracts them. A few times I have put the food out a little early, and though sometimes they will not wait, a few times recently I swear they have waited for me to be ready before they decide to eat.

They get excited when the sedative wears off just as they start.

The smallest of them, the runt of the litter, has started to put on good weight, and they don't seem to fight much among themselves. They are content enough to share their food, perhaps even letting the little one take a little more than the rest.

There is a goodness within them, or at least a level of cooperation that I wasn't expecting. I was once told that the clearest sign of civilization was a young, healed broken bone on an old corpse. In the wilds if something gets too badly injured, there is a propensity in most creatures to let it be and let the predators have their fill.

But if you find a body with a healed, old wound that would have certainly been debilitating, it is hard not to reason that the reason it was able to survive and recover was because its fellows took care of it long enough for it to do so. That sort of communal compassion is something seen in animals, but is something humans pride themselves in.

These things clearly aren't human, and I struggle to recognize what exactly they could be. They seem to have traits of several different creatures, as well as formations that don't seem to belong to anything I have seen before. They have black, scaly skin, with eyes the color of buttermilk. I am pretty sure they are blind, even though they seem to prefer night to day. If I wait too long to put stuff out they won't come at all, so they must be most active at night.

I have considered changing the feeding time to later at night, but I like to think they see my offerings like a sort of treat. They have had a hard few days, foraging for food, and the woman with the dead birds and eggs will reward them for their patience.

I am sure some people may think it very peculiar. It is true that the things are so alien from the birds I feed, but they are part of this place as much as anything else. It would be wrong of me to only be willing to take care of the things that seem normal to me.

Besides, there is plenty to go round.

The other day I found the arrangement of feathers sitting on my pillow.

I have been feeling strange the last few days, and there is a odd odor that seems to permeate my home. At first I thought that maybe it was coming from the feathers I have started keeping in my room, but they smell isn't them.

I thought I found where the smell was coming from when I found the remnants of a bird, its body clogging up the garbage disposal. It had been there for a little bit, and I wasn't sure how it had gotten there.

I examined it. I couldn't help myself. When I took a closer look, I could see teethmarks in the flesh, and bones cracked and gnawed upon. At first I thought that it was likely leftovers from one of the meals I had accidentally put down the garbage disposal, but upon closer inspection I realized something about it was all wrong.

Those sweet little things take their food with them, and the teeth marks match my own.

I've been feeling very strange lately, and I have started to cut off a piece of the offering for myself.

They don't seem to mind.

These wonderful little things...”

I've been so tired this week. I've lost track of the day, and nearly forgot to write to you at all. I am not proud of that, but it is the truth. IF I close my eyes, the words come easily again, but when I open my eyes and I look at my hands I feel the sickness rising up again.

So long as I keep my eyes closed I can't look at my hands.

I can't feel so disconnected.

You can't feel disconnected with your eyes closed.

I am so tired.

I am struggling to feel anything at all.

These fingers don't feel like they are my fingers at all.

These fingers betray me all the time.