Owl Monster

High above me in the air the monster screeches. Its pitch is maddeningly high, piercing, slicing my brain in half. I snap around. The giant owl is flying towards me, all outstretched talons,  enormous sharp beak. The beak opens for another infernal scream as it starts its descent. The adrenaline launches me forward. Within a few seconds I find myself crouched behind a glass wall, narrowly avoiding collision with the sharp swooping talons. Through the blurriness of the glass walls the words “Public Library” float by. A bus stop. 

The monster circles above me. I run, asphalt under my feet, my eyes locked forward. Run, up the steps and through the library gate, down the hallway, past the checkout desk, the lockers, the bathrooms. I pause only when I hit the library’s main floor. There, I sag against the wall, next to the arched doorway, gasping, my breath hitting my lungs fast. Unevenly. The room in front of me is vast. Rows of tall bookshelves to my right, stretching into the distance. Sunlight hits a set of desks through great feature windows. Dust catches the light in heavy rays. The space is empty, abandoned, just as all public spaces are, these days.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I take a deep breath. Then the glass to my left shatters. I try covering my head. A few stray shards graze my arms, leaving idle scratches on my skin. I stumble backwards, tripping over my feet. I try to catch myself and my arm makes a crunching sound as it breaks. Dark spots encroach into my visual field, threatening to swallow my consciousness. I roll over onto my knees. Glance down at my arm. My right hand is sticking out at an angle, bend the wrong way. My shoulder twitches, once, twice, when I try to move it. A light breeze moves shiftily over the cold sweat on my skin. The monster is sprawled on the floor, where it crashed into a heavy mahagoni desk, now turned upside down. Its brown mottled feathers catch the sunlight from the great, broken, windows. I stumble to my feet, slowly turning my head to the left, then to the right.

I race to the bookshelves, ducking between two rows of shelves. I crouch down. Through the tiers of books the monster is stirring in the distance, then getting up. It stumbles randomly, scanning the room. Sniffs the air. Then it turns towards my hiding spot and starts to move in my direction. I sprint, through the narrow corridor between the bookshelves. Past another three rows of shelves. Four. Five. Six. Then I turn around. The owl is still coming. It’s moving slower than me. I run towards the back wall, almost crashing into it. I touch the dark mahagoni panels. Trace the smooth surface of the wall with my one functional hand. I kick the wall once, moaning silently. Then I press myself deeply into the wood, as I turn around, towards the encroaching giant bird. It takes up most of the narrow corridor, hitting the bookshelves left and right as it stumbles towards me, like a slowly moving earth quake. Behind its enormous feathered head the green exit sign glows, at the other end of the room. I squeeze my eyes shut for just a second.

Then I open them, facing the monster. I shakily pick up a large atlas, holding it, one-handed, like a shield, as I dash towards the monster. The giant owl swipes at me, slicing the atlas cleanly in half. For just a moment I get a closer look. The monster’s large brown eyes are bloodshot and cold as it tracks my movements. Its bloody, arm-sized beak opens and blazes me with the foul smell of rotten meat. Then its rough black tongue bulges towards my head and almost skims my cheek as I slide past, ducking under its lifted left wing. I keep racing towards the exit, not looking back.

I swerve, back through the arched gate. I run past the lockers, entering one of the single bathrooms, locking its heavy metal door clumsily with my left hand. I lean against the wall opposite a porcelain sink and toilet, sliding down to a seated position. Red and black spots dance in front of my eyes when my injured arm flops onto the floor. When the spots have calmed I pull the phone out of the left pocket of my leather armor and dial the one saved number. “Yes”, a male voice answers. “I need an extraction”, I wheeze. “Be right there”, he answers, voice steady and efficient. I take a long, deep breath out. “Okay”, I say, before I notice that he has already hung up.