Excerpt:

As the impact dies, there's another sound. A distant rustling which you can't quite place. Tilting your head in a quizzical manner, you walk towards its source. It seems to be coming from somewhere more of less directly opposite the main entrance, alongside the stairs. It's almost as if it, whatever it is, is moving within the building's walls. You try not to think too hard about the implications ... the elevator grille; that's it. And then there's a hand on your shoulder - you turn, and are confronted with the porcelain features of the bartender.

"It might be best if you move." she says, raising her voice to be heard over the growing sound. You open your mouth to question, but she simply shakes her head, pulling you to one side.

The mesh covering the elevator opening is not fine enough to restrain the many-winged beast. Flashes of white and mottled grey; a soaring majesty, and the impression of wings, as the the beasts tumble - confused and frantic - into the main hall. A confusing, seething cloud of movement and purpose and eyes glinting in the shadows. As if in slow motion, you watch - distantly - as both you and the girl dive for cover behind the reception counter.

After a couple of seconds, you peek up from behind your improvised palisade. There's one bird left, flapping mournfully in a corner of the ceiling. After a couple of seconds, it gives up, dropping down to one of the light fixtures where it sits, regarding you with a cocked head and earnest expression.

You turn to the girl, your forehead creased with incredulity. She continues to sit, leaning against the counter.

"What can I say?" she asks, looking at her shoes; "We've got a bit of an owl thing going on."

"A bit of an owl thing?" you repeat the words back at her, uncomprehending. "What does that even mean?"

"Occupational hazard. With the lift out of action, I think they've appropriated it as a nesting site." she offers, moving some papers. "It's warm, and probably looks a bit like a chimney. They like chimneys."