I was cleaning up the chiropractor’s office Thursday night when something tried to kill me.

Sweat formed in my blue gloves as I scrubbed the windows. The smell of Windex and latex irritated me. I was ticked altogether. You could call me a utility specialist, but that’s just a fancy way of making me feel like a unique snowflake. In reality, I was a janitor.

I was trying to get my work done before nightfall. The fluorescent lighting didn’t give any indication as to what time it actually was outside. The ultra-tinted windows of the chiropractic office didn’t help either. The problem with my part-time job as a janitor was that the office couldn’t be cleaned until after it closed. Closing time was an hour and a half before sundown, with little spare time to clean the whole place. Which is explicitly when Nehemiah the wizard said to be indoors. Before dark. But I only had several large windows left to clean and then I’d be done.

I took about three paper towels, bunched them up and applied a healthy amount of Windex. Then I began a thorough scrubbing of the next window.

Across the street a small homeless man took refuge under the bus stop covering provided by the city of Vallejo. With one hand he sorted aluminum cans and plastic bottles into trash liners within his shopping cart. His other hand clutched a tarp that served as a waterproof windbreaker and blanket.

Like him, I was trying to sort things out.

There was a spot of dirt on the window that resisted all my attempts to remove it. Much like the cursed symbol on my chest. No matter what I did, no matter how much rash cream, lotion, or soap I applied, the mark on my chest, the scar would not go away.

I threw away the paper towels since they were starting to fall apart. The scratch bothered me because I couldn’t go to the doctor for it. They’d think I was into some crazy occult skin burning practice. The wizard had called it a Keening, a curse Banshees conjured. She marked me for death, particularly welcoming Fomorians to come get a piece of yours truly.

Windex ran down the container dripping onto the floor. I set the container down and wiped the spots on the floor and then unscrewed the top of the Windex bottle. Nothing seemed wrong under further inspection.

Since the big event last Thursday my supernatural senses had caught glimpses of things, and I did my best to get indoors before nightfall. The wizard’s warning sounded like the very next day I’d get murdered. And yet nothing happened. No weird creaking doors opening by themselves, no ghostly apparitions appearing to haunt me, no angry Banshee’s sisters ready to avenge the death of their kin. Nope, just me and my senses stressing me out.

I went to screw the lid back to the bottle but fumbled and dropped it on the floor. The contents splashed out into a huge puddle. I gritted my teeth. Perhaps the wizard didn’t know what he was talking about. He sure as heck couldn’t help me at all.

We defeated a Banshee together. You’d think we’d bond over our shared experience. Afterwards he mentioned something about training. He’d escorted my family and I home, saw us to the front door of my mom’s house, but when I turned to thank him, poof, the pickup truck drove away. No cell phone, no email, no way to contact him. Only a first name. He split as soon as the threat was over. Thanks, bro.

As I bent down to clean up the mess something fluttered past the large window in the reception area. I looked out to the front parking lot but saw nothing other than the homeless guy who flailed his arms and moved his mouth. Probably high on drugs.

That’s weird. I thought I saw something. Was my mind messing with me? It’s like when your friend buys a blue Ford Focus and then all you see all around town is blue cars and Ford Focus models. Maybe I was on edge because of the Keening marring my chest and I was starting to see things that weren’t there. Take a chill pill Sean.

I grabbed another wad of paper towels not even caring how much I used and wiped up the floor as best as I could.

You’d think Nehemiah would be an easy name to track down on Facebook. Especially locally. But there was nothing on the guy. It was like he didn’t exist on the interwebs. It didn’t help that he had wiped my family’s memory. It’s like none of it happened. The only thing that kept me sane, was the Keening itself, a constant reminder that the events of last Thursday were in fact real.

The irritating burn on my chest wouldn’t go away. I could live with it if it was more like a tattoo. But it wasn’t a tattoo. In fact every day I would scratch off a fresh layer of dead skin from the mark. All this itching and scratching left my chest raw and stinging and no amount of cream did anything.

The squeaking of the Windex on the floor almost covered up the screech. What was that? I stopped wiping and listened. It was quiet. I swear I heard a loud bird. But it was hard to tell above the squeaking of the paper towel on the floor. The office was on Tennessee Street, one of the main streets in Vallejo where I lived. Like Georgia Street, it ran the entire length of the city from East to West, except this street led to the old Mare Island shipyard. I was a few blocks away from the city’s waterfront where birds flew and congregated, particularly near the docks. Probably just a big bird. People hear weird things when they’re alone.

I finished cleaning. Now I needed to return the cleaning supplies back to the cabinet, arm the alarm system, then get in my Mustang and drive back to my apartment in the dark.

I could see almost nothing through the tinted black windows of the front office because it was now night outside. As my finger reached out to arm the alarm system, my Keening burned. A screech cut through the silence again. It was so loud this time I dropped the keys on the floor.

Frantic movement outside caught my attention. It was the homeless guy. His redeemable recycle collection lay discarded as he sprinted away from something, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. He dropped to the ground bringing his tarp over him.

No sooner had he hit the pavement then a feathered creature of shadow descended out of the sky. Had the man not dodged the winged creature, it would have collided with him.

Ah crap! He needed help. I scraped up the keys, ran through the doorway and called out to the man. “Are you alright?” I stopped on the curb, putting my hand against a small tree and looked skyward regarding the monster.

In shape and form it was a bird of prey. Midnight blue feathers adorned its body, and its wings were open wide like a seven foot bear trap. What was striking was not so much its mass but its butcher knife-sized talons outstretched and ready to rip my head off my shoulders. My senses were going off like crazy and my heart pounded harder than a dubstep beat.

I reached into myself and found the well of power, the Good Luck, waiting to be tapped. I drew on it and my hands began to glow. Celtic knots swirled in intricate patterns around my arms.

As the beast flew at me I raised my hands to blast it but hesitated, the spark of an idea giving me an epiphany. Instead of launching pure energy at the monster, I pushed the Celtic knots away from my hands. The lines extended out in front of me.

The monster swooped low for an attack and I was right in its path. At the last second I dodged to the side and flung my Luck at the creature.

The Luck spread rapidly over the bird until it was literally tied up in magic knots.

It crashed on the asphalt hard, letting out a heart-piercing screech that cut through the silence of the night.

The little man peeked out from under the tarp.

“Get up!” I yelled. “Let’s get out of here.” I grabbed him by the shoulders, and together we ran for my car.

In a split second I grabbed my car key amidst the array of keys on my keychain. I was running so fast to my car I had to skid to a halt on the asphalt, losing tread on my sneakers. I tried to jam my key into the keyhole but it slipped out of my hands!

The bird screeched again and I saw its wings expand, straining against my trap, the glowing knots stretching, until the Luck shattered. So much for calling it Luck magic.

I needed my cell phone flashlight but there wasn’t time because the monster approached for another strike. The sound of wings on the wind made me feel like a rat under the watchful eye of a hawk. I faced my attacker.

As it swooped down I rolled away and felt a gust of wind. A foul stench invaded my nose. The monster almost ran headlong into my car but pulled out of its dive and perched on a nearby building.

“Help me find the keys!” I yelled at the man as I reached under the car frantically seeking but my fingers just couldn’t find them, like crumbs of food that fell far underneath the fridge. The terrible screech sounded again and then a loud thud as my car shook. The sound of talons scraping on the metal of my car chilled me like a whisper on my neck.

While that happened, my fingers found my keys, closing around them in a tight grasp. I arose quickly, face-to-face with feathered monstrosity. Behind its beak something struck me as wrong. Humanoid eyes peered back at me behind the onyx beak and the sight made my mouth dry.

They say our gut reaction is either fight or flight. Fight! Cocking back my fist, I hooked the disgusting creature upside the head and it fell off the side of my car. I sure wish my Luck magic had kicked in and blown its head clean off.

I jammed my key into the lock, opened the door and got in. The little fellow jumped into the passenger seat. As I turned the ignition, I realized that in my haste I had forgotten to shut the door and the giant bird monster now hovered over my car and grasped my shoulder with its claws.