The full moon hangs low over the city as you look through the windows to the east of the Young Research Library, UCLA, out over the Murphy Sculpture Garden. You’ve been working for a few hours and find yourself stifling a yawn. The building is almost deserted, only the chief researcher/librarian, an older gentleman with a Mr. Rogers-like familiarity named Ulbrecht. He still speaks with a bit of an eastern European accent, but it has faded with time. He walks around the library as often as he can, speaking to everyone and helping when needed. He is tall at six foot with salt and pepper hair and pale blue eyes. He keeps his office on the third floor on the north side of the building where the view out the window is the Santa Monica Mountains. The other staff member is a student librarian running the desk on the first floor.
Like all libraries, the building is climate controlled, but you suddenly feel a chill, the kind where they say someone walked over your grave. The lights flicker briefly as you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye. You look up but nothing is there and a strange odor tickles your nose, the sickly sweet smell of aged road kill or maybe three day old garbage left in the sun.
The smell begins to get worse and you move to cover your nose and look around, but the lights flicker again once and go out.
As you sit in the ambient light of the city coming through the windows, a large shadow passes through the light from the one behind you and you hear the swoosh swoosh of a shambling walk. A low grunting moan begins as the shadow emerges from behind a bookcase…….