My Monday was full. had a schedule sketched out on my legal pad intended to guide me from dawn till dusk. My start time was 6:30 a.m. and there was something that needed doing until the day was done. Appointments, meetings, essential errands filled the page. There was little room for error.

But that was all before the screech.

On work days my car is parked in a parking garage one floor above ground level. The space was originally designed for valet parking for a fancy restaurant long since shuttered. The narrow cement stairs leading up to the parking level were built specifically for youthful car jockeys sprinting their way back and forth to the cars.

The car jockeys are long gone. The last guy took his tips and locked up decades ago. What remains unchanged from their stint is the dimly lit, narrow winding staircase that leads to the locked access door at the top of the stairs leading to the garage.

This set-up was never meant for public use. The stairs are too narrow to pass a person on. Carrying groceries down these stairs or packages up is an Olympic event in its own class. The stairs are pitched so you are operating in the blind.

At the top of the stairs is a locked door. Here the ceiling height takes a dip. This means when you unlock the door you are standing on a tiny landing surrounded by brick walls on three sides with a ceiling above measuring under seven feet in height. The area is not for the claustrophobic. It is a space only horror author Stephen King could fancy, flickering florescent light and all.

Experienced users of this space know to have their keys out before setting foot on the landing. There are two reasons for the need for readiness to get that door open.

The first reason is that it's just plain creepy and scary up in this little area. Having one's keys out prepares you for the tug of war to break the air lock vacuum keeping the big solid metal door positioned closed.

The second reason is timing. If one's timing is poor and you are trying to open the hard-to-opendoor at the same time it is flung open by someone trying to exit, well, you're in trouble. It was on this little landing that the expression "flatter than a pancake" was first coined.

I bounded up the stairs Monday morning, keys in one hand, schedule in the other. I wrestled the door. As I pulled it open, the screech let loose. I looked to my right and there it was a foot from my nose.....a bat.

Now there was no room for the two of us up in Stephen King's den. There was room for attack and screech and blood letting, but not room for the two of us.

And I ran, like there was no tomorrow, bounding down those stairs, never looking back.

What to do? My busy day awaited.

My quirky parking spot is part of a bigger garage complex overseen by a parking attendant named Kojo. I relayed my story to Kojo who quickly decided bat control was not in his job description.

Kojo then explained to me that the overhead garage door separating me from my car could not be opened from the outside by a real live person like him or me. It had to be "triggered" by an actual auto. But, Kojo explained, together we could fool the weight and motion sensors into thinking that Kojo, me and two orange parking cones were actually a car.

So while the bat slept away the morning guarding the pedestrian door, Kojo, yours truly and the parking cones attempted to impersonate my Toyota Corolla. We inched our way up and down the parking ramp. We assumed many formations. Finally our deviousness fooled the sensors. I think it mistook us for a Ford Pinto. Anyway, the door rolled back open, and I sprinted my way to my car.

I've not ventured back up those stairs yet. I can still hear that screech, vision those outstretched vein lined wings.

Memo to Stephen King: I have this novel idea I'd like to discuss...