She ran onto the escalator, looking down behind her. It stopped at the bottom of the stairs, watching her. Its short body, awkward arms and legs. It watched her as she rode upwards, to the street, to freedom.
It sniffed the air, closing its clear white eyes. She was convinced they could smell her blood. They had escalated into a frenzy when she had cut her leg running up the tracks.
Nearly there. She turned and ran up the last steps of the escalator.
“Sorry,” said the ticket attendant from above. “They need feeding.”
Doodle and tale by Peter Edwards with his Posca Pens.