Hungry

Comic horror story about escalators with teeth.

The girl hovered, uncertain. Her foot dangled over the moving metal, the steady hum, hum, clunk grinding in her mind, the gears of a clock that’s hungry.

‘Come on, Elsie.’

Her mum called up at her from the lower floor, arms laden with shopping bags. Her older sister, Maeve, stood beside her mother, arms folded, rolling her eyes.

‘Stop dawdling, girl. Get down here.’

Elsie gingerly lowered her trainer onto the escalator. Down far beneath her feet, she heard a rumbling, the gurgle of an unseen stomach. The metal teeth drew up to her, peeling back into a sharp, jagged toothed grin.

Elsie felt hot, unpleasant wetness in her underwear. In terror and shame, she pulled her foot away and ran.

For years, Elsie avoided escalators.

It was pretty easy. They didn’t live in a big city, the shopping centre had lifts and stairs, and there weren’t really many other places with them. The only scare was that one time they all went on holiday to Spain and their mother insisted they use the travelator because it was faster, and while it wasn’t quite the same Elsie still thought she could hear the noise, the grind, grind, grind of teeth and the rumble of a stomach waiting to fill itself with flesh. She ran as quick as she could, and her mother scolded her for scratching the wheels of her luggage.

Still, it wasn’t much of a big deal. Until she turned 18.

She wanted to get as far away from her family as possible. It wasn’t that she didn’t love them, but her mother’s relentless nagging was getting on her nerves. Her father was easier, quieter, but even he looked at her askance sometimes, like she was one of his particularly puzzling cryptic crosswords. And as for Maeve…

Elsie never understood why her sister was so loud. She held screaming matches with their mother on the regular, slamming doors like an angry teenager even though she was 21, and blasted My Chemical Romance at top volume. Honestly, all Elsie needed was a bit of peace and space to get herself together and find out, well, who she was, really.

She applied to every university that her mother couldn’t feasibly convince her to commute into to save money, and was delighted when University College London said yes. While living the capital would be expensive, the course was well regarded, there were lots of job opportunities, and, best of all, her family lived too far away to make unexpected visits.

It seemed absolutely perfect.

It was the worst decision she’d ever make.

#

Elsie hovered at the top of the tube escalator, bathed in the yellowish light. The air tasted of stale sweat, ingrained grime and the iron tang of a Coke can, and she could feel the rising wrath of the crowd bunching up behind her.

She backed away, accidentally knocking into a mum with a buggy, who gazed back in exhausted annoyance. Apologising, Elsie tried once again to squeeze against the flow of the crowd, manoeuvring herself towards the ticket barriers.

‘Excuse me,’ a suited man snapped at her with bloodied aggression, shouldering his way past her with needless force.

Elsie flinched, then stopped. This was so stupid. She was eighteen for God’s sake, not eight. She couldn’t let this fear rule her life forever.

Jaw clenched, Elsie spun on her trainer heel and marched up to the edge of the escalator. She could hear the steady, continuous breath of the beast, glaringly hot and stuffy with sticky tube sweat, the stained white walls curving over her in a cylinder of grimy bone.

Without even hesitating to take a breath, Elsie rested her hand on the black rubbery handrail. She stepped onto the first stair.

Nothing.

No menacing rumble. No clack, clack, clack of metal teeth. Only the low mechanic hum as she descended, with people stood in front and behind her, the adverts for theatre shows and overpriced health supplements sailing past.

Elsie couldn’t help it; she laughed aloud. The man in front turned his head just a little, then seemed to think better of confronting crazy. That was the beauty of London. People went miles out of their way to pretend you didn’t exist.

Elsie stepped off the escalator and followed the headphoned herd towards the platform, feeling oddly free.

#

The London night air was bright and loud. Motorbikes revved past, delivery drivers zipping in all directions, and people, people everywhere. The barrage of noise, intermingled with a sickly sweet smell of bins and cooking grease, clobbered Elsie over the head.

Behind her, came the clacking of heels. Kayla, five foot and doll-like, all waifish limbs and porcelain, emerged from the pub. She was such a little thing, with the narrow bone structure and haircut of a blonde poodle, but she’d packed more pints than Elise and stood ramrod straight in her narrow silver heels.

Muggy stuffiness swirled in Elsie’s temples. Lights swelled in front of her, red and white and yellow, shops signs and street lights, and—

‘You good, babe?’

Kayla put her arm around her. Elsie smiled.

‘Yeah. All good.’

A roar of warmth and voices as the pub door opened and the rest of their group spilled onto the pavement. ‘Euphoria, Euphoria!’ one of them chanted.

Elsie didn’t want to go to clubbing. She wanted to eat chips and sink into her blissful student bed. It felt uncool to say so, though.

But then Kayla said, ‘I’m going back,’ and she smiled at Elsie again, and Elsie knew she was being kind, curtailing her own fun to look after her.

They linked arms. Elsie had never had the sort of female friends who linked arms with you, and made sure you got home safe. She felt pathetic and grateful, and rather woozy.

Kayla turned her long lashes towards her.

‘I think Ryan likes you,’ she said.

Elsie wobbled a little, despite only being in boots. Ryan was one of the guys on her course, tall and lean with Timothy Charamet curls. He’d been there earlier that night and spoken to Elsie as much as he’d spoken to anyone. He had kept looking her way though… but she could easily have been mistaken.

‘Are you gonna ask him out?’ Kayla said.

Elsie snorted.

They reached the tube. Elsie unlinked her arm and fumbled in her handbag for her phone, which had to be somewhere. Her fingers brushed the metal, jagged edge of her keys.

Kayla was behind her now, very close. A bit too close, Elsie thought.

She glanced back. Her coursemate was smiling, all her teeth behind small, painted lips, and there was something a little bit intense about her expression, a little fevered. Maybe she was more worse for wear than Elsie had imagined.

Elsie’s fingers glided over the keys and at last found the cracked glass of her ancient smartphone, and she tapped through the barrier, Kayla behind her. The station ought to busy at this time of time, but it was weirdly dead, a strange blank spot.

‘Come on,’ said Kayla, holding out her arm. Elsie hesitated a moment, then took it.

They reached the top of the escalator stairs. In her slightly drunken state, the lines stretched far away, like elastic. The lights above them flickered.

In a striking surge of sobriety, Elsie felt the escalator shift. Its churn was no longer mechanical, but organic, a great pit waiting to eat her. Acid burned in her throat. She wanted to run—

‘It’s alright,’ said Kayla, as though sensing her thoughts.

Her voice broke the spell. Elsie stepped onto the first stair, Kayla right next to her. She held on tightly, perhaps a little too tightly. Elsie tried to ease herself away a little, giving herself more room.

Kayla grabbed Elsie’s wrist. Her fingers were tiny, spindly things, but her grip was shockingly strong, her pink painted nails talonesque.

‘Hey!’

Elsie pulled her arm away, but the other girl dug in her pointed nails.

‘Stay away,’ Kayla hissed.

Elsie tried to speak, words sticking in her throat like fishbones. At last she croaked, ‘I’m sorry?’

Kayla’s green eyes glinted in the underground’s fluorescent lights. ‘I saw the way you looked at Ryan. Throwing yourself at him. Trying to steal him from me.’

‘What? I don’t—’

Kayla twisted Elsie’s wrist. ‘You’ll never do that again.’

Elsie knew she should say sorry, that she should agree to anything just to get this girl away from her. But the booze had hit her hard, and she was angry as well as frightened, so instead she said:

‘Get away from me, you psycho.’

Kayla dug in her pointed nails and Elsie shrieked.

‘I’ll make you pay, you fat evil bitch. You’ll be sorry.'’

Her voice wasn’t exactly angry, but frenzied, almost excited, and Elsie knew she meant what she said.

Kayla dug her nails in through Elsie’s skin, drawing blood. Elsie knew this girl wanted to hurt her, really hurt her. She was crazy with a capital CRA.

She had to do something. Do it now.

Elsie kicked Kayla in the ankle, hard. Whatever mad strength the tiny girl possessed, it did not extend to her legs, and her grip slackened as she stumbled, lost her balance and pitched forwards like a sack of petite potatoes. It would have been funny, had her eyes not been so wide with terror.

Elsie watched the girl fall. She hit the escalator knees first with a horrible smack, hands splayed out to the stair below.

There was a deep, gurgling sound.

‘No, no, no,’ whispered Kayla, shaking her head madly, her blonde poodle hair frizzing around her tiny face.

The gurgling grew louder. The escalator slowed, until they were barely moving. Elsie knew she ought to reach down to Kayla, help her, but she was immobile. Her foot forever dangling above the stair.

The bottom of the escalator descended into blackness. A blackness that seemed odd, a blackness that almost seemed to be expanding. No. That was expanding. Opening.

Kayla screamed louder.

Elsie took a hurried step back, then another. She held onto the handrail tightly as she manoeuvred away from the mouth, for it was unmistakably a mouth now, a mouth with dark grey, metal teeth. Kayl screamed again.

‘You evil, fat bitch! You whore! You—’

Her final words cut off as the escalator sped up, sucking Kayla right up. It snapped shut with a terrible, metallic finality.

#

Elsie got on a night bus, drenched in chill sweat. She’d run out the tube and hadn’t stopped until her legs almost gave out from exhaustion.

The driver didn’t bat an eye at her awful state, but Elsie could sense the group of blokes at the back sizing her up. She stayed near the front of the bus and waited for them to leave before she got off, meaning she had to walk back several stops.

It was very late by the time she reached the flat. No one else was up, either asleep or still out. Elsie showered, changed into pyjamas and lay in bed, wide awake.

No voice, only the noises a building makes at night in a big city. Her pulse felt louder, smashing its way in, and her breaths bellowed.

Hungry…

Elsie went still. She wasn’t hungry, was she? No, she felt sick if anything, sick and scared. That thought wasn’t hers. It was deeper, rumblier, metallic without being robotic. As if ore buried beneath the earth had spoken.

HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY.

Elsie shook her head hard. This wasn’t happening.

Please, Elsie… The voice grew fainter, more plaintive. I helped you didn’t I… she wanted to hurt you.

‘But she’s dead! You ate her!’

Elsie gripped the covers. She had to call 999. Confess the truth, and damn the consequences.

And what will you tell them? That an escalator opened up and swallowed the girl whole?

Elsie’s grip tightened so hard, the sheets threatened to rip. Her head filled with a horrible, grinding laugh.

#

The door buzzer ripped Elsie from a haze of nightmare that pulled clean away the second her eyes opened.

It was still the middle of the night. The police were here. She was going to prison, forever.

Elsie tried to get up. Her head throbbed and her legs didn’t want to move. Kayla’s final screaming fused with the thought of metal handcuffs snapping over her own wrists, police interviews and laywers, her desperate pleas sounding like raving lies.

The buzzer rang again. Elsie forced herself out of bed, staggering to the door. She couldn’t bear the thought of explaining to her mum what had happened. Seeing her angry disappointment, her dad’s quiet disbelief.

She forced the final step, and pressed the button.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, thank Christ. Els, it’s me. Maeve.’

Elsie opened the door, thundered down the stairs and slapped the exit open button. Her sister stood hunched in a baggy grey hoodie, her eyes red rimmed, Her heavy eyeliner was smudged, her their dark dyed fringe hung lankly over her forehead. Next to her were two large suitcases.

Maeve opened her mouth, as if about to snap out a sarcastic remark. Then her whole body crumbled into Elsie, and she sobbed her heart out.

In a bizarre haze, Elsie made Maeve a cup of tea, fighting back waves of relief, nausea and terror as she tried to listen.

The whole story came out in gulping fits and starts. Maeve and Mum’s fighting had reached volcanic levels, and Maeve had thrown a plate at the wall, clipping Mum’s ear by accident. Mum’s rage had gone glacial. She told Maeve she was no longer welcome in their home, and Maeve thought she was bluffing, so she stormed out. By the time she came back, all the locks had been changed and there were two suitcases standing in the garden, neatly packed with Maeve’s belongings. An envelope was taped to one, containing £200.

‘This… this was the only place I could think to go,’ Maeve finished, in a small voice. She looked like a small child suddenly, all lost and confused in the big city, and Elsie’s own fears were swallowed in a wave of pity and an almost maternal instinct.

She made Maeve toast and insisted she slept on the bed, while Elsie crashed on the sofa. In the morning, Elsie would call their mum and sort this all out.

‘In the meantime, you can stay here,’ Elsie found herself saying. ‘Long as you want.’

Her big sister broke into a huge smile, her teeth wonky and a bit stained. ‘You’re a good person, Elsie,’ she said. ‘The best.’

#

It started off so well.

The pair of them talked all that Sunday until late into the night, bonding in a way they never had as kids. She’d showed Elsie some of her drawings, which Elsie had to admit were striking. It felt good, talking to Maeve in this way. Perhaps something good could come from all this horror…

Gradually, Elsie felt her edginess relax. The fact she wasn’t hearing voices in her head certainly helped, and she began to wonder if it hadn’t all been an alcohol-induced hallucination, brought on by her lack of tolerance and general stress.

Then lectures started.

Elsie had worried about leaving her big sister alone in her fragile state. It soon became apparent that was truly fragile was her own peace of mind.

Maeve seemed to very quickly bounce back to her usual loud and self-absorbed self. She slammed doors. She played music at full volume at any hour, day or night. She smoked all over the flat, tramping in mud from Lord knows where, and left piles of bottles, take away boxes and cigarette butts in her wake. Her footsteps were like elephants thundering across the Savannah, and she was always talking. It had been nice at first, but there was no off switch, and all Elsie longed for was the sweet relief of a Maeve-free silence.

What was most annoying was the fact that no one else seemed bothered. To Elsie’s other housemates, Maeve was extremely cool. She gave out booze and weed out freely, told outrageous stories that left them in stitches, and what could Elsie say, that didn’t make her look like a boring killjoy?

She had tried to talk to her mum, but if she even hinted at her sister’s name, her mum immediately changed the subject. Her dad wasn’t helpful either, only saying things like, ‘your mother… well… you know…’

Then things started getting weird.

Elsie would walk into the kitchen and find her other housemates stopped mid conversation. They would look at her guiltily, furtively, then start talking again as soon as she left. When she asked Maeve about it, she’d make some kind of flippant comment, as if it was nothing to do with her.

The final straw came after a stressful pub shift. Everyone had been in an especially bad mood that night; a group of drunk posh City boys kept complaining Elsie had messed up their order (she hadn’t), her manager had called her the r-word for being too slow, and then, just before closing, a man had walked in to the pub, marched right up to her, and literally spat in her face.

All Elsie wanted was to get back home, scrub the disgusting spit germs off her, and crash out. But when she got in, music was thumping and the kitchen was crowded with people she didn’t know. Maeve was at the centre, jumping up and down on the table.

Elsie lost it. ‘Will you all please SHUT THE HELL UP!’

They ignored her. Elsie sighed theatrically, stomping into her room and slamming the door as loud as she could. And as she collapsed into bed, she heard Maeve shout through the door.

‘All right, Miss Pissy Pants, keep your hair on!’

The others all laughed.

Elsie put her hands over her ears. Her old childhood nickname throbbed in her head. Miss Pissy Pants, Miss Pissy Pants… Kids at school catching on, chanting it every day, reminding her of her shameful accident. And now Maeve, cruel Maeve, Maeve who stole all the oxygen from every room was starting it up all over again.

Elsie heard the clack, clack, clack of metal teeth grinding. Of lips drawing back into their iron-toothed smile.

Hungry, Elsie. Hungry…

She imagined the teeth biting down on Maeve’s head. Hard.

#

By the time Elsie had forced her eyes open and staggered blearily to the kitchen, it was gone 12. She needed coffee like a man dying of thirst in the desert needs a crack aerial rescue team and a hospital.

It took her a moment to notice Maeve, sitting at the kitchen table. She was staring into space, a mug in front of her. Elsie knew without touching it that its contents were stone cold.

‘About last night,’ Elsie began.

Maeve said nothing. The uncharacteristic silence was someone worse than the endless blabbing, and Elsie noticed the two suitcases lying sideways on the floor by her sister’s chair, shut tight.

‘Are you going somewhere?’

Maeve frowned. ‘I’ve got a job.’

Her voice was flattened out, squeezed dry of all its Maeve-ness. Elsie hardly noticed, instead fighting the urge to punch the air. Maeve was going. She was finally going to free.

‘That’s great news. When do you start?’

‘Next week. It’s in Liverpool.’

‘Oh.’ Elsie tried not to look too gleeful. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she lied.

‘Me too.’ She was obviously lying too. It was all so insanely awkward, and Elsie found herself saying, ‘Let me take you to the station.’

‘No.’ Maeve’s voice cracked. ‘I’ll be fine. Really.’

‘Oh, come on. You can’t carry those suitcases all by yourself.’

Elsie pulled on a coat and shoved on her shoes, wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut. Maeve seemed to wish she had too, from the way she kept glancing at her, hovering by the door, as if desperate to get away. Elsie could make an excuse not to go, but that felt wrong. She was her sister, after all.

It had grown cold overnight, and an Arctic wind smacked them both in the face. Elsie battled up the street, dragging one of the suitcases, while Maeve strode ahead with uncharacteristic speed. Neither of them spoke to each other.

By the time they reached the tube, Elsie’s arm was aching and her face hurt from the harsh wind. Maeve reached over, snatching the suitcase from Elsie’s hand.

‘Guess this is goodbye then,’ Elsie said.

Maeve didn’t say anything. Elsie could feel heat rising in her face, an acrid burning at the back of her throat. Her tongue felt crusty, and she needed coffee, and the air was too grey and polluted and her anger was so sudden and fierce that she reeled with it. How dare Maeve give her the silent treatment. After everything Elsie had done for her. After the way she’d repaid her kindness.

‘What’s your problem, Maeve?’ she snapped. ‘Why are you being so weird?’

Maeve’s face was very white underneath all her dyed hair and round, like a corpse in water, and her dark eyes were wide with the fear of a rabbit spying a hawk on the horizon, knowing there is nowhere to hide.

And then the fear shut down, and her pale eyebrows narrowed and she sneered and looked sulky and ugly, and she said: ‘You talk in your sleep.’

People were everywhere, and it was hard to hear her sister’s words, her voice was so low.

‘You talk about Kayla,’ she continued. ‘Every single night, Els. Every. Single. Night.’

The flash of the rabbit fear again. People kept walking past, headphones on, ignoring them. They were just two girls like any others, talking outside the tube.

‘They told me no one’s seen her for weeks. That she dropped out suddenly, after a night out, with you.’

Maeve took a deep breath.

‘And then, last night, when you talked about her, I heard you laughing. You kept saying you watched her die. And then you said you were so, so hungry.’

She shuddered then reached out, grabbing Elsie’s hand.

‘Tell me I’m wrong, sis. Tell me you were just dreaming. That you’re going crazy. That I’m going crazy.’

Elsie stood motionless, unable to speak. The voice came loud in her mind, echoing like the old tube announcers down a cold empty platform.

She knows.

Maeve half ran into the tube. Elsie found herself almost running too, following her sister through the barrier.

She’s going to tell. Stop her. STOP HER.

Maeve was really legging it now. Elsie tried to follow, but a crowd had emerged in the opposite direction, blocking her path. She could still see Maeve just ahead, weaving her way through like a movie martial artist through raindrops. Elsie could only wait, helplessly trapped in the chockablock line of people as her sister thundered down the first set of tube stairs, dragging the suitcases with her.

I’m hungry, Elsie, hungry hungry HUNGRY.

‘Shut up,’ Elsie said aloud. No one looked at her. Her once coveted invisibility felt oppressive, and isolating, and she was utterly at sea in it.

Elsie followed Maeve to the next set of escalators. The one on the far side was out of order, with tape blocking the way. But she could see Maeve halfway down it, struggling.

Elsie dived under the tape and ran down the stationary metal stairs. It was weird walking down that way; she had to slow to stop herself falling. No one shouted at her to stop. It was as if she and Maeve were unseen by all the world.

Hungry, Elsie…

Elsie stopped where her sister stood panting, tugging at her suitcase. It had somehow become stuck, one of the tags wedged between the stairs, and Maeve couldn’t pull it out. She looked up and shrieked loud enough to alert half of London. Still, the crowds sailed up and down next to them, uncaring.

‘Maeve,’ Elsie said. ‘Let me help you.’

‘Get - away.’ Maeve flung out her hand. In it, she was holding a small penknife.

Elsie flinched back. ‘Jesus, what’s wrong with you? I didn’t hurt Kayla, OK. I was just talking in my sleep.’

‘Liar.’ Maeve jabbed out with the knife again, and Elsie took another step back. ‘You stay away from me.’

She pulled the suitcase with an almighty tug and the tag jerked out, but she must have used too much force. The suitcase tumbled down the escalator and Maeve went with it, only saving herself at the last second by clinging to the handrail.

The suitcase tumbled to the bottom of the escalator, where it should have landed. Only it continued falling. Falling and falling, into an impossibly dark and impossibly wide pit.

As it did, the escalator twitched. It whirred. And it began to move.

Maeve screamed. It wasn’t like Kayla’s scream of terror, more an almighty roar of rage. Maeve dropped the other suitcase, sending it tumbling backwards into the pit behind her. She leapt at Elsie, knocking her down, then clambering over her and running the wrong way up the escalator.

Elsie looked down. The world of blackness was coming for her fast, the mouth revealing shiny teeth and a fat muscular tongue, dripping with drool. Her head rung with—

…hungry… hungry… HUNGRY…

—as she tried to scramble up, up and away but it was no use, the stairs were too slippery, and Elsie realised to her horror that the escalator was pooling, bubbling, rippling with blood. She let out a last desperate cry as she tried to get away, but her shoes slid and she fell forwards, banging her head on one of the stairs. The monster beneath her began to laugh.

Then started to choke.

Elsie lifted her head and risked turning around. The mouth had closed and beneath her was an unmistakable coughing and burbling.

‘Hey!’

Elsie looked for the sound. There at the top was Maeve, jamming her penknife into the escalator’s mechanism, over and over.

‘Didn’t like that, did you? See how you like this!’

Her hand smashed triumphantly on the emergency stop button. Slowly, painfully, the escalator slid to a standstill.

Elsie stood. She was woozy, and blood covered, and her sister was grinning at her like a lunatic.

‘Gotta admire that aim, haven’t you?’ she said, then sank to her knees.

Elsie ran to her, trying not to fall. She reached for Maeve, desperate to be held, to be forgiven.

But Maeve only turned away.

#

Elsie stood at the top floor of the shopping centre.

She was 21. Her arms were heavy with shopping: Waitrose, M&S, all the fancy stuff. They were having a party at home for Elsie’s promotion. Not that it was that great, she was only going from Junior Recruitment Assistant to Senior Recruitment Assistant, but still, it was something nice, and nice was nice, wasn’t it?

She looked down at the escalator below her feet, gliding effortlessly to the next floor. A greyish patch of chewing gum stuck to one of the stairs. It moved down, then through the gap, to roll back up to the beginning and start again.

Start again…

She hadn’t gone back to uni. Maeve had gone off to Liverpool, and was doing well, apparently, working at an independent gallery. They didn’t talk much. Maybe one day, both sisters could sit down and Elsie would tell her the real story about Kayla.

But not yet. Her sister still needed to figure things out. To find out her own way.

Things had become much calmer at home without Maeve. Her mum seemed a little more chill about things, a little more willing to treat Elsie like an adult, especially since she’d gotten what Mum called “a proper job”. Dad was coming out of his shell too, going to book clubs, spending time down the pub with his old colleagues. They both seemed happier in themselves. It was good, Elsie thought, watching people grow.

Elsie moved her foot over the stair, straining to listen. Could she hear a rumbling? The grinding of teeth? No. Nothing unordinary.

Her foot stepped down. Her stomach bunched up inside her, bracing for movement below.

None was coming.

She exhaled. Her hand rested against the handrail lightly, smoothing her fingers against its rubbery edge, her bags knocking against her leg. Lemon cake had been the right choice, she decided. Sweet and sharp.

Somewhere beneath her, Elsie thought she heard a faint noise. Very quiet but faintly liquid.

She looked down at her trainers. There, beneath her feet, was a shallow pool of blood.

I’m hungry, the voice rumbled. I AM SO, SO HUNGRY.

Elsie screamed as the escalator sped downwards, the mechanical mouth opening wide to swallow her whole.

Thanks for reading! This story was inspired by my weird childhood fear of escalators. I never saw one eat a person, but you never know…