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[Rumbles from the pile. The pile starts to move like amorphous office-drek-monster; vibrates like a massage-chair; blooms like a waratah. Around every edge, from each shadow and highlight, between the sheets and at your feets, a million, little twitching noses, fluffy tails and ninja-constumed eyes appear, looking straight at you like ice-picks, calculating in milliseconds the period of your obstruction, considering your flavour, contemplating the colour of your insides]
Well, it's a tunnel. Kudos on your detective skills.
Umm, a suggestion, noting that this is a feeder-point for PNS HQ....
RUN!
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