Footprints in the Dark

By morning, we went out to measure them. Same depth, same stride length

every time. But when Patel compared the tread patterns to our suit logs, he went pale.

“They’re mine,” he whispered. “Every single one.” We joked at first — maybe he’d wandered

in his sleep. But the prints kept multiplying. Each night, more circles,

spiraling inward like something was closing in. On the tenth night, Patel locked himself

in his quarters, terrified. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t step outside. Still,

the footprints appeared — fresher, closer, stopping right at the airlock door.

The power flickered. A knock echoed through the dome. Patel stared at the door,