The Footprints

The kid woke up gasping, having just had a nightmare. In his dream, a dark stranger with a blank blue mask for a face had walked slowly across the running sprinklers, through the sliding glass door, and up to his door. Then stood there. Just waiting. And not with bated breath, but with heavy, eager pants and wheezes.

It's just a dream, the kid thought, its just a dream, nothing bad, just my mind cleaning itself out...

Normally, that alone would be enough to calm him, and after about an hour of tossing and turning, he'd fall asleep. However, there was a problem.

He desperately needed to use the restroom, and the restroom was across the hall.

The dark, suspicious, potentially occupied hall.

It's fine, I can hold it, it's fine...

Then a fresh wave of pain swept through his clenched muscles, and he had to face it- he had to go. Now.

Mustering his courage, he leapt from his bed, threw open his door, and dashed down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming the door closed and locking it. With the last vestige of control, he held it just long enough to pull the toilet lid down and get situated before he relieved himself.

For a few seconds, he laughed a little at his foolishness. A dark creature, outside his door, stalking him? Please. And to think, he actually took that dream to such lengths as to run down the hall like that...

He chuckled to himself again and reached down to pull his pants up. Then he froze.

Muddy footprints were on the bathroom tiles, leading away from the door.

They didn't lead out.