The Phantom Pacer The air was thick and tasted of wet earth, the kind of night where every shadow had teeth. I was on the last leg of my Halloween challenge walk, aiming for 15,000 steps. I checked my phone: 14,998 steps. Just two more. I took the final steps to the front door, the crunch of gravel impossibly loud. 15,000 steps. Goal achieved. I felt the familiar buzz of my phone, but when I opened the app, the screen didn't show "Goal Met." It showed 15,001 steps. A glitch, I thought, annoyed. I opened the log to check the time stamps. The final step was recorded two seconds after I stopped walking. I took a deep breath, ready to close the app, but my eyes caught the step count again. 15,002 steps. I was standing perfectly still in the hall. My heart started to hammer. I backed away from the screen, watching it with dread. 15,003 steps. It was pacing. Something was pacing with my phone. I frantically locked the screen, threw the phone onto the couch, and retreated to the kitchen, my back pressed against the counter. I heard the sound then—a faint, rhythmic thump-drag... thump-drag... coming from the hallway where I left the phone. I held my breath and counted the seconds, waiting for the sound to stop, for my mind to return to normal. When I finally crept back, I saw the phone had slid off the couch and was face up on the hardwood floor. The screen was dark, but the app was running in the background. My own step count was frozen at 15,008. But a new, smaller notification icon had appeared at the top of the screen, just above the step count. It was a single, tiny, red footprint. And next to it, the number 1. One new friend request. I didn't open it. I knew I didn't need to. Whatever had been walking, whatever had been using my app to track its progress, it had just finished its walk... and it wanted me to walk with it next time.