Three Creepy Stories, Part 3: Barefoot Tracks

Story three, the last one and personally mine
Did you have snow slides in your yards? I did, and there was also a guy who turned his garage into a slide so the utility workers wouldn't demolish it, I'm sure you've all seen ones like that. So anyway, this slide was doused with water so it would get covered in ice, and you'd go down it, getting an unreal thrill from the process of the fast descent. The edges of the slide quickly got covered in blood from broken noses, moreover, every winter there were unique blood traces on the ice and on the edges, which we and the lads would examine and try, for a laugh, to recreate the route of the fall. Why am I telling you this: one time I was riding this slide alone, waiting for my mom from the store — I hear the wind pick up, I turn around to see if some fucking blizzard is coming, I turn back and I see on the fresh snow lying on the slide a fucking bare footprint. Just one bare footprint on the snow lying on the black background of the metal, coated with fresh ice. You should have seen how it fucked me up at that moment, I huddled into the corner of the slide and sat there until my mom called me, and I went down from the slide by the stairs, didn't slide down, because I was very afraid to touch the footprint, and then for another two years I was afraid of Bigfoot. By the way, these footprints were a local landmark altogether, so one girl said that she's, like, walking to school, hears someone coming, so she walked faster, the steps also faster, she turns around and sees no one, but from around the corner a chain of bare footprints comes out and ends right behind her back. That's actually how that girl and I became friends — over stories about the footprints. Another bunch of people, independently of both of us, told a story about how they went up to the roof for a laugh, open the door, and the whole roof is covered in these footprints — the same big and bare ones. We started a search operation, went around various backwaters, looked for these footprints, asked the neighbors. The drunks usually yelled curses, chased us off with filthy rags and so on, the old biddies told us that these were all sorts of NЁHodukhi ghosts and that in general when you see something like that you have to scream at the top of your lungs, but some relatively adequate or not-so-adequate people with faces of awe said "You saw them too?" and told their own tales, some had seen a chain of footprints at the factory parking lot leading right to the center of the parking lot, but then they abruptly broke off into nowhere, someone told of seeing the opposite — snowy footprints on the walls.