Raul’s nights at the public observatory in Washington, D.C., were solitary ventures, draped in the silence of a city asleep. February’s chill seeped through the walls, a constant companion as he tended to the machinery that allowed others to gaze at the stars. The observatory, a sanctuary of solitude, was his escape, where the moon’s cratered face was his chosen confidant. Each night, through Telescope 14’s lens, he whispered his thoughts to the lunar surface, finding solace in its silent judgment.

But one night, as the cold gnawed at his bones, Raul saw something that punctured the comfort of his lunar therapy. There, on the moon’s ashen surface, was a creature — a gray figure with pointy ears and a tail sharp as the winter air. He blinked away the vision, attributing it to the fatigue nibbling at the edges of his reason. Shaking his head, he dismissed the sighting as a trick of the light or a figment of sleep-deprived imagination.

The encounter, however, left an indelible mark on Raul’s routine. The following week, as the observatory once again became his nocturnal retreat, the tranquility was shattered by an unexplained noise from the offices. Investigating, Raul stumbled upon Victor, another night owl caught in the observatory’s embrace. Their conversation, meandering through the cosmos, landed on Raul’s sighting. Victor, removing his baseball cap in a gesture of astonishment, confessed to seeing the same creature. A bond formed in that moment, tethered to the mystery of the lunar creature they had both glimpsed.

Together, they embarked on nightly vigils, eyes glued to the telescope, searching for another glimpse of the elusive figure. Weeks turned into months, and the creature remained a ghost, its existence questioned but never confirmed.

One evening, as autumn’s breath began to chase away the remnants of summer, Raul arrived at the observatory to find Victor unusually agitated. “I’ve been doing some research,” Victor whispered, his voice a mix of fear and excitement. He led Raul to a forgotten corner of the observatory, to an ancient, dust-covered computer. The screen flickered to life, revealing logs of lunar observations dating back decades.

As they scrolled through the entries, a pattern emerged. Every February, dating back to the observatory’s inception, there was a sighting of the creature, always described with unnerving consistency. But it was the final entry that sent shivers down Raul’s spine. Dated February 1964, it read: “Observation aborted. Project Moongazer terminated. Subject returned.”

Raul and Victor exchanged glances, the unspoken question hanging heavily between them. What was Project Moongazer? And who, or what, was the subject that had been returned to the moon?

Their search for answers led them to a sealed archive under the observatory, where they discovered the truth. Project Moongazer was a top-secret initiative, a failed experiment in lunar habitation. The ‘creature’ was not alien, but human — a test subject left behind when the project was abruptly shuttered.

As they absorbed the gravity of their discovery, the observatory’s lights flickered and went out, plunging them into darkness. When the emergency lights stuttered on, Victor was gone, a note left in his stead. “They know we know. I’m sorry, Raul.”

Raul never saw Victor again. The observatory closed shortly thereafter, its secrets buried under layers of bureaucracy and silence. Raul continued to visit the moon every February, not through the lens of a telescope, but in his dreams, where he conversed with the creature that walked the lunar surface — a reminder of humanity’s reach and its consequences.