There's no question where they've been, at least not for the most recent few feet, just follow that translucent thin trail that catches the morning light.
The question is where they're going as the trail just peters out, as if they vaporized or were snuffed out or plucked up by some unseen force and carted off. You wonder, too, where they'd been before this slimy line began, as that twisty trail seems to tell a tale of serious shenanigans, like someone spent the previous few hours at the end of the bar down at O'Neill's enjoying a pint or a few. That thin line tilts and teeters and veers off toward Fisher's, as Dad used to say, meaning, it's leaning and anything but straight! But the bigger mystery of that snail trail is how the hell they even got in here, in my garage, tracking their slime across the old rug right in front of my workbench. The beginning of the trail begins as mysteriously as it ends, starting immaculately, commencing out of nowhere, like they landed from somewhere far away, maybe from outer space or from under the sea. Maybe they got distracted then remembered to hit the slime switch and start making their presence known, then just as randomly, flicked it off and headed home? Whichever it is, I've never seen one crawling across the floor, from any direction, only outside in the garden, sliming my rhubarb and roses. So, they're sneaking in, searching for something, maybe something sweet or tart or sour, or maybe they just like crawling around in the dark at very late hours? It's a snail's prerogative, if they can get in! Just means I won't be walking around my garage anymore, at night, in the dark, barefoot!
I have an image of the snail covering their tracks with a tree branch attached to the back of their shell like in the ol westerns
Ick!