All my Christmases have been boring, except for one. Some friends and I spent a Christmas several years ago in a cabin out in the woods. I guess we thought that would be fun. And it was, up 'til the day we left.
This cabin had a loft and that's where I was sleeping. I woke up one morning and I just stayed there for a while, listening to folks talking downstairs. The stairs ran right beside my bed and there was only a railing between the stairs and my bed.
As I lay there, there was a lull in the conversation downstairs. Soon after, I felt someone poking me on the back. I played possum, certain that someone had crept silently most of the way up the stairs to bother me. I thought, "Ah...two can play
this game."
This went on for maybe ten seconds. The poking continued as the conversation downstairs started up again. I listened. (Cue ominous music.) I could hear every single person in that cabin...way over
there.
There was no one on those stairs.
You've never seen a bunch of people move so fast in your life. We got the
hell out of that cabin. And I went back to really boring Christmases.