J
12/3/2025
8:50:50 AM | |  | |
Growing up we spent a few years in an old dilapidated house a few miles from Plymouth Rock. It was the sort of place that started out small, but over hundreds of years, people kept adding rooms until it had a dozen fireplaces and two kitchens. It was the sort of place a kid could get lost in, but we didn't do much to fix it up living on a teacher's salary. We couldn't afford to heat it so in winter we closed off the upstairs and the four of us moved into rooms near the wood stove and Christmas tree.
My bed had a direct view of the living room. One Christmas Eve, I woke up to the sounds of boxes sliding across the room. It had to be Santa, but I knew if I opened my eyes the spell would be broken and I wouldn't get any presents. I didn't hear any voices and kept my eyes squeezed as tight as I could for what felt like hours. Luckily it worked and there were presents under the tree. Santa left me a note that he couldn't figure out what chimney to use and came in the bathroom window instead. |
