The Dark Christmas Getaway
It was December 2022 when my girlfriend Charlotte and I decided to escape the city for a cozy holiday retreat in the Pocono Mountains. We had rented a charming Airbnb adorned with festive decorations, nestled among the woods with a beautiful view of the snow-covered landscape. Anticipation filled the car as we drove, excited for the snowstorm forecasted to add to the holiday atmosphere.
After a four-hour drive, we stopped at a Family Dollar for snacks and groceries. The air was thick with the scent of pine and impending snow as we made our way up the gravel road leading to the property. The house looked picturesque, draped in twinkling lights, with a big deck and a hot tub that promised warmth and relaxation amidst the cold.
Once inside, we were greeted by the inviting aroma of wood and the sight of a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. It felt like stepping into a holiday postcard. We quickly unpacked, excited to settle in and enjoy our time together. I inspected the fridge, turned on the TV, and explored the upstairs loft, which featured a pool table and a couple of couches. Everything felt perfect until I ventured down to the basement.
The basement was dark and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the house. It felt neglected, more of a storage space than a place for guests. As I turned to leave, a sudden knock at the front door startled me. I hurried up the stairs to answer it.
Standing outside was a man in his late forties, dressed in gray sweatpants and a worn, yellowish-brown jacket. He introduced himself as Tom, the property manager, claiming he lived just up the road. He seemed friendly enough, but there was something unsettling about him. I noted that Charlotte hadn’t joined me at the door, which felt odd since we were supposed to be enjoying this getaway together.
After he left, I shrugged off the encounter and returned to Charlotte, who was busy setting up dinner. We shared a cozy meal on the couch, the glow of the Christmas tree lights illuminating the room as we watched The Polar Express. It was everything we had hoped for.
Once dinner was over, we decided to indulge in the hot tub. Outside, the snow began to fall gently, creating a serene winter wonderland. As we soaked in the warm water, the world around us felt magical. But then, just as we were settling into the moment, the bubbles in the hot tub suddenly stopped, plunging us into an eerie silence.
We exchanged glances, our smiles fading as we heard unmistakable footsteps crunching through the snow somewhere on the property. “Did you hear that?” I whispered, my heart racing. Charlotte nodded, her eyes wide with fear. “What should we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I think it’s just a deer,” I lied, trying to convince myself as much as her. But deep down, I knew those footsteps sounded too deliberate, too human.
After a few moments of tense silence, we decided to head inside. The warmth of the house was comforting, but as we stepped out of the hot tub, the water turned ice cold mid-shower, shocking us both. We jumped out, startled, and I messaged Mike, the Airbnb host, about the sudden temperature drop. He replied that it was odd and promised to send someone to check the hot water heater the next day.
That night, we settled into bed, hoping the strange occurrences would fade away. But just as we began to drift off, we were jolted awake by aggressive banging on the front door. Charlotte shook me awake, terror in her eyes. “What was that?”
“I’m going to check,” I said, but Charlotte grabbed my arm, urging me to stay quiet. The banging continued, loud and furious. “Who is it?” I called out, but there was no response, just more furious knocks.
“Maybe it’s just someone who got lost in the snow,” I suggested, though I didn’t believe my own words. The banging stopped, leaving us in a thick silence that felt suffocating.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, I finally mustered the courage to lock the bedroom door, hoping it would provide some semblance of safety. Minutes dragged on, and just as we were about to relax, the banging resumed, more frantic than before.
“Should we call the police?” Charlotte whispered, her voice trembling.
“I don’t know,” I replied, feeling helpless. “What if it’s just someone in trouble?”
Finally, after what felt like an hour, the noise stopped. We sat in silence, our hearts pounding, until exhaustion finally overcame us, and we drifted back to sleep.
The next morning, I messaged Mike again about the knocks. He responded quickly, sounding confused. “That’s strange,” he said. “I don’t know why anyone would be out there at night.” His nonchalance did little to ease my anxiety.
As I wiped the snow off my Jeep, I noticed fresh footprints leading around the house. My heart sank as I recalled the previous night’s banging. I looked up to see Tom walking toward me, a friendly smile plastered across his face.
“Hey there!” he called out. “Just checking on the hot water heater.”
I hesitated, recalling my conversation with Mike. “You’re the property manager, right?” I asked, trying to gauge his intentions.
“Yep, that’s me! Just wanted to make sure everything’s alright,” he replied, his demeanor unsettlingly casual.
I mentioned the knocks at the door last night, showing him the footprints in the snow. Tom examined them, shrugging it off. “Just some strange folks wandering around at night. Nothing to worry about,” he said dismissively.
I wasn’t reassured. “Should we avoid using the hot tub at night?” I asked, concerned.
“Not at all,” he replied. “People around here are harmless.”
As Tom walked into the house, I felt a wave of unease wash over me. I quickly messaged Mike, asking if Tom was supposed to be there. Mike’s reply sent chills down my spine: “I don’t have a brother named Tom.”
Panic surged through me. “Charlotte, we need to leave. Now,” I said urgently.
We rushed to pack our bags, adrenaline fueling our movements. As we gathered our things, I glanced out the window and saw Tom approaching the rear of the Jeep. I quickly started the engine. “Get in!” I shouted, and we sped out of the driveway, heart pounding.
Once we were on the road, I called Mike to explain everything. He listened in disbelief, promising to call the police. We drove around the area, trying to calm our nerves, but the sense of dread lingered.
About twenty minutes later, Mike called back. “The police are there now,” he said. “They didn’t find anyone in the house.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, incredulous. “Tom was just here!”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Mike replied, his voice tense. “There’s no Tom associated with this property.”
We drove home in silence, the weight of the night’s events hanging heavily in the air. Later that night, Mike messaged me again, apologizing for the confusion and assuring me he would investigate further.
As we settled back into our routine, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Tom had been watching us the entire time. He had been lurking in the shadows, possibly even the one banging on the door. What were his intentions?
That Christmas, we were grateful to be safe, but the experience haunted us. The thought that someone could invade our holiday, turning it into a nightmare, left a lasting impression.
In the end, we realized that sometimes the most enchanting settings can hide the darkest secrets. And as we hung our Christmas decorations the following year, we made sure to keep our doors locked tight, never forgetting the stranger who almost turned our holiday into horror.
