The warmth and comfort of my cozy room embraced me and wrapped around me like a toasty blanket as I slowly peeled myself out of bed and dragged myself up. When I set foot into the hallway, I could hear my brother’s muffled music blasting through his brand new headphones from beyond his closed door. I peeked my head into my parents’ room too see if they had already departed for work, but the neatly made bed and spotless floor displayed no sign of them.

Christmas day had whirred by, but I could still smell the thinning aroma of day-old confectionary gingerbread families and carefully cut sugar cookies garnished with velvety icing. The tall, well-dressed christmas pine stood as a brightly lit beacon amongst the opened gifts and stray wrapping paper scraps scattered around our living room floor. I proceeded down the stairs, past the living room and into the kitchen to scavenge for something to eat. A platter of Christmas cookies, a gift from one of our considerate neighbors, caught my eye and would suffice as a meal for this morning.

I moseyed on downstairs to the basement and plopped myself onto the soft leather couch. I grabbed the TV remote and settled into the cushions, draping a nearby quilt  over my body. The television droned to life, displaying some uninteresting sports channel my dad had probably been watching last night after the party. I quickly surfed through all the channels and finally fixated on watching old reruns of Nickelodeon’s Drake & Josh. A few minutes passed and I laughed when Drake and Josh had accidentally burned their neighbor’s treehouse down with a rocket.

Suddenly, the quiet house rumbled to life when my dog’s loud and fierce barking started up in the kitchen, like it always does when my mom returns home. I ignored his obnoxious barking, and figured that my mom had her keys and could get into the house without me moving a muscle. My dog’s barking persisted and through his howls I could hear a sharp knocking sound, like someone beating on the icy glass window of our back door. The suspicious sound grew louder so I slowly picked myself off the sofa to address the situation. Halfway up the staircase, I heard the last strike against the glass window, and shards of glass topple violently onto the floor.

I froze in my tracks. The next thing I remember was heavy footsteps walking over the remnants of our glass door, crushing the shards into splinters. I couldn’t move, my muscles were shaking and my body felt hot. Those footsteps slowly thudded up the stairs, to where the bedrooms where, to where my brother was. I crept closer to the kitchen, keeping silent and careful not to make a sound.

Then I heard my brother’s voice exclaim, “Whoa! What are you doing here?”

I couldn’t exactly hear the other man answer him, or talk at all, but I could distinctly hear my brother’s nervous tone repeating, “I don’t have any money.” I didn’t know what was happening. What this man going to hurt us? Who was he? Why was he doing this? Were we going to die?

Suddenly, those same heavy footsteps descended from the second floor and back down towards me. I quickly fled down the stairs and hid, covering my entire body with the quilt. I waited there in the darkness for those footsteps to come down the stairs and into the basemen, but they never came.

Soon, I uncovered my shaking body and crept upstairs, since I figured the footsteps had gone and the intruder had left. In the kitchen, the broken glass scrambled across the tiles, and our dog was quietly standing under the kitchen table. My bare feet cautiously stepped around the glass, and up the stairs. As I stumbled into my room, I saw my brother speaking into the landline to the police. My room that was once comfortable and cozy, now felt cold and dismal.