The Worst Christmas Ever… Or Maybe the Funniest
Christmas is supposed to be about joy, family, and warm memories. I was ready for all of that—until my brother Ryan and his wife, Lindsey, showed up at our front door just a few days before Christmas, completely uninvited.
“Our heat broke,” Ryan said as he lugged two giant suitcases into our hallway, his face red from the cold. “We can’t stay at our place. It’s like the Arctic in there.”
“Thanks for letting us crash here,” Lindsey added, brushing snow off her jacket. “It might be a few days. No one can come fix it.”
At first, I didn’t mind. My husband Nathan and I had space, and it was the season of giving, after all. Nathan smiled, ever the generous host, and said, “It’s no problem. Make yourselves at home.”
Oh, if only we had known what was coming.
The first two days were fine. Then, things started to get weird. Lindsey completely took over our bathroom—like, towels everywhere, her stuff spread out all over the counter, and makeup smudges on the mirror. Still, I stayed calm.
Then one morning, I went to grab my favorite Christmas sweater—and it was gone. I searched everywhere, until I found it… in Lindsey’s suitcase. Folded. Like it was hers.
She didn’t even ask. Not a word.
That’s when I started to crack. But nothing—nothing—prepared me for what happened on Christmas Eve.
We were all sitting at breakfast. I looked up at the mantel to admire the decorations—and my stomach dropped. The garlands, the lights, the stockings… gone.
But what really made my heart stop?
My mom’s black marble vase was missing.
That vase held her ashes. She passed away earlier that year, and she’d asked to “spend one last Christmas” with us. I’d placed her ashes on the mantel, right in the center.
Panicked, I asked, “Has anyone seen Mom?”
Lindsey, without even looking up from her plate, said calmly, “You mean the ashes? I threw them out in the backyard. That vase creeped me out.”
Silence. My ears were ringing.
“You did WHAT?!” I practically screamed.
“I threw them out,” she repeated, like she’d tossed an old candle. “Relax. It’s just ashes. Why is everyone so dramatic?”
I couldn’t breathe. My legs trembled with rage. I jumped to my feet, nearly knocking over my chair.
“How dare you? That was Mom’s last wish!”
Lindsey rolled her eyes. “She won’t know. She’s dead.”
I bolted outside without another word, searching the yard with frozen hands, digging through trash bins, crying so hard I could barely see. But it was no use. Mom was gone.
That night, I didn’t sleep. I lay in bed fuming, staring at the ceiling. I wanted them gone now. But at dinner, Ryan pulled me aside.
“Please,” he whispered. “Just let us stay ‘til after Christmas. We have nowhere else to go.”
I didn’t answer at first. But finally, I nodded. Barely.
Around midnight, I was finally dozing off when a blood-curdling scream shook the house. Nathan and I bolted upright.
“What the hell was that?” I gasped.
We ran upstairs—and were instantly hit by the worst smell imaginable. Sewage. Rotten eggs. Death itself.
We opened the door to the guest room.
Lindsey stood on the bed, screaming bloody murder. Her hair was a mess, her face pale. The carpet was soaked with brown water. The bathroom door was open, and a disgusting flood was pouring out.
“Do something!” she shrieked. “It’s everywhere! The toilet exploded!”
Nathan held his nose and tried not to laugh. “Looks like the toilet backed up,” he said, voice tight with amusement.
I couldn’t help myself. I smirked. “Strange… our bathroom and the guest one are fine. Why is it just yours?”
Lindsey glared at me. “This is YOUR plumbing! Fix it!”
I leaned against the doorframe. “Maybe it’s karma,” I said. “Mom did have a wicked sense of humor. Could be her getting the last laugh.”
She looked like she was going to explode. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”
Nathan stepped in quickly. “We’ll call a plumber in the morning. For now, clean what you can and maybe sleep in the guest room.”
Later, I whispered to Nathan, “You think this is a sign from Mom?”
He grinned. “Even if it’s not… it sure feels like one.”
The next morning, Ryan quietly pulled me aside.
“So… Lindsey got up to pee in the middle of the night,” he said, clearly trying not to laugh. “She flushed, and—bam. She slipped in the flood trying to jump back in bed.”
I covered my mouth, giggling. “No way!”
“She screamed so loud, I thought she broke her leg. But she was just… slipping in sewage.”
We couldn’t stop laughing. Even Ryan chuckled—until he noticed me watching.
But the fun wasn’t over. The plumber couldn’t come until after Christmas. So we spent the holiday surrounded by the lovely smell of backed-up toilet water.
Christmas dinner was a mess. Lindsey barely touched her food. The rest of the family came over—cousins, aunts, uncles—and they were all in full holiday spirit. Laughing, telling stories. And then… someone brought up the vase.
“You threw away their mother’s ashes?!” my aunt gasped, dropping her fork. “What is wrong with you?!”
Lindsey went pale. She didn’t say a word for the rest of the night.
After dinner, Ryan caught me in the hallway.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For not kicking us out. I know Lindsey can be… difficult.”
“Difficult?” I raised an eyebrow. “Ryan, she threw away Mom’s ashes.”
He nodded, shame in his eyes. “I didn’t know she was going to do that. I’m so sorry.”
I looked over at Lindsey. She was sitting stiffly, her eyes darting around like she wanted to disappear.
I sighed. “You know what? Maybe this is punishment enough.”
He nodded, grateful.
The rest of the night passed without drama. Lindsey barely spoke. And anytime she tried to complain, someone shut her down fast.
That night, as Nathan and I cleaned up the dishes, he leaned close and asked, “So… you think your mom was here with us today?”
I looked around at the flickering candles, the snow outside, the laughter from the other room.
I smiled. “Yeah. I really do. And I hope she had a front-row seat to all of it.”
Nathan kissed my forehead. “Well, Lindsey definitely got what she deserved.”
I nodded. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”
What do you think? Would you have kicked Lindsey out… or let her sit in her own sewage-filled misery like I did?