Every fourth of July, we go there and have a huge party. One year, after several bourbon and cokes, I decided to head to bed. I was the last one to retire. I went into our room, and my husband, who had already crashed, was sleeping on my pillow. I tried to get it from him, but he grunted and wouldn't give it up. So I decided to go into the den, grab a pillow from the sofa, and use that. As I was walking into the den, I tripped on the lip b/t the den and the dining room. "It'd be nice to have a few lights on in here," I mumbled. All of sudden, every light in the room went on -- the corner floor lamp, the two lamps on either side of the sofa, and the lamp in front of the t.v. Since the house was built before electricity, there were no overhead lights; all lamps were controlled with separate switches. A bit shaken, to say the least, I grabbed a few pillows, and ran out of the room. As I passed from the den back into the living room, the lights went out.
The next morning, I relayed my story over breakfast. One of the older aunts just huffed, "Oh, that was Aunt Edith. She was always the one who went around after the parties making sure everyone was tucked safely into bed." Well, good old Aunt Edith totally freaked me out, and I am never the last one awake in that house.