I've always been ready for an opportunity.
I was about 12 years old and living in a an unrestored historic home in Central Florida. This is the house, the year after we moved out.
On the third floor, it had two hidden rooms. These were accessed through the back of closets by removing drawers that were set into the wall.
One day, there was a gathering of adults and I was assigned the job of occupying their children. My preference was to entertain myself and leave them to their own devices but that wasn't an option. It was suggested that I take them upstairs and show them the secret rooms which generated much enthusiasm.
I took them all to the second floor, and gave them whispered instructions to take off their shoes while I passed out a large stick or broom handle for each of them.
Without any further explanation, I had them follow me single file, one at a time to the top of the third floor stairwell. We were now at the rear of the house. Each child was armed with some sort of weapon, and totally terrified at this point.
The closet that I wanted to access was at the front of the house. I had them line up behind me and we tiptoed silently across the house to the edge of the closet door.
I waited until they were all lined up behind me then slowly peeked around the edge of the door. I took a quick, soft gasp, and was immediately alone.
Everyone went running and yelling for their parents, all the way across the house down three flights of stairs and across the bottom floor to the kitchen.
After 40 years, they still love to talk about how scared they were, and how much fun it was.