 Mr. and Mrs. Hostuttler had been out all that winter's day. They had been on the hunt for the perfect Christmas tree. Mr. Hostuttler, Dennis, well, if it were up to him, he'd have gotten one picked out in an hour, maybe less. A tree was a tree, long as it looked okay. But the Mrs. She was mighty picky about some things, and today, she was being all mighty picky about her tree. This one was too tall, that one too short. This one here was already dropping needles for heaven's sake. That one, oh, that one just wasn't full enough. None of the trees would do at all. Dennis was getting hungry, which was making him cranky. Truth be told, it was his wife's particularness making him cranky, but he loved his wife and wanted to see her happy, so he put up with it. He did manage to convince her that they should give up the search for the perfect Christmas tree just for that afternoon. They could go out later, even the next day. But miracle of miracles as they drove home, the wife spotted it. There it was, the perfect Christmas tree. There was only one teeny tiny problem with it. It was smack in the middle of a cemetery, growing right out of a grave. But it was the perfect tree, the wife insisted. Dennis couldn't believe she was asking, truly honestly telling him to cut a tree down in a cemetery. But the wife just had to have it. After all, it was the perfect Christmas tree. So, grumbling the whole way, Dennis trumped into the cemetery, hacked, swish, hacked the tree down, dragged it out of the cemetery and pushed, pulled it on top of the car and tied it down. There, he got in the car and started it, already thinking of a hot bowl of soup at home. The road home was a winding country road. Coming around an especially tricky curve, the couple saw something strange. There was a man standing beside an old fashioned horse and buggy, sort of halfway in the road. Dennis hit the brakes and they made their way round the fellow blocking the road. Just as they got past him, though, man, horse and buggy all vanished. Well, of course, that was very strange but they didn't stop to investigate. But just before they reached home, they saw the horse and buggy again with the man glaring at them. This time they saw it on a ridge, silhouetted against the afternoon sky. They blinked and it was gone. When they got home, the husband untied the tree, brought it in, set it up in the stand and gave it a good healthy drink of water for its trunk. Then he trudged off to the kitchen to find something to eat. The wife was over the moon with her perfect Christmas tree. She dragged out all the boxes and decorations and set about trimming the tree. She put on strings of lights and garland and took out all her favorite ornaments, reliving fond memories of Christmas's past as she went. It didn't take her a terribly long time to decorate the tree and soon she stepped back to admire her work. That's when she saw it, an ornament she certainly had not put there, something near the top of her perfect Christmas tree, a small ornament in the shape of a man and a horse and buggy. The woman shrieked with horror for her husband to come take a look. They both peered at the ornament and realized, both together, that the man looked an awful lot like the fellow they'd seen twice on their way home. They got the funny feeling looking at the tiny man that he wanted to talk. His wife, her voice quivering, asked him what he wanted and the little man told them. In life he'd been a selfish, horrible man. About the only thing he'd ever done right in his life was to cut down pine trees and give them away to folks for Christmas. But that hadn't been enough to see him from the thought of hellfire and damnation for the other bad parts of his life. Many years before he'd been killed in a buggy crash. He'd lived just long enough to breathe his last instructions to his family. They must plant a pine tree on his grave. The tree would symbolize his generous acts and so he'd eventually work his way into heaven. The day he was buried his family honored his last wish and planted a seedling pine on his grave. Over the years it had grown tall and strong. It had grown into the perfect Christmas tree. And then after all this time, all those years of the tree growing, all those years of the man hoping to get into heaven at last, after all that, this selfish, ignorant, uncaring woman had come along and stolen his tree. A tree that in life he would willingly have cut down and given to her. She had cut down his special tree. There would be no forgiveness for such a crime. Strangely enough, the man didn't blame the husband who had actually been the one to cut down the tree. He knew it was the wife's doing. The little man's voice grew fainter as he spoke as if he were on the verge of leaving. He blamed her one last time for destroying his hope of getting into heaven. The last thing the little man told her was that the wife would suffer for the rest of her life for her thoughtlessness and disrespect. But he added a grim note in his voice. She wouldn't have to suffer for long. When the pine tree was dead, she too would die. The little man's prophecy came true. Despite their best efforts to keep the tree alive, it died. And a month to the day after the tree was cut, so did the wife. Welcome, Weirdos. I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained. If you are new here, be sure to subscribe to the podcast on Apple or Android so you don't miss future episodes. This is a special 12 Nightmares of Christmas episode. Each day from December 13th through December 24th, I'm posting a new episode of Weird Darkness featuring material from the new book The Spirits of Christmas, The Dark Side of the Holidays by Sylvia Schultz. Be sure to come back every day through December 24th for more holiday horrors. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, put another log onto the fire, and come with me into the Weird Darkness. In September 1908, the Harold family moved into a big three-story mansion in Norfolk, Virginia. Son Eddie, an only child, was given the bedroom on the third floor at the front of the house. But as he was away at a private school, he didn't use the room right away. Another third-floor room, the one down the hallway from Eddie's, was assigned to the family's two servants to share. But very soon after they had moved in, both servants came to Mrs. Harold and asked to be moved to a different room. Something felt wrong in that room. They said strange noises, unintelligible conversations just below a whisper, furniture moved by itself. Mrs. Harold told the servants they were just being foolish, but being a kind and considerate employer, she soon relented and let them move out of the haunted room. They had no problems in their new quarters. Eddie Harold came home for his holiday break a week before Christmas. He settled into his room and slept there peacefully until New Year's Eve. That night, Eddie was woken during the night by the overhead light turning on by itself. Groggily, he opened his eyes and saw a young woman standing next to the window. She was beautiful, dressed in white with a brilliant red rose tucked into her black hair. One hand was at her temple, as if to shield her eyes from the light. Still half asleep, Eddie mumbled to the girl and asked what she wanted. At the sound of his voice, the girl vanished and the lights went out. At breakfast the next morning, Eddie told his parents what had happened. Mr. and Mrs. Harold passed the experience off as a dream, but two nonchalantly asked Eddie not to mention the dream to the servants. At Easter, the Harold's had an out-of-town guest visiting. While sitting at breakfast, the friend happened to glance out into the hallway and saw a young lady in white pass by the open hall door and go up the stairs. The friend was able to describe the lady quite clearly. She was wearing a dress of white lace with caplet sleeves and a train, and she wore a single red rose in her shining black hair. Later that night, Eddie saw the ghost for a second time. This time he managed to ask the young lady who she was and what she wanted. The spirit again vanished, but at the same instant, he heard a woman's voice urge, wait. After that, the apparition was only seen at the Christmas holidays. The last time anyone saw the pretty ghost was during Eddie's senior year. Family was visiting for the holidays and Eddie's cousin was supposed to sleep in the servant's old room, but during the holiday party the men of the family had used it as their smoking room, so Mrs. Harold decided to put the cousin in Eddie's bedroom instead. Eddie agreed to sleep in the room the servants so feared. The Harrels decided not to tell the cousin about the ghost in Eddie's room, hoping she would sleep soundly. Eddie, as agreed, went to sleep in the servant's old room down the hall. He fell asleep without incident, but once again he was woken up in the middle of the night by the overhead lights coming on, and once again he saw the young woman in white standing by the window. This time, her hands were over her face. Eddie quietly got out of bed, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, the spirit was gone. After yet another visit from the beautiful young ghost, Eddie couldn't sleep. He sat up in a chair and read for a while. He nodded off over the book and slept through the rest of the night in the chair. At breakfast, the cousin told the Harrels about the strange vision she'd had the night before. She woke up to find her overhead light on. She could see through the walls that separated her room from the one Eddie was using. You were in your night shirt and you were sitting in a chair with a book in your hands. There was a woman in white standing behind you as if she was reading over your shoulder. The cousin described the woman exactly the way the Easter guest had done years before. The rose fell out of her hair, the cousin added. He was lying on the floor by the chair, and then the whole scene vanished. After breakfast, Eddie and his father snuck upstairs to the room where Eddie had spent the night. On the floor, next to the chair, was a fresh cut red rose. Shortly after this, Mr. Harrel passed away unexpectedly, and the family moved out of the house. Eddie never found out who the young lady was, or why she had appeared to him. But he kept the rose in a bell jar. He wrote that half a century later the stem and leaves had withered, but the blossom looked as fresh as if it had been cut that day, instead of being dropped by a ghost fifty years before. He never removed the glass cover, or even thought of touching the rose's satiny petals for fear it would crumble into dust. Jubal Reeves was a mountain man, and he had a mountain-sized heart, too. He was the friendliest, kindest man of anyone in those hills and hollers. Jubal was always ready to lend his neighbors a helping hand, but he saved his truest devotion for his family, his beautiful wife Rebecca and their four children. The little ones ranged from ten years old down to the three-year-old baby. There were two girls, Anna and Sarah, and two boys, Laban and David. Jubal doted on his children and their mother. He was constantly doing little things to show his affection for them. He dug flower beds for Rebecca around their cabin and filled them with the colors of nature, and picked bouquets for her every time a new blossom opened. He carved little toys for the children from chunks of wood, smoothing the splinters and rough edges carefully, mindful of tender little hands. He hung swings in the trees so the children would have a lovely place to play. Whenever he made the trek down to the general store for supplies, he made sure to pick something up for his family, penny candy for the children, and a bolt of cloth for Rebecca. She was an excellent seamstress and took pride in keeping her growing family well-clothed. And when they attended Sunday services in their small mountain church, Jubal would sit, eyes closed, a smile on his face as he listened to Rebecca lift her voice in worshipful song as if he were hearing angels sing. Jubal and Rebecca had been married for about 12 years when tragedy came to the family. During an exceptionally cold winter, influenza struck the mountain community. Jubal and Rebecca nursed other families until the evening they came home and found their own children sick. Little David, the baby of the family, died before morning the next day. Rebecca fell ill at about the time they lost David. 10-year-old Hannah passed next. Rebecca lived long enough to know that Hannah had died before she herself passed away. Left without his partner and soulmate, Jubal tried to keep his 6-year-old Sarah and 8-year-old Laban alive, but the strain of grief and loss was too much for him and he took sick as well. By the time the doctor came, Sarah and Laban were gone, and Jubal was delirious with fever. Jubal lay in a coma for a week before his fever broke. During that time, his neighbors did what folks back then did for each other. They took care of the laying out and the burying of Jubal's loved ones, but Jubal was far too sick to say his final goodbyes. It was another few days before Jubal was well enough to open his eyes and ask about Rebecca and the children. As gently as they could, the neighbors broke the shattering news. Rebecca, Hannah, Laban, Sarah and David were all dead, buried in the yard near one of the flower beds Jubal had put in for his wife's enjoyment. Jubal didn't believe them. He refused to believe them. The doctor pronounced Jubal out of danger. The neighbors went home, their sad duty done. If Jubal lived alone in the cabin for a while, they figured he would in time come to accept his loss. But it was not so easy as that. That spring Jubal Reeves came down from his cabin to the general store. He was still very weak and deathly pale, but he was determined to make the trip to the store. His reason for it became clear when he asked the storekeeper for five yards of ginger cloth. Rebecca wants to make new spring dresses for the girls. Jubal told the astonished storekeeper, they're just growing like weeds and best throw in some stick candy for little ones too. The storekeeper, startled, asked Jubal if he really wanted all that after what had happened. Jubal gave the man a puzzled look in return as if he honestly had no idea what the man was talking about. The storekeeper didn't have the heart to try to explain. In the end, he just sold Jubal the cloth and the candy along with his other supplies. As time went on, Jubal became even more fixed in his delusion. Occasionally, some neighbor would try to convince him that Rebecca and the children were waiting for him in heaven, but Jubal would never listen to such talk. He lived as if Rebecca and their children were right there with him and they were living their lives all together as a family. He'd wash clothes and hang them to dry. He cooked for a family of six. He'd set the table for the meal, then wash all the dishes afterwards. And once a year, he'd ask a neighbor woman to sew new dresses for Rebecca, Sarah and Hannah, but always in the sizes they had been when they died. The neighbor woman was kind and patient and she faithfully made the dresses as Jubal asked. Many years later, when Jubal was old and feeble, a stranger happened to pass by the cabin. It was Christmas time and the stranger was on his way to a nearby home and needed directions. He knocked on the door and Jubal let him in. The cabin was brightly lit and freshly cleaned for the holidays. The stranger could see that Jubal was in the middle of setting the table for six. The cabin was festively decorated and the good smells of cooking filled the air. Jubal was dressed in clean clothes, ready for a holiday celebration. He gave the stranger the directions he needed and the man went on his way. The stranger passed by Jubal's cabin again on his way down the mountain a couple of hours later. He was about to knock on the door again. He thought he might wish the old man a merry Christmas and maybe warm himself at Jubal's fire for a bit, but something stopped him from raising his knuckles to the door. He could hear voices in the cabin, the giggles of young children, Jubal's happy voice as he played with them. Then a woman's voice, the most beautiful he ever heard came to his ears. She was singing an old mountain carol and it sounded like angels singing. The stranger decided not to interrupt such a cozy family gathering, so he let his hand fall and turned away. He rode back down the mountain. It was some time later that he heard the story of Jubal's losses and of his insistence that his family still lived. That was Jubal's last Christmas with his family. He died at the end of summer the next year when the leaves began to turn. His neighbors found him sitting in a chair near Rebecca's flower beds. They buried him with his family right there in the yard. Mountain legends say that maybe Jubal's devotion to his family was so strong that it brought them back from beyond the veil to spend that one last Christmas with him. And when mountain folk want to pay someone the very highest compliment, they say they have a love like the love of Jubal Reeves. It was just a couple days before Christmas, 1860. Dr. John O'Brien, a country doctor practicing in rural Missouri, had just sat down to supper with his wife Elizabeth. The meal Elizabeth had made was perfect fare for a cold, blustery winter's night. Hot fried chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, and bread, fresh out of the oven. But Dr. O'Brien could only pick at his food. The young doctor was famous in the area for his intuition, a sense that went far beyond duty to his patients. And that intuition was niggling at him now, telling him to visit one of his patients. Mrs. Kilpatrick had heart trouble, and if she was in distress, care couldn't wait until morning. O'Brien sat his fork down and explained to Elizabeth that he had to go to see his patient. Elizabeth nodded her understanding, but cast a worried glance at the snow spitting against the window. O'Brien dressed warmly for the ride, but even so, the blizzard's winds swirled fiercely around him, cold fingers seeking away into his heavy overcoat and under his thick woollen scarf. He made his way to the stable and hitched his sturdy horse to the buggy. The howling winds and driving snow hit him full force when he turned out of his lane and onto the road. O'Brien gripped the reins with his fur-lined gloves and urged the horse forward, praying that the beast could keep his footing on the slippery road. The familiar landmarks were buried under drifts of snow. O'Brien peered through the swirling flakes trying to see the turn he had to take to get to the zig-zag path to the Kilpatrick's house. His sense of duty to his patient throbbed, but the storm raged fiercely around him. If he took the wrong road, he'd be wandering the countryside for hours in the cold and dark. Should he just give up and head for home? Just then he heard a noise under the howl of the wind. It sounded like the barking of a dog, a big dog. No, not just one, there were two of them. Then in the shallow pool of yellow light cast by his buggy lantern, O'Brien saw them. They were two big black dogs, not only knew what breed, on each side of his horse. The horse snorted and stamped, but didn't bolt from the huge beasts. The dogs barked again and bounded off through the snow, their shaggy black bodies easy to see as they moved through the white drifts. They must belong to some family around here, O'Brien thought, as he touched the horse into a fast walk. He didn't remember the Kilpatrick's having big dogs like these, but maybe they were working animals, not allowed indoors. The dogs kept up their barking, looking back over their shoulders, almost as if they were making sure O'Brien was following them. The doctor decided to trust his intuition once again and he followed the big black dogs. The dogs waited patiently for the buggy to catch up, leading the horse down the winding road to the Kilpatrick's home. O'Brien doubted he would have found the turnoff without the dog's help. Finally, a light glimmered in the distance, and the doctor allowed himself a sigh of relief. Moments later, he recognized the Kilpatrick's house. He pulled up, parked his buggy in the shed with a pat for his faithful horse, and went up and knocked on the door. Mr. Kilpatrick opened the door. Dr. O'Brien, what on earth? The doctor shrugged out of his snow-crusted overcoat. I had a feeling that's all. How is Mrs. Kilpatrick? Not well, I'm afraid. That intuition of yours, it's sure a blessing. We owe you thanks for coming out on such a vicious night. The doctor warmed his hands briefly at the fire, then went in to see his patient. As her husband had said, Mrs. Kilpatrick was doing poorly. Her breathing was labored, and her color wasn't good. O'Brien reached for her wrist and felt for her pulse. Thank God you're here, doctor. The woman mumbled, I had the strangest dream about you. Dreamed you were driving in a storm with two great black beasts at your side. Her voice trailed off as O'Brien stared at her. Numbly he noted her low, thready pulse. He turned to his bag and rummaged through it, looking for the packet of heart medicine. He mixed it with water and eased his patient up to drink it. Soon her breathing eased, her pulse grew steady, and she drifted into sleep. It was then that O'Brien realized that he hadn't heard the dogs bark in some time. As he gratefully accepted a late meal from Mr. Kilpatrick, O'Brien asked him about his dogs. The man shrugged. He didn't own dogs like that, nor did anyone in the area. The doctor spent the night watching over his patient. The next morning, Christmas Eve, she was well out of danger. As O'Brien drove home, he kept a sharp watch for the big black dogs. He even whistled and shouted for them a few times, but they had vanished with the blizzard's winds. He never saw the dogs again. If you enjoyed this episode, consider sharing it with others and help build the Weird Darkness community by converting your friends and family into weirdoes as well. This special episode is part of my 12 Nightmares of Christmas series, a collaboration with paranormal blogger and author Sylvia Schultz. The stories I used in this episode are from her book The Spirits of Christmas, The Dark Side of the Holidays, and you can find a link to that book in the show notes. Do you have a dark tale to tell? Share your story at WeirdDarkness.com and I might use it in a future episode. Music in this episode is provided by Midnight Syndicate. Find a link to purchase and download this dark, creepy Christmas music in the show notes. I'm your creator and host, Darren Marlar. Merry Christmas and thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness. Subscribe to this channel and click the notification bell so you don't miss future videos. I post videos seven days a week, and while you're at it, spread the darkness by sharing this video with someone you know who loves all things strange and macabre. If you want to listen to the podcast, you can find it at WeirdDarkness.com slash listen.