Creepy - The Sharing Tree

Episode Date: July 29, 2021

Sharing is caring...***Written by Derek Deutsch and narrated by Owen McCuen***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is the bloody disgusting podcast network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories make important. contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents The Sharing Tree, written by Derek Deutsch, and narrated by Owen McCune. At the start of the year, I remember it had felt like we were on top of the world. I wasn't totally in love with my new job, but it was with a solid company.

with good benefits, and a salary that was nothing to scoff at for a college dropout. My wife, Andrea, had finally fallen into a smooth groove in her position at work after a rocky and uncertain past couple of years. Our children, Michael and McKenzie, were crushing it at school and blossoming into some very well-adjusted young adults. That's why it came as such a shock when it all fell apart just before Independence Day. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself the idea of the independence we achieved

as we melted into the summer. Independence from steady income came first. Then independence from our vehicles, making it difficult to earn a living. Finally, freedom from our own home. Don't get me wrong, we did not become homeless, as in having no place to live. But we were forced to downgrade our living

situation quite a bit from what we had grown accustomed to earlier in the year. It seemed like so long ago that everything felt all right. The holidays rapidly approached and the stress of trying to find a way for our little family to have something that resembled Christmas left Andrea and I feeling beaten, defeated, and depressed. We wouldn't be setting any records for the best Christmas ever, but we had to scrape something together for our kids, even if it was just a few thought. gifts and homemade decorations.

Just a little something to make you feel like Christmas and distract us all from all our worries and circumstances. We sold off most of our belongings as we moved to downsize. Our household decorations and Christmas tree were among the casualties of the fire sale, save a few personal and sentimental ornaments. Ha! What good are ornaments without a tree? I thought to myself. As Christmas approached, I was fighting with myself over the idea of getting a tree. I always wondered, why in the hell a real tree so expensive?

Hell, I'm shitty-looking, fake plastic ones weren't exactly priced to move. What is Christmas without some presents under a beautifully lit and decorated tree, though? It was Christmas Eve by the time I finally worked up nerve to venture to visit the neighborhood tree lot. It was just one of those abandoned dirt lots on the corner with a fence around it. There was a rady old easy-up shade tent over a long wooden table out front of a beat-up old motor home in the corner of the lot. There were not many trees left to choose from this late in the season. To be honest, I was surprised the place was still open and selling Christmas trees on Christmas Eve. I didn't want to get a tree that made Charlie Brown's sad little tree look like a magnificent and lush fur,

but I also didn't want to break the bank. how could I justify two weeks gas on lunch money for a squatty, bushy, half-balled little pine tree? Although the thought did cross my mind that I might be able to hide the dead half in the corner. I was getting pretty desperate when he showed up. A thin, crooked little man that smelled of cinnamon and something else, I couldn't quite place the aroma as it hung in the air.

Thick and warm in a way, like the smell of fresh baked, gingerbread mingled with a little cream and a stiff brandy. His hair was thin and wispy. His skin was pale and hung loosely from his bones. When he first began to approach, my mind raced with a flurry of excuses and thoughts of avoiding conversation. I didn't want to get into the sad and pathetic details of my situation.

I struggled to think of a way to move on without any meaningful interaction with the man. There was something about this old man that lulled me into an almost disoriented state of safety, though. His presence enveloped me in a warm, soft comfort. We talked, and I spilled my guts. For no reason at all, I shared my entire life's story and every sad, drawn-out detail with the stranger. He made me feel like everything would be okay. He spoke of the magic of the season. We talked about miracles.

We reflected on the reason for the season, if you will. He smiled and croaked, I have just the tree for you. In his tired, breathless voice, This is an old and special tree. It is a healing and magical tree. The old man continued. For you, I will be willing to make a deal.

I will give you this tree, but you must make me a promise. I nodded in agreement, and he wandered off into the utility trailer, still attached to the dilapidated-all-moter home in the corner of the tree lot. After a moment, he returned with a medium-sized, worn and tattered, but ornately carved wooden box. It didn't occur to me as strange at the time that this was an artificial tree, and it came in a beautifully carved wooden box. I was overcome with gratitude. I had started to think, perhaps this old man might be an honest to God angel. That is why it was no problem for me to agree to recite the promise.

A promise to pass this tree along to another deserving family once our family had gotten our joy and use out of the tree. I will regret making that promise for the rest of whatever short time was left of my miserable life. I hurried home that night with the box tucked under my arm, still in awe of the charity and the goodwill of the old man. I was electrified with excitement. I'd saved Christmas for my family. This little artificial tree was spectacular. Even in pieces, in a box, it looked so real.

Shit, the damn thing even smelled of sweet, sticky pine. It was quite extraordinary. When I got home, I made. made an ordeal out of the unveiling of the gifted tree. The children clapped excitedly, smiled, and almost jumped with joy. We collapsed into a family group hug, and the kids begged to put up the tree right then. They had to do it right away. I convinced them to wait till after dinner. Over dinner, I told the story of the old man. Andrea was misty-eyed with gratitude towards the old man's kindness. We daydreamed about being able to pay it forward and find the perfect family

to share this with once we were back on our feet. We just knew everything was going to change now. It was a magic tree. We could feel it. After dinner, Christmas music played as we assembled the tree and carefully arranged the few ornaments we still had. The kids jokingly pretended to agonize over the perfect place for each bulb and reindeer and little wooden nutcracker soldier. It was a wonderful, joyous evening. Heck, even the cats got involved. Well, more in the way, but they were there. They wasted no time before making the family Christmas tree their very own fancy,

life-like cat tree. As I placed the topper, I nicked the palm of my hand. A small trickle of blood ran down. my arm and the tiniest drop fell silently under the trunk of our little artificial tree. The drop of blood was thirstily absorbed before anyone in my family noticed. As the blood soaked in, the tree gave a shudder and the smell of pine wafted into the room. The smell was much stronger now than it was before. I shook off what I thought I saw and chalked it up to being tired and so.

stressed. Everything was going to be okay now. I just knew it. The next morning, I woke up and stumbled into the kitchen to get coffee started. It was my job to get the cats their morning treats and begin rousing the family for the traditional Christmas morning opening of presents, even if there were only a few gifts crudely wrapped in newspaper. The whole house smelled of pine trees. The tree looked even more real than when we had gone to bed. I beamed with pride The amazing thing I had done for my family What a good-looking tree

I knew that things were going to be different for us all now Little did I know What that difference would mean I called for the cats I shook the treat box But no cats came I looked under beds and in the closets Nothing

There were nowhere to be found I woke the kids and Andrea and asked that they had seen the cats. Of course, no one had any clue, but they lazily helped in searching the house. Nothing. Nowhere. They were gone.

We decided that perhaps they had gotten out and that I would go looking for them after presents in eggnog. We opened gifts and spent some time as a family. Something was missing. It was time to go find the cats. I clumsily threw my coat on over my pajamas and went out to look around the immediate neighborhood. I had no luck.

I called and called and found nothing. I started to get cold and decided to go back home to warm up and plan a proper search party with the family. When I returned, somehow the tree looked even more real. It was almost glowing with life. There was a liquid shimmer to the trunk now. It reminded me of the spot where my blood had been soaked up the night before, but the tree wasn't wet to the touch. It was magnificent.

I called out to Andrea and the kids. I needed help making flyers and putting them up so we could have our fur babies return to our loving embrace. No one came to my calls. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I searched the house for my family. I looked tired and much older. My hair was thinning. Something was happening. My promise to the old man echoed back in my mind.

I promise. I will pass this amazing gift onto another family once it is done with mine. I couldn't believe it. Had I really promised to pass it on once it was done with my family? I couldn't comprehend why I would have phrased the promise. that way. I remember saying it, but I did not remember it feeling so sinister at the time.

It was such an amazing gift. It had saved Christmas. I was grateful. I noticed what looked to be some sort of viscous pool at the base of the now even more lifelike artificial tree. As I approached to investigate it further, I heard the old man's voice calling to me

from the living room. I rushed to confront them, man. But when I entered the room, there was no one there. I started to think I was losing my mind, praying that it was all a dream. I would wake up and my wife and kids would greet me cheerful and happy as ever. But that was not the case. When I returned to the other room to investigate the substance under the tree, I was shocked to find the tree was disassembled and back in the carved wooden box. Next to the box was a card.

The card read, Remember your promise. It is now your time to find its next family. You must pass on the gift to be freed and see your family again. I could feel myself

changing. I was getting weaker. My breath became short and labored. I tried to cut my wrists and feed myself to the dam tree. But I was unable to pierce the skin as I dragged the blade across what had become almost translucent skin. I just wanted to be with my family. But I feared I may never see them again. I refused to pass this gift on. But I don't think I'll get that choice.

I'm ready to be done. Maybe I should find its next home. I thought the old man was an angel. Now I know it was something else entirely. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, please visit creepypod.com. If you'd like to submit a story for consideration or recommend a story, please see our submission page at creepypod.com slash submissions. All stories told on this podcast are done so through. creative common share-a-like licensing or with written consent from the authors no portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author