The Spirit of Krampus--Illustrated

by Kate Danley

  “But maybe..."

  "What?"

  Herbie picked up another cookie and bit it with fast little nibbles as the idea formed. "If you could get to the North Pole and find Santa..."

  "How?"

  "You'd first have to find the workshop. It has a pole in front of it that looks like mine. The few of us elves who are still around have been putting out poles like that so we can keep track of one another." Herbie looked at Skip, rubbing his chin with his finger. "Kind of funny that you were able to see it."

  Herbie got up from the couch and walked over to a closet. He opened it up. Inside were piles of metal and plastic. He spoke faster and faster as he set aside bits and pieces. “Now, to get to the North Pole, you're going to need one of Santa's flying reindeer, and I'm afraid I don't have one of those. If I had a reindeer, I wouldn't be here. I would be in the North Pole."

  Skip stood and walked over to Herbie. “Can I get one somewhere?"

  "Yes! Oh my, yes!" said Herbie. There was a mad look in his eyes. "We'll have to find you a flying reindeer. It is your Christmas wish! If there is one around, they'll be in the woods. There are woods at the far end of town. I can't go there. I have to stay here in case Santa comes for me. But you can! You can go! Only it's almost Christmas Eve and pretty soon those grownups are going to be able to get out of their yards..."

  Skip looked at the pile of materials Herbie was gathering up. “Are you making something?"

  "You'll need a disguise. Something to fool the grownups just long enough for you to slip through." Herbie grinned before diving back into the closet. “If there's any Christmas magic left, I will make sure you get your wish.”

  THREE

  They peeked out from the ditch that hid Herbie's house. There were rows of houses between them and the woods and the sun was starting to set. Skip began shaking.

  "You have to act like a toy!" Herbie whispered.

  All about them, the grown-ups had left their houses and were milling around their front yards. They were looking at each other with wicked smiles, gleefully clasping their hands together like three year olds about to get a glorious surprise. At their feet were wiggling black sacks, which they kicked from time to time.

  "Happy Christmas!" the wished one another.

  "Happy Christmas!" they said, grasping one another's hand.

  "No magic like Christmas magic!"

  "To finally be able to leave! To be able to walk around the world for one night!"

  "A glorious thing!"

  "I brought my sack full of children! I brought him so many, maybe he'll let me have two nights out!"

  "I've got so many, maybe he'll let me have three!"

  All along the street, anxious hands gripped the fence posts waiting for the sun to dip behind the mountains and the first star to light the sky.

  "Be really careful around them," whispered Herbie. “Make sure to get to the woods before the sun sets. Go now before they can get out of their yards."

  Skip nodded, looking down at himself. Herbie had taken bits of metal and plastic and had bent them around Skip's arms and legs until he looked like a life-sized tin soldier with a wind up key in his back. "You sure this is going to fool them?"

  "Of course!" said Herbie, his innocent eyes shining with pride.

  "Thank you for helping me," said Skip. He reached over and grabbed him up in a hug.

  "Careful!" said Herbie, backing off to put Skip's outfit back in place. "Now remember, you only have until the Christmas feast at midnight. That's what they've been capturing all the children for. After that, there's no saving your brother or anyone else."

  Skip nodded and crawled up to the street. He squared his little shoulders and tried to make his eyes appear as blank as a wind-up doll.

  "Merry Christmas, Skip!"

  Skip took his first step down the middle of the road. Slowly, he marched towards the woods, matching his pace to the clockwork rhythm, Be brave for Bo... be brave for Bo...

  "Oh look!" cried a grownup man in a grey suit from a house half way down the block. "A Christmas parade!"

  Be brave for Bo...be brave for Bo...

  Skip felt all eyes upon him. He felt them staring. He tried to keep his eyes blank, but a cold gust of wind was blowing. And he blinked.

  "He blinked..." said a woman.

  "Do you think it is one of those dolls with the sleepy eyes?"

  "No, they only close if you lay them on their back..."

  "I don't think that's a toy..." said another.

  "I think it's a child trying to fool us!" shouted another.

  Skip looked to the side fearfully and all the men and women from every house started shaking their gates and throwing themselves against their fences like wild beasts. “IT'S A CHILD! A LYING CHILD! A NAUGHTY CHILD WHO SHOULD BE PUT IN A SACK!"

  From far away, Skip heard Herbie shout, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry Skip! This was not a good plan!"

  Skip began to run. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. His costume clanked with every step, the hard, jointed edges that Herbie had so lovingly fitted knocking against one another as he tore off down the road.

  He neared the edge of the forest just as the sun dipped behind the trees. He did not look back as he heard every gate on the street opened in one movement and the sound of the grownups racing after him with their bags in their hands.

  He hit the tree line as the light faded into twilight, as snow began to fall from the sky. His breath came in ragged gasps and his lungs felt as if they were on fire. He could hear the grownups' high heeled shoes and slick loafers crunching and sliding on the pine needles and hidden branches behind him.

  He came to an embankment and slid down, hoping the people would think he had stayed on the path.

  He ran on, looking for someplace, anyplace to hide.

  "Come here you naughty little boy! Running is so disobedient. I have a sack waiting for you to punish you for your sins!" came the cry.

  Skip ducked behind a tree and waited, hoping they would pass by, hoping they could not hear his panting breath.

  Bo would have known what to do, he thought. Bo would have gotten them someplace safe.

  But Bo was not here.

  Just then, Skip thought he heard the crack of a twig. He stood completely still, like a deer who had caught the smell of a wolf.

  "AH! I've got you!"

  A brown haired man in ragged clothes jumped around the tree. He reached out and missed Skip by inches.

  Skip dodged and wove, running in between one tree and the next, trying to escape the man's hands and outstretched bag.

  "There he is!" came a distant voice.

  Skip glanced up and saw the entire town start to make its way down the embankment.

  "Get in my bag!"

  "No, get in MY bag!"

  "I said to get in my bag!" they called out to him.

  Skip took off, not sure where he was going. Despite the bite to the air, sweat poured down his face and dripped down his back.

  He tripped, and someone tried to grab his ankle. He kicked and hit the grownup square in the teeth. Face bleeding, the man cried, "You are very naughty indeed! Get in my sack!"

  Skip scrambled to his feet and ran some more.

  And then, suddenly, he slid to a halt. Before him was an overhang which dropped a hundred feet to a small froze brook below. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to escape. Nothing left to do but to be brave and fight.

  Skip adjusted the soldier costume as it bit into his ribs and turned to face the horde of maddened parents slowly stalked towards him chanting, "Get in my sack... get in my sack..."

  But then there was a sound. It was the sound of jingling. It was distant at first, but then it came closer. It was a sound that caused everyone to stop and look.

  And at that moment, a reindeer with golden antlers bounced over the heads of the crowd. She wore a red saddle and a halter covered in large brass bells.

  The reindeer seemed not to care who she trampled to get to the boy. She tore
through the crowd, striking anyone who tried to interfere with her silver hooves. Desperately, Skip and the deer raced towards each other. The deer bent down and the moment Skip touched her, he felt as light as a feather. He flew over the reindeer, twisting and turning, and landed in her saddle.

  The creature lowered her head at the crowd, as if daring them to step forward and attack her charge.

  "Let's get out of here," whispered Skip.

  As if waiting for this command, the reindeer leapt and took off into the sky. Skip clung to her neck and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that it was just a dream.

  But it was not. The moment he opened his eyes, the world was as real as it was a moment before, the land racing fast below him as they sailed across the sky.

  "Thank you for saving me," he whispered.

  The reindeer threw back her head and nodded, as if thanking him, too.

  FOUR

  It seemed like hours later, and at the same time an instant, when they finally reached a flat, cold expanse of glaciers and snow. There was a white barber shop pole with red stripes, almost like the one that Herbie had in front of his house, except this one was larger and stood at the mouth of a giant cave.

  The reindeer landed and walked forward, her hooves crunching the ground with each step. As she passed the cave's entrance, a curtain of ice closed behind them, and a wall of ice opened in front.

  The full moon shone through the frozen roof and dimly lit the room before them. It looked like it might have once been a workshop of sorts, a place where toys were made, but now the brightly colored playthings lay on the ground, smashed and destroyed, and there was no sign of the workers.

  The reindeer stopped by a large lever built into the wall. Skip leaned over, grabbed the brass handle, and pulled it down. A deep hum filled the room and, one-by-one, the lights overhead flickered and came to life.

  The destruction was terrible. There were holes in the walls where heavy things had been thrown, every conveyor belt had been ripped off its rollers, workstations had been tipped over and all the chairs were broken into splinters.

  "What happened?" asked Skip.

  He got off the reindeer and began walking carefully through the wreckage. The reindeer followed behind.

  "There must have been a battle," he said as he looked a doll whose head had been crushed. His voice echoed through the building.

  "Hello?" Skip called. "Santa?"

  There was no response. The reindeer gazed off towards a separate room.

  The double doors had been torn off their hinges and the maw of the arched entry stood waiting. Skip made his way around the bits of plastic, metal, and glass and went in.

  It was a stable, each stall busted apart from the inside. Skip turned to the reindeer and asked, “Did you have to break out?”

  The reindeer nodded her head. Skip pointed to the name plates over each of the nine stalls. “Which one were you?”

  The reindeer delicately picked her way over to one of the center stalls.

  “Dasher?” asked Skip. “Are you Dasher?”

  Once again, the reindeer nodded.

  Skip walked over and placed his hand upon the reindeer’s nose. “It is nice to meet you, Dasher.”

  Dasher let out a chuff of warm air and nudged his shoulder. Skip continued on through room after wrecked room - candy rooms, chocolate rooms, toy rooms and playgrounds - until he found himself in a large storage area. There were open filing cabinets from floor to ceiling in every direction he turned. On one side of the aisle, the empty drawers said “Nice.” Upon the drawers on the other side, they all said “Naughty.” Burned pages covered the room, the contents now nothing more than flaky, black shards.

  “This was where Santa kept the naughty and nice list?” asked Skip, running his hand along the drawers. “How did it all catch on fire?”

  Dasher gave him a look, as if asking him to think deeper.

  "Unless someone set it on fire..."

  Dasher flung her head up and down.

  "But why would anyone do that?"

  Dasher didn’t seem to have an answer to this question.

  Skip pushed away the ash with his feet, looking for any signs or clues. Row after row he searched until in the far corner, he saw a flash of white. The paper was almost completely hidden. But he saw it. Skip bent over and brushed away the soot. Written on the page were three little words: "Skip Albreight – Nice.”

  It was strange that such a simple piece of paper would make him feel so funny inside. It made him remember a happy time before his parents went crazy, back before foster care, and before he and Bo ran away...

  Just then, a cabinet moved. Behind it was a little door. It would have been too big for a grown up to get through. The only people small enough to walk inside would be an elf... or a small boy.

  Skip grabbed the paper and tucked it into his pocket. He got down on his hands and knees. He crawled through and found himself in a low ceilinged room. In the center, a red coat with white trim waited upon a dress form.

  A large, green velvet sack hung from a hook. And in between the two was a table with a yellowed piece of parchment paper and a quill.

  Skip walked over to the parchment. The curly writing was hard for him to read, but slowly, he sounded it out:

  “Welcome young traveler! If you are here, it is because a terrible event has occurred. The world is in peril. Take the sack and the coat. When the time is right, you will know what to do. You may have thought you were all alone, but you are not. No one can stop the spirit of Christmas. Signed, Santa Claus”

  Skip looked at the coat. He touched the soft, fur lined cuffs and rough, velvet sleeve. Reverently, he took it down and slipped into it. It was warm and felt like a hug.

  It smelled good, like vanilla and cinnamon. It was too big for him, but if he rolled up the arms and belted the waist tightly with the black belt, it didn’t fall off. He lifted the bag. It seemed light and slung comfortably across his back.

  Just then, the piece of paper with his name on it fluttered out of his pocket and fell to the floor. He stood there, dressed in Santa's clothes, staring at the last remaining page of the "Naughty & Nice" list. He picked it up and placed it on the table.

  It seemed like there should be more names on that paper, he thought to himself. He took the quill from the inkwell, which dropped thick black blobs all over the page, but he didn't know what to write. There were so many people in the world and so many people who were missing. He didn't know who was good or bad. It seemed too big and too hard.

  But then thought of his brother. Of the way that he was always there for him, the way Bo looked out for him and kept him safe. In his best handwriting, he scrawled, “Bo Albreight – Nice.”

  But then he thought about it a little more. He knew one more name that belonged on his list. He flipped over the paper to the blank side, dipped the quill in more ink, and wrote: “Krampus – Naughty.”

  There was still something wrong. He looked at the page and then looked at it twice. And then he remembered. By all three names, he placed two checkmarks.

  Finally, it felt done.

  Dasher's nose snuffed the doorway and Skip turned around.

  "I'll be just a minute," he called.

  He patted the list as he thought about his brother and thought about Krampus, and as he thought about how the whole world was being ruined.

  His brother always told him to be brave.

  Skip turned to the door and said, "Dasher, we have to go back."

  FIVE

  Dasher landed behind an old school house and Skip pulled himself down from her back. Tiptoeing, he rounded the corner.

  All the grownups were in the town square. The gazebo was on fire and the blaze was so big, it looked like it could burn for a whole month without ever going out.

  The grownups laughed and danced, drank and cursed, breaking their bottles on the ground whenever they needed to punch someone.

  A great big spit was built over the fire, and Skip didn't want to e
ven think about what they were planning on using it for.

  There was a squat, white building on the far side guarded by two angry looking adults. A man with a wiggling sack full of children walked up to the door. They opened it for him and he threw the bag inside.

  "That must be where all the kids are," whispered Skip. "But how are we ever going to get inside?"

  Dasher nuzzled Skip's shoulder.

  "Not now, Dasher. I'm thinkin'."

  Dasher nipped him this time.

  "What?" asked Skip, turning around. "You have an idea?"

  Dasher turned her head and touched her nose to the saddle.

  "You want me to get on your back?" Skip asked.

  Dasher nodded her head.

  "Okay, but this had better be good," said Skip, climbing aboard.

  Dasher took off into the sky, flying around the outskirts of town so that no one would see them. Everything outside the square was empty and dark. Her bells rang softly, rhythmically, and Skip began humming the memory of a long forgotten song. "Up on the roof top reindeer pause...Out jumps good old Santa Claus..."

  Dasher landed delicately on the flat roof the white building.

  Skip dismounted and threw Santa's bag over his shoulder. He smoothed Dasher's coat and stroked her face. Dasher looked at him with her big, soulful eyes and she pressed her nose against his cheek.

  "Thank you, Dasher," he whispered.

  He crept to the edge of the eaves and looked down.

  The adults were still reveling and didn't seem to have noticed them. Skip shrunk back

  "Down through the chimney with lots of toys..."

  Skip murmured as he looked around. Then he got

  an idea. "Maybe this place has a chimney..."

  Dasher tiptoed behind him and nudged him towards the spinning attic vents. Skip shook his head. “That is not going to work."

  But Dasher pushed him again.

  He looked at them. There was no way he could fit through. They were nothing but slits of metal turning quickly in the wind. If he were the wind, he thought, he could blow in no problem. He held Santa's bag tightly and thought about it some more.