by Brom
He popped the reins and they took off, gliding down the middle of the street just above the car roofs, heading across town. They passed over a man sitting in his truck at a stop sign. The man watched them fly over, nodded at them, grinning the whole time, then drove on as though nothing had happened. A block later, a man and a woman leaned against a car. The man was trying to unlock the door but seemed too intoxicated to get the key in the lock. They looked up as the sleigh flew past, hollered something unintelligible, and both of them promptly fell over. Jesse wondered how many of these late-night boozers would blame what they’d seen on the drink come morning. Not much further along, a woman in a car slammed on her brakes as they barreled past. She stuck her head out the window, eyes wide in wonderment. It was apparent from her shocked expression that she wasn’t drunk, but maybe she wished she were. About a mile later, they cruised by a dozen or so teenagers tailgating in the old water tower parking lot. “Yule cheer to one and all!” Krampus yelled, and waved. About half the kids managed a partial wave, mouths agape, the rest just stared, too stunned to do anything else. A flash went off and Jesse grinned, wondered if their picture would be pasted all over the Internet come morning.
They headed up Sipsey Ridge, along the edge of town, the houses were spread out, a bit more rural, small vegetable gardens and chicken pens popping up here and there. Krampus slowed down, peering up the long driveways.
“Hey,” Chet said. “It’s my place.” He pointed to a small cottage with pink asbestos siding. A wood cutout of a woman in bloomers bending over stood in the flower bed, and a white wicker rocker sat on the porch.
“You live in a pink house?” Jesse laughed. “Explains a lot. Guess that’s why you’re so partial to that fancy coat you’re wearing.”
“Hey, fuck you. It’s my aunt’s house.”
“You live with your aunt?” Jesse laughed harder.
“Kiss my ass,” Chet said and jabbed Jesse.
Jesse raised his hands in surrender, did his best to stop laughing.
“It’s temporary. She’s just helping out until I get things worked out with Trish. So fuck off.”
Jesse stopped laughing. “You and Trish split up?”
Chet nodded, couldn’t hide the hurt on his face. Jesse knew that look too well. “Yeah,” Jesse said. “I know a bit about how that goes.”
Krampus drifted a few more houses up and slid to a stop in front of a flat-roofed, ranch-style home with water-stained cedar siding. An older-model Chevy Malibu with its tail end jacked up, missing its hubcaps, and badly in need of new paint, sat in the carport. The yard strewn with a few toys, a broken swing set, rusting auto parts, and a good number of PBR empties.
“Hey, man,” Chet said. “That’s Wallace Dotson’s place. You sure as shit don’t wanna go messing around there. He ain’t right in the head, not since coming home from Iraq he ain’t.”
“How many children does your friend Wallace Dotson have?” Krampus asked.
“He ain’t my friend. And that man don’t know the meaning of the word ‘birth control.’ Got at least five or six brats running around, maybe more, and every one of ’em as mean and fucked in the head as their old man. Little shits will shoot you the bird just for looking at ’em.”
Krampus hopped out and the Shawnee followed. Jesse, Isabel, Vernon, and Chet sat tight. A dog barked somewhere up the drive.
“Man,” Chet said. “I’m telling you, you’re picking the wrong house. Old Wallace, that man, he likes his guns, likes shooting them, too. Just pick another house why don’t you?”
“Come,” Krampus said. “All of you, now.” They climbed out and followed Krampus up the drive.
Jesse nudged Isabel. “Look.” He pointed to a hand-painted sign stuck in the front lawn. It read, NO SOLICITING. THIS MEANS YOU ASSHOLE!
Isabel shook her head.
All the windows were dark. Jesse hoped the family was away for the holidays. Krampus stepped onto the porch and a dog barked twice from the other side of the door. It sounded like a big dog. They could hear its claws clacking as it paced back and forth.
Krampus raised his fist to knock, stopped. “Maybe a little prudence is in order,” he whispered. “A slightly different tack. Jesse, the key.” Jesse handed him the key ring. Three of the skeleton keys were of the old-fashioned variety, but the rest were smaller, more modern in design. Krampus picked one of these, tried to insert it into the lock—it wouldn’t fit. Jesse didn’t understand how these six keys were supposed to open every key lock in the world, but after all he’d seen recently, he felt relatively optimistic. Krampus didn’t disappoint; the second key slid in, he gave it a twist, and the bolt flopped over.
Jesse had no idea if the sleeping sand worked on dogs or not, but dug a pinch from his breast pocket and held it at the ready. Krampus twisted the knob and pushed the door inward. The dog jumped out at them and Jesse flicked the sand into its face. It was a basset hound—a really old basset hound. It looked at Jesse with big, sad eyes, wagged its tail, then collapsed.
Everyone gave Jesse a hard look.
“What?”
They stepped over the sleeping dog and entered the foyer. Voices and the cast of a flickering television came from the far end of the hall. Jesse smelled weed.
Krampus crept toward the light, avoiding the clumps of dirty clothes. They stopped in the doorway to the living room. A pudgy man with about a week’s worth of beard lay sprawled across a sofa, fast asleep, an ashtray full of butts balanced on his chest, an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor, and a large gray tabby resting in his lap. The cat opened its eyes and stared at them.
The children, all six of them, were sitting on the floor in front of the television, their backs to them. They ranged in age from about ten all the way down to a toddler in diapers, two girls and the rest boys. An enormous, economy-size bag of Cheetos sat between them, orange crumbs littering the grungy carpet. It’s a Wonderful Life was playing, and Jimmy Stewart was trying to convince the fine residents of Bedford Falls not to pull all their money from the Building and Loan, his disarming manner and warm sincere drawl holding the children spellbound.
There was no Christmas tree in this house, no Christmas lights, or any sort of decorations other than a lone group of pinecones hanging over the fireplace. Jesse found no new toys, or signs of any gifts. It appeared as though Christmas had pretty much passed these children by.
Isabel touched Krampus’s arm, pointed to the man. Krampus nodded and she tiptoed over. The cat stretched, yawned, began to purr. Isabel dropped a few sprinkles of sleeping sand onto the man’s face. His nose crinkled, but that was about it. Isabel shrugged. When she turned around, all the children were looking at her—six faces smeared with orange crumbs. Isabel raised her hand. “Hi.”
They watched her step back over to the hall. “We should go try and find their ma,” Isabel whispered.
“She ain’t here,” Chet said. “She run off about a year back.”
“Oh,” Isabel replied.
Krampus handed Isabel his switches. “I won’t be needing these.” He stepped into the room and every eye went to the towering Yule Lord, terror spreading across their faces.
“There is no need to fear,” Krampus said in the same soft, lulling voice he’d used on the little girls at the previous house. “I am a friend.”
Their terror appeared to lessen a degree, but one of the younger boys still began to cry.“Casey, you shush now,” a girl said and stood up. The little boy did his best to stifle his tears. The girl appeared to be the oldest of the bunch, maybe nine or ten years old. She took a step forward, putting herself between Krampus and the rest. “What’d you want?” she said, trying to sound tough, but Jesse could hear the fear in her voice. “If you’s looking to steal stuff, we ain’t got nothing.”
“We are not thieves,” Krampus said, his voice calm and hypnotic. “I am the Yule Lord and I come bearing gifts for all of you.”
Curiosity appeared on a few of the faces. They looked up at their big sister. S
he gave Krampus a hard, cynical look. “Folks never give you something, ’less they be wanting something. What’d you want?”
“You are wise beyond your years. What is your name, child?”
The girl hesitated. “Who’s asking?”
The Yule Lord grinned. “I am Krampus.”
“Well, Krampus, my name is Carolyn, and this here is Chris and Curtis, Casey, Clayton, and over there is Charlene.”
Krampus nodded to each of them. The baby looked at Krampus, began to whimper. A boy, couldn’t have been older than four, pulled the baby into his lap, found its pacifier, and patted it on the back, doing his best to reassure the child.
Krampus walked softly over to the children and unslung his sack.
The girl stood her ground. She looked terrified, but Jesse could see that she’d take a beating before she’d let anyone, even a horned demon, get their hands on any of these children.
Casey crawled behind his big sister and began to cry again. “Casey, I done told you to shush up, now. Y’know Pa don’t stand for no tears.”
“Please . . . do not be alarmed.” Krampus knelt down on one knee. He placed the sack between them, slipped in his hand, closed his eyes, and pulled out a handful of the triangular gold coins.
Their eyes let up, all of them bedazzled by the ancient coins. He handed one to each and went on to tell them all about Yule, about the old traditions, about shoes on doorsteps and rewards for those who believe. They listened, captivated and hanging on his every word. Soon all trace of their fear was gone.
When Krampus finished, he stood, bid them Happy Yule, and headed out. The children followed them to the door.
“Hey,” Jesse said to Carolyn. “Be sure not to let your daddy see them coins.”
The girl nodded as though she was way ahead of him.
“Take them down to Dicker and Pawn. Ask for Finn, he’s out to treat you better than most.”
“Yeah,” Chet put in. “You tell him Chet Boggs said he better treat you square. Got that?”
The girl nodded again.
Jesse and Chet caught up with the rest of the Belsnickels in the sleigh. Krampus popped the reins and the Yule goats leapt skyward. Jesse watched the children, their six small faces staring up at them in wonderment. Carolyn raised her arm and waved, all the children did. Jesse waved back.
CLOUDS OF BLACK smoke drifted across the gardens and through the topiary, shifting with the early-dawn wind. A few pockets of flame still crackled. The scorched beams and stones of the stable formed a stark skeleton against the morning sky.
Six women dug through the smoldering embers with pitchforks and rakes. Their dirty, soot-covered gowns clinging to the sweat of their bodies, ash smeared across their hands and tear-streaked faces.
“Here,” the woman with the long white hair called. “He is here.”
They all came, dropping rakes and forks in favor of their own hands, gently pulling the mutilated corpse from the ash. Some of the women turned away, could not bear to look upon the blackened, headless body.
“Help me,” the woman said, and together they lifted the body and carried it across the courtyard, down a narrow path outside the wall, to a small, single-room chapel overlooking the sea. There they lay it upon a stone slab, beneath a window of golden stained glass in the shape of a cross. One of the girls fetched towels and a pail of seawater. Together they washed the body, wiping away the dirt and soot. The fire had burned away all of his clothing, but left his body untouched. It gleamed porcelain-white, perfect except for the great injuries inflicted by the spear. They washed his hands, scrubbed beneath his fingernails, toenails, his genitals, his wounds, and the grisly flap of torn flesh at his neck. They bathed him until no trace of soiled flesh remained, then wrapped him in white linen.
“Now,” the woman said. “Stop your weeping. Grief is for the dead. Santa Claus can never die. For too many people believe in him. It is a time for prayers . . . time to call to the angels.”
She reached out her hands and the girls linked together, forming a circle around the slab. She sat cross-legged upon the marble floor and the girls followed her lead.
“We serve him vigil. None shall eat, sleep, nor drink until the angels come. If they do not come then it is God’s will that we perish at his side. Now close your eyes and call them down.”
As they prayed, the morning sun cleared the horizon, blazing through the stained glass, bathing the room in golden light. “God is in the house,” the white-haired woman said.
THE THIRD HOUSE that night sat near the river—stately new construction enclosed within a gate of red brick and elegant iron. Krampus dropped the sleigh down upon the wide circular driveway.
The Yule Lord found the front door unlocked and let himself in. The foyer led them into a dramatic living space open to the second floor. A wall of arched windows ran to the peak of the cathedral ceiling and faced out toward the river; at their center stood a towering Christmas tree dripping in ribbons and ornaments.
“Wow, that’s pretty,” Isabel said.
Krampus didn’t appear to share her sentiment. He made a face as though force-fed a spoonful of cough syrup, but refrained from smashing any of the ornaments, instead heading up the grand staircase.
Krampus entered the first room they came to; he strolled right in as though invited. The room was spacious, a large flat-screen television hung from the wall, a movie playing, the sound down low. A man and a woman, in their forties, were sitting up in their king-size four-poster bed—the man pecking away at his laptop, the woman watching the TV while texting on her phone. The man looked up when his wife let out a loud gasp.
Krampus paid them no heed, staring into the big screen on the wall, his head cocked to one side.
The woman looked as though she were choking on something, and finally a scream escaped her throat. Jesse and Isabel both started over with the sleeping sand, but Krampus held up his hand. “Wait.”
The woman screamed again, started to get up. The man yanked the earbuds from his ears and threw an arm across the woman. “Stay calm, Nancy. Just stay calm.” Nancy appeared about to hyperventilate, but somehow managed to sit tight, staring with absolute horror at the giant devil in her bedroom.
Krampus returned his attention to the screen, to the horses riding across a lush English landscape. He put his nose right in the screen, bumped his horns, grunted, and stepped back.
“It’s a high-definition LCD,” the man said, his voice shaky. “Sixty inches. It’s yours if you want it. Please . . . just take it and go.”
Krampus reached out, tapped the screen with his jagged fingernails, pressed his palm against it as though trying to push through it. There came a snap, the screen flickered, and a spiderweb of cracks spiraled out from beneath his hand. Krampus studied the fractured screen. “Hmm, it appears I have damaged it. I am sorry.” He sounded sincere.
“That’s okay,” the man put in quickly. “That’s fine. Not a problem. We have another one downstairs. You’re welcome to it. The jewelry . . . is over there.” He pointed to a mahogany box on top of the vanity. “I don’t have much cash,” his tone nervous, apologetic. “But you’re welcome to what I have.”
“We did not come to steal,” Krampus said, and this bit of news served only to make the man and the woman more anxious. The woman tugged the sheet up to her throat, covering herself, spilling the laptop. Krampus stepped closer, peering at the glowing laptop screen curiously. The women let out a high-pitched squeal like a weasel in a snare.
“You want it?” the man asked. “It’s yours.” He held the laptop out to Krampus. Krampus looked it over, but didn’t take it. “There’s a new, fully loaded Mustang down in the garage. The keys are right over there.” He pointed again to the vanity. No one looked. “I should make it clear,” the man said, his tone becoming a bit more desperate, “that I’m involved with state government at the highest levels. And as someone with a lot of experience within the legal system, I must advise you against any acts of violence. If anyone in
this house is harmed, or even threatened . . . the State of West Virginia will not be lenient.”
“You a lawyer?” Chet asked. “You talk like a lawyer. I hate lawyers.”
The man shook his head. “Not exactly . . . I consider myself more of a mediator.”
“Well, I hate them, too.”
“Chet,” Jesse said. “You hate everybody. So why don’t you just shut up and leave the man be.”
Chet fastened his eyes on Jesse. “Don’t remember anyone telling me I gotta take orders from you. So why don’t you plug your whiney pie hole.”
“Why don’t you stop being retarded?” Jesse shot back. “Oh, I know, because you can’t.”
Chet’s face knotted up. “You’re a fucking dick.” He shoved Jesse. Jesse came back with a full roundhouse, catching Chet against the side of the head, knocking him into the wall. Chet rebounded in a charge, drove into Jesse’s waist with his shoulder. Both men flew onto the bed, rolled all the way across, and tumbled onto the floor on the far side, taking the lamp and nightstand over with them. The woman started screaming hysterically.
Krampus watched, obviously amused, and the Shawnee began laughing and hooting.
“Krampus!” Isabel yelled, and pushed him. “Krampus, make ’em stop before they kill each other.”
Krampus shrugged and shouted, “Enough! Cease fighting. It is a command.” And just like that, Jesse and Chet stopped, the two of them left sitting there on the carpet glaring at one another. “There is to be no more brawling between you.”
Isabel evidently had had enough. She hopped over and dashed a pinch of sleeping sand on the screaming woman as though she were salting a potato. The woman swooned and passed out. “What did you do to her?” the man demanded, and promptly received a dose of his own, slumping over onto his wife.
“Well, now,” Vernon said. “That was quite the show. Can’t wait to see what you fine gentlemen come up with next.”
Krampus laughed and headed out of the room.
