Krampusnacht: Twelve Nights of Krampus (6 page)

By the time February rolled around, he’d grown tired of the now mostly broken toys and presents he’d received. So Felix turned his attention to Petra’s pile of goody-two-shoes earned loot. Especially that blasted doll with the real corn silk hair. So like her own. She carried it everywhere, treating the stupid thing like it was a real baby. Any time Mother asked her to put it down, Petra carried on and on, the tears welling, magnifying her already giant blue eyes, until it was easier to let her hold the stupid thing during dinner. Or take it to school. Or anywhere and everywhere she went.

Until one March day she didn’t.

It sat at the tiny table that hosted Petra’s endless tea parties, alongside a one-eyed teddy bear, assorted worn stuffed animals, and an empty chair. Felix crept into her room, expecting her to hiss and jump out at him. But the pest was nowhere to be seen. He ran gentle fingers along the soft hair of the doll. Without conscious planning, he snatched the doll from its pink-and-white flowered seat and dashed to his room, shoving the thing under his bed, behind the piles of clothes and toys.

Petra’s howling scream five minutes later was so loud and long, the neighbors came running, concerned over some imagined emergency. You’d think they’d be used to Petra by now.

Mother was at his door as soon as she sent the neighbors away. She didn’t need to say anything; the crossed arms and pinched line between her eyes were as familiar to him as his own blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Felix!” she snapped, her tone weary. “Just give it back to your sister.”

He pondered what might happen if he ‘fessed up now. Might get a spanking, but he was used to the feel of Mother’s wooden spoon on his backside. And it probably wasn’t a crime worthy of Father’s leather belt. Probably wouldn’t get dessert tonight, but he could always sneak down to the kitchen after everyone was sound asleep and help himself. Not that he wouldn’t do that tonight anyways.

So no dessert was the worst of it. And he didn’t want to give up his prize for something he was going to take later anyway. He shook his head in what he hoped was convincing confusion. “Give what back?”

“My baby,” Petra screeched, flinging herself onto his bed and taking a swing at his nose with her tiny fist. Not that Mother’s selective sight would notice that.

His sister’s face was a splotchy mess of snot and tears as she continued to sob and simultaneously strike him.

“Don’t know whatcher talking about,” he said. “Just been sitting here with my comics.” He gestured at the pile of brightly colored books now strewn about the floor. Thanks to Petra the pest. But he’d have to clean them up.

Petra turned pleading eyes to Mother. “Make him give my baby back,” she cried.

“Don’t have it,” he protested again, scowling this time. “Just ’cuz she lost it, don’t go blaming me.”

Mother gathered Petra in a hug and murmured, “Let’s go look in your room, darling. I’m sure you just put her down somewhere.”

As they left his room, Petra clinging to their mother, protesting the whole time, he grinned at her and ran his finger across his throat.

Now, what to do to the blasted thing…

A few days later, the brilliant idea came to Felix as he doodled on his desk during math class. The rest of the day passed with increasing slowness, until the bell finally rang. He ran home, knowing Mother and Petra would be shopping for at least an hour.

As Felix gathered the supplies he’d need, a few chuckles escaped his lips. He knew, even though he was only ten years old, that an opportunity equal to this would never again present itself, so he worked carefully on the once-in-a-lifetime gift.

The car pulled into the driveway before he could believe it. It would take them a few minutes to gather the groceries, but that time would pass all too quickly. He dashed to Petra’s room and placed her precious baby exactly where he’d stolen it, at the small tea time table.

Mother’s chatter wafted through the door as she and Petra came inside. He heard the crinkle of bags as Mother sorted the groceries. Heard his sister “helping.” And finally heard her little feet running down the hallway.

That scream again. At least the neighbors stayed home this time.

She ran into his room, clutching the now mostly-bald baby doll to her chest. “I’m gonna tell Saint Nicholas!” she sobbed and slammed his door.

* * *

Petra insisted on hauling that stupid, scalped baby around with her. She glared at Felix every time she ran a loving hand along the spiky hairdo. With a sigh, Mother placed dinner on the table. As always, no one had been able to convince the pest to leave her toys in her room.

The door creaked open. They all turned their heads in unison, Father with a fork partially in his mouth. Two devils filled the space. They were almost men, being nearly the same height and shape of men, wearing men’s clothing. They could almost be men. Except for their faces. Those dark, horrible faces. Oddly angled horns stood out from the crowns of their heads; one had a long, shiny goatee-like thing hanging from its chin.

The monsters came up behind Felix silently; his family did nothing but stare, their eyes wide with fear.

One of them pulled Felix from his chair, and still no one protested. It wrapped an arm around his chest and backed toward the door they’d both come in. Felix’s arms and legs felt heavy, but he offered no resistance. Couldn’t. Even as it felt like they were picking through his mind.

With a sudden flick of a wrist, the monster not holding him flipped open a straight razor. Felix felt cold metal press against his scalp as the blade slithered from side to side. Pale hair fell like straw, clinging to his dark jacket and shorts, covering his shoes. It was over in seconds.

Felix stood as the monster carefully tucked the blade inside its jacket. They departed as silently as they’d come.

“Krampus,” Petra whispered. She glared at her brother. “Told you I was gonna tell Saint Nicholas.”

* * *

Jill Corddry started telling stories at an early age and hasn’t stopped since. These days, Jill writes in between taking care of twin toddlers and soaking up the California sunshine. Her stories are published in Lakeside Circus, Bewildering Stories, and in the James Ward Kirk anthology Demonic Possession. She is a member of the PNWA and the California Writers Club.

Fourth Night of Krampus: “Peppermint Sticks”

by Colleen H. Robbins

Inspiration
: Colleen writes, “My grandfather’s tales of Santa’s evil brother Krampus made him sound like a goblin, yet Santa not only works with elves, but is said to be one. I just had to explore the dichotomy between them.”

Late December

Faint with cold and hunger, tired of job-hunting in this impossible economy, and kicking himself for indulging in an elaborate tattoo—a decision that had bitten him in the ass when he applied to the military—Steven clutched his threadbare coat closed and stumbled into the employment office. No glitz and glamour here, but no death or prison, either. Just a grimy sort of hope.

“Good morning, Steven.” Young, petite, and perky, the only meals his counselor Pamela missed were side effects of her anorexia.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any interviews lined up for you today.” The skinny old European Santa decorating her desk teetered precariously when her oversized sleeve brushed it. “I do have a survey. It’s a one-shot, but the client pays two hundred dollars for it.” She handed him a faded envelope.

He opened it carefully. A paper cut would really help his cold-numbed fingers. Right. Inside the envelope lay a sheet of cream colored, crisply folded paper. It crackled when he unfolded it, giving off a scent that reminded him of his grandmother’s cinnamon rolls.

A single question took up the entire page in hand-drawn calligraphy:

“What is a Fey? Please illustrate your answer.”

Funny, Steven thought. He actually knew the answer to that. Who would have thought that Shakespeare would help him get a job? He quickly sketched out some scenes from
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
that included Titania, Oberon, and Puck.

“Wait a minute while I fax this to the client, and then I’ll pay you for your efforts.” Pamela’s heels clacked across the room.

He listened to the squeal of the fax machine, the general chatter in the room between other clients and their counselors, and the jarring ring of the telephone followed by transfer noises around the room. A moment later his counselor came back looking more puzzled than perky. “Mr. Krampus wants to speak with you to set up an interview.” She punched the blinking button on her phone.

Steven took the receiver. “Hello?”

The voice was surprisingly deep, the clipped words rushing across the phone lines. “B. Peter Krampus, here. I’d like to meet with you. Do you know the Starbucks on Center Street? I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”

“Um, oka—” The phone clicked before he finished the word.

* * *

The Coffee Shop

It wasn’t a Starbucks anymore, but the place still served coffee. Coffee strong enough that Steven could smell it half a block before he reached the shop. His mouth watered; his stomach clenched with hunger. The check in his pocket wouldn’t help until he cashed it later, and he didn’t have any cash.

The girl at the counter looked tired; a few retirees argued about politics at a corner table, nursing their morning coffees. A tall man in a suit sat in a vinyl booth behind the door.

“Mr. Krampus?”

“Steven? Come, have a seat.” The voice was unmistakable. Krampus gestured at the other side of the booth. Steven slid in as Krampus opened the second of two large coffees and took a long sip.

Steven looked closely at his potential employer. A tall man, perhaps 35, but with a few fine lines around the eyes, the man’s hawk nose and thin frame resembled a younger version of his job counselor’s Christmas decoration, except for the peculiar twist to the ears that made them seem almost pointed. Krampus’ hair swept up into an old fashioned pompadour, and Steven saw the glint of something off-white hidden within the sculpted pile. A small goatee decorated the man’s chin, not quite touching his red power tie. The suit beneath looked expensive.

Krampus snapped open a folder. “Very clever drawings. I’ll take you on temporarily. The job involves some travel and outdoor work, some charity—you don’t mind giving out some candy at Halloween and Christmas, do you?—and a salary of $130,000 a year, payable weekly. Training is on the job.” He snapped the folder shut. “Go pack your warmest clothes and I’ll pick you up here tomorrow.”

“I have everything I own right here, sir.” Steven waited for the job offer to disappear.

The deep voice softened momentarily. “We’ll stop and get you a warmer coat on the way to the hotel.” Krampus finished his coffee, then dashed to the counter to order another. “Come, come.”

Stomach growling loud enough to make him wince, Steven followed.

* * *

Early February

Steven, crouched in a thick, knee-length fleece-lined coat, set to an impossible task: watching the grass grow through the snow. Boring, but it paid well. The past two days had yielded no results; he expected the same of today’s efforts. He sighed and refocused his eyes. A bit of green poked through the snow. Three more tendrils joined it by evening. On the fourth day, a tiny flower bud appeared. On the fifth, it appeared the same. He closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them again just in time to see a small white flower open. A drop of water clung to it, then rolled slowly upward across the petal.

Upward? He blinked twice and leaned closer. A tiny fairy, barely a quarter of an inch long and looking more like a cherub with withered wings than a proper Tinkerbell, crawled to the highest point on the flower and clung there. Breathing heavily—or as heavily as a quarter-inch long creature can—it slowly unfurled its wings. Each breath pumped fluids into the wings, stretching them larger, while simultaneously slimming the fairy. When the wings had stretched to a half an inch tall, the fairy held them in the breeze, drying them. A few breaths of wind, and the fairy fanned them experimentally: a slow flap like a condor in flight, a few moderate flaps like a bluebird in spring, the fast flap of a hummingbird. The fairy rose into the sky. Steven saw Krampus trudging through the snow beneath.

“What have you learned?” Mr. Krampus brushed Steven’s left shoulder.

“Fairies are real.” Steven whispered.

“You’ll make a fine apprentice. Your temporary job just became permanent.”

* * *

May Day

Steven crept along the muddy ground, pushing aside stick-like brush to hide beneath triplets of leaves. His face itched with tension.

The fairies avoided his hiding place, clustering around the weeping willow trees in the soggy end of Marshland Park. Teams of fairies lifted fronds and circled the trees in both directions, darting back and forth and weaving the ribbon-like branches tightly together. Almost two feet tall now, their four-part dragonfly wings buzzed. They swarmed like the rows of toy store Barbies that his sisters would never get for Christmas. Barbies and Kens, he corrected himself. The fairies had clear sexes now. The males wore loincloths of ragged leaves, while the females fashioned dresses. They resembled Tinkerbell after all.

* * *

Midsummer Night’s Eve, the Summer Solstice

His leg cramping for the seventh time since he concealed himself at noon under the brush at the edge of the forest, Steven sought to will the muscles to relax. Mr. K left early, leaving Steven to observe on his own. The heady scent of meadow flowers tempted him to sleep. His cramping leg prevented it.

As sundown approached, the fairies trooped out of the forest and milled about near the rings of mushrooms and toadstools that edged the meadow. A few drifted towards the flowers, sniffing and sipping at the nectar. A few more joined them. With a rush, the entire group flew to the flowers, sniffing, sipping, and even rolling in the blossoms. It had all the trappings of a frat party of four year olds, a complete drunken mixer sprinkled with brawls.