Jesse slipped the pouch into his front breast pocket for easy access.
“Remember,” Krampus said. “We are here for the children, to teach them to honor the Yule Lord, to make them believe.” He started across the street toward the nearest house.
“Wait,” Isabel said, and grabbed his arm.
“What is it now?”
“Not that one.”
“Why not?”
“They don’t have kids.”
“How can you know that?”
“Look . . . no toys or bikes in the yard. No swing sets either. You want that one.” She pointed to the next house up, where a tricycle lay on its side next to a brightly colored plastic play gym.
Krampus gave her a nod and patted her on the head. “Isabel, my little lion. You are full of surprises.” He headed for the house, the Belsnickels falling in line behind him.
“Little lion,” Jesse snickered, and patted Isabel on the head. Isabel socked him.
Krampus spied a large plastic Santa on the porch as they headed up the walkway. He sneered. “This home looks like it needs reminding of what Yuletide is truly about.” Krampus stepped up onto the porch, picked up the plastic Santa and chucked it out into the yard.
“We’re gonna get shot,” Chet mumbled. And for once Jesse found himself in full agreement with the man. Jesse felt sure that before the night was over, one of them, or maybe all of them, would be lying on someone’s living-room floor full of buckshot. Jesse hardly knew a soul around this part of the county who didn’t own at least one gun—and three or four, more likely than not.
Krampus knocked on the door. They stood and waited, Krampus with the black sack over his shoulder and clutching a handful of switches, the Belsnickels standing around him like a confused band of trick-or-treaters. Jesse could hear a television blaring from somewhere in the house and exchanged a worried glance with Isabel. Krampus knocked again, louder.
A woman yelled from somewhere in the house, “The door, Joe. I think someone’s at the door!”
The volume of the TV dropped. “What’s that?”
“I thought I heard the door.”
“Well, for crying out loud, you done forgot how to answer a door?” There followed a long minute of silence. “Ah for fuck sakes,” the man cried. “All right, I guess I’ll get the goddamn door. Wouldn’t want you to ever have to get up off your fat ass.” They heard slippers clomping toward the door; a moment later, the porch light came on and the door popped open. A middle-aged man in a red flannel hunting shirt over a pair of gray sweatpants leaned against the door, holding a beer and a cigarette in one hand. The man was drunk, but not too drunk to see that Krampus wasn’t who he’d been expecting.
“Are there any good children in this dwelling?” Krampus asked.
The man’s eyes grew wide, he stumbled back several steps, losing both the beer and the cigarette. All at once he appeared to sober up and made to slam the door shut. Krampus extended his hand, knocked the door back and the man to the linoleum.
“Yule cheer to one and all!” Krampus called and pushed in, stepping over the man and heading down the hall.
The Shawnee pounced on the man, pinned him. The man started hollering and Makwa raised a fist. Isabel grabbed Makwa’s arm before he could land a blow. “No! Bad!” Isabel cried. “Stop it!” Jesse fumbled for his sleeping sand, but Vernon beat him to it, tossing a pinch of the sand into the man’s face. The man squinted, looked as though about to sneeze, then his head lolled over and he was out. The Shawnee appeared disappointed.
Jesse managed to let out half a breath before a woman’s scream came down the hallway. Isabel and Jesse shoved their way past the Shawnee, intent on beating them to whatever trouble Krampus had got into now.
It was a woman, about the same age as the man, wearing an almost identical outfit of a red flannel hunting shirt and sweatpants. Krampus had her trapped over in one corner of the room, behind the Christmas tree. The Yule Lord was plucking ornaments off the tree and smashing them into the fireplace. He held up a sparkling glass Santa. “No, no, no,” he scolded, and threw it at her. It smashed to pieces against the wall and she let out another cry. “No more Santa Claus. Ever! You want to know why?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Because he is dead!” he snarled. “I cut off his head and if you doubt me, why, I can show it to you. Would you like to see it?” The woman shook her head. Krampus spied the beautiful blown-glass cross sitting on the top of the tree and his face knotted up. “This will not do. You are not to put Christian totems on a Yule tree.” He plucked it off, shook it at her as though she might be a vampire. “No crosses! No Santas! Is that understood?” He raised his arm as though to throw it.
“No!” she screamed, actually coming forward and reaching for it. “Please, no. That was my mother’s!”
Krampus raised the ornament up beyond her reach.
“Please, please.”
“Only if you promise never to put it on my tree again.”
The woman nodded adamantly.
“Swear it.”
“I swear it!”
He held it out and she snatched it, clutched it to her breast, and began sobbing.
“Where are the remains of your feast?” Krampus asked.
She looked at him and blinked several times. “Feast?”
“Yes.”
“You mean . . . the leftovers? They’re in the fridge. Where else would they be?”
“And do you offer them in tribute?”
“Do I what?”
“Offer your fare to the Lord of Yule?”
“You want my leftovers?” She appeared unsure whether to laugh or cry, but undoubtedly wanted to say whatever might send this demented demon away from her. “Sure . . . you go right ahead. Kitchen’s that way.” She pointed. “Knock yourself out.”
“Good. Your Yuletide offerings will bring you many blessings for the coming year.” Krampus headed toward the kitchen, leaving the lady trembling in the corner, still clutching her mother’s ornament.
Isabel and Jesse scooted over to the woman. “Sit down,” Isabel said.
“What? Why? Are you gonna hurt me?”
“No,” Isabel said. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Now, just sit.”
The lady did and Isabel tossed a pinch of sleeping sand in her face. A few seconds later she was out. Isabel gingerly plucked the ornament from her arms and set it on the mantel.
Something crashed in the kitchen.
“What now?” Isabel asked.
“He did promise us a night to remember.”
“Yes, sir, I’m afraid he did at that.”
The two of them peered into the kitchen. The refrigerator stood wide-open, Wipi was pulling dishes from the fridge and handing them to Nipi. A large ceramic tray sat on the counter, the tin foil peeled back, exposing a half-carved turkey on a bed of cornbread dressing. Makwa, Chet, and Vernon were shoveling handfuls into their mouths, not even bothering with utensils. Vernon glanced up, a guilty look upon his face. “What? I’m starving. Christ, we haven’t eaten since . . . what . . . yesterday, or was it the day before?”
Jesse found a clock, it was ten till midnight. He tried to figure out how long they’d been up, but between the two continents he had no idea.
“Where’s Krampus?” Isabel asked.
“Went down the hall,” Chet said through a mouthful of dressing.
“Down the hall?” Isabel said. “You let him out of your sight?”
“Hey,” Chet said. “I sure as shit ain’t his babysitter.”
They heard a scream, a child’s scream.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Isabel said and darted down the hall. Jesse took off after her.