Krampus stood in the middle of the room between two beds. One bed was empty, two girls huddled together in the other. Jesse guessed one child to be nine or ten years old, the younger one about the same age as his Abigail. The girls were pressed into the corner, atop pillows and stuffed animals, as far from Krampus as they could get. Both were crying, clutching each other, trembling, their eyes full of terror.
Krampus took a step forward, and the girls let loose a shrill scream, kicking their legs as though something was biting them.
Jesse couldn’t stand it, could only think of his own daughter. “Krampus,” Jesse cried. “Stop, you can’t—”
“Silence,” Krampus snapped, holding up one finger. “Do not interfere, that is a command.”
Jesse quieted; found he could do little more than watch, no matter how much he ached to pull Krampus from the room.
Krampus returned to the girls, knelt down upon one knee, and put his finger to his lips. “Hush,” he whispered. “Hush, I am Krampus, the spirit of Yule. I come bearing gifts.” His words were kindly, hypnotic. The girls stopped screaming, calmed a degree. “Would you like to see your gifts?”
Neither of the girls answered, only stared at Krampus with wide, terrified eyes.
Krampus set down the birch switches, slid the sack off his shoulder, closed his eyes, and stuck his hand inside the sack. He brought out two triangular gold coins, held them for the girls to see, and curiosity slowly replaced their fear.
“Gold coin from the realm of Hel. These can buy you many pretty things.”
The coins mesmerized the girls.
“Would you like these?”
Both girls nodded.
Krampus held them out, but when the girls reached for them, Krampus pulled the coins back. “There is a condition. First you must speak my name. You can call me Krampus, the Yule Lord. Now, say my name.”
“Krampus, the Yule Lord,” the girls chorused.
Krampus smiled. “Good.” He handed them the coins.
The girls admired their newfound treasures, and Jesse wondered what spell Krampus had set upon them.
“There is more, for the world is a hard place and nothing comes without a price. You should know that each year upon Yuletide I will fly overhead. I might, or I might not return. But should I honor you with a visit, I do expect tribute to be waiting. I expect to find tokens of your devotion. Traditionally, this is done by placing your shoes upon the step and leaving me a treat or trinket within them. Do you think you can do that?”
The girls nodded.
“Good, for if I find a treat, you might get another gold coin or something even better. But if I do not . . .” Krampus picked up the sack and the switches, stood to his full height, his voice dropping downlow and menacing. “If I do not find tribute then I will put you in my sack and beat you bloody.” He smacked the sack once soundly with the switches.
The girls jumped back; Jesse thought they might start screaming again.
“Will I find shoes full of treats next winter?”
Both girls nodded adamantly.
“Good. And what is my name?”
“Krampus,” they said together.
“Good.” He patted them atop their heads. “Good night, my little sugar plums. Sleep tight.” Krampus left the room.
Isabel sprinkled them with sleeping sand and tucked them in. They looked like sleeping angels. Jesse wondered how much they would remember come morning. He hoped not much, hoped they wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.
THEY CAUGHT UP with Krampus at the sleigh; Chet, Vernon, and the Shawnee already aboard. Wipi held the turkey carcass in his lap, he and his brother, Nipi, were still eating, their fingers and faces smeared with dressing and grease.
“Onward to the next home,” Krampus said and climbed into the sleigh; Isabel and Jesse followed suit.
“There’s more?” Vernon asked dryly. “Oh, but will the fun never end?”
“Yes, more. Many, many more. Tanngnost and Tanngrisni shall take us from one neighborhood to the next, but it is not my goal to hit every dwelling. We need only visit the occasional home, as the children will do the rest. They shall spread the tale from there, will dazzle other children with their prizes and stories . . . will make them believe. And so long as they believe, so long as I have followers, Yule shall flourish, spread. My place will be affirmed and no god shall usurp my reign . . . not ever again.”
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.