He glared at them. “I am Santa Claus.”
They smiled. “Take heart, Santa Claus. You spread hope and cheer in a world of darkness. You please God in a universe where so many do not. Be happy with that.”
The bells returned, they warmed him, reached to his core, touched his very soul. A great weight lifted from his chest. He inhaled deeply and once again felt whole.
“Now, enough of this silliness,” the angel said. “The world needs Santa Claus and God wishes to know if there is anything she can do for you.”
Santa started to shake his head, stopped, met the angel’s eyes. “Yes, most certainly. There is a devil in need of killing.”
“THERE, THAT’S AS good a place as any.” Jesse pointed to the steeple below. “Lights are on. Appears to be plenty of folks around.”
Isabel bit her lip. She’d already vetoed the previous two churches they’d flown over. She shook her head and hugged Lacy.
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t know that church.”
“They’re Methodists, Isabel.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“What, you don’t like Methodists now? First Pentecostal, now Methodist. Whoever heard of anyone having a problem with Methodists? Isabel, I think you’re just looking for an excuse. Now you got to think about Lacy.”
Isabel frowned. “Okay,” she said, in little more than a whisper.
“What?” Jesse asked. “Did you say okay? Okay, for the church?”
She nodded, her lips tight and drawn.
“Okay,” Jesse said to Krampus. “We can take her there.”
Krampus landed them in a small field behind the church. A line of hedges afforded a reasonable amount of cover from the homes just across the street. Krampus didn’t seem to care much one way or another, not having spoken a single word since leaving. He stared at the church as though it were a blight upon the land.
Jesse helped Lacy down while keeping his eye on Isabel, who continued to scrutinize the church. He knew she was looking for the slightest reason to call the whole thing off.
Isabel took Lacy’s hand. After a good minute went by without anyone saying a word, without Isabel taking a single step forward, Jesse sat his hand on Isabel’s shoulder and whispered, “You’re doing the right thing.”
Isabel nodded, “I know. I know.” Yet, still, she stood there.
“I’d be glad to come with you.”
“No. Don’t want anyone to see us . . . any of us. Would only make things harder on Lacy.” She looked down at the little girl. “Okay, Lace, let’s go find a really nice person for you to stay with awhile.” Isabel made an obvious effort to sound upbeat, but Jesse could hear the strain in her voice. “Okay?”
Lacy looked scared and unsure, but when Isabel pulled her along she came readily enough, and the two of them headed up the walkway, sticking to the shadows as they made their way toward the front of the church.
Jesse could see people through the windows; they appeared to be decorating the chapel in preparations for New Year’s Eve. A tall Christmas tree stood in front of one of the windows, its lights blinking. Krampus stared at it, a thunderous scowl upon his face.
Vernon slipped through the hedges, over to a row of mailboxes. Plastic newspaper bins with the Boone Standard logo hung beneath the boxes. One still held a paper and Vernon helped himself, opened it, scanning the pages as he walked back over.
“Oh, my,” Vernon said. “Krampus, you just might wish to read this.”
Krampus ignored him, just kept staring at that Christmas tree.
Vernon cleared his throat, began to read. “Santa’s Henchmen Dance Across Boone County. Strange reports have come in from all across Boone County of a string of bizarre incidents of home invasions and flying sleighs. The incidents are connected by descriptions of oddly dressed individuals that appear to have horns and glowing eyes. Some claim they’re Christmas demons, others blame the trouble on a crime spree perpetrated by a gang disguised in bizarre costumes. Sheriff Wright would only say that they are investigating. Sources close to the sheriff confirm that gang activity is at the forefront of the ongoing investigation. Several victims have come forward and given their harrowing accounts of assault, vandalism, and intimidation.” Vernon skipped down a few lines. “But no one has yet been able to explain the dozens of reports coming in of a flying sleigh pulled by goats, which reportedly is carrying this host of most curious criminals.”
Chet chuckled and shook his head.
“Wait,” Vernon continued, “there’s also this. Standard’s own Bill Harris received a very different accounting from Carolyn, age ten, of Goodhope, and her five brothers and sisters. Carolyn recounts a tale of a tall, horned beast that claims the title Krampus, Lord of Yule, and leaves behind coins to those who honor him with a tribute (in the form of a treat or trinket left in their shoes upon the front step). Further, she added those who don’t offer tribute risk the Krampus demon putting them in his sack and whipping them. Upon follow-up with children of other victims in the area, all collaborated this same very strange tale. Further credibility is given due to the fact that each of these children had in their possession these same triangular gold coins. When asked if they intended to put treats and trinkets in their shoes and leave them on their steps next holiday season, they all adamantly stated they certainly would.”
Vernon showed them the pictures: one, a clear snapshot of Carolyn and her siblings, each holding a triangular coin; another, this one a bit blurry, of Krampus and the Belsnickels flying down a street in the sleigh; and a final one, a cartoon of a gleeful, black-faced devil with horns, hooves, and a twisting tail, wielding a handful of switches. Vernon read the caption. “Hoax? Or has the Christmas Demon come to town?”
Vernon put on his own devilish smile and showed the picture to Krampus. “Why, old boy, they’ve certainly captured your likeness spot-on. Wouldn’t you say?”
Krampus tore the paper from Vernon’s hand, crumpled it, slapped it on the ground, and stomped it, practically did a dance upon it. “Christmas Demon!” Krampus growled. “Santa’s henchman! No! No!” He glared up at the church. “They see devils everywhere when the only devils left are themselves. Why must they twist Yule tradition into something wicked? Why must they pervert all that is mine. Like that tree. That is a Yule tree, not a Christmas tree. Bringing evergreens into the home to celebrate the Goddess that never dies, the return of the sun’s warmth, is a tradition dating back before even the ancient druids—and long, long, long before the Christ child was spewed forth in that filthy little manger. Who are they to plunder my traditions, to desecrate and profane? It is time I showed them the Yule Lord will not stand for such mockery.” Krampus spat loudly on the newspaper and stomped away toward the church.
Jesse and Vernon exchanged a panicked look.
“Wait,” Jesse said, catching up and grabbing Krampus’s arm. “Isabel asked us to stay back.”
Krampus shrugged him off and continued up the path, heading for the front steps. The Shawnee fell in step behind him.
“Way to go,” Jesse said to Vernon and gave him a shove.
Vernon threw up his hands. “What?”
Chet laughed and fell in. “Never much cared for the Methodists nohow.”
MARGRET DOTSON STOOD in her kitchen and watched the man in the funny getup steal her paper. She’d made a point of not reading the Standard, not since it came out in favor of Clinton back in ’92 anyway, but it still didn’t sit well with her for some degenerate to help himself to what was rightfully hers. She was just about to head outside to give him a piece of her mind, when she caught sight of his cohorts loitering in the glow of the church windows. What stopped her was the way their eyes caught the streetlight, an orange glint like bike reflectors. That just wasn’t right, that was weird. She had no idea who they were, or what they were, except for the tall one, the one with horns, that one she recognized right away . . . that one was Satan.