Krampus: The Yule Lord (30 page)

Krampus snapped the whip, catching her across the cheek. “Enough of your deceit.”

Jesse blinked, and the snakes were just designs once more, the woman firmly on the ground, clutching her hand to her cheek.

“I have seen enough of his charity this night,” Krampus growled. “There is blood and murder aplenty in his laboratory. Or do you pretend not to see?”

Her eyes burned. “Everything comes with a cost, as you are soon to find out. God will not sit back and allow such a wicked deed to go unpunished.”

Krampus laughed. “Baldr is dead. It is the end of it.”

“He has died before.”

The mirth left Krampus’s face.

“He is God’s chosen servant.” She stepped forward, her finger and entire arm shaking with her wrath. “The Lord will send the Valkyrie and Santa Claus shall rise again before morning. And,” she cried, “together they will hunt you down and slay you, beast!”

Now Krampus was the one who fell back, and for the first time that Jesse could remember, the Yule Lord looked unsure.

The woman spun about and stormed away, the girls trailing in her wake.

Krampus stared after her until she disappeared from sight. “This place is full of wickedness.”

The warehouse now burned as well, the flames spreading toward the main house. Jesse and the other Belsnickels batted the raining embers from their clothes and hair. Krampus appeared in a trance.

“We should go,” Isabel urged. “Don’t you think?” She touched Krampus on the arm.

“Yes,” Krampus said. “Just one last thing.” He walked rapidly out into the courtyard, stooped, and retrieved something off the ground. He returned, carrying Santa’s head in one hand, the spear in the other. “He will never return so long as I possess these.” He slid the spear into the whip mount and mounted the head atop the blade.

“Load up,” Krampus called and they did, all squeezing into the small sleigh. Krampus stepped up onto the front bench, stood a moment longer, scanning the flames and destruction. “It is good to be terrible,” he said and patted Santa’s head.

“Away, Tanngnost! Away, Tanngrisni!” Krampus cried and the goats pulled the sleigh forward step by step, and all at once Jesse realized they were climbing skyward. He clutched tightly to the rail as the sleigh rose above the flames. They circled the inferno once and then headed out over the sea, the wind buffeting the small craft as the Yule goats picked up speed. They skimmed along the waves heading west, the bright moonlight glistening off the whitecaps below.

“It is Yuletide!” Krampus bellowed. “It is time for the world to celebrate the return of the Yule Lord!”

He set back his head and laughed and laughed as they chased the night across the Atlantic.

PART III

YULETIDE

Chapter Twelve
Yule Cheer

G
eri greeted them at the door. If a wolf could smile, Jesse felt sure this one was smiling now. Krampus hopped out of the sleigh, bounded over, and caught the wolf in a bear hug. “Happy Yuletide!” Krampus cried, and pranced into the church. He plucked up the sack, spun around in a circle. “We go! We go!”

“What? Where?” Vernon asked, setting down the two sacks of sleeping sand. “Tonight? You can’t possibly mean tonight. Besides, Christmas is over for this season.”

“We are not celebrating Christmas, you fool!” Krampus cried. “Christmas is dead! We are celebrating Yule. Yuletide runs for many weeks, and this year, it shall run as long as I deem necessary to spread my word.”

The Shawnee glanced excitedly at one another, but Vernon moaned, plopped down into one of the pews. “I’m tired and I’m hungry.”

Krampus made a sputtering, dismissive sound. “It is festive season, there will be food aplenty. Now, up with you. Take the sleeping sand and put a handful into pouches and bring them along.”

“Pouches?” Vernon whined. “Where am I supposed to find pouches?”

Wipi pulled out his knife and began hacking at one of the curtains. He cut out three pieces, folded them, and used part of the cords as ties. Within a few minutes, he’d made three pouches, handed them to Vernon.

“Oh, don’t look so damn smug,” Vernon said, taking the bags.

Isabel headed over to the injured wolf, Freki. A few well-gnawed cow bones lay near his bedding. Freki managed to get to his feet and greet her, standing unsteadily as Isabel ruffled his great mane. She appeared so tiny before the great beast that could so easily take off her head with one chomp. He nuzzled her hair as she poured more mead into his pie pan.

“All right, enough delay, let us go.” Krampus sounded like a child wanting to open his birthday presents. “Come now. Out . . . all of you!” They headed for the door. “Wait!” he looked them over, frowning. He snatched a spear from Makwa, the handgun from Chet, tossed them into the cardboard box with the cash. “Other than your knives, there shall be no weapons, not on a Yule run.” The Shawnee didn’t look pleased with this at all, but all the Belsnickels dropped their weapons into the box.

They followed Krampus outside, where the Yule Lord found a birch tree and commenced snapping off several long, thin branches until he had a handful. He pulled the satin ribbon from his hair and bound the twigs together. He swished them through the air, seemed pleased with the whistle, and gave Isabel a light swat on her rump. “Hey,” she yelled. “Cut it out!”

Krampus laughed. “This will do. Will do just fine.”

The Yule Lord took his place in the front of the sleigh, Isabel on the bench next to him, holding the sack and switches, Jesse beside her. Vernon, Chet, and the three Shawnee squeezed into the compartment in the back.

Krampus lifted the reins, hesitated, his eyes fixed on Santa’s bloody head atop the spear. “You were a very naughty boy. You do not get to come along.” He snatched it up by the hair and chucked it. It rolled across the snow and bumped up against the fallen downspout, lying there on its cheek, its dead eyes staring back at them.

“Away,” Krampus called and popped the reins. The goats leapt forward, climbing up over the treetops and into the clear night sky. They followed the valley north toward a cluster of lights, toward Goodhope.

Jesse could see the occasional home or trailer not too far below, the headlights of cars going about their way. He thought of Abigail and Linda somewhere down there. He’d lost all sense of time and wondered if they were still awake, if everything was okay. He wanted to go to them now, ached to see them again, but knew there’d be no chance of it, not tonight, not while Krampus was in such a state.

K
RAMPUS DROPPED DOWN
until they were skimming the tree line. He found a dead-end street on the edge of town with only a handful of homes, circled once, and landed, sliding to a stop beneath a leaning streetlight.

Krampus hopped from the sleigh, looked around at the homes, at the blinking Christmas lights. He took a deep breath, appeared to drink in the cold night air. “I am finally here.” He closed his eyes. “At last . . . it is over. Baldr is no more and I am free to return to spreading Yuletide blessings, to chasing dark spirits from the land.” He opened his eyes, wiped them. “My apologies, the moment overwhelms me.” He looked at them. “You each played your part and for that I thank you. In your honor I shall make this a night to remember, that I promise.”

Krampus held out his hand. “Vernon, the sleeping sand.” Vernon gave him the pouches. Krampus handed one to Isabel, one to Jesse, started to give one to Makwa, reconsidered and gave the last one back to Vernon. “In case we run into those that are not in a festive mood. A few grains dashed to the face will have them sleeping like babies. Now follow my lead, try not to bring harm upon any, ’less they threaten violence.”

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.”