Krampus: The Yule Lord (46 page)

Dillard heard voices, whispers like the sound of insects scuttling across the floor, and wailing, it came from deep within the sack. “What’s that? What’s that sound? What the fuck is it?”

“That’s the dead . . . they’re waiting for you.”

Dillard’s eyes threatened to leave their sockets. “Jesse, don’t let go of me,” he blubbered. “Please, for Christ’s sake. Don’t do this. I’m begging you, Jesse.
Please!
”

“People can live twenty-eight days without food before they starve to death. But you’re a tough fellow. My money says you can make it at least thirty. That’s thirty days in hell, thirty days with the dead singing you their song. Then . . . why then I guess you’ll get to join their choir.” Jesse let go of Dillard’s collar, gave him a hard shove, pushing him deep into the sack.

There came a moment of darkness, of falling, then Dillard’s feet struck something substantial, there came the chink and clink of metal on metal and he found himself tumbling and sliding. He crashed into something hard, knocking dust and brittle shards onto his chest and face.

He spat, tried to shake the debris from his face, blinked open his eyes, and found a skull, its cranium busted open, lying on his chest and staring sadly back at him. He inhaled sharply, filling his nostrils with the pungent odor of sulfur and dry rot. He glanced wildly about and was greeted by a hundred more toothy grins, skulls and bones of every sort, most black, as though burnt, all covered in gray ashy dust. The very walls and ceilings appeared to be composed of nothing but bones and they went on as far as he could see up and down the gloomy caverns and corridors.

The handcuffs bit into his wrist as he struggled to sit up, his fingers struck cold metal and he glanced down, found he sat atop a mound of coins, not any coins, these were gold and triangular. The pile continued upward, building into a tall pyramid, disappearing into the smoky gloom just above him. It was the way out, he was sure of it. He struggled to get his feet under him, tried to kick and worm his way up the pyramid, but the coins shifted beneath his feet, causing him to slide farther and farther down the cavern. Finally he gave up and just lay there panting, trying to stifle his sobs, trying to get some control of himself.

He felt them. He couldn’t see them but he knew they were there, moving around him. Not much more than a breeze at first, the dust stirring upon the bones. He heard them, the whispers, calling his name. As the sound grew, so did the wind. It began to take substance and as it did, he saw them . . . the
dead.
He saw their tortured smiles, their woeful eyes. And all those dead eyes were on him, all so very glad to see him.

Dillard screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and the dead . . . the dead screamed along with him.

J
ESSE STARED INTO
the sack, could only see the smoldering darkness, but thought he heard screaming, far away—it sounded a lot like Dillard. He wanted to smile, but found he was too sickened by all of it.

Jesse left the living room, and peeked out the front, making sure Linda hadn’t returned. He’d sent her and Abigail off to Linda’s mother’s in her little Ford while he took care of things. She’d started to protest, but when Abigail began to cry, she’d left.

Jesse went out into the garage, picked up the Polaroid of Ellen, and brought it inside, leaving it on the floor next to the tape and knife. He wanted to be sure the police found it, that they knew just what kind of person Dillard really was. He snatched a hand towel from the kitchen and wiped his prints off the Polaroid, the tape, and the knife, then walked through the house, wiping down any surface he remembered touching. He felt he was being overly cautious, because without a body there was no crime. Unless, that was, some very clever detectives figured out how to search the bowels of hell.

Jesse had taken Dillard’s police radio, gathered it up along with the things Dillard had taken from his truck, grabbed Krampus’s sack, and brought them all with him as he headed out through the garage.

Jesse stepped out into the morning, the sun peeking over the nearby hills, lighting up the river fog. He started for the woods, for the truck, when he heard a snort and froze. There, just across the lawn, stood Santa Claus in front of the Yule goats and sleigh. The two angels, those terrible angels, stood on either side of him.

Jesse glanced to the woods, wondered how far he could get before they caught up with him.

“There is no place to run,” Santa said. “There is no hiding from God.”

Jesse let out a great sigh; at least he’d taken care of Dillard, at least he could die now knowing he’d done that much for Linda and Abigail.

“I waited,” Santa said. “Until you were finished. I did not have to do that.”

Jesse looked at him, puzzled.

“I could have intervened, but your deed needed to be done. Now, there is a little less evil in this world. Despite what Krampus may have told you, I have only love for mankind . . . my charity comes from deep within my heart.”

Santa extended his hand. “The sack.”

Jesse looked at the two angels, their piercing eyes, and swords of light, and knew he had no choices left. He brought the sack to Santa.

“And my keys?”

Jesse tugged the skeleton keys from his jacket, handed those over as well. Santa gave him a nod and climbed aboard the sleigh.

“Is Krampus dead?”

Santa looked Jesse in the eye. “Yes. He is gone from this world.”

“You didn’t have to kill him.”

“You did not have to send that man to Hel.”

Jesse was quiet for a moment. “Yes, I did. That had to be done.”

“You should understand then . . . that there are things that have to be done, no matter how horrible.” Santa gave him a judicious smile and seated himself, popped the reins, and the two goats tromped forward and climbed into the morning sky, leaving Jesse alone with the two terrible angels.

The angels watched him with their ominous, condemning eyes. Jesse knew they were about to take his life, maybe more. But they only lifted their heads heavenward and drifted upward, disappearing into the blinding rays of the morning sun.

Chapter Eighteen
God’s Will

J
esse sprinted through the woods. He’d asked Linda to give him about an hour then call the sheriff, to send him over to Dillard’s. Told her to tell the police the truth, everything exactly as it had happened, except for that last bit with Dillard, to instead say she’d got out of the basement on her own and driven home, and let him worry about filling in the blanks.

Jesse reached Chet’s truck and climbed in. Cranked it up and headed over to the General’s compound. The plan was to trade out Chet’s truck for his own. He knew this could be the tricky part. He had no way of knowing if his truck was even still there or if anyone else might be around.

His truck
was
still there and he saw not a soul. Jesse wiped his prints off Chet’s keys and steering wheel, grabbed Dillard’s police radio, and got out. He walked quickly up to the side door of the motor bay. Jesse used his sleeve to open the door and headed up the short hall. He hesitated there, knowing what awaited him inside. He swallowed and pushed the door inward.

Jesse tried not to look at them, the mangled bodies, but did. Surprised to find he actually felt bad for many of them, men he’d known most of his life. They’d not all been rotten, at least not so rotten as to deserve what came.

He wiped his prints off Dillard’s radio and dropped it just inside the door. Jesse figured the police would find plenty of evidence connecting Dillard to the General once they started looking, but a little insurance wouldn’t hurt.

Jesse left the building, hopped into his truck. The keys were still in the ignition. He gave them a twist and was rewarded with a grinding noise. “Not good,” he said, knowing the old F-150 had been sitting too long. He held his breath and gave it another go, nursing the gas. It turned over once and quit. “C’mon, you can do it.” It started on the third try and Jesse dropped it into reverse and got out of there.

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER,
Jesse turned down the narrow drive to the old church. He pulled around the building and hit the brake. Krampus lay upon his back in the snow, the frost sparkling off his great mane. Wipi lay facedown next to the Yule Lord, stiff and unmoving. Nipi knelt at their side.

Jesse cut the engine, got out, walked slowly up, searching for Isabel. Seeing Nipi still alive gave him hope, but he found no sign of her or any of the others. He stepped round the wolves and over to Nipi. The brothers were human now, their flesh once again butternut-brown. There were no wounds on Wipi, or the wolves, but a great gash glistened across Krampus’s chest and a circle of crimson snow spread round his body.

Jesse knelt next to Nipi. “Sorry about your brother.”

Nipi seemed not to hear.

Jesse studied the Yule Lord’s face, noticed that even in death Krampus kept that half-smile of his, as though he had one trick left up his sleeve yet. But his eyes were pale, all the fire gone. “It’s a shame,” Jesse spat. “A real goddamn shame. Hell if it ain’t.”

Jesse sat a hand on Nipi’s shoulder. “Where’s Isabel?”

Nipi glanced around as though unsure where he was, shrugged.

Heavy clouds drifted in and the sun slowly faded from Krampus’s face. Jesse knew it would start snowing again soon. He stood, headed up the steps and into the church. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and found her sitting in front of the potbelly, her hands clutched together between her knees, staring at the stove. No fire burned, and she was shivering. Almost all traces of being a Belsnickel were gone, and the first thing that struck him was just how young she looked, a bit boyish, with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, but pretty in her own way.

Jesse sat down next to her. Isabel didn’t look up, but when he put his arm around her, she clutched his hand and leaned against his shoulder.

They sat in silence for a long while; finally, Isabel spoke. “They murdered him. Murdered all of them. How can murder be God’s will?”

Jesse didn’t have an answer, all he knew to do was to clutch her tighter. Isabel pressed her face into his shoulder and began to sob.

After a bit, Jesse noticed that the cardboard box where they’d stashed the guns and cash still sat next to the piano. “Be right back,” he said and walked over to the box. All the money appeared to still be there.

“Isabel . . . where’s Chet and Vernon?”

“Not sure.” Isabel talked without looking up. “As soon as Krampus fell . . . well, the both of them, they lit on out of here . . . just run off. Guess I should’ve run off, too, but I didn’t. Just waited for those horrible angels to come kill me. But they didn’t seem much concerned with me. Santa took the sleigh and left . . . and them angels . . . they went along with him.”

Jesse pulled out the guns, wiped off his prints, and left them on the piano. He folded the top on the box down over the cash and tucked it beneath his arm. He walked over to Isabel. “We have to go.”

She looked up at him and he was struck by how green her eyes were.

“It’ll be trouble if we’re found here,” he said.

She nodded and stood up.

They headed out the door, down the steps. Isabel walked over to Krampus’s body, knelt next to Nipi, put her arm around him. Jesse headed over to the truck, tossed the box into the cab, then came back over and stood with them. “Isabel . . . Nipi . . . c’mon now. We gotta go.”

“Can’t just leave them here like that,” Isabel said. “Wouldn’t be right.”

Jesse let out a sigh. “No, guess not. Guess we should find a better place than this for Wipi and Old Tall and Ugly. Nipi, how about it? Sound like a plan?”

Nipi nodded.

T
HEY LOADED WIPI
and Krampus into the back of the truck. It surprised Jesse that the Yule Lord didn’t weigh more. He wasn’t exactly light, but still, he seemed lessened, as though the body were a mere husk without the weight of the Yule Lord’s great spirit.

They drove the bodies up into the hills, the same hills where Krampus had been chained for all those years. It took most of the morning and two trips for the three of them to carry the two bodies up to the cave. Nipi led them to a pile of stones in the rear of the cavern. Makwa’s spear and bear hide lay atop the stones. They placed the bodies next to Makwa’s, with Krampus in the middle, and also covered them with stones. They laid Wipi’s cloak atop his stones, but the Yule Lord’s stones remained bare.

They stood staring silently at the three mounds.

Jesse broke the silence. “Don’t guess he would want a prayer?”

Isabel shook her head and a small smile touched her lips. “No, but I know what he would like.”

Together they gathered up an armload of mistletoe, then Nipi cut a handful of birch branches. Isabel tied them into a bundle. She arranged the mistletoe around Krampus’s mound and sat the switches on top. By the time she finished it was beginning to snow.

“We need to get on back before we get stuck up here,” Jesse said.