Krampus: The Yule Lord (48 page)

He put a finger on her lips. “Hush. None of that. If we go to Memphis, we start over. We leave all that behind. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said.

Chapter Nineteen
Yuletide

B
OONE
C
OUNTY
,
W
EST
V
IRGINIA

One year later

The night before Christmas

Excerpt from the
Boone Standard,
December 24
by Contributing Editor Bill Harris

Nashville up-and-comer Jesse Walker played to a packed house Saturday night, headlining the first-ever annual Krampus Festival held at Horton’s out on Route 3, near Orgas. Horton White, the proprietor of Horton’s and festival organizer, says that the festival is a celebration of Winter Solstice and ancient Yuletide traditions. Participants engaged in folk dancing, body-painting, chanting and drum circles, with the highlight of the evening being the massive Yule Log bonfire. Prizes were awarded for best costumes. Activities continued on well into the morning hours.

The festival was not without controversy, as the sheriff’s office received several complaints claiming a group of intoxicated revelers dressed in furs, wearing chains, bells, and horned masks, arrived in town and chased bystanders with switches. Sheriff Wright confirmed reports of public intoxication and nudity, but stated rumors of deputies joining in on the festivities are greatly exaggerated. Reverend Owen condemned the event, calling the festival a sinful and shameful display of pagan heathenism and a pathway to eternal damnation. He warned that all God-fearing Christians should stay away.

The Krampus Festival is just the latest in the growing local fascination with the little before known mythical spirit of Krampus. Ever since the notorious and as-yet-unexplained incidents of last Christmas season, interest has spread statewide. But Boone County has all but claimed Krampus as their own, with souvenirs of the devilish character to be found in most local gift shops, including switches, cheap knock-offs of those infamous triangular gold coins, and T-shirts and mugs sporting cartoons of the fiendish Krampus, bearing such notable taglines as “I Believe in Krampus” and “Krampus Is Coming to Town.”

Heavy clouds rolled across the hills as twilight turned to night. A string of Christmas lights came to life, blinking along the gutters of a small ranch home on the edge of town. A boy of about ten and his little sister, no more than eight, came out onto their porch. Their mother came along with them. The children each held a pair of old shoes and carried a sack of candies. They set the shoes on the step and carefully arranged the candy.

When they were done, the boy looked up at his mom. “You think Krampus will really come?”

“Might,” she replied. “Might not. That’s what they say. Right?”

The children nodded.

“Josh,” the boy said. “He said that Krampus came to his house last year, said he actually saw him.”

“Yep,” the little girl added. “So did Charles. Susie said she saw him, too, but I don’t believe her. She’s a big fibber. But I believe Charles, because he had one of them funny gold coins.”

“Yeah,” the boy said excitedly. “So did Josh! He brought his to school and I actually got to hold it.” He looked up at his mother again. “Mom, do you believe Krampus is real?”

“Well, it don’t hurt none to believe. Now does it?”

“Nope, but it might not to. Josh said if you don’t put out candy, Krampus will put you in his sack and give you a beating.”

“Yeah,” the girl said. “All the kids at my school said they were putting out candy, y’know . . . just in case.”

Their mother grinned. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re putting out candy then. Wouldn’t want either one of my children to get put in a sack and beat silly.”

“I think he’s real,” the boy said.

“Me, too,” the girl agreed.

“Well,” the mom said. “If enough folks believe in a thing, I guess it becomes real enough. Don’t it?”

T
HE SNOW FELL
the whole night long that Christmas Eve, fell all across Boone County, across Goodhope and the surrounding hills. The snow blew about the entrance of a small cave cut into the rugged mountainside, swirled inside, and a few flakes even drifted far back to a mound of rocks surrounded by dried mistletoe.

From beneath the rocks came the sound of laughter, at first as light as a whisper, but as it grew in volume a small patch of snow about the entrance of the cave began to melt. A single flower poked its head up through the winter snow. The flower bloomed, fluttering to some unheard pulse, and the laughter swelled, deep and booming, echoing out from the cave. The wind and snow carried the sound down the valley and there were those the next morning who swore they heard it, swore it was Krampus, the Yule Lord. And they told their children they better be good, because Krampus . . . Krampus is coming to town.

Afterword

In Search of Krampus

Several years ago my wife, Laurie (who is infinitely hipper than I), turned me on to a devil that prances about at Christmas, whipping naughty children with a birch branch. I was immediately smitten with the character. “Stuffs them into a sack and beats them bloody, you say? Tosses the really bad ones into the river? Takes some home to devour?
Please
. . . tell me more!”

My endearment for the horned beast only deepened as I discovered the abundance of vintage greeting cards portraying him cheerfully carrying bawling children to Hell in a barrel and spanking the bottoms of buxom women with fiendish delight. What was not to love?

I soon discovered that this holiday gem had a long and colorful history, that there are winter festivals called
Krampusnacht
in many Alpine villages, where participants don wonderfully wicked, handcrafted Krampus costumes then roam the streets, rattling chains and bells and chasing random victims with sticks and switches. These runs, called
Krampuslaufen,
are fueled (not surprisingly) by alcohol; schnapps being the customary offering to Krampus. I noted Krampus was often portrayed in the company of Saint Nicholas, the tall, thin saint adorned in his bishop vestments, carrying his ornate ceremonial staff and looking stern.

There was a lot that seemed not right here, at least by my North American perceptions of Christmas and Santa Claus traditions. I had a litany of questions, but foremost in my mind was . . . hey, what does Santa Claus think of this guy? What exactly is their relationship? Call me crazy, but to me it seems a bit disingenuous for Santa to have an evil imp brutalizing and kidnapping children while he’s handing out gifts and shouting “Ho, ho, ho!” Who came first? Whose idea was it to work together? Were they doing the good cop/bad cop thing, like God and the Devil? Was Krampus Santa’s slave? Were they pals or mortal enemies? Which leads to the question most every schoolboy would ask: Who would win in a fight? And it was these questions, especially the last, which inevitably led to the writing of this novel.

Thus began my search for the origins of these two seemingly diametrically opposed holiday figures. Working backward from modern perceptions through the vast variations of Santa and Krampus, I traced Yule traditions to their earliest pagan roots in the winter solstice. And for those who enjoy such things, I would like to share my findings, but with the disclaimer that, as with most ancient folklore, there are many versions, varying from country to country and even region to region. Here I have gathered together the most common threads from which I wove the mythos of this fable.

Who came first? Santa Claus or Krampus? It could be argued that they both sprouted from the same origins, but variations of Krampus far preceded any of the more humanized, charitable versions of Santa Claus.

Winter solstice and its associated celebrations date back long before the birth of Christ. Yule sprang from pagan winter festivals in Germanic regions, celebrating the rebirth of the land with feast and sacrifice, and tied into Odin’s Wild Hunt and other Norse myths and legends. One of the more prominent symbols of Yuletide is the Yule Goat, which is one of the first manifestations of the Krampus that we so dearly know and love today.

From the beginning, Krampus represented the change of seasons, a nature and fertility god who chased away wicked spirits and assured a bountiful growing season in return for tribute. Later, he was assimilated into the evolving lore and legends of Germany and Austria. This lore spread into Croatia, Czech (Slovakia), Slovenia, Switzerland, and northern Italy. The original Yule Goat was said to be an ugly creature that frightened children while making certain that Yuletide traditions were carried out properly. Later, the Yule Goat, or Krampus, was also attributed with handing out Yule gifts.

In some legends, Krampus has been associated with or said to be a version of the Norse god Loki, who is at times portrayed as a horned, devilish trickster figure. These legends also suggest that Krampus carted children away to Hell, or Hel, Loki’s daughter. These early manifestations had no association with Saint Nicholas.

Once Christianity came along, Krampus was cast, along with many other horned nature spirits, into the role of a demon or devil. Despite several attempts over the centuries by the church and some European governments to stamp out Krampus celebrations, Krampus and Yuletide have endured and, as with most pagan traditions, have been adopted (or as Krampus would argue,
stolen
) by and into their Christian counterparts, such as the bringing of evergreen trees and wreaths inside the home, and the leaving of gifts in socks or boots.

Santa Claus’s origins can be traced back to early Norse mythology, and I seized upon historians’ associations of Santa Claus with the white-bearded Odin. But after digging deeper, I felt Odin’s son Baldr made a closer comparison. It is written that Baldr was loving, gentle-natured, gracious, and fair to behold, and that he spread charity and goodwill among the downtrodden—a Christ-like figure in many ways, including his death and rebirth. His legend fit perfectly into my tale, from his tragic death by a mistletoe spear at the hands of his blind brother Hoor (guided by Loki) to his subsequent imprisonment in Hel and eventual rebirth after Ragnarok and the fall of Valhalla.

As much of Europe transformed from paganism to Christianity, a few of their gods and spirits made the transition with them, in one form or another, but most were left behind and forgotten. This adaptation to a changing religious landscape also fit perfectly into what I was trying to depict.

Saint Nicholas as a Christmas figure is probably the first recognizable incarnation of our modern Santa Claus. Though the real Saint Nicholas died in 342, he was not recognized as a saint until the 800s, around the same time that Christmas was established as a holiday. He gained widespread popularity in the 1200s as pagan practices began to wane, and Christmas hit its stride in the late 1300s and 1400s. It was during this period that Krampus first became known as a Christmas devil and Saint Nicholas’s slave.

In the 1500s, the gift-giving figure of Father Christmas rose in popularity, followed in the 1700s by the first mention of Santa Claus as “St. A. Claus.” In 1809, the novelist Washington Irving wrote
A History of New York,
inventing the modern version of Santa Claus, followed shortly thereafter by Dr. Clement Moore’s famous poem, “A Visit from St. Nicholas.” The 1930s Coca-Cola ads by Haddon Sundblom established the current well-known, cheerful, chubby-faced Santa Claus in his bright (and conveniently Coca-Cola red) suit.

So it was this rich tapestry of legends and mythology that inspired my story. I discovered many other wonderful elements along the way and here are a few of them:

Angels:
In Belgium, Germany, Poland, Ukraine, and Austria, angels often accompanied St. Nick on his Christmas runs. In the Czech and Slovak tradition, the angel is a protector of children against the devil.

Belsnickels:
Another of the many variations on Krampus, the Belsnickel tradition was brought over to America by early German immigrants. Some of the Belsnickels were known to wear masks and dress in shaggy bearskin coats or skunk-skin caps. They often carried whips, sticks, or sometimes even shotguns, handing out treats and doling out punishment to children as they found befitting.

Boone County, West Virginia:
Though the township of Goodhope is fictional, many of the other locations in this book are based on actual places in and about Boone County. Boone County captured my attention due to its long history of colorful characters, bandits, and musicians, such as the dancing outlaw Jesco White and his notorious family; singer-songwriter Billy Edd Wheeler; and the local, legendary one-man-band Hasil Adkins (see more below).