Krampus: The Yule Lord (5 page)

“Last I checked,” Jesse said, “it wasn’t against the law for a man to visit his little girl on Christmas.”

“Jess, please go. I’m begging you. If he finds you here it’ll be bad.” And Jesse caught a note of panic, understood that she didn’t mean bad just for him.

“Linda, you’re twenty-six. What are you doing with that old creep?”

“Don’t you do this. Not here. Not now.”

“Well, okay, fine. But I’m still Abigail’s father and as such I got some say on her welfare, and it don’t set well with me one bit that she’s living under the roof of a man in cahoots with the General.”

Linda looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Really? Are you kidding? I can’t believe you even said that.” She laughed. “Weren’t you the one sitting in county jail a couple months back? And for what? What was it, Jesse? Running drugs I believe. Who exactly were you in
cahoots
with?”

Jesse flushed. “That ain’t the same and you know it.”

She just stared at him.

“Besides, I didn’t know it was drugs.”

Linda rolled her eyes and let out a snort. “Jesse, I happen to know you aren’t that stupid. Well, okay, I tell you what. I could move her into that little trailer of yours. That’d be a wonderful place to raise her. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t the fact that Dillard murdered his wife bother you at all?”

“He did not,” she shot back, a noticeable edge in her voice. “That’s just talk. Dillard told me what really happened. She emptied his bank account, took his car, and run off. That’s all there is to that. He was shattered by what that crazy woman did to him.”

“That’s one side of it. Too bad Mrs. Deaton ain’t around to give her side. Too bad no one ever found hide not hair of her after all these years.”

“Jesse, what are you trying to do?”

“Linda, don’t move in with this guy. Please don’t. Go back to your mama’s. Let’s give this one more chance.
Please
.”

“Jesse, I’m done waiting for you to grow up. There’s gotta be more to my life than watching you pick at that damn guitar of yours. I don’t want to be raising a child by myself while you’re off playing at some scuzzy honky-tonk. That ain’t no kind a life.”

“What happened to you, Linda? You used to believe in me . . . believe in my songs.”

“How’s that demo coming along, Jess?”

“It’s coming.”

“Have you sent off any of your songs? Did you ever follow up with that DJ from Memphis, that Mr. Rand, or Reed, or whatever his name was? As I recall he was real keen on your sound.”

“I’m still working on it.”

“Still working on it? Jesse, that was over two years ago. What’s the excuse now?”

“Ain’t no excuse. Songs just aren’t quite ready yet. That’s all.”

“How many years have I been hearing that? What you mean to say is
you
aren’t quite ready yet. Because them songs . . . they’re good songs. But nobody’s ever gonna know it if you don’t let them hear ’em.”

Jesse stared at his boots.

“Jesse, we been over this until I’m sick of hearing myself say it. You aren’t going nowhere so long as all you do is keep playing to a bunch of drunks in those two-bit bars. You want it, baby, you’re gonna have to make it happen. Gonna have to put yourself on the line.

“Look, Jess, some folks is gonna like what you do and some folks aren’t, that’s just the way it is. You can’t go through life worrying about the ones that aren’t.”

Jesse felt that was easy for Linda to say, she’d never cared a lick for what other folks thought. It was why she was such a good dancer, because she could just lose herself in the beat, just kick up her heels not caring who was watching or what they might be thinking. She’d never been able to understand that it might be different for him, at least while he was performing. He couldn’t get past all those eyes on him, watching his every move, couldn’t get into the zone, into that magic place where the music and him were one and the same. So yes, perhaps she was right, maybe he was afraid to put himself on the line, but maybe he’d learned that it was better to play good to a bunch of drunks instead of screwing up in front of people who gave a damn.

She let out a long sigh. “You won’t send your songs off to no one because you don’t ever feel they’re quite good enough and you won’t play in front of nobody that amounts to a hill of beans because they might look at you funny. Jesse, how can you expect me to believe in you if you won’t believe in yourself?”

Jesse just stared at her, tried to come up with a reply, something he hadn’t said a hundred times before. “All I know is that I love you, Linda. Love you as hard as I can. Now, you go ahead and look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me. Do it right now. If you can do that then I’ll leave you be.”

She met his eyes, opened her mouth, then closed it, her lips set tight. Tears began to brim in her eyes. “There’s a little girl in there that needs some sort of stability in her life. She don’t need a mom pulling double shifts at the Laundromat, don’t need a daddy dragging in at four
A.M
. every morning. Can you understand that? Can you not see that there’s more to consider here than just you and me?” A tear fell down her face and she wiped it angrily away. “I gave you every chance. Every . . . damn . . . chance. So don’t you come up here telling me you love me and acting like you’re all concerned about Abigail’s welfare.”

“I’ll find a job. A
real
job. Just tell me you’re willing to give it a shot and I promise . . . promise I’ll quit with the music . . . quit it straight away.”

She looked at him like he’d stabbed her. “Quit your music? Nobody wants you to quit. You just need to get a plan and a little faith in yourself. Grow some goddamn balls, Jesse, and go after it.”

“Okay, I’ll get a plan . . . and . . . um . . . grow some goddamn balls. Hell, I’ll do whatever it takes to—”

“Stop it, Jesse. Stop it. It’s too late. I’ve heard it all before. We both know nothing’s gonna change. Just can’t count on you, Jesse. No one can. You can’t even count on yourself. Now you need to leave. Right now, before Dillard gets back. Before you screw this up, too. Don’t make—”

“Daddy?” a timid voice called from behind Linda. “Mommy, is that Daddy?”

Linda gave Jesse a pained look then opened the door wider. A little girl with long, curly hair, wearing faded flannel PJs, stood peeking into the foyer. The girl saw Jesse and let out a squeal. “Daddy!” she cried and came rushing to him. Jesse scooped her up, spun her around then just hugged her, enjoying the crush of her little arms about his neck. She hugged him like she never wanted to let him go. He pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. She smelled of soggy Froot Loops and baby shampoo and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever smelled.

“Daddy,” she whispered in his ear. “Did you bring me something?”

He opened his eyes and found Linda staring at him. She didn’t need to say a word; he knew her “you’re gonna let her down again” look too well.

Jesse set Abigail to the floor. “Was there something you wanted? I couldn’t remember if there was or not. Last thing I recall you saying was to donate all your presents to charity.”

Abigail planted her hands on her hips and screwed up her face like she wanted to sock him. Then her eyes lit up as though just remembering something amazing. “Oh, Daddy, I gotta show you something.” She started away then slid to a stop. She held up one tiny finger. “I’ll be right back. So don’t go nowhere. Okay? Okay?”

“Promise,” he said and smiled, but her sincerity pained him. He could see that she was truly afraid he might not be here when she returned.
And why not?
It’s not like it hadn’t happened before?

Linda looked at his empty hands. “Don’t have nothing do you? Put it all toward booze didn’t you?”

Jesse tried to look offended. “You’ll just have to see. Won’t you?”

Abigail came running back, clutching a doll. “Look Daddy! I got one! I got a Teen Tiger doll!”

“Now where’d that come from? Did Santa bring you that?”

“No, Dillard did.”

Jesse felt as though he’d been punched. He did his best to smile while he looked the doll over. “Which one’s this?”

“It’s Teresa Tiger. Ain’t she cool?”

“Hmm, I thought you want Tina Tiger?”

“I did, but they was all out down at the drugstore.”

“Well, I guess she’s pretty a-okay. I mean, if that’s the best the old man could do. I can see how it might be that an old fart like Dillard wouldn’t want to go driving all over Creation to get the one you really wanted. Elderly men like that . . . it’s hard for them to sit for real long on account that they got hemorrhoids.” He cupped his hand and whispered loudly. “Itchy buttholes.”

Abigail giggled. Linda shot him a sour look and said, “Why don’t you ask your daddy what
he
got you?”

Abigail set her big eyes on him.

“Well, Abi, sugar blossom. Did you know that your daddy and Santa Claus just so happen to be real good buddies?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yup, it’s God’s honest truth. Why, we go fishing together every now and again. As a matter of fact we’re such good buddies that he lent me his magic sack. Told me if I knew any good little girls I could give them whatever toys they wanted. Do you know any good little girls?”

Abigail beamed, and pointed at herself.

“Now, I want you to close your eyes and wish for any toy you want.”

Abigail shut her eyes tight.

“No peeking,” Jesse called as he stepped back to the bush and retrieved the two garbage bags. Linda eyed the bags suspiciously as he sat them down in front of Abigail.

“Okay.”

Abigail opened her eyes, saw the two bags, and gave her parents a questioning look.

“Go on,” Jesse said. “Open them.”

Abigail laid down her doll and pulled open the top of one of the bags. Her eyes grew wide.
“Daddy?”
she whispered, then opened the bag wider. She just stared, like she was afraid to move or even breathe. She slowly pulled out a Teen Tiger doll, then another, then another, then let out an ear-piercing squeal. She clapped her hands, laughed, jumped up and down, and squealed some more as she emptied all the toys out onto the porch.

“Daddy!” Abigail flung herself around his neck. Jesse hugged her back and stuck his tongue out at Linda. Linda was not smiling, she didn’t look happy in the least; she looked like she wanted to jab her finger in his eye.

“Abigail, dear,” Linda said, her voice terse. “Could you do me a favor and take all these inside? We don’t want ’em to get messed up.” Linda knelt down and started putting the dolls back in the sack. “Here, just take ’em in. You can open them inside. That way you won’t lose nothing.” Abigail, practically dancing with excitement, dragged one of the sacks inside and down the hall. “I’ll be there in a sec,” Linda called. “Just need to have a
word
with your daddy.”

Jesse didn’t like the way she said “word.”

Linda sat the other bag inside the door and pulled it shut. She glared at him.

“What’d I do now?”

“You know exactly what you did,” she snapped. “Where’d all them toys come from? Are they stolen?” She jabbed a finger at him. “Tell me Jess, what kind of a father gives his daughter stolen toys for Christmas?”

Jesse held her eye. “They’re
not
stolen.”

Linda didn’t look convinced.

“They’re not stolen,” Jesse repeated. “And that’s all you need to know. How come you always gotta think the worst of me?”

“Are you telling me you bought these?” This seemed to make her even angrier. “You had cash and this is what you went and spent it on? All the things your daughter needs and you buy her toys? Jesse—” She didn’t finish, she looked past him, her face stricken.

Jesse turned and saw Chief Deaton’s patrol car coming down the road.

S
ANTA
C
LAUS STOOD
upon the boulder, staring across the snow-covered wilderness, searching the tall cliffs for the easiest means out. His crimson suit was torn, covered in drying blood, but the blood wasn’t his own. A mewling sound came from behind him, from among the pile of mangled beasts. One of the reindeer still lived, its legs broken, its gut busted open, a string of entrails and blood splattered atop the boulders. It began to bleat and bawl, sounding almost human in its suffering. Santa ground his teeth together.

“The house of Loki brings nothing but ruin,” Santa Claus hissed. “Krampus, I gave you every chance. Tried to show you charity, show you the path to redemption, but I was a fool to let you live, for once more you have proven there is no grace amongst serpents.”

He hopped down from the boulder, walked to the splintered remains of the sleigh. He shoved a few slats aside until he found a bound burlap bundle. He untied the cord, unwrapped the burlap, revealing a sword and a ram’s horn.

“For the death of my brother, my wife, the destruction of the house of Odin, for my imprisonment in Hel, for all the thievery and deceit, all the woe your line has wrought, the last of Loki’s blood shall be stamped from this earth.”

He put the horn to his lips and blew; a single, long, powerful note. The deep bass sound traveled through the earth and air, carried up the valley and out across the world. Santa knew his children would hear, wherever they were, even if they were halfway around the world, they would hear. “Come Huginn and Muninn, come Geri and Freki, come you great beasts of ancient glory. Come help me find this devil. It is time to finish what should have been finished five hundred years ago. It is time to bury Krampus for good.”

The dying reindeer kicked and pawed at the rocks with its hooves, trying to sit up. Santa grimaced, picked up the sword, pulled it from its scabbard. It was not a thing of beauty but a stout broadsword, a blade meant for killing. He walked over to the reindeer. It stopped struggling, looked up at him with dark, wet eyes, and let out a long bleat. Santa raised the sword and brought it down hard, chopping the deer’s head from its neck with one clean stroke.

Santa Claus wiped the blade clean of blood, replaced it into its sheath. He tied the horn to his belt, strapped the sword across his back, and started away, heading south, toward the little town where he’d been ambushed. He knew the sack had landed somewhere in that trailer park and he intended to find it. “Krampus, my dear old friend, you will pay. Your death is mine and I intend to make it a terrible one.”