I am still not sure how I descended those stairs but, looking back, I seemed to smash through the door, then fly down them, my boots never once touching wood. One moment I was in the attic, and the next I was in the front hall, staring in horror at the thing in the parlor.
The orphans had made little nests for themselves out of woolly blankets, and nuzzled down for the night in front of the flickering fire, while Miss von Hitler and Miss Goering kept watch over their slumbering forms. It was a vision of peace and serenity, except for this vile abomination that stood in the midst of the room while screaming orphans dashed about its feet.
Or, rather, its foot. For one of its black feet was human in form, while the other was a cloven hoof, as horny and hard as any goat’s. The hoof and the foot alike terminated in hairy ankles, and the hairy ankles became hairy legs like those of a satyr. The hairy legs terminated in a thick hairy trunk which belonged to the most hideous creature I had ever seen.
Taller than a man by a good head and a half, it had coarse, black fur all over its body except for its belly which was worn bald and covered in scabs. Its head was like a devil’s, with a long red tongue that lolled halfway down its chest, and curling horns that protruded from its forehead. Fangs, burning red eyes, and jagged, ripping claws completed the image of a denizen of the pit escaped to the earth’s surface.
“Krampus!” Augustus breathed, arriving behind me, although I knew not what he meant.
The beast was laying about itself with a length of rusty chain, beating the orphans with great abandon. Miss Goering was sprawled across the floor in a swoon while Miss von Hitler cowered against the door, trembling with fear. She saw me and cried one word:
“Krampus!”
And now I understood: this thing was called Krampus!
The hall echoed with the deafening roar of yet another of Augustus’s hidden pistols, but although I saw the ball pierce its hide, it slowed the vile Krampus not one whit. Paralyzed with fear, surrounded by screaming orphans, none of us seemed able to halt this mad creature’s rampage
It was the sight of Miss von Hitler, her eyes rolling back in her head as if she were about to swoon, that spurred me into action. Wading in amongst the orphans I grabbed a poker from the fireplace and turned to face this Krampus.
The filthy creature was ignoring me, concentrating on flogging orphans, when it dropped its chain, picked an orphan up by its heel, and flexed its own scabrous stomach. A slit appeared, which gaped opened like the pouch of the kangaroo, and it attempted to jam the child into its flesh pocket. I was having none of it.
“Cease!” I cried, bringing the poker down on the monster’s head with all my force.
It dropped the orphan and turned to face me. I struck it again, then again, and then I proceeded to batter it vigorously about the head and shoulders with my poker, causing it great distress.
“Ah ha!” Augustus shouted in triumph. “Bullets do no harm, but direct physical violence is the key!”
With that he picked up a cast iron doorstop and flung it as hard as he could at the Krampus. It struck the fiend in the back of the head and its eyes rolled up into its skull and it fell to its knees on the floor. With shouts of laughter and much joy, Augustus and I laid into it, pressing our advantage. For the next little while, I quite lost track of time.
Soon the screams of the orphans changed tone and tenor and I stopped my work and looked around. Augustus was still bringing the door stop down repeatedly on the jelly he had made of the thing’s great skull, and the Krampus now resembled a boneless pile of wet carpet. I pushed it with my toe, but it did not move.
“Augustus,” I said. “We have won!”
He stepped back and we surveyed our handiwork, then turned and smiled at the orphans. Miss Goering and Miss von Hitler had stopped screaming some time ago; now they were attempting to comfort the sobbing foundlings who were splattered head to toe in Krampus gore. The monster’s sanguinary fluids were splashed across all the walls, and some even dripped from the ceiling. I wondered at what a triumphant sight we made, decked in the entrails of our opponent, and I thought we both struck quite the manful picture, but Miss von Hitler seemed more interested in the whimperings of her charges.
“There, children,” Augustus proclaimed. “That is how we Americans deal with intruders in our homes! Now, let’s have no more crying and instead why don’t you all join me for a great cup of cocoa in the kitchen!”
I was struck by his sudden transformation, but quite pleased, so decided not to question his mood swing.
“I tink you haf done enough,” Miss Goering said, but Augustus ignored her.
“Come along, children,” he said, herding the dumbstruck little ones out of the room and towards the back of the orphanage. “This way! The first one there gets the biggest cup of cocoa!”
The parlor was suddenly quiet, leaving only Miss von Hitler and myself alone.
“How do you feel?” I asked her.
“Sick to mein stomach,” she moaned.
I came close.
“Yes, I suppose for us this is all in a night’s work but you have never seen two men of science and understanding such as Augustus and myself investigate an unexplained mystery,” I said as I tried to take her hands. Mine were quite slippery with gore so it was a difficult trick. In the end, her hands seemed to slip out of mine and she clutched them to her bosom.
“I vould like you to go now,” she moaned.
“Not without a kiss,” I said, my spirits high from the heady moment we had just shared.
I took her silence and the numbed shaking of her head as a “yes” and leaned in to those sugarplum lips of hers, ready to claim my prize…
“William!” Augustus cried, striding up the hall. “The orphans are safe with their cocoa, and now I think it is time we departed! We have a long walk ahead of us.”
Reluctantly, I stepped away from my valkyrie, my Rhinemaiden, my Nordic princess, and blew her a kiss instead. She did not catch it.
“Miss von Hitler,” Augustus said, bowing over her hand and clicking his heels. “You will find that when the orphans return upstairs they might have a very special visitor soon, one who will erase all memory of these unfortunate incidents from their tiny minds. Good evening to you, and I wish you all a good night.”
With that, he took my elbow and we strode out of the German Kinder Orphanage for Forgettable Children and walked up the street. Augustus seemed to be in high spirits, his earlier mood of fear and trembling quite forgotten now.
“Well that was a good night’s work, William,” he said cheerily, taking my arm.
“What was that creature?” I asked.
“That was — if my German folklore is correct, and I have no reason to doubt that it is — a Krampus.”
“I know that much,” I said. “But who, or what, is a Krampus?”
“From the Tyrols,” Augustus clarified. “The Krampus is a demonic figure from Germany’s pagan past. On the feast of Saint Nicholas it rides along with that bearded Christian gentleman but whereas Saint Nick passes out presents to the good children, Krampus terrorizes the bad, distributing lashings with its chains. Occasionally it carries a child away in its horrifying sack for what purposes we can only speculate, but it does not take much imagination to consider what foul deeds a Krampus unobserved might perpetrate in the privacy of a pine forest. We have no pine forests here, but it seems that the Krampus abroad still maintains its filthy habits. I would imagine a sewer or damp basement suits its tastes just as well.”
“My god,” I gasped. “And you’re telling me that this unclean creature has been carrying off orphans — ”
“ — ever since Miss Goering took over, yes. She is from the Tyrols and has apparently brought her superstitions with her. That is the problem with these people. They bring with them bad habits that are better left back home.”
“But why did it come in the downstairs parlor tonight?” I asked. “And why did Saint Nick enter the bedroom? Based on their previous reports, i
t seems topsy turvy to me.”
By now we were drawing near to the White Street Society clubhouse and our pace slowed. On the corner, two fire departments had started an enormous bonfire in the middle of the street. It had ignited a nearby tree which, in turn, had spread to an unhitched cart. The blaze sent cheery sheets of red sparks into the sky and many of the firefighters were now wrestling in the icy snow, punching one another playfully in the face.
“I suppose that we might have had a small influence on the matter,” Augustus said, stepping carefully over two firefighters who were trying to strangle each other. “Our mere presence, and our completely justified killing of Saint Nick in self-defense probably confused the Krampus and unhinged it from its normal habits. For all we know, it thought that it was coming in the upstairs window, when in fact it was entering the front door. There really is no way to plumb the motivations of an imaginary creature, especially a foreign one. To be honest, we never should have been involved in this matter. It has been a messy evening, all around.”
“But you have done one kindness,” I said, smiling. “And revealed yourself to be as generous and charitable as any Christian gentleman inspired by the spirit of the season.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, Augustus?” I said, feigning surprise. “You took extraordinary efforts to replace the dead Saint Nicholas with one of your own devising. I think your heart has grown large enough to contain at least thirty small orphans. Tell me you don’t feel some small glow of pride that soon, with Jim Mahoney on the job, those children will be enjoying their feast of Saint Nicholas the way they were meant to on this most magical of days.”
“If he hasn’t fallen off the roof in a drunken stupor and broken his neck,” he said, but I could detect a slight smile playing around his lips.
“He might be a clumsier Saint Nicholas than those children are used to,” I mused. “I hope he does not awaken them.”
“No fear of that,” Augustus said proudly, holding up a tiny glass bottle. “I took the liberty of lacing their hot cocoa with this sleeping draught. The little ones shall sleep soundly through the night and not awaken until morning when they will find their stockings stuffed with oranges and chocolate.”
“Augustus,” I said, examining the bottle more closely. “This label has a small red dot on it. I don’t think it is the sleeping draught.”
“What are you saying?” he demanded and examined the bottle himself. It took him quite a long time, and when he spoke again he sounded somewhat shaken. “That is merely…a bit of dried blood in the shape of a small red dot? I would…hm…I would say it probably happened while we were beating Krampus to death. Or maybe when I shot old Saint Nick.”
“I do not think that is dried blood,” I said.
We both stood there for a moment contemplating the matter. It was Augustus who broke the reverie, walking up the stairs to his front door.
“Well, it’s only orphans,” he said. “It’s not as if anyone will miss them.”
He paused for a moment, head lowered, struggling with a sentiment too large for his chest.
“Fucking Christmas,” he finally spat, then disappeared inside and slammed the door.
I stood on the cold street. The sky was clear and the moonlight merciless. A drunken mummer lay unconscious in the gutter, hugging an enormous cabbage for warmth. Up the block, two young men were beating a third with a tin pipe and a horn. Their comrade crouched in the snow, hands wrapped around his head for protection. Next to him lay his forgotten drum. A goat trailing mistletoe from its horns ran past me, pursued moments later by several hungry-looking rogues.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” I said, to no one in particular. “And to all a good night.”
I thought for a moment, then added.
“Especially those orphans.”
I walked the cold streets to my apartments, quite alone.
My spirits immediately lifted the next morning when I read the ‘papers. My slumber had been troubled, not just by a pricking of my conscience but by a deeper, darker feeling that I could only call fear. Would Augustus and I be linked to the scene? Had we done something seriously wrong? Were orphans just as good as real children in the eyes of God? Would I awaken to find John Law pounding at my door?
By the time I arose, I had determined that I would go immediately to Augustus and convince him to accompany me to the police station where we would take responsibility for our error, and throw ourselves on the mercy of the courts. But then I saw the ‘papers and stopped in my tracks.
According to the The Sun, shortly after we left the orphanage an ominous racket had been heard emanating from upstairs. The local watch appeared on the scene and discovered a drunken Jim Mahoney surrounded by dead orphans. They were not inclined to accept his explanation that they were like that when he found them. They also discovered, upon further investigation, an unidentified man distributed about the room in several small footlockers.
Mahoney was taken into custody by the law, but that was not the news which caused me to leap hastily into my clothes, go bounding out of the house, and sent me running through the bright white streets. That was not the news that saw me pounding on the door of the White Street Society shortly thereafter. That was not the news that caused me to seize Charles in a fierce embrace when he informed me that Augustus was in the library.
“Did you see?” I shouted to Augustus, bounding into the room and shaking the papers at him.
“Mm?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I read aloud from the article:
“Due to a sudden influx of arrestees from a small riot in the Tompkins Square Park Bavarian Beer Garden, the suspected Mahoney was mistaken for another Mahoney, arrested earlier in the evening for public drunkenness, and he was erroneously released on his own recognizance. His whereabouts are, at this time, unknown.”
“Quite,” Augustus said.
“It’s a Christmas miracle, Augustus!” I cried. “Now we just have to find Mahoney and spirit him out of the country and all will be well. If only we knew where he was.”
I began to pace.
“I know where he is,” Augustus said.
“You do?” I stopped my pacing. “My God, man. Where?”
“He was just here this morning,” Augustus said. “Banging on my door like a savage and demanding money for passage to South America.”
“What did you do?”
“I gave him his money, of course,” Augustus said.
“But you never loan money!” I exclaimed.
“It wasn’t a loan,” Augustus said. “It was more of as an investment in my future. Right this minute, he should be on steamer heading for South America. You might be interested to know that I also made my first investment in show business this morning. Before the New Year, Mahoney should be performing The Dogs of Shakespeare in Brazil or some such place, and probably dying of malaria in the bargain.”
All the strength left my legs and I sank into a chair.
“If you’re really in a mood to be astounded, read the Tribune,” Augustus said, tossing it to me.
The broadsheet was folded to another article about what they were calling “The Great Orphan Massacre” which I thought was a little unfair. I ran my eyes over the familiar details until one particular item brought me to a halt.
“My word…” I gasped.
“It is a bit like a novel, isn’t it?” Augustus said. “Who would believe that one of those orphans was actually heir to an immense fortune? A jealous half-brother, an attempt to abandon the squalling brat in a snowbank foiled by his discovery at the hands of your Miss von Hitler, and a kindly uncle reading his name in the ‘papers and bringing the whole matter to light. I hear that he has settled fully half the child’s inheritance on your German orphan herders. Imagine how their collection of unwanted children can expand now? They must be giddy with excitement.”
“Most unlikely,” I exclaimed, sitting back in my chair and feeling faint. “Most incredible.”
&
nbsp; “Agreed,” Augustus said, pouring me a coffee. “But weren’t you the one who said that Christmas is a time for miracles?”
I settled back with my steaming cup of coffee in hand, and marveled at the way the events of the previous evening had changed so many of our lives. The spirit of Christmas, it seemed, had touched us all, each in different ways. Some of us were rich, some of us were dead, some of us were on a steamship to Brazil, and some of us had avoided prosecution for manslaughter.
“Merry Christmas,” I said to Augustus, for it seemed the proper thing to say in the situation.
He mulled this over for a moment, and then I saw the light in his eyes change, as if some shade or obstacle had fallen away. He lifted his head and smiled at me, looking for all the world like a child on Christmas morning.
“Yes,” he replied. “It is quite merry, isn’t it?”
And that is how Augustus Mortimer came to know the true meaning of Christmas.
This is THE END
of the
Tales of the White Street Society…
But wait — ! There are more Tales of the White Street Society to come! Numerous electrifying adventures of this stouthearted band of scientific gentlemen have been recorded in the minutes of the White Street Society, but medical professionals claim the public is not yet ready to read them. How dare they? Our motto has ever been: D—mn the medical professionals! Let the public read these tales of eye-bulging ratiocination and be elevated, and if a few die in the process then count it as a price well-paid.
Future tales will be unveiled in this very book and your Kindle edition will automatically update when they are sent screaming into the world:
The Minnesota Werewolf — when Natives drank too much “firewater“ and ran rampant, slaughtering white men and women and their precious babes in arms, they also unleashed the foul curse of lycanthropy, a medical condition caused by lack of proper hygiene. It took an uncountable number of bullets to solve this mystery!
Dead Leprechauns & Devil Cats Page 10