Krampus

by Brom

  One of the girls in the back of the pack scampered back up the stairs. Isabel understood that she had to do something quick. She took a step away from Lacy.

  “Don’t even think about it,” the woman said. The women pushed the double doors shut behind them, flipped the latch, and tightened ranks. “You ain’t going nowhere.”

  REVEREND OWEN STOOD halfway up the ladder, clutching a mirrored disco globe the size of a basketball to his chest.

  “Hold it steady, Scott,” he said with more than a hint of frustration.

  “I got it already, Granddaddy. Here, you want me to hang it?”

  “No,” Reverend Owen snapped. “I don’t want you to hang it. I want you to hold the dadgum ladder steady.” The reverend wasn’t the least bit happy about turning his church into a disco hall, but he wasn’t blind, either, at least not yet. He could see that his congregation was aging and if he didn’t step up his efforts with the younger generations, soon he’d have no church at all. Still, at times, he felt he was spending more time catering to social club activities than preaching the Good Word.

  The reverend missed the old days, back when his wife and him went door-to-door, a Bible tucked beneath their arms, spreading the gospel, giving people who had nothing something to believe in. He recalled being chased off by dogs, being shot at, being cursed and ridiculed. But that had only fired him up, because he was a soldier of the Lord, casting out Satan wherever he found him, and filling the hard-living folks of Boone County up with the Holy Spirit. It’d been a long time now since the reverend had last felt the Holy Spirit pumping in his own veins, long time since he’d felt much other than the fatigue of managing his ever-mounting administrative duties and the frustration of sorting out the petty squabbles of his congregation.

  Reverend Owen was about to take another step up the ladder when he heard shouting coming from the basement. He looked down at his grandson and rolled his eyes. “Had a bad feeling about that divorce counseling shindig from the outset. Get together a bunch of bitter women and there’s always bound to be trouble.”

  Cindy burst through the chapel doors and collided with Mrs. Powell, knocking the tray of candles she was carrying from her arms and onto the floor.

  “Scott, get over there quick! Get them candles put out!” Each year the reverend tried to talk them out of using all those candles, and each year Mrs. Powell and her Seniors Decorating Committee insisted on lining the windowsills with them, claiming it was tradition, just like the popcorn streamers. And the old-timers clung on to their conventions like ticks to a dog’s ear.

  Cindy slapped out the candles on the floor and jumped to her feet, looking as though she might hyperventilate at any moment. The reverend tensed; Cindy was prone to hysterics, and he braced himself for her latest round of drama. “There’s one of them devil people in the basement!” Cindy cried. “And it’s got hold of a little girl. I ain’t fucking shitting you! Call the police! Someone call the goddamn police!”

  Reverend Owen thought about calling the police on Cindy’s foul mouth. He took a step down, doing his best not to drop the disco ball, doing his best not to fall off the ladder, got one foot onto the floor, and that’s when the devil walked into his church.

  It pushed right through the double doors, stomping past Cindy and Mrs. Powell, and headed up the center aisle. Satan was a lot larger than the reverend had imagined, standing seven feet tall, with wild, stringy black hair, pitch-black skin, a tail, glowing red eyes, and massive horns twisting up from his forehead.

  All commotion ceased, the chapel fell quiet, even Cindy was speechless. They stared: the kids, the adults, all of them. Their faces shocked and fearful, backing away, giving this devil all the room it wanted, but not the reverend, not Owen Augustus Elkins. No, sir. Satan had just picked the wrong church, the wrong preacher to tread on. If the devil wished to scrap, to pit its black dogma against the reverend’s faith, then it was in for a brawl, for the reverend was a soldier of the Lord. And for the first time in nearly twenty years Reverend Owen felt the Holy Spirit pumping again in his veins. The reverend stepped forward, blocking the devil’s path.

  The devil glared at the Christmas tree, tried to sidestep the reverend, but the reverend held his ground, struggling not to be cowed by the very size and vileness of the beast before him, calling on the Lord to give him strength. The devil locked eyes on him. “I have come for my tree,” he pronounced in a deep, gravelly voice. “Now out of my way you wretched little man.”

  The reverend wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Tree? Satan wanted . . . the tree? The reverend had no idea why Satan wanted his Christmas tree, but he sure as heck wasn’t about to let him have it. The reverend shook his head and stood his ground.

  “It is a Yule tree,” the devil said. “It does not belong in this house. Why do you, a man of the cloth, feel it is acceptable to make a mockery of Yule? To trample upon the beliefs of others?”

  The reverend hesitated. A Yule tree? What’s he talking about? Be careful, he cautioned himself, trickery is his language. He’s trying to throw you off balance, that’s all. And he heard his own words come to him: One mustn’t allow the devil to get the upper hand. “You dare challenge the Lord’s authority in His very house? God will not stand for such. In the name of the Lord Almighty I cast ye out! Now be gone, Satan! Be gone!”

  “Satan? I am not Satan!” the beast growled. “I am Krampus, the Lord of Yule. Now if you do not get out of my way I will tear out your heart and eat it!”

  The reverend held up the disco ball, meaning to throw it at the unholy beast before him if need be. “Back, devil! Return thee to Hell!”

  The beast rolled its eyes. “I am not a devil, fool. Do you ever wonder why you seek the Devil with such vigor? I shall tell you. Because you cannot face your own wickedness. The truth is there is no Devil making you torture, rape, murder, and sodomize one another, or making you destroy the very land that feeds you. There is only you. So look at yourself, for you are the only devil in this room.”

  “You trick no one with your flimflam,” the reverend shot back. “I see you, for Jesus lends me His eyes. The Good Lord sees you and will smite you with His sword of righteousness. He will cast thee back into the eternal flame to burn and burn!”

  “Burn? Smite? Punish? Why is your god so intolerant? So jealous? Why must there be only one god? Why is there not room for many?”

  “What?”

  “One god, why can you honor only one god?”

  “Why . . . every child in Bible school knows the answer to that. It is the first commandment: ‘You shall have no other gods before me.’ ”

  “You have not answered my question. Wherein lies the harm? Since earliest time men have sought the shelter of many gods, harmony with all the wild spirits. It would seem the more gods one had standing watch over one’s self the better. Would it not?”

  “I will not denounce the Lord if that’s what you’re asking. Jesus is my Savior and I shall not stray from His flock.”

  The devil’s shoulders sagged a bit at that and Reverend Owen knew he was winning, that the Holy Spirit was wearing Satan down.

  “Silly man, no one is asking you to denounce anyone. Only to open your heart. To invite them all into your house.”

  “I believe only in Jesus and the Good Lord above.”

  The devil perked up at that. “And Santa Claus? Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

  Santa Claus? What did Santa Claus have to do with anything? “Of course not. Santa Claus is a fantasy.”

  The devil grinned, let out a small laugh. “There. That, at least, is something we can agree on.” He patted Reverend Owen lightly on top of the head, then shoved him aside, continuing up the aisle toward the tree.

  The reverend stood there for another minute, unsure of what had just transpired. He certainly didn’t feel as though he’d passed any great test of his faith, that he’d put Satan rightly in his place. As a matter of fact, the only way he really felt at the moment was highly annoyed, and now the gangly be
ast was shaking his Christmas tree, shaking it so hard that the ornaments were flying off in all directions, smashing and crashing into the walls and floors. What is it with that tree? “Hey!” the reverend cried out. “Stop that! I’m telling you to stop that!”

  The devil ignored him, giving the tree a tremendous shove and toppling it over onto the pulpit, ornaments bouncing and shattering all over the place.

  “NO! NO! NO!” Reverend Owen screamed and threw the disco ball. The mirrored globe hit the creature on the back of the head, shattering upon its horns. The devil stumbled forward, but didn’t fall. It shook its head, shaking the bits of broken glass from its mane, turned, locked its eyes on the reverend, eyes that had become two burning slits of venom. A low, dangerous growl escaped its throat. It snarled, showed them its sharp teeth. The reverend saw no reasoning being here, no soul to banter and debate. He saw a primal beast, something wild, something bloodthirsty and savage. The reverend fell back a step, another, turned to flee, and collided with the ladder, knocking the top rung off its perch against the chapel’s ceiling. The tall ladder teetered a moment, then started downward, gaining momentum, crashing through all the streamers—the very ones he’d spent the last two hours putting up—and smashing down atop the pews.

  Reverend Owen watched aghast as the paper streamers landed in the candles perched along the windowsills, amazed at how quickly they caught fire. Whatever materials the Sunday school teachers had used lit up like a fuse. The flaming streamers hit the curtains, the original curtains put up when they’d first moved into the place back in ’68, which, guessing by the way they were starting to blaze, predated any fire codes. In no time they had fires going on both sides of the church.

  “FIRE!” Cindy screamed at the top of her very capable lungs. “FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!” People found their senses and began a panicked rush for the exits.

  Reverend Owen didn’t move. He stood there, watching the rapidly growing flames, and did something he’d never done before. Within his own church, Reverend Owen took the Lord’s name in vain, not once but over and over again.

  OFFICER ROBERTS HEARD the shouts and screams from almost a block away. He sped up, taking the last corner hard, shooting into the parking lot of the church. He’d driven over without using his siren and lights, as the chief had instructed, to keep the element of surprise, but watching the people streaming out from the front doors of the church, he didn’t believe it even mattered.

  He snatched up his rifle, jumped out of the cruiser, using the car for cover, bracing his rifle across the hood just like they’d taught him at the academy. He was only about thirty yards from the front steps, but it was still hard to tell who was who as he watched figures running to and fro—mere silhouettes in front of the growing flames.

  Noel glanced up the street, hoping to see the chief’s cruiser heading his way. Dillard had ordered him to stay back, but folks needed help, things were getting out of hand fast. He hit the mic. “Chief, I’m at the scene. We have an emergency. Please advise.” He waited a few seconds that felt like forever and hit the mic again. “Chief. Copy.” Nothing. Where was he? What was taking him so long? Noel changed frequencies, put a call in to the dispatch. “Dispatch, we got a ten . . . a ten . . .” His mind drew a blank, all the codes went out the window. “We got a fire, Methodist church in Goodhope . . . possible dangerous suspects.” He heard his voice rising, racing, forced himself to slow down. “Hell, we got all kinds of trouble! Send fire and rescue . . . let the sheriff know right away!” He got a confirmation that help was en route, then the radio clicked again and Dillard’s calm voice cut through the static. “Just hold on. Cutting across First now. Almost there.”

  Noel started to reply, but forgot what he was trying to say, because a towering figure with horns came out of the burning church, towing a Christmas tree behind him and carrying a man over his shoulder. The suspect matched the description, no doubt about that whatsoever. He dropped the man down from his shoulder into the snow. Officer Roberts recognized the man, it was Reverend Owen, he looked confused but okay.

  The deputy locked the sight of his rifle on the suspect—the man, or beast, or whatever it was—tried to hold his aim steady. “Oh, good gracious alive! Dillard you better get your ass here and quick!”

  A LOUD THUD reverberated through the ceiling. Isabel and all the women looked up.

  “What the hell’s going on up there?” the woman in the hunting jacket asked.

  A moment later they heard screams, cries, and the sound of feet drumming overhead. Isabel had a pretty good guess. Aw, shit, Krampus. What’ve you done now?

  Someone up the stairs screamed “FIRE!”—and at that moment smoke began to pour out of the ceiling vents.

  “OUT!” The woman in the hunting jacket yelled. “The place is on fire! Everyone get out!”

  The group of women standing in front of the double doors all turned and rushed for the exit, pushing those closest to it into the doors. And since the doors only opened inward, toward the hallway, this jammed them shut.

  “Stop! Wait!” someone yelled. “You’re gonna all have to back up.” It was the woman behind Isabel, the one in the simple dress. She started down the hall toward the wedge of women. “Stay calm. You must stay calm.”

  A few women were trying to pull themselves out of the tangle, but the others, in their panic, only pushed harder. Isabel started forward, intent on pulling the women off one another, when she heard screams coming from behind her.

  At least a dozen women had come out of the room at the far end of the hall and were stampeding toward her. Lacy stood right in their path. Isabel scrambled to get to her, but she had no chance. The woman, the one in the dress, grabbed Lacy, shoved her into the shallow door well, the one in front of the locked door. The women drove past. Isabel didn’t see what happened, the next thing she knew she was knocked back down the hall, slammed to the floor, and caught up in the press of grappling bodies.

  The air grew dense, the smoke making everyone cough, spurring on the panic. Isabel found herself pinned, struggling to get air in her lungs. She heard her name, a deep, booming call that resonated above the din of screaming, crying women. There came a terrific snapping and splintering of wood, and all at once light appeared at the top of the double doors. There came another snap, more splintering, and a large chunk of the door ripped outward. She saw him then, his glowing eyes and unmistakable silhouette. Krampus wrapped his large hands on the door, let out a roar, and gave a mighty tug. The door frame popped and snapped, one of the double doors broke free, crashing down onto the steps.

  And there stood the Yule Lord, tall and terrible, the Belsnickels just behind him. Krampus pulled the women out of the tangle, pushed them up the stairs; the Belsnickels, in turn, lead them out of the death trap.

  “Isabel!” Krampus yelled, his voice frantic. “Where are you?”

  “Krampus!” She managed to get a hand free and wave. Krampus shoved women left and right, plowing his way to Isabel, grabbed her, and pulled her to her feet.

  “Hurry!” he cried, pushing her toward the stairs.

  “Wait,” Isabel shouted. She looked down the dim, smoky hall searching for Lacy. And there she was—in that woman’s arms, the one in the dress. The woman coughed, her eyes streaming with tears, but she held tight to Lacy. Isabel leapt to them, put an arm around both of them, and steered them to the stairs. The last couple of women were stumbling up the steps with the help of Jesse and Chet. Isabel led Lacy and the woman up and out, followed lastly by Krampus.

  They came out into the night air. Isabel drew in a deep breath; never had air tasted so sweet. Ash and glowing cinders fell upon the snow, smoke billowed around them. Isabel saw Krampus’s tall, horned figure before the hellish landscape, surrounded by his Belsnickels, and could not help but think of Satan and his host of demons.

  “Come,” Krampus called. “Let us find the Yule goats before they stray.” He headed back around the side of the church, followed by the Belsnickels, all of them disappearing in
to the smoke.

  People were gathering in the parking lot. Isabel started to lead the woman and Lacy that way, spotted a police cruiser barreling into the lot, nearly hitting two bystanders. It skidded to a stop beside another cruiser. Isabel halted, dropped to one knee, gave Lacy a quick kiss on the cheek, and hugged her tight. “I gotta go, Lacy. You be good. Okay?”

  “You be good, too,” Lacy said and hugged her back.

  Isabel stood, clutched the woman’s arm. “Her name is Lacy. Please look after her.” The woman gave her a confused look, but nodded earnestly, picking Lacy up and heading away from the flames. Isabel wanted to watch them go, but tears blurred her vision and she turned back, darting away into the smoke after Krampus.

  CHIEF DILLARD DEATON leapt from his car, almost forgot his shotgun, reached back in, yanked it across the seat.

  “Aw, jeez!” Noel cried, running over. “Chief, man, am I ever glad to see—” He stared at Dillard’s face. “Heck, chief, what happened to you?”

  “Where are they?” Dillard asked, walking briskly toward the fire.

  Officer Roberts jogged to keep up. “Um . . . well . . . hard to say with all the smoke, y’know. They were heading around the side of the building last I saw.”

  “I told you not to let them out of your sight.”

  “I know, but the sheriff told me to sit tight until backup arrived.”

  “What?” Dillard spun on his heels. “The sheriff? You called this in?”

  “Well, yeah. Had to. We’re outside the town limit. Outside our jurisdiction.”

  “Do I look like I need a lecture on whose jurisdiction we’re in?”

  “But the fire. I thought it was procedure to—”

  “Shut up. Just shut up!” Dillard almost punched the boy, almost laid him out flat, and wouldn’t that have added an interesting layer to his growing list of troubles. He stepped forward, got right into Noel’s face. “I don’t wanna hear another word about procedure. You go back to the vehicles and wait for the goddamn sheriff to show up. Got that? Don’t you move unless I say so. Got it? Got it?”