by Brom
KRAMPUS THREW SANTA’S head into the courtyard, watched it bounce across the lawn, and then just stood there in the doorway for a long time, studying the stars.
Jesse stared at the body, tried to accept what he had seen, what he had been through, all of it, any of it—that there could truly be a Santa Claus at all and, if so, that this headless body lying in the dirt could be him. And if not Santa then what? He knew he should be shocked, horrified, but felt only a grim numbness. He’d seen too much, been through too much, knew on some level if he looked too hard he would have to question his own sanity, and for now all he wanted was to hold it together long enough to get through this madness and somehow make it back to Abigail.
He caught movement in the rafters. The little people, whom Jesse assumed to be elves, had left their hiding places and were peering down in horror and disbelief. Jesse glanced around, found Vernon, Isabel, Chet, all with the same shell-shocked expressions upon their faces.
Makwa left the stall, walked over to Krampus, and pointed to the elves. “What of them?”
Krampus strolled back into the stable, called up to the elves. “You are free. Return home to the wilds where you belong. Reclaim your spirit. But do so now, as I intend to burn this stable—and all that belonged to the traitor—to the ground.”
The little people glanced about uneasily but, one by one, began to slip away.
“Jesse,” Krampus called. “Open the stalls, free all the beasts. The rest of you, move those bails there, the barrels, that cart, anything that will burn, against the center post.”
While Jesse freed the reindeer, Krampus walked down the length of the stable, peering into each stall, stopping near the back. He opened a gate and led two goats out. “Jesse, bring those two harnesses there and follow me.” Krampus led Jesse and the goats outside to the green sleigh. He strapped on their harness, speaking kindly to them as he hitched them up. He guided them well away from the structures and tied them to a bench near a garden.
Krampus returned to the stable, looked over the pile of wood and hay, appeared satisfied, then grabbed Santa’s body by the leg and dragged him over. Together with Makwa, he tossed the body onto the pile like one more scrap of wood.
Krampus lifted one of the oil lamps from its post, threw it atop the pile. The lantern shattered, setting the wood and hay ablaze. The fire crackled and spread.
“Come,” Krampus called and led them out. They crossed the courtyard, went through a topiary full of shrubs cut to resemble mythological creatures, then across the garden surrounding the main house. Jesse watched the reindeer joyfully munching on the rows of flowers. Krampus stopped in front of a single-story building that ran the entire length of the main house. Two statues of rearing white horses stood astride a wide, double-door entrance. Krampus walked up to the doors and gave them a tug. The doors were unlocked and they entered.
It appeared to be a warehouse of sorts, with rows of shelves all the way to the ceiling and stacked with all manner of items, mostly toys, but Jesse also noted rows of children’s shoes, coats, and other articles of clothing, even a row of crutches and basic medical supplies. It took him a moment to put together that this must be where the sack had been open to, back when he’d first put his hand into it. He shuddered to think what might’ve happened if he’d been caught and pulled through.
Krampus ignored the toys, walking along the wall, opening each and every door he came to. Jesse had no idea what he might be looking for. Krampus opened one door, shut it, then paused, seemed to reconsider. He walked back, reopened it, and went in, came out a moment later with a bundle of colorful clothes. He tossed them onto the floor, and then brought out more. Shirts, pants, jackets, boots, all made from fine leathers and fabrics, in deep emerald greens, golden ochers, and dark crimson reds. “Lose your drab rags and don this finery. Those that serve the Yule Lord shall hide in shadows no longer.”
The Shawnee weren’t the least interested, but Isabel appeared delighted. She dug into the pile with obvious spirit, admiring one piece after another, holding the rich textiles up against her small frame for fit. Jesse guessed it must’ve been tough on her, spending the last forty years wearing nothing but grungy, ill-fitting pants and jackets.
Some of the items appeared to be well-worn work clothes, but most were flamboyant and ornate, rich velvets and corduroys, they reminded Jesse of movie costumes, the sort of thing they wore back in the seventeenth or eighteenth century, or whatever century men used to prance about in ruffles and powdered wigs.
Vernon seemed glad to shed his ragged coat and filthy pants, had no trouble finding suitable replacements for his small build.
Jesse had lost his boots and jacket at the General’s, his shirt and pants were torn and covered in dried blood. He wasn’t too sure about the selection, but at this point most anything would do. He quickly realized most of the items were too small, sized to fit children or elves perhaps, but he managed to find a shirt and a pair of leather britches that laced around the calves, and quickly slipped into them. He dug through the shoes until he found a pair of boots that fit, they came almost to his knees but he didn’t care, it was good just to have something on his feet again. The only coat he could find that fit was long-tailed with a high velvet collar, burned gold in color with copper buttons running up the lapel and along the oversized cuffs.
“Oh,” Isabel said. “That’s very romantic.”
Jesse groaned.
“No, really. You look dashing.”
Chet snickered. “You look like a queer.”
“Chet,” Jesse said. “You have a way of growing on people . . . about like a fucking wart.”
Isabel ended up in a fancy turquoise velvet long coat, the sort of thing a pirate might wear. Jesse felt her panda cap gave her costume that last needed touch of lunacy.
Krampus picked up a lavender crushed velvet coat with swirling gold trim, something that would’ve been right at home in any glam rock band. “This one is simply splendid,” he said and held it out to Makwa. “Do you not agree?”
Makwa crossed his arms over his chest and looked in the other direction. Krampus pushed it toward the brothers and they both stepped back as though from a snake. Chet snickered, and Krampus’s eyes fell on him. He held the lavender coat out to Chet.
Chet shook his head. “Oh, hell no. I ain’t wearing that.”
“Put it on. It is a command.”
“Fuck,” Chet said, and did as he was told, making a face like he’d been made to eat mothballs.
Jesse snorted and Chet locked eyes on him. “Say something, you little twat,” Chet growled. “Go on. Break your fucking jaw. See if I don’t.”
Jesse blew him a kiss.
Chet’s lip curled and he started toward Jesse, murder in his eye.
“Stop,” Krampus commanded. “This is not the place.”
Chet halted, glaring at Jesse.
Jesse gave him the finger and grinned. Chet’s face turned red, looked fit to burst.
Krampus found a red ribbon and tied his long hair back out of his eyes, and inspected his Belsnickels. He nodded and smiled. “Yes, elegant, dashing . . . as servants of the Yule Lord should look.”
From where Jesse stood, he couldn’t figure how they could’ve possibly looked any more ridiculous.
Krampus continued down the building until they came to an archway containing a door of solid iron. Krampus twisted the handle and gave it a shove. The heavy door slid inward, revealing a short hallway that emptied into darkness.
“Fetch me a lantern,” Krampus said.
Isabel pushed past, hit a switch on the wall, and the hall and the room beyond flooded with light. She smiled at Krampus. “Some things have changed for the better.”
Krampus examined the switch, flipped it off and on a couple of times. “Perhaps.”
The short hall opened into a large oval room with a beamed cathedral ceiling. They entered. Jesse glanced around and immediately thought of a mad scientist’s laboratory, the sort of place where Doctor F
rankenstein might go about bringing the dead back to life.
Krampus moved down the rows of wooden tables, past beakers and flasks filled with iridescent liquids, past tall shelves of jars containing all manner of dried creatures: frogs, lizards, snakes, squid, metallic colored beetles, jar after jar of powders, leaves, herbs, roots, and mushrooms. The Yule Lord pulled at his chin hairs as he peered into sinks, trays, flipped through books, poked, prodded, sniffed, and tasted his way from one station to the next. He stirred his finger through a tray of sprouting crystals, plucked out a few of the larger specimens and held them up to the light. “Alchemy.” Krampus appeared impressed. “Diamonds, rubies, sapphires. All of the highest grade. Someone has uncovered many of the ancient secrets.”
Krampus dropped the gems back into the tray and moved on, losing himself in a ragged book of hand-scrawled symbols and runes, leaving the Belsnickels standing about gawking like children in a curiosity shop. Jesse peered into the hollow eye sockets of what appeared to be a baboon skull, painted red and stuck full of nails. Jesse decided that jolly old Saint Nick wasn’t exactly the person he’d always believed him to be.
Chet slid over to the tray of gems, scooped up a handful, and slipped them into his coat pocket. Jesse started to follow suit when Isabel nudged him. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“What? Why not?”
“Might be poisonous.”
Jesse took a closer look at the dusty gems, bit his lip, and started to take a few anyway when Krampus slapped the book shut with a loud clap. Jesse jumped and snatched his hand back from the tray.
“Here, look here,” Krampus called, leading them all over to a tall shelf. The Yule Lord hefted a cotton sack about the size of a bag of sugar, untied the sash, and scooped out a handful of brown grit, letting the fine grains sift through his fingers and back into the sack.
“Sleeping sand. Baldr used it to keep nosy parents and bratty children from interfering with his pursuits.” He tied the sack closed, pulled a second one off the shelf, and handed both of them to Vernon. “Carry these. Be sure not to get them near your face, or you might be in for a long nap.” Vernon looked even less pleased than usual.
“And here, look here. See this?” Krampus plucked a key ring off a hook. Six keys of various sizes and shapes hung from the ring. “Skeleton keys,” Krampus said, delighted. “They can open most any key lock. They were mine, a gift from Loki. They are mine again.” He looked closer. “Interesting.” He examined the smaller, more modern-looking designs. “There are three new ones. Jesse, come here.”
Jesse did as he was bidden.
“You shall be my key-bearer.” The Yule Lord slipped the keys into Jesse’s coat pocket and gave them a pat. “Seems dear old Saint Nick was not sliding down chimneys after all—”
Krampus stopped. His face grew stern. He walked over to a table upon which sat a goat skull, its horns cut off at the base. The horns and what must be its bones, fur, and hooves were stacked beside it, all cleaned and dried. Next to them stood a device with a large crank; it reminded Jesse of a sausage-grinder. Krampus gave it a crank and chunks of finely ground gray matter fell from the bottom and into a waiting bowl. He pinched the grounds, put them to his nose.
“This is dark magic,” Krampus growled, his face grave. “These bones are those of a Yule goat. So few remain and now we have one less, nothing more to dear Santa Claus than ingredients for his potions. The Yule goats were beasts of the gods and flew of their own magic. He has butchered them for that magic. I suspect it is from this that his flamboyant display of flying reindeer have come.”
Krampus snatched up a large flask and hurled it across the room, crashing into the wall of jars, startling them all. “Is it not enough that you stole my traditions!” he cried. “Distorted them for your own selfish design. Now you twist the very life, murder the very soul of Yule itself for your own glory!” His voice dropped, little more than a whisper. “There is so precious little magic left in this world . . . so little. Why must your ambitions come at such a cost?”
He picked up another flask and threw it after the first, another, and another. “Blood, bones, and death . . . that is the truth behind Santa’s Christmas magic!” The jars shattered and crashed to the floor, the ingredients spilled and mixed together, sizzling and bubbling. Flames bloomed and spread, noxious smells and fumes of colorful gas began to curl upward into the rafters.
“I am done with his depravity . . . the world is done!” Krampus shouted and led them from the room, down the long rows of toys and back out into the night. “All is not lost. There is still time to undo his great injury. Time for me to bring back Yuletide, to spread its magic and heal Mother Earth!” He grinned, his teeth set in a grimace, eyes afire. “Time to help mankind find its spirit and remember whence it came. Yuletide shall reign once again, and I . . . I the Yule Lord shall lead the way.”
They crossed through the garden and into the courtyard, back to where the two Yule goats stood tied. The stables were now completely engulfed in fire. Giant flames leapt skyward, bathing the entire compound in an orange glow. They stood and watched the cinders spin and dance about them.
“Beast! You shall burn in Hell!” came a sharp cry from behind them.
Jesse started, spun round. They all did, and found six women standing within the wide arch leading into the topiary garden. Five of them were dressed in flowing white gowns, young, plump women with long hair and full, curvy figures. They watched the flames, tears streaming down their faces. The sixth one was not crying. She stood in front, whip-thin, hard of face and mouth drawn. Impossible to gauge her age, but something in her eyes made it plain she was older, much older. She wore a full-length dress of dark crimson trimmed in gold swirling snakes, and her wavy white hair flowed down past her hips, billowing about her.
“And who might that be?” Vernon asked.
Isabel shrugged.
“Maybe it’s his wife?” Jesse said. “Y’know, Mrs. Claus.” And if indeed she was, Jesse thought she was a far shout from the sweet grandmotherly soul he’d always imagined. This woman looked like she would cut out your liver and eat it raw.
“What about them?” Vernon gestured at the girls. “Think those are his daughters?”
“Daughters.” Krampus snickered. “Those are all his wives. Baldr was a man of large appetites.”
“Wives?” Vernon marveled.
The plump women pointed at Krampus and began to wail, their volume rising to shrieks, screaming in tongues the way Jesse had heard the Pentecostal women do. Except he decided these weren’t prayers but curses.
Krampus pulled the whip from the sleigh and smiled, baring his teeth. “It has been a long, long time since I have had the pleasure of spanking a few bratty bottoms.” He cracked the whip and took a step toward them. The shrieking dropped down to hysterical sobbing and the girls fell back, but the woman—she did not flinch. Krampus took another step, cracked the whip again. Still the white-haired woman held her place. She raised an accusing finger. “Beast, you dare sully these grounds with your foulness? Bring murder to this house? Santa Claus is the beloved son of the gods. Cherished for his grace and selflessness, a noble knight of charity, a celebrated stalwart of—”
“Poppycock.”
“It is truth!” she cried. “You saw his warehouse, not just toys, but shoes, clothes, basic necessities for those without. He toiled every day into the late hours to make Christmas more than just a festival, but a magical time of hope. He traveled the globe spreading charity in the wish that his example would inspire people to be kind to one another, that this kindness would spread, would elevate their souls.”
She appeared to grow taller. Jesse realized she was floating, looking down at them with glaring, glowing eyes. The snake designs in her dress came to life, began to hiss, swirling about her, snapping at them with dripping fangs. Jesse fell back.
“Santa Claus spreads hope,” she hissed, her voice the same as the snakes, echoing about the grounds; the very air felt alive, chil
ling Jesse’s skin. “What do you bring, demon? You wallow in flesh and debauchery, demand tribute and sacrifice in your name. Death and blood is all you know!”
Krampus snapped the whip, catching her across the cheek. “Enough of your deceit.”
Jesse blinked, and the snakes were just designs once more, the woman firmly on the ground, clutching her hand to her cheek.
“I have seen enough of his charity this night,” Krampus growled. “There is blood and murder aplenty in his laboratory. Or do you pretend not to see?”
Her eyes burned. “Everything comes with a cost, as you are soon to find out. God will not sit back and allow such a wicked deed to go unpunished.”
Krampus laughed. “Baldr is dead. It is the end of it.”
“He has died before.”
The mirth left Krampus’s face.
“He is God’s chosen servant.” She stepped forward, her finger and entire arm shaking with her wrath. “The Lord will send the Valkyrie and Santa Claus shall rise again before morning. And,” she cried, “together they will hunt you down and slay you, beast!”
Now Krampus was the one who fell back, and for the first time that Jesse could remember, the Yule Lord looked unsure.
The woman spun about and stormed away, the girls trailing in her wake.
Krampus stared after her until she disappeared from sight. “This place is full of wickedness.”
The warehouse now burned as well, the flames spreading toward the main house. Jesse and the other Belsnickels batted the raining embers from their clothes and hair. Krampus appeared in a trance.
“We should go,” Isabel urged. “Don’t you think?” She touched Krampus on the arm.
“Yes,” Krampus said. “Just one last thing.” He walked rapidly out into the courtyard, stooped, and retrieved something off the ground. He returned, carrying Santa’s head in one hand, the spear in the other. “He will never return so long as I possess these.” He slid the spear into the whip mount and mounted the head atop the blade.