Krampus and the Kolaches

by J. D. Douwes

  He swivels his head slowly, seeming to sniff the air. “Where has the child gone?” he asks, again with more Vs replacing his Ws. Actors. What are you going to do with them?

  “Seriously? We’re trying to figure that out. Follow me.” I tug on his arm. Does he have to be in character all the time? I mean, I know that folklore says that Krampus is after kids on the naughty list, but this is getting annoying.

  We find our way to the cupcake booth, guided by the scent of chocolate icing and something I can’t define. Thankfully we’re the only customers. I can’t take any of the comments I know are coming our way about our costumes.

  There’s one employee behind the counter, her eyes wide. Her eyes narrow as she sniffs the air, a confused look on her face. I can’t blame her. I mean, Harry looks like something in-between a goat, a man, and a dog––and he smells like that too. He’s seriously freaky looking, pressed against the booth, leaning over the counter. I’d be scared too.

  “What delicacies do we have here?” he asks, a soft repetitive thrumming sound beginning. “Sweets are my weakness.” He’s so tall with the added benefit of the stilts that when he leans over the glassed-in area, he’s able to get his nose right up close and personal with the cupcakes. “Smells delectable.” He sniffs each cupcake in turn. His entire costume is shaking from that sound.

  The employee backs up, trembling, her face gone white. “Sir, you can’t do that. Please step back.”

  I’m going to die of embarrassment. I grab Harry’s elbows from behind and pull him backward. “I’m sorry, we’re here for the Figgy Pudding caroling competition. He’s dressed as Krampus––are you familiar with that folktale?” I ask, hoping to assuage her fears. “He’s just getting a little bit too much into character.”

  The employee shakes her head, the look on her face unaltered.

  “Harry, come on now. Stop playing around. You’re scaring the poor girl.” Why is he hamming it up so much?

  He takes a small step back, his head and ears lowered, seeming to heed my warning. “What is the name of these confections?” he asks, his tongue lolling, eyes sliding up and down the selection of cupcakes.

  This makeup is fantastic. What is making his costume shake like that?

  “Cupcakes.” The word escapes the woman’s mouth like a hiccup. She’s pressed against the back counter, trying to stay as far away from us as possible.

  “I must have one.” He’s almost panting. That thrumming kinda sounds like he’s purring, only extra loud. It’s coming from the middle of his back.

  Wait a minute.

  I put my head against his back, the sound intensifying. “It’s a motor!” Makes sense. I mean, something needs to control the movement of the ears. He’s too preoccupied to answer. A gurgling sound joins the thrum.

  Maybe it’s his stomach growling. “Are you hungry?”

  He nods, his eyes glossed over, and he inches closer and closer to the shop gal again. The vibration is getting louder and louder beneath my ear. It has to be a motor; the sound is too big.

  I step to the side. His tongue is back in his mouth, but he’s drooling, the pink tip of his tongue sticking out between yellowed, gnarly-looking teeth. Steve must have given him fake teeth. Harry’s natural teeth look like tiny ceramic tiles.

  I pull him back a bit. “Don’t drool on them.” His mouth must be watering because of the teeth. I can relate; I drool when I wear my retainer.

  I glance at the employee and force a laugh. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen a red-headed kid about this high.” I hold my hand to my nose.

  The employee nods rapidly, her look of shock at Harry’s boldness changing to anger. “Yes! He snuck behind the counter and stole a cupcake not too long ago.”

  Harry’s eyebrow is arched when he looks at me, his eyes puppy-dog wide. “May I have a cupcake?”

  “Sure, you can buy one,” I say. Why does he expect me to pay for everything?

  He pulls his wicker bag from his back to his side, the one the birch branches are nestled in. After plunging his hand in for a minute or two, he comes out bare-handed. “My apologies, my lady. I did not come prepared.” A thin, keening sound follows. It takes me a second to realize he is whining like a dog.

  I roll my eyes and shove my hand in the cookie bag, thrusting a crumpled ten-dollar bill on the counter. “You owe me.” I count backward from the money I’d brought with me to pay for dinner. That’s going to take off a pretty chunk.

  “Which one do you want.” I point at the deserts.

  “Only one?” he asks. This man is going to kill me.

  “He’ll take that one.” I point at one with a swirl of cream cheese frosting and sprinkles on top. I look at him. “I always get Carrot Walnut.”

  “Oh, come on, try something new!” The employee seems to have gotten over the shock of her strange customers. “How about the Triple Chocolate? At least it won’t show up on his costume.”

  Harry’s eyes light up, so I nod. “Okay, we’ll take the Triple Chocolate.”

  We watch, me patiently and Harry salivating as the lady packages up the cupcake. That purring-motor sound gets loud again.

  “Did you see which direction the redhead went?” I hold my hand out for the change.

  The girl tugs on her apron. “Um, I think he went that way.” She points to the bookstore.

  “Okay, thanks. My change?” I ask, resting my hand on the counter.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to get paid for the cupcake your little friend stole. They’ll take it out of my paycheck if I don’t.”

  Dina is so going to hear about this.

  “Okay, fine. Whatever.” I try to tug Harry away, but again, he’s staying put. He stuffs his face into the box she hands us and chomps down on the whole dessert, paper and all.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, grabbing at the cupcake paper that’s dangling out of his mouth.

  He lets me take the paper, then swallows with a contented sigh. “That was delightful. May I have more?” he asks, taking a step to the counter.

  “No. We need to go,” I say. “Did you even chew it?”

  The employee scoots back to her previous post, staring at us wild-eyed.

  “Maybe these?” he asks, pulling the box of apricot kolaches from beneath my arm with care, his gloved hands adorned with long claw-like fingernails, not even making him clumsy. How can he be so graceful––and sneaky, in such an awkward-looking costume?

  “Stop it.” I yank away the box and stuff it back in my bag. “The longer we mess around, the harder Fred is going to be to find.”

  Harry seems to understand where I’m going with this. He stands up tall and begins sniffing the air again, his ears moving in every direction. This costume is surreal. “What direction did the child go?” he asks.

  “She said he went this way.” I point to the bookstore across the lobby.

  His bushy eyebrows join, and his eyes narrow as he looks around. The motor’s purr has stopped.

  “C’mon,” I say, heading toward the bookstore.

  Chapter 3

  Silent Night plays over the mall’s sound system, and I sing along softly, stopping at every store to do a quick look-through for the kid. I’m singing the lyrics that we’ll be performing tonight: ‘Silent night, deadly night,’ in place of the traditional words. Harry waits outside of each store, keeping an eye out for the kid. Why is this my responsibility? I mean, Dina could have left the little shit at home.

  Harry isn’t waiting for me when I leave the last store before the bookstore. I can see him a hundred yards away or so, his wicker basket bouncing off his back and chains rattling as he looks around. I need to do something about my headache, so I sit on a bench and search through my bag and backpack for some headache medicine. There has to be at least one in here somewhere. In the back of my mind, I can hear Dina’s wail at Fred’s disappearance. My stomach tightens into a knot. Why the hell am I looking for her kid when I need to be practicing Krampus carols?

  Finall
y, I find a grimy, almost destroyed packet of headache medicine and pop a few in my mouth, dry swallowing them. I’m so thirsty but getting out of this costume to pee is going to be a bitch, so I’m not risking it.

  I’ve just shoved the empty medicine packet in the bag when people start to squeal. A now-familiar clip-clop signals Harry’s return, along with a high-pitched scream. He’s trotting toward me, chains clinking. His eyes are wild, and his costume’s goat-like horns are more pronounced because of his flattened ears. An old lady is splayed on the ground behind him, hand to chest, and children are running away crying. I shake my head. He doesn’t look that scary, sheesh.

  “What did you do now?” I ask. He’s such an attention whore.

  “The child isn’t here either.” Harry stops at my side. The hard ‘th’ makes it come out ‘e-der.’

  “No kidding.” I stand up. “Let’s check out the bookstore before we get kicked out.” He doesn’t hesitate, trotting after me.

  Inside the store, I ask, “You’re taller than I am. Can you see a red-headed kid?”

  Harry raises to his full height and looks over bookcases with narrowed eyes. We can hear a gasp or two—probably people seeing him for the first time. His ears are cocked in different directions while he sniffs the air and looks around. I’m in awe of how fantastic he looks in this costume. Damn. Maybe I have a thing for tall men. Or maybe Cindy’s right. Maybe it’s just the fact that Krampus is one of the baddest boys there is, the costume amping up Harry’s sex appeal.

  “Anything?” I ask.

  “No red-haired child.”

  Of course. “Okay, let’s see.” We’ve made it to a sign boasting the store map. “Let’s try the children’s area.” I point to the stairs going up. “We can hit the second floor of the mall after that.”

  He takes off at a break-neck speed up the steps, his hooves so loud I swear everyone in the store turns around and looks at us. I try to follow him as fast as I can muster, kicking myself for giving this man sugar. Clearly, it’s like speed to him.

  Once I finally make it up to the kid’s area panting and even more sweaty, I almost run into him. He’s stopped at the top, like a great white shark searching for its prey. A thirty-something dad sits in an armchair with a young kid on his lap. Harry is fixated on them, his eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them.

  The child is sleepy, rubbing his eyes, and the dad is so tender with him that my heart twinges.

  Harry looks down at me, resting his long taloned hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?” There’s that accent again, making it come out like ‘vuts vrong.’ Ups his sex appeal times ten. I wonder if I can talk him into using it when we’re in the bedroom? Or backseat of the car. I’m not picky.

  I shake my head to rid myself of the warring emotions of attraction and sadness. Jutting my chin at the father-son duo, I say, “My dad sucked. He never played with me, let alone read me a book.”

  Harry’s eyes are dreamy like he’s lost in a memory. “That is a sad tale. My father was a good man. He worked a lot, but we frequently played when he was home. Unloved, I never felt.” How does he hold on to the accent for so long? I kinda love it, but really.

  “Huh.” I try to imagine the man I’d met at Thanksgiving playing with anyone, let alone kids. Harry’s dad scratched his crotch and guzzled beer while screaming at a football game on TV the whole time we were there. Harry acted like it was expected, sidestepping the Barcalounger where his dad sat in the family room to hug his mom and Nanna. Maybe Harry was hiding his softer side from me.

  Someone shoves past us as they come upstairs, breaking our trance.

  “Let’s keep moving,” I say. Harry nods and resumes his search, looking over the bookshelves. We wander through the aisles, encountering a few kids who stare up at him, eyes wide, backing away in what looks like fear. A few adults scream and grab their kids and start running from us as we pass.

  “So, do you see him?” I ask.

  “No red-headed child,” he says.

  “Okay then, let’s try something else.” We continue to walk the perimeter of the store. I’m trying all the places I’d have gone to as a kid. The next one up is the bathrooms. Because where better to shove stolen merchandise beneath your clothes? Not that I’d know or anything.

  I have Harry duck in to check the men’s room, and I do a quick search of the women’s room. Nothing.

  We don’t have any luck in the candy and toy areas strewn throughout the store. Fifteen minutes of tearing around looking for the little shit, and nothing.

  Harry glances at me, eyebrows joined as he runs a long talon over the second-floor map, searching for the exit to the mall.

  “Sir? Miss? We’ve had some complaints about you.” A man wearing a green polo stands before us; a black lanyard with his credentials hangs from his neck. “It’s against store policy to wear masks that cover your whole face while in the store. We’ll need you to leave.”

  “Excuse me, sir, but surely we’re allowed to look for a lost little boy.” Can I crawl under the carpet now?

  The expression on the young man’s face changes. “I’m sorry, but you’re scaring our customers. You have to leave. I can contact mall security for you and have them meet you at the exit. Give me a description of the kid and your cell number, and I’ll pass it on to them in case you have trouble finding each other.”

  The employee keeps stealing glances at Harry, his upper lip curled, eyes narrowed.

  I grab the notepad he pulls out of his breast pocket and scribble the information he requested. “Is it against policy to show us where the exit to the mall is?” I grab Harry’s hand. It feels so good in mine. So real, even though it’s part of the costume he wears.

  We’re escorted to the door to the mall, finding ourselves on yet another search for the kid.

  What a night.

  Forget about mall security. Maybe it’s time to call the cops.

  ****

  The second floor of the mall is wide open in the center, with a walkway around its periphery. Beyond the railing, we can look down on the first floor below us and up to the two levels above. It kinda reminds me of an apartment complex or a motel, only there’s a roof over our heads. Everything is in shades of glistening whites and grey, from the floor to the walls. A huge Christmas tree soars up from the food area below us, the star at eye level from up here. Over-sized stuffed animal reindeer in mid-flight hang from the ceiling, guiding an equally stuffed Santa and his sleigh.

  Harry stares at it in wonder. “Santa,” he calls out, waving.

  I’ve never seen him use his acting skills in public before; I’m muted by embarrassment, looking between him and Santa.

  “Hey, Santa, it is I, Krampus.” He cups his hands around his mouth. His voice carries through the open mall, and again we’re the center of everyone’s curiosity. He must have been watching that Arny Swartzen-whatever guy’s Christmas movie or something.

  I hit him. “Stop it. Everyone’s looking at us.” Thankfully this level of the mall has fewer people, so he’s a little less conspicuous. If you can call a seven-and-a-half-foot man wearing a sasquatch-goat hybrid costume inconspicuous.

  He looks around and then shakes his head. “That is to be expected. What is not is why Santa ignores me. I haven’t seen him in a fortnight, what with his Yule preparations. I had not thought he’d be upset that I did not interrupt him.”

  Wait a minute here. “Are you high?” I lean in to take another sniff of his musky scent. Nope, I don’t smell weed.

  “What is this high you speak of?” he asks, distracted.

  Whatever. “Listen, we’ve just been kicked out of a bookstore for looking too creepy. We’re minutes away from having to be at our post, and instead of warming up my voice, I’m searching high and low for this stupid little shit.” My voice is getting higher and higher as I talk. “Can you just cut the crap?”

  “Why do you worry about your voice?” he purrs, scratching the luscious hair on his mask with his costume nails. “When yo
u speak, your words are melodious.” He grabs my wrist and guides me along.

  I stumble to keep up, my heart softening. “Thank you. But the singing competition is a big deal to me.”

  He nods, sniffing in each direction. “Why?”

  “You know those aptitude tests they make you take when you’re a freshman in high school?”

  Harry shakes his head. “No. I received tutoring at my opa’s.”

  “Wait, how did I not know that about you?”

  He gives me a squished-face shrug. “Go on.”

  “Well, it’s this test that is supposed to guide you to a career choice. Only mine came up with a less than average aptitude for every single thing it tested for.”

  “Master of none.” He nods in understanding.

  “But I love to sing. That wasn’t on the test. So, mom got me a singing coach for Christmas to cheer me up.”

  He stops in front of a store. “Just a moment. Go inside and check for the child. I shall wait,” he says, ever on task.

  I do what he says but don’t see Fred anywhere. “Nope,” I say when I come back. He nods.

  “A singing tutor?”

  “Yes, and for the next two years, we scraped by, saving every penny for my dream of becoming a famous singer.”

  We’ve stopped at another store. I hold my finger up to signal I’d continue in a minute and go in. Harry stays outside, but we get the same result. No kid.

  “Have you yet achieved this fame?” he asks.

  I start laughing. “Oh my God, no. I work at the customer service desk at Dormart. You know that.” I swat him.

  “What became of your dream?”

  We stop in front of another store. Again, I hold up my finger and repeat the process, with the same result: no kid.

  We continue walking. “I auditioned for the choir at school and didn’t get in. The choir leader said no one would ever let me sing in public with my nasal voice. And that was it.” I shrug. “So, I gave up.”

  “I will send him to hell for you.” Harry gently puts his large hand on the small of my back. He steers me inside yet another store.

  I laugh and complete my task. When I come back out, we continue our search. “Thanks. But that’s what tonight is about. My second chance. But here we are, wasting time looking for this stupid kid, and I’m not ready for the competition.”