Krampus and the Kolaches
Page 8
His eyes brighten. “That would be delightful.”
“I think it’s frozen,” I warn him, holding it out.
“Food is food.” He tucks the wrapped burrito near his pillow of rolled-up clothes. “I’ll save it for later.”
Sitting here is much more tolerable than walking around, what with the warmth coming off him and the building blocking the cold wind and snow.
“Are you okay with me staying for a little bit?” I tuck my feet under me.
“Yeah, that’s fine. It’s warmer when it’s more than one person.”
I nod, nuzzling into the warmth of the stranger next to me. Good thing I can’t smell anything anymore.
We watch as the street empties, folks from the contest packing up to go home. It looks like a snow globe out there, the light breeze lifting snow off the ground and spiraling it in the street.
We fall into a trance-like silence, broken only by the murmur of conversation from a random passerby or two. Maybe twenty minutes have passed when my bladder begins to scream. I knew I shouldn’t have drunk that bottle of water June gave me. I struggle to stand, using the building to help me up.
The homeless guy starts awake. “Where you goin’?”
“Any tips on where to find a bathroom?”
Barely awake, he points down the street. It could be any number of businesses. Oh well.
“Thanks.” I toss my last eleven cents into his cup before I go. My pockets are empty of everything but the business card the cop gave me. “Merry Christmas.” I walk out onto the snow-covered sidewalk, hugging my cookies.
The mall across the street has restrooms, so I stomp my way through accumulated snow and wander around the mall’s exterior. Ornaments overhead blink, and the light-wrapped Christmas trees add to the magic of the night.
I’m still thinking about the homeless guy, sleeping in the doorway across the street, perfectly content with what he has in life.
At least there are still some good people in the world.
****
I don’t know what time it is, but the doors to the mall are locked. It’s funny. I’m near where I was stuck in traffic, waiting for the cop to blow his whistle and let me turn the corner into the parking garage. I’d come here with so much to look forward to. Friends, singing, finally affirming my love for Harry. So anxious that something would go wrong. Did I bring this on myself?
I mean, look where I am now. The only thing I have left is a full bladder and a half-full plastic box of cookies. I move down the snow-covered street, stomping my feet to try and keep them from getting covered by snow.
I’m shivering so hard that my teeth are chattering by the time I cross the street and pass an alleyway, where a blip of red hair catches my eye. I take three more steps before it hits me to stop. When I turn around and kick through the snow to walk into the dimly lit corridor, I call out, “Fred? Is that you?”
Something is moving around inside the dumpster. It kinda sounds like a human-sized rat looking for food. Thankfully, there are only drifts of snow here and there, the fire escape platforms and ladders on both buildings blocking the dumpster and alleyway below.
“It’s in here somewhere,” a muffled voice says.
I climb up the bin and peek over the side. Fred is crouched inside, sorting through the garbage.
“Why are you in a dumpster?” I hop down and lean against the stinky metal container.
“Because I lost my lighter when I was at the cookie booth.”
I have to laugh. “Are you sure it’s here? Couldn’t it have been buried by the snow?”
“Nah, saw the guy pick it up and toss it in the bin.”
“You couldn’t need it that bad,” I say.
“You couldn’t need it that bad,” he says in a falsetto voice, mocking me as more things move around, banging the walls of the container.
“Where’s your mom?”
Fred peeks over the side. He’s even dirtier than the last time I saw him. “I don’t know. Home probably. She screamed at me all the way back to the car and then told me I could find my own way home.”
I stomp my feet to try and get feeling back into them. “And why are you looking for your lighter?” It’s weird, but I’m kind of getting used to the cold.
“To keep me warm, duh.” He dives into another section of the bin.
“Well, did you learn your lesson?” I mean, maybe he doesn’t need to go to hell. Maybe it’s a good thing Krampus is in jail, and Fred will grow out of this ass-holery he’s up to right now.
“Found it,” he says from inside of the bin.
Great. Just what the world needs, more Fires by Fred™.
“What do you mean, lesson?” he asks, surprising me by hopping over the side and landing at my side. He flicks the lighter, trying to get a flame. That sound makes me twitch.
“Like, you know you were naughty, right? You know that throwing things at people’s heads and setting skirts and tents on fire are all bad, right?”
“I was just having fun,” he says. “You’re over-reacting.” He reaches out and wrestles the cookies from me. “Can I have one now?” he shoves one inside his mouth and grabs another.
Then again, maybe some people never change. I widen my eyes at him and grab the box back. “I didn’t say yes.”
He smiles and chews with his mouth open, crumbs spraying out. “Good cookies.”
In the hushed evening air, a soft clip-clop sound gets closer to us. Seattle uses equine police during events, and I did see a few out and about in the distance tonight. Wait a minute. Maybe they’re here to arrest me too. Now, that could work out. My bladder spasms; not a good sign. They’ll let me use the restroom at the station, no doubt.
The lighter ignites, and I watch in astonishment as Fred picks up a piece of trash off the ground, catches it on fire, then throws it into the dumpster. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We need heat.” He steps back.
We stand there, next to each other, waiting. After a minute, I’m convinced it must have burnt out. When I climb up and peer over the edge of the bin, I can’t even see the charred piece of garbage, let alone tendrils of smoke or the beginning of flames.
Fred climbs up too. “Huh.” He scratches his head and flings one leg over, crawling back in with a hollow thud.
“Stop!” I drop back onto the ground and crouch to try and hold some heat in, rubbing my hands together. “That’s not safe.” But honestly? I’m past caring what he does.
A muffled answer doesn’t quite make it to my ears. He crawls out, hangs over the edge of the bin, and shakes something green.
My mouth is dry, and the ends of my fingers ache and burn. I’m so cold my body no longer tingles. Numbness is the name of the game, thankfully dulling the pain of my full bladder. My eyes are closed, and I’m beginning to nod off to that clip-clop sound growing closer.
A loud bang fills the night, waking me up in time to see the lid of the dumpster bang closed, then fly open. My bladder lets go, the warmth from the pee welcome against the cold ground.
Fred has a look of awe on his face.
“What did you do?” My heart is thudding so hard it feels like it’s trying to claw out of my chest. I cover my head against the flames shooting out.
“There was an almost empty green gas thing that people use for cooking when they’re camping,” he says. My ears ring from the blast, so the words are muffled. “I used this to depress the valve and then lit the fumes.” He holds up a knife that’s silhouetted by raging flames.
I adjust myself, ashamed of my lack of bladder control. Sadly, the urine has cooled, and now my crotch just feels icky. “That’s thinking.” My cheeks feel violated by the heat, my eyes by the bright light.
He starts sniffing, “Why does it smell like piss?”
My chest tingles in embarrassment. “We’re in an alleyway dumb-ass, what do you expect?” The feeling is returning to my fingers, though my toes are still frozen solid.
The clip-clop is faster
and closer now. Fred is alert, looking around for the sound. We can’t see anything, just the snow swirling in the air and the bright fire before us. And then, like an angel stepping out of the snow, there’s Krampus, real Krampus, heading into the alley at a clip.
Chapter 11
Krampus growls, his eyes locked on Fred. The drifts of snow have grown higher, glistening in the firelight.
“You came back,” I say. Krampus looks at me, his eyes softening. The moment of joy that comes to his face sends a rush through my body.
The homeless guy was right. Krampus didn’t leave me here alone, after all.
Krampus bows, his lips curving. “Of course, my lady.”
“How did you get free?”
He gives me this sexy half-smile. “A little bit of magic.”
A wave of happiness washes through me. I guess it’s time for me to believe in Santa.
Fred inches away. I reach out and grab the little shit by the ear, pulling him to stand at my side.
The kid yelps in shock. “Let go!”
“Nope.” This entire night is making me contemplate life like I never have before.
Fred is a shit, all the way down to his soul. He’ll grow up to be a bad man with no empathy who burns down buildings for fun. That is to say, if he doesn’t get worse.
“You know, we never talked about what you do with the kids once you catch them,” I say to Krampus. I size him up from head to hoof. This beautiful barrel-chested man is clearly a real creature standing in front of me, not a loser dressed in a costume. How had I ever thought otherwise?
“If cooperation is evident, I place them in the bag, and they slide through a magical tube straight to the underworld.”
“There’s a door in there?” I point to his wicker basket. Well, if monsters are real, then I guess doors in bags can be real too.
He takes the wicker satchel off of his back and lets me look inside. “Not a door. It is…” He looks off to the left as if to find the perfect word. “It is more magical than that.”
“I can’t see anything.” I move the birch branches out of the way to see the bottom of the bag. “Just looks like it goes on forever.”
“This is a bag of holding.”
“Like that girl’s bag in the book about wizards?” I ponder what this means. If Krampus is real, are magic schools real too?
“I do not know this wizard person. But Santa told me it is similar to the bags of holding humans use when they play role-playing games.”
“Huh.” Fred tries to crane around to look inside the bag. He’s got more black smudges on his face, obscuring the smeared chocolate.
If this is real, what other things in folklore were telling us the truth, warning us of possible pitfalls in life?
“Is the Easter Bunny real too?”
Krampus’s brows go together again. “I know of the name, but I do not think so. It is just Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and me at the dinner table during family reunions. And their mates.”
It had never occurred to me that he might have someone waiting for him back––wherever he lives. I mean, Santa said he was lonely, but maybe he doesn’t know everything.
“Is Mrs. Krampus back at home waiting for you?”
“No, I do not have a mate,” he says.
Fred is trying to get away, but I stomp on his foot.
“Ouch,” he says. “You’re abusing me.”
“And where is home?” I ask.
“Antarctica.”
A shiver runs through me, but it occurs to me that this is why he’s all covered in fur and why he doesn’t seem phased by the extreme temperatures. “I see.”
“I apologize, my lady. I wish to talk to you for the rest of time, but first, I must attend to the Naughty List.”
I nod, beginning to accept the fact that I’m massively crushing on a man that sends children to hell.
“Okay then, let’s do this.” I turn to Fred. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
Krampus walks toward us. The kid’s shoulders tense, his body goes rigid.
Krampus reaches out for Fred, but I stop him, remembering something he said earlier.
“He’ll just go woosh and go to…?”
Krampus nods. “Woosh. Straight to hell.”
Fred is paler than I’ve ever seen him, the dark smudges standing out. I almost feel bad for him. “Can’t say I won’t be joining you when the time comes, but it’s time for you to go.” I turn to Krampus. “Hold the child’s legs together, please?”
“May I have a cookie first?” Krampus’s beautiful wide eyes are dilated in desire.
“Of course.” I hand him the box.
And that, boys and girls, is how Opa Krampus knew that Miss Khalie was the woman of his dreams.
A word about the author…
JD Douwes is a lifelong lover of all things related to words—and food. She writes all flavors of paranormal fiction, coaches other writers, and is active in the PNWA writing community. http://jddouwes.com
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