Author: Michelle Franklin, Word Count: 993
Featured in Spooky Archaeological Story Moot: Live Stream – 2024
Winter happened. In most of the world, when leaves burn to gold and the sky singes with the smoke of autumn bonfires, the gift-givers of the world prepare for their descent. The change in the season brings them in, and though some come earlier than others, some venturing out in November and others being fashionably late in January, the primary job of a gift-giver is to usher in happiness during the darkest time of the year.
Their job is also to do the will of fatigued adults and guilt children into good behaviour, making the long winter lie-in of many months more tolerable.
It was early December, and deep in the crenelated mountains of Bavaria, the gift-givers were preparing for their journey out, their coming heralded by a sleeping sun, the light nestling in the band of rime over the horizon.
Everyone was out, going about their holiday buyings and awaiting their gift-giver’s arrival. The air was alive with anticipation: there was pageantry, parade, preparation—and one gift-giver in particular was standing at his dressing table, gazing into his mirror, and admiring his cascade of resplendent hair. It was the fifth of the month, it was three o’clock in the afternoon, and Saint Nicholas was preparing to make his seasonal debut and lead his procession through the town square. He fixed a few wayward curls, popped on his tall miter, draped his freshly-ironed coat over his shoulders, and took his gilded crosier into hand. He pinched his cheeks till they blushed, taped on his caterpillar eyebrows, and hooked his long rippling beard around his ears. He had bags of coins, nuts, and toys to give out to good children, and potatoes and rocks for the bad ones—but Nicholas could not process through the streets himself amidst the throngs of ardent admirers; he needed his counterpart. If he was all goodness and glory, he must walk alongside the epitome of evil, one who could punish wayward children and whose dreadful features could frighten off death and disease.
Some gift-givers walked with servants, others walked with spirits and sprites, but Nicholas walked through the square with his best friend Krampus. No one knew where Krampus came from, but they knew he lived in a cave, ate naughty children, and was an enormous beast. His rancid breath could melt a glacier, his long claws could slice through stone, and his long horns could pierce through trees and lift them up by the root.
Nicholas called him Krampy and braided his fur whenever he was feeling low.
Everyone always gaped in terror when they saw Krampus trudge beside Nicholas, which was understandable; his eyes glowed, his face looked like roadkill with fangs on it, and he carried a whip that made children scream when it cracked. He carried a large sac over his shoulder. He was supposed to use it to drag away bad children, but he really used it to carry the potatoes and rocks that Nicholas gave out. Nicholas brought the newly minted hazel whip and freshly darned sac to Krampus’ cave and put them down at the door. He adjusted his beard and coat, and pulled on the rope that rang the doorbell.
“Krampy!” Nicholas pealed. “It’s time for walkies!”
No one answered. Nicholas tried to look through the cave window, but no lights were on and the curtains were drawn.
Nicholas rang the bell again. “Come, now, Krampus! It’s time!”
A curtain flicked aside, but the lights remained off. A horrible voice spoke to Nicholas from within the cave. “…I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well today.”
“Oh.” Nicholas paused. “Have you caught a cold? I’ve got some elderflower handy.”
“No.”
“Is it your stomach? You must be hungry, and I’m sure there will be plenty of orphaned children running about to munch on.”
Krampus did like a good leg, especially if it was aged over five years, but he had no appetite.
Nicholas knew that Krampus could sometimes be petulant, but it was only his way, being a vile monstrosity who spent most of the year on his own. “Shall I show you what I’ve brought for you?” Nicholas chimed, taking something out of the sac. “I’ve got a brand new chain for you, one with a lovely bell put on, just how you wanted! And I’ve got your whip with the withies all prettied up, and your sac has been mended. Come and I’ll show you.”
A diffident air moved away from the curtain. “…It’s cold.”
“Of course it is! The winter is what draws us out. If you don’t like the cold wind against you, put on a sweater.”
Krampus’ voice shrank. “I…I don’t want to.”
Nicholas pouted and tapped his foot. “Does Krampy want a treat?” he sang. “I have some nice dried crunchable naughty children slices for you in my pocket.”
Krampus sounded as though he were thinking. “Were they the pickled children?”
Nicholas was trying to forget about the episode with the pickled children. He tried to pass it off as him having saved only slightly briny boys, but the re-memberment had to be explained, and Nicholas didn’t like being reminded about the mess.
“No, I sent those children home, however disappointed their parents might have been. Come now, what’s all this fuss about? You love our yearly walkies. You love traipsing about town and frightening bad children and making every cry.”
“I’m not in the mood today.”
“But it must be today. It’s the fifth of December, and everybody is waiting for you.”
Krampus sounded as though he was lounging with his chin on folded arms. “Just go without me.”
Nicholas could not do without him; his shining beard and exquisite coat needed contrast, and there can be no saint without his sinner. “But we must go together, Krampy. We’re a pair—we must always go together.”
Krampus trumpeted in dissent, which sounded like an elephant struck down with nasal congestion, and Nicholas was baffled!
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