Author: Michelle Franklin, Word Count: 1,201
Featured in Midwinter Archaeological Story Moot: Live Stream – Christmas 2023
Heaviness and density are not the same thing. Ice floats on water, collapsed stars hang of the cloth of infinity, and dashed hopes weigh down the most joyous of minds. Myndil was neither heavy nor dense; he operated on wishes, his happiness dependant upon a bowl of frumenty, his mind fuelled by excitement, moving toward friends and foes with the gravitational force of a violent sack of feathers. Aodhgan, his werewolf companion, walk with the magnitude of a giant planet; watching his muscles churn was like watching several galaxies collide at a safe distance, but his spirit was easy and unbothered, which made him more terrifying, because his fists were immune to brick walls.
The abbot, however, weighed about as much as a wet hen, and was denser than a neutron star.
He was sitting in Krampus’ basket and was happy about it, because he was being taken for a little walk and it was good to be out of the abbey once in a while. He kept the basket lid on; it was dark and cramped and somewhat lonely, which reminded him of his office, and he liked it. He listened to the bestial huffs of Krampus straining away as he trudged up hill, he felt the warmth pouring off his thick pelt, and even though Krampus smelled like a dank barn, he was glad to be hauled away.
“Peace! Peace at last,” the abbot sighed, leaning back against the rough weave. “Now I’ll be able to read for five minutes together without having to hear the boy attack me with his nonsense. O Lord, thank you for this small space affording a something like serenity—”
“ABBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!”
The familiar shrill tones throttled all his happiness. “NO!” the abbot cried. He crumbled to the bottom of the basket, splaying himself across the poking twigs, and whimpered in agony. “How?” he mourned, writhing. “How did the boy find me?”
Krampus paused and glanced back at the basket on his back. “I am making very large tracks in the snow.”
“Be quiet, you overgrown goat!” the basket barked. “You were supposed to carry me off to your cave, or whatever real estate you own.”
Krampus seemed wounded. “It’s a very nice two-in-one cavern.”
“Abbot! I’m coming to get you out of there!” Myndil called out, his voice gaining ground.
“NO, NO! YOU MUST GO AWAY THIS MOMENT!” the basket vibrated. “I’M BEING CARRIED OFF BY A HORRID MONSTROSITY, I’M WELTERING IN QUIET MISERY, AND I’M SURE I DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYBODY WHO NEEDS THEIR SHEEP BLESSED OR MARRIAGE ANNULLED.” The basket lip clapped with a humph! “All the farmers can ask you to do those things and leave me out of it!”
“But abbot, you cannot be carried off by Krampus—HALLOOO, KRAMPUS! So pleasant to see you. My, your horns look very burnished and sharp for the season— he needs his basket to carry off all the children.”
Krampus looked a little sheepish. “Well, not all the children. I only take the bad ones. And those who don’t like onions.”
“Well, you have two arms for that,” the basket lid flapped. “You put me in your basket, it’s my turn to have a ride, and that’s all.”
“Oh, abbot,” Myndil tutted, “I know it’s very snug in that basket, but Krampus needs it. How else will he carry home his greens from the market?”
The cheerful timbre of Myndil’s voice gave the abbot a headache. This was no different from most days, but this headache was brought on by teeth grinding, and made its way through his sinuses and into his ears. This headache was so severe that he decided to name it. Rob was a good name, but Myndil was better.
“I’m sure I don’t care about his wretched vegetables,” the basket chuffed. “He is going to take me to his cave and I’m going to be an anchorite in the mountains and that is all.”
“To be with God?” said Myndil hopefully.
“No! To get away from you and everyone at the abbey.”
“Even Constantine?” Myndil asked. “The two of you are such bosom friends.”
The basket had a think about this. “Tell him I needed a reading holiday and that he was a tolerable companion, and the last thing I wanted from him was to take his pens out of my desk.”
“Er—I don’t think my mum will allow me to have any pets in the cave,” said Krampus.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Myndil beamed, “we’re all housetrained at the abbey.”
The basket lid flew open and the abbot popped his head out. “You are not coming to live in the cave with me! I purposely let this beast steal me so I could have a holiday away from noise and headaches, and I’m going to have it!”
The abbot plonked himself down, closing the basket lid, and he glunched and sulked and said the word “dunnard”.
Myndil only laughed and encouraged Krampus to turn around and bring the abbot home. “He is really very cross without his dinner,” said Myndil.
“I thought he was a child,” Krampus explained, marching back down the hill. “I didn’t know old men could be that small and skittish.”
“AND I CAN BE FRATCHY AND IRRITABLE TOO,” the basket gnashed.
“Would you rather we take you out of there, abbot?” Myndil called up to the basket.
“I WOULD RATHER YOU DIE QUIETLY LIKE A CIVILIZED PERSON.”
“But we have to take you home first, because if we leave you alone up here, the Christmas trolls might come for you.”
“AND I WO—” The abbot paused and popped his head about again. “What Christmas trolls?”
“Well, there’s my mum, but she prefers the word ogress, ‘cause it’s more respectful,” said Krampus. “And then there are thirteen others, but I don’t like them much.”
The abbot seemed pensive. “How evil are these trolls? Will they let me read in peace?”
“Well,” said Krampus, “one of them licks spoons, another slams doors, another sniffs doorways—”
“But none of them licks books or gives headaches? Wonderful.” The abbot sat in the basket again. “Take me up, then.”
“The trolls might give you to their mother for soup, abbot,” said Myndil.
“Ha! A worthy trade for five minutes of peace.” The abbot pulled the basket lid back down. “And I would make a decent potage.”
“There’s also the giant cat that will eat you if you don’t have a handsome sweater on,” Myndil added.
A pause succeeded. “…How large is this cat?”
“Larger than Aodhgan’s wolf.”
The basket rustled nervously. “Do your trolls have large rats to distract it?”
“Not that I know,” said Krampus.
What was worse? Spending the winter solstice at the abbey in the lap of noise and confusion, or being harassed by trolls whilst getting a few minutes of peaceful reading time by the way?
The abbot, being dense, gave it for the trolls. He demanded that Krampus march him back up the hill. He only needed to convince Krampus to allow him to make a new sweater from his coat, and his gorgeous holiday of a two-in-one cavern for the solstice would be secure for a few minutes at least.
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