Krampus

Chapter Six Hel

The wolf’s howl echoed inside Krampus’s head. So much despair, so much pain. His eyes flittered open. There came another howl, then another. He felt the forlorn cry in his heart, his soul. I am not dreaming. One of them is dying. How did this happen?

He caught the first signs of morning light and fought to keep his eyes open. Too long I have been without dawn’s sweet kiss. Trees flew past in a blur; the cold wind buffeted the shredded canopy. I am flying. He inhaled deeply, felt some vestige of strength returning to him, the moon’s rays, the stars, and forest air all like food for his starving soul.

“Why are you turning?” Isabel asked the man steering the carriage. “Where are you going?” Krampus didn’t know the man, but assumed he was a prisoner, that the Belsnickels needed him.

“Can’t stay on the highway,” the man said. “Not after that fuckup last night. Too many folks are gonna be out looking for me, for this truck. Have to steer clear of the main roads.”

“But we need to get far away from here . . . from those wolves, from whatever else might be after us.”

“Look, you ought to know that them wolves aren’t the only monsters after me. I got the General and his bunch looking to shoot me first chance they get. They’ll kill me . . . kill you . . . and most certainly that ugly monster of yours. They got eyes everywhere. We keep heading down this highway in daylight and we won’t make it out of the county. You understand?”

Isabel was silent.

“Fuck, and we gotta get some gas. Have to be running on fumes at this point. Any of you got any cash?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “But it’s back in the cave.”

“What? You mean the cave we just left?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, about how much good do you think that’s gonna do us?”

More silence.

Krampus thought the man showed a lot of backbone, especially in the face of all that was going on, thought he might make a good Belsnickel. And he would need as many as he could sustain, because there’d be no telling what creatures Santa might send after them next. I will have to claim him. His eyes closed. He took in a deep breath. But not now. It would be too much now. Later . . . perhaps when I am stronger. His eyes shut and he drifted away into dreams of soaring through the clouds.

JESSE HEADED UP a gravel road; it was an old mining road and he felt pretty sure no one would be out this way. If he could find some shelter, it’d be a good place to hole up until dark, until they could get some gas and maybe by then he’d have figured out a way to escape this group of freaks.

Isabel rolled down her window, leaned out looking skyward. “Them birds is still following us.”

Jesse hit the brakes, slid to a stop on the gray gravel.

“Whatcha doing?” Isabel asked.

“Taking care of something.” Jesse unclipped his seat belt, hopped out of the truck, and headed across the road toward a clearing.

“Hey,” Isabel called. “We can’t stop here.” She popped open her door and came after him. “We gotta keep moving.”

Jesse shielded his eyes with his hand and searched for the birds, spotted both of them circling above in the cool early-morning light.

The Belsnickels slid out of the camper, looked from Jesse to Isabel.

“We need to get him back in the truck,” Isabel said.

Makwa walked over and grabbed Jesse by the arm, gave him a tug back toward the pickup.

Jesse locked eyes with the big Shawnee. “I ain’t running off.” Jesse jerked his arm free and walked to the rear of the pickup. He stared at his father’s truck, at the streaks of blood and clumps of fur stuck to the twisted aluminum of the shattered camper shell. The tailgate was gone altogether and the rear bumper all but dragged on the road.

Jesse set a knee on the truck bed and leaned in. The Krampus creature lay wrapped in the blanket near the cab, cradling his velvet sack. He was looking out the side window, up into the sky, his eyes far away and a half-smile on his face, like a drunk in a whorehouse. Jesse noticed his guitar, the big crack along the body and the missing frets. “Damn,” he whispered. His mother and father had given it to him for his twelfth birthday, and despite everything else that had happened, seeing it cracked like that still hit him hard. Just one more thing to feel bad about . . . that’s all. Jesse pushed it aside, rolled the sleeping bag over to get at his father’s hunting rifle. He grabbed it and the tackle box, slid them out.

Vernon caught the barrel, keeping it pointed at the dirt. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Let go.”

“I’m not about to.”

“Then we’ll just sit here until them wolves come. Until that Santa fella tracks us down.”

“Let him have it.”

They both turned and found Krampus leaning against the side of the camper, staring up at the circling birds. Jesse noticed that the Krampus creature looked a touch better, closer now to a fresh cadaver, one that had only been in the ground say a week or so as opposed to a couple of months.

“Krampus, no,” Vernon said. “That’s a rifle . . . a gun. Do you know what—”

“I know what a rifle is,” Krampus said in a voice deep and full of gravel.

“Well, then why in Hell would you let him have one? He’ll just shoot us all!”

Krampus continued to stare up at the ravens, an odd, sad look in his eyes. “It must be done.”

“What? No, that’s a very bad idea. You can’t trust a man like—”

“Give him the gun. That is a command.”

Vernon made a face as though he’d sat on a tack, but relinquished hold on the rifle.

Jesse propped the rifle on his knee, flipped open the tackle box, and dug about until he found a carton of rounds. He pressed fifteen rounds into the magazine, cocked the lever, seating a bullet in the chamber, then crossed the road into the clearing.

He spotted the ravens, guessed they were about two hundred feet overhead, knew it would be an easy shot with them being so large, at least with this rifle. You handle a gun long enough and it becomes an extension of yourself, and Jesse had spent half his life with the old Henry .22. He’d once shot a bumblebee right out of the air with it. He seated the rifle against his shoulder, sighted one of the ravens, led the aim to compensate for distance, and fired. The gun kicked like a pat from an old friend, and a blast of feathers flittered away. It was a clean kill and the raven dropped from the sky. The remaining raven let out a piercing cry and began to flap furiously away, but Jesse already had a bead on it. He pulled the trigger twice in quick succession, the first shot missed but the second one caught the big bird in the wing, sending it spiraling earthward in a rain of feathers.

Jesse cocked another round into the chamber, turned, and leveled the gun on Krampus. “Get away from my truck. All of you.”

The Belsnickels froze, all their eyes locked on Jesse. But Krampus didn’t give him so much as a glance, only watched the big birds plummet earthward. One raven landed in the clearing, the other about fifty yards up the road. “Makwa, bring me the birds.”

Makwa kept staring at Jesse, clenching and unclenching his powerful hands. Jesse could see the big Shawnee intended to tear him apart.

“Makwa?”

The Shawnee stiffened.

“It is a command.”

Makwa gave Jesse one last look, one that promised a terrible death, then sprinted away up the road.

Jesse jabbed the gun at Krampus. “Get your stupid sack and get out of my truck. I’m not gonna say it twice.”

The four remaining Belsnickels began to spread out, to encircle Jesse. Jesse raised the gun to his shoulder. “One more step and I will blow his head off. Go on, goddammit. I dare you.”

“Leave him be,” Krampus said calmly, his tone almost bored, even distracted, still looking at the birds. “Back away, that is a command.”

The Belsnickels stopped, took a step back, and just stood there exchanging confused looks.

“Now get out of my truck,” Jesse repeated.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to say it twice?”

“Well, I sure as heck ain’t gonna say it three times,” Jesse growled. “That’s for certain.”

Krampus turned his face to Jesse and smiled. “We need your help.”

“Don’t care.”

“From what I have heard you seem to have a lot of enemies.”

“That don’t concern you.”

“Perhaps you need our help?” Krampus said. “Perhaps there are ways we can help each other.”

“Don’t think so.”

“You have seen my Belsnickels at play. You know what they are capable of. What if they were to be at your command? If there is blood that needs to be spilt, they are very capable.”

Jesse started to shake his head, then stopped, looked at the devil creatures, the Belsnickels, at their deadly fingernails, their terrifying orange eyes, thought about the way they’d attacked his truck, how quick and strong they were, how easily they’d taken out Chet and killed Lynyrd. Stealthy night creatures . . . they could cut the General’s boys down before they even knew they were there. He knew that after the way things went down last night, the General would’ve already served his death warrant. He’d heard Chet screaming that it was a setup, no doubt that’s how they’d all see it, and no amount of explaining on his part would ever change that. He also knew that the General would put a price on his head, offer a reward to anyone who’d report his whereabouts, would enlist every resource to track him down. But most of all, the General had made it clear that if Jesse ever crossed him, he’d hurt Abigail, would put her in a box. Jesse felt sure they’d probably already nabbed her, most likely taken her over to the compound. He couldn’t help thinking about how scared she must be.

“Some bad folks is after my daughter,” Jesse said. “I need to make sure she’s safe.”

Krampus nodded. “I understand.”

“There’s more to it than that. It’s complicated. Need to make sure they won’t ever hurt her again.”

“Dead men cannot hurt anyone.” And Krampus smiled.

Jesse thought about how good his odds would be if he showed up at the General’s compound alone—his old hunting rifle against a dozen or more heavily armed men, men with automatic weapons.

“Punishing the wicked is something I’m very good at. We can cut them down . . . make them disappear.” Krampus pointed into the camper, at the velvet sack.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I am the sack’s master. I can command it to open to any place I wish . . . of this world or of others. We can send your friends to the bottom of the ocean, into the realm of the dead if you so prefer.” Krampus’s smile turned sinister.

Jesse tried to get his mind around this. He’d not considered what would happen if you put something back into the sack, of where it might end up. He found the thought disturbing, but if it were true, if any of what this creature promised were true, it would sure simplify things, might even keep him out of prison. Only how did one go about trusting a devil? He gave Krampus a hard look.

“How can you trust me?”

Jesse was startled by how easily Krampus read him.

“You have already saved my life once. Why would I not help you?”

Jesse realized it all came down to risk. The odds of him successfully saving his daughter on his own against the odds that this creature, this devil, would truly come through for him. Maybe this is an opportunity. Maybe it’s at least worth a shot.

Makwa returned, holding both birds by the neck. He gave Jesse a dark look. One of the ravens still lived and Krampus reached for it. Jesse had known the birds were large, much bigger than any raven he’d ever seen, but seeing it up close he was amazed. They were at least as large as a vulture or eagle. The bird struggled in Krampus’s grasp, cawed, and tried to bite and peck him.

“Huginn,” Krampus cooed softly to the bird. “Huginn, be brave.” Krampus leaned his head and whispered softly, soothingly into its ear. The bird began to calm. Krampus cradled it, gently stroking its black feathers. The bird’s breathing slowed and its eyes fell shut. Krampus kissed the top of its head. “It grieves me so to see you thus. You and your brother have both served Odin well.”

He stroked the raven’s beak, its head. It fluffed its feathers and leaned against his chest, and then Krampus slipped his fingers around its neck and gave a quick, hard twist. Jesse heard a snap and the bird fell still. Krampus hugged the bird and Jesse could see the heartbreak upon his face.

“So few of the ancient ones still live,” Krampus said, almost to himself. “And now we have two less.” His lips began to tremble. “This deed shall rest on your hands, Santa Claus. One more murder to add to your list, one more death to be avenged.” Krampus kissed the top of the raven’s head once more, then bit into the bird’s skull.

“Oh, Jesus,” Jesse said and took a step back.

Krampus chewed loudly, grinding the bones between his teeth. He swallowed and looked skyward. “Thank you, Odin. Thank you for this great gift . . . for this bounty of your blood in my time of need.” He wiped his lips and took another bite, then another and another, as the raven’s blood spilled down his chin and chest.

Jesse glanced about to see if the Belsnickels were as appalled as he was, but they acted as though nothing unusual was going on. Krampus ate not just the meat and guts of the bird, but also the beak, bones, and talons. He slipped off the tailgate, dropped to the ground, and picked up the other bird, sitting upon his haunches, gnawing and chewing until he’d consumed every feather.

The first rays of morning sun broke over the mountain, glistening off the snow. Krampus set back his head and basked in the sunlight. He let out a long, deep groan and Jesse noticed the change—the creature’s skin gaining pigment right before his eyes, darkening from an almost lucent gray toward black. His flesh and bones appeared to be gaining substance.

Krampus grabbed hold of the bumper and pulled himself up onto unsteady feet, bracing himself against the truck. It was apparent that he was still far from health, but he was a much more formidable beast than the creature that’d been huddled in the blanket. He looked at Jesse, at the gun as though for the first time. “What were we discussing?”

“How you could help me get rid of some trash.”

Krampus smiled, wiped his hand down his face, through his chin hairs, looked at the blood smeared across his fingers, offered the hand to Jesse. “There is no stronger pact than one sealed with blood.”

Jesse stared at the blood. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need a place to hide away. A place where I can heal, can prepare. A face that is not pitch, eyes that do not glow to fetch us a few needed items. That is all.”

“And for that you’ll help me get my daughter? Will kill them men that took her?”

Krampus’s eyes gleamed. “It has been long since I was terrible. I miss it dearly. It will be a great treat to see the fear in their eyes, to hear them beg for their lives, to feast on their blood and death cries.”

“Feast on their death cries,” Jesse said as though tasting the word. “I like the sound of that.” He leaned the rifle against the truck, walked over, and took Krampus’s extended hand.

Jesse was making a pact with the devil and he didn’t mind one bit.

DILLARD’S CELL PHONE buzzed across the dashboard of his Suburban. He shoved his coffee into the cup holder, snatched up the phone, looked at the name of the incoming call, and contemplated not answering. It was the General, again, third time in the past hour. It buzzed again, again, then again. Dillard grimaced and flipped his phone open.

“What’s the word?” the General asked, his voice raw and scratchy like he’d been doing a lot of yelling.

Dillard switched the phone to his left hand and turned off onto Coal River Road. “The word?”

“Yeah, what’s the fucking word?”

There wasn’t any word. Jesse and that piece-of-shit truck of his had disappeared. There were several hundred coal roads crisscrossing the mountains around Goodhope and almost as many old mining roads, most of which weren’t on any maps. Even with all the General’s crew out driving around they didn’t have the manpower to search half of them. Shit, Dillard thought, even if I had the entire state’s police force it’d still take over a week. Problem was, the General didn’t want to hear that. “Noel’s north, combing the hills around Elk Run right now. I put the word out county-wide to the folks I know I can count on. Let them know it’s a personal matter between me and Jesse. They promised to keep an eye out.”

“What about the troopers?”

“Have to be careful about them. Hard to get too many police outside the regulars involved without answering a bunch of questions. Things could get sticky if Jesse gets picked up by the sheriff. Just no telling what he might say, and the last thing we need is Sheriff Wright nosing around.”

“As long as we got his little girl, he’s gonna keep his mouth shut tight.”

“Well, yeah, maybe. That being the case and all, it’s hard for me to understand why he was in on that shit last night. Makes me believe someone put him up to it. I got a nagging suspicion this is about them Charleston boys we took care of. That they’re playing Jesse to get back at us.”

“There’s a lot here I don’t like,” the General spat. “Don’t like one bit. But one thing you can count on, I’m sure as hell gonna get to the bottom of it.”

That makes two of us, Dillard thought. He was still trying to sort out just what had gone down last night. One second he’d been fiddling with the radio, the next there were gunshots and Chet running toward him screaming his head off. Those men, whoever they were, had killed Lynyrd . . . and with a fucking spear no less, stole the goods, and got clean away. They’d killed a Boggs. And the worst of it was it had happened right from under his damn nose. Now, on top of everything else, he had a murder to cover up. But the thing that bothered Dillard the most was that strange man, the one dressed up like Santa Claus. He’d hit him, slammed into him straight on. The car’s crumpled front end proved it. Dillard couldn’t remember exactly what happened after that. He rubbed the raw lump on his forehead; that damn airbag had just about knocked him out. Still, he’d never found a trace of the man. It was as though he’d imagined it. But he was real. I know what I saw.

“And about Lynyrd?” the General asked.

“Up to you.”

The General didn’t answer.

“Best not to take any chances,” Dillard suggested. “Should get rid of all the evidence.”

“Just can’t stand the thought of dumping his body like that. Known that boy since he was a baby.”

“Best to take him where I took the others.”

“Yeah, I know it. Just really bothers me, that’s all.”

“You want to try and find a secluded spot somewhere up on your land?”

“No, don’t bother me that much. Too risky.”

“How about his sister? Think she’ll raise a stink?”

“Naw,” the General said. “Lynyrd’s gone more than he’s not. Gonna take a long time for anyone to notice.”

They both fell silent. The snow began to pick up and Dillard clicked his wipers up. “Where’s Jesse’s little girl at?” the General asked. “She still over your place?”

“She’s at her grandmother’s.”

“You think that’s smart?”

“I plan on picking her up sometime this morning. Keeping her close.”

“I’d like you to bring her on over here when you get the chance.”

Dillard’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Relax, I ain’t gonna do nothing to her. What kind of a man do you think I am? Just want to make sure Jesse can’t nab her.”

“So your plan is to keep Abigail at the compound? Really? You’re kidding me, right? Why, her mother would bring the devil down on both of us.”

“Who am I talking to? Since when does Dillard Deaton let a woman, any woman, tell him how to run his business? I think Linda’s pretty eyes are getting the better of you.”

“Things are gonna be different with Linda.”

The General snorted and Dillard prickled. “You’re fooling yourself,” the General said. “You mark my word, first time she gives you lip, you’ll straighten her out, just like Ellen. See if you don’t.”

No, Dillard thought. He pulled off the highway onto the side of the road, sat there with the engine idling. Not this time. I’m done hurting the folks I love. Devil’s not getting the best of me, not ever again. Things is gonna work out with Linda. Gonna see to it.

“Dillard, hello? Fuck, you still there?”

“Do you want to catch Jesse or babysit?”

“What?”

“Jesse might be up in the hills, might be in Charleston, hell, might be in goddamn Mexico for all we know. But one thing I’m sure of is at some point he’s gonna come back around looking to get his daughter. Might be today, tomorrow, might be two weeks or even two months from now. You plan on keeping Abigail locked up in your office for two months?”

The General didn’t answer.

“Abigail’s the best chance we got of catching Jesse. If she’s at the compound, he ain’t gonna go for it. That boy might be stupid, but he ain’t that stupid. But if she’s here, at my place, he just might try something. And when he does, I’ll get him. He won’t make it out of Goodhope. I can tell you that.”

“Yeah, well, what about them boys he’s working with? What if they show up with him?”

“We’re talking about Jesse here. He ain’t calling the shots. Why would them Charleston boys risk their necks for his daughter? They got what they want. I wouldn’t be the least surprised if they hadn’t already poked Jesse full of holes and left him in a ditch somewhere.”

“I hope to hell not!” the General shouted. “I want that boy alive. Gonna feed him his own pecker. Gonna douse his head in motor oil and set it on fire. Sure as shit I am! He’s gonna talk, goddammit! Gonna tell me who these coons are he’s been running with.” The General’s voice kept rising. “Gonna fucking cook them fucks alive! All of them! Let me tell you—”

Dillard pulled the phone away from his ear, sat it on the dashboard, and took another sip of coffee. The General sounded like an angry hornet trapped in a jar.

Here we go again, Dillard thought and wondered how jacked up the man was. He knew the General had a taste for amphetamines, but he was beginning to suspect that taste might be turning into a habit. Seems his behavior was becoming more and more erratic of late, paranoid, losing control of his temper at the drop of a hat, but worst of all he was getting sloppy.

Dillard rubbed the spot where the airbag had hit him, felt a headache coming on. Erratic and sloppy didn’t sit well with him. He preferred things to be nice and tidy, like his Tupperware, all the bowls on one shelf, all the lids in the drawer below, each lid corresponding to the color of the matching bowl. But now, thanks to Jesse, nothing was nice and tidy, not anymore. The General was talking crazy and Dillard felt he was watching the man go down and didn’t care much for the notion of going down with him. More and more, he found himself wishing he could wash his hands of all of it, just walk away. Only thing was, you didn’t just walk away from the General, not unless you intended to walk all the way to Mexico. Even then there were no guarantees, not with Sampson Boggs, because no one carried a grudge like that man. Of course, there was another way. It would sure be a shame if the General were to disappear.

When the volume dropped a notch, Dillard placed the phone back to his ear.

“—You know what I’m fucking saying?” the General said. “Do you?”

“We’ll get him. Just let me do my job.”

“I’m not fucking around, Dillard. No one steals from me. No one kills a Boggs and lives to tell about it. I’m gonna see that boy dead. I don’t care if it takes me the rest of my life to do it.”

The connection ended and Dillard closed his phone. He pulled out, turned around, heading back up Route 3 toward Linda’s mother’s house. He didn’t much like the way the General was acting, thought it might be prudent to go ahead and get Abigail now and bring her back to his place.

He let out a long sigh. Well, one way or another Jesse’s gonna be out of the picture. That should sure sweeten things up with Linda.

LINDA HEARD THE front door open, sat down her coffee, and peered out from the kitchen. Dillard came in carrying Abigail in one arm. She was wrapped in her blanket, still in her pajamas, fast asleep against his chest.

Linda started to ask what on earth he was doing with Abigail at this hour in the morning, when another question hit her: had something happened to her mother?

Dillard put a finger to his lips, handed Abigail off to Linda. Abigail mumbled irritably, clutched her doll, and fell back asleep.

“Dillard,” Linda whispered. “What?”

“Put her to bed. I’ll explain.”

Linda didn’t care at all for the look on Dillard’s face. She took Abigail to her room, tucked her in, and returned quickly. She found Dillard sitting at the table, warming his hands around a steaming cup of coffee.

“What’s happened?”

Dillard tapped the chair next to him. “Have a seat, Linda. We need to talk.”

The sternness of his voice caught her off guard. “Okay . . . sure.” She sat down, braced herself, then noticed that he had her keys.

“Dillard, honey, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“It’s Jesse.”

“Jesse?” This threw her for a moment. “Oh . . . oh, no. What’s he gone and done now?”

“He threatened to kill you and Abigail.”

“What?” She stood back up. “What are you talking about?”

Dillard took a sip of his coffee. “Jesse went on a rampage last night.”

“Jesse? No. Is he all right? What happened? Dillard, is he okay?”

“It’s not him you should be so worried about,” Dillard said, a bite to his voice. “Seen this too many times before. Bitter split-ups leading to folks doing the worst sort of things to one another.”

“Dillard, just tell me what happened.”

“Jesse didn’t take the news real good.”

“What news? Dillard, what are—”

“About us getting married and all.”

Linda sat back down. “Wait. How did he find out . . . you told him?”

Dillard looked at her as though she were a child, she hated that look. “Dillard . . . no! You weren’t supposed to do that.” She struggled to keep her temper in check. “You had no right. That was just between us.” She glared at him. “Why, we haven’t even firmed anything up. It wasn’t your place to—”

He clamped a hand over her wrist. His eyes grew hard, his mouth tight. “It needed to be done, so I done it.”

She started to respond then caught the look in his eye: a deep coldness, it scared her. His grip tightened. “Dillard, let go. You’re hurting me.” She pried his fingers loose and pulled her arm away. “Now, please tell me what happened.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled deeply; when he reopened them he seemed back to himself. “Jesse met up with Chet and Lynyrd last night looking to do some work for the General. They said he seemed desperate and agitated, thought he might be jacked up on something. They told him the General was done with him and to go look for work someplace else. Well, Jesse didn’t take that so well. Got on a rant cussing the General, cussing me, you, Jesus, and everyone else in Creation. When Chet and Lynyrd tried to calm him down he pulled out his gun, threatened to shoot them. Said he’d see you and Abigail dead before he’d let another man have you. Fired a few shots into the air, got in his truck, and drove off.”

Linda covered her mouth.

“Chet called me last night and warned me. I’ve been up all night trying to track Jesse down.”

“Oh, God.” Linda planted both hands on the table to steady herself.

“Linda, this ain’t the Jesse you once knew. He’s upset, unstable. There’s just no telling what he might do.”

Linda shook her head, couldn’t make herself believe any of it. Jesse had done a lot of crazy things, but he’d never raised so much as a finger to her or Abigail—or to anyone that she could recall, for that matter.

“Linda, I need you to help me out here. Need to know I can count on you.”

She nodded quickly. “Of course, I’ll do whatever I can. What—”

“I need you to stay in the house until I tell you otherwise. Can you do that?”

No, she thought. I need to find Jesse. Need to talk to him.

“I need to find Jesse before someone gets hurt,” Dillard continued. “Before Jesse hurts himself, hurts you or the little girl of yours. Right now, I’m betting Jesse’s in his truck somewhere sleeping off a bad drunk. I’d like to catch him before he gets his blood up again. Bring him in and let him cool off in a cell for a few days. Maybe that way no one will get hurt. Be a lot easier on me if I know you and Abigail are right here.”

“Dillard, there’s no need to worry about us. Jesse was just upset. I promise you he’s full of talk, that’s all. Jesse would never hurt Abi. Never.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But can you tell me he wouldn’t grab Abigail and run off if he had the chance? Are you absolutely sure on that?”

Linda started to answer, then didn’t, because she couldn’t say for sure. “Just don’t see why—”

Dillard was looking at her that way again, like she didn’t know how to tie her own shoes. “Here, let me spell it out. I can’t do my job if I’m worrying and wondering where you and Abigail might be.” She could hear the growing aggravation in his voice. “You can’t stay at your mother’s, because she’s too far out of town. Need you right here, where I can keep a close eye on you. Okay? You think you can do me that one little favor?”

She took a deep breath and tried to let it go. He’s upset, been up all night. Just worried about Abi and me. That’s all, just let it go for now. “Okay,” Linda said. “Okay.”

“Good.” Dillard stood, tugged on his jacket, and headed for the door. “Just sit tight. Noel’s casing the neighborhood, he’ll have his eye on things till I’m back. So long as you stay put, all will be just fine.”

He left the house, locking the door behind him. It wasn’t until he’d driven off that Linda realized he’d taken her keys with him. She rubbed her wrist where he’d grabbed her, couldn’t stop thinking about the way his eyes had gone so cold. She found herself wondering if maybe she’d rushed into things, if his nice house and new car had made it too easy to ignore the rumors about his first wife.

JESSE CAUGHT SIGHT of a short steeple peeking up above a thicket of trees and brush, and slowed down. He found a driveway—all but swallowed by bushes—and turned off the gravel road. Brambles and saplings scraped the side of the truck as he drove down a long drive to a small church. The structure had a slight lean to it, as though one more hard wind would see it over. The boards and siding were stripped of paint and weathered pale gray. A large wooden cross lay splintered upon the front steps, apparently having tumbled from its perch atop the steeple. The door and windows were boarded up, and Jesse found no sign that anyone had visited the place in ages.

They were well clear of the road, but Jesse didn’t want to take any chances, so he pulled all the way behind the church, parking beneath a sprawling oak. He cut off the engine and got out. Isabel did the same and they came around as the Belsnickels helped Krampus from the camper. Krampus slung the sack over his shoulder and slid out. His skin and hair were even darker now, a true deep black, almost pitch, and his horns appeared to be growing back. He still had a slight hobble to his walk, but Jesse found it hard to believe that this was the same wretched creature he’d first seen in the cave.

A wire fence ran just the other side of the oak; three cows stood at the wire watching them with bored, unimpressed faces.

Krampus took a deep breath, seemed to inhale everything around him. “It is good to be alive this day.”

Vernon rolled his eyes.

Krampus laughed, clapped Vernon on the back. “Open your soul my dear Vernon, and let Mother Earth sing you her song.” Krampus’s voice sounded stronger, fuller, deep and lyrical like a bass cello.

Jesse plucked a branch full of gray, withered leaves up out of the snow and headed back toward the road.

“Where you going?” Isabel asked.

“Snipe hunting.”

“Snipe hunting? What’s a snipe?”

Jesse looked at her as though she must be kidding. “Really?”

She frowned. “What? What is it?”

Jesse let out a snort.

Isabel’s face clouded and Jesse couldn’t help but laugh. Isabel set her hands on her hips. “Well, are you gonna tell me or not?”

Jesse just shook his head and kept walking up the drive.

Isabel stood for a moment longer before letting out a huff and following after him.

Jesse stopped where his tire tracks left the gravel road. He brushed the limb back and forth across the fresh snow, doing at least a passable job of obscuring the tracks. He tossed the limb away. “That’ll have to do.” He noted Isabel still looked perturbed. He smiled. “If we ever get out of this mess, I promise to take you snipe hunting.”

Jesse scanned the horizon. The clouds were moving in again and the sky threatened snow. Jesse hoped it would hurry up, snow would cover their tracks. He headed back to the truck, slid out his guitar. The Belsnickels had broken in through the back door and Jesse followed Isabel inside.

There was no electricity, and it was hard to see with all the windows boarded up, but the dusty gloom didn’t stop the Belsnickels. They were busy clearing stacks of junk and old boxes off the rows of pews, making room to sit and lie down. Vernon crouched in front of a cast-iron potbellied stove, stuffing it full of broken bits of cedar paneling, prepping it for a fire.

Jesse found several oil lamps lined up on a shelf. He consolidated the remnants of oil until he had one full lamp. He doused the wick, then plucked out his lighter and got it to burn, dialing down the flame. He walked over to Vernon and lent him his lighter, and soon the stove was producing heat.

The space wasn’t much larger than a schoolroom and appeared to have been used only for storage for decades. A pulpit sat atop a small platform built against the far wall. A large, hand-carved cross bearing the suffering Son of God hung behind it. Krampus stood in front of it, staring up into the tortured eyes of Jesus, his tail twitching.

Isabel came by carrying an armful of dusty curtains. “Here.” She tossed one at Jesse. “Not much, but it will help keep the chill off. There’s a bunch more over by the stove if you need them.” She moved on, handing them out to the rest of the Belsnickels.

Jesse carried the curtain over to a dilapidated upright piano covered in old dirt-dauber nests. He dropped the curtain on the floor next to the wall and stretched out, propping one boot atop the other. He leaned his head back, letting out a long, weary breath. Feels damn good to stop moving for a bit. It struck him he’d been running nonstop without sleep, and on only a few strips of jerky, for almost twenty-four hours. He sat the guitar across his lap, seeing if he could fix the loose frets. Broke or not, he still found it comforting just to hold. He softly strummed the strings while trying to get it back in tune. “Damn,” he whispered and winced, flexing his hand. It was getting hard to move his fingers. The wound had become red and inflamed and Jesse feared it might be infected. Way things are going for me, probably have gangrene by morning.

He noticed Krampus watching him. The creature hobbled over and took a seat next to him. Krampus looked worn out, yet there was a gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“A long day for all of us, indeed,” Krampus said. “For me it is the end to five hundred years of long days.” He pulled the sack into his lap and caressed it like a pet, as together they watched the Belsnickels situate themselves for sleep, all with the exception of Vernon, who paced relentlessly back and forth across the church, peeking out between the slats as though Santa was out there with his sword and a hungry pack of wolves.

Krampus tapped the guitar. “You have music in your heart.”

Jesse nodded.

“I would have you play me a song.”

Jesse opened his palm, showed Krampus the wound. “Can’t . . . not till this thing heals up, anyhow.” Then, almost to himself, “Maybe never again.”

“Perhaps there is something for it.” Krampus opened the sack, closed his eyes, and inserted his hand. Rapt concentration strained his features, then a smile broke. “Ah . . . all is not lost . . . some things have survived the great flame.” Krampus pulled out a cone-shaped flask. It was covered in black ash, its long neck sealed in charred wax. He peeled away the wax and plucked out a rotting cork, then placed the bottle to his lips and took a long swig. “Ahh!” He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “All the sweeter for the long wait.

“Now, hold out your hand.”

Jesse looked unsure.

“Fear not, this is not just any mead, but mead from Odin’s own stores. This,” Krampus held out the flask and marveled, “is from the cellars of Valhalla itself. It comes from the udders of Heidrun, who feeds on the foliage of the tree Laeraor. It will do your wound good. Now, cup your hand.”

Jesse extended his hand. Krampus tilted the flask and Jesse braced himself for the sting of alcohol. An amber liquid flowed into Jesse’s palm. It sparkled, Jesse felt warmth, then a pleasant tingling sensation as the liquid slowly soaked into his flesh. He flexed his hand. It did indeed feel a little better.

Krampus handed him the flask. “Here, a drink for your heart and soul.”

Jesse took the bottle, put it up to his nose, and sniffed. It smelled like the sweetest day in spring.

“I hand you the mead of the gods and you sniff at it?” Krampus let out a snort. “Drink, fool.”

Jesse took a tentative sip. It was as though someone had poured pure joy down his throat. The warmth spreading in his gullet, not the burn of whiskey but the way you feel when you’re in love. He took another sip, a long one, and tried to take another when Krampus pulled the bottle from him.

“Careful,” Krampus said. “It is not for mortals. Too much and you might sprout horns.” He rapped his knuckles against his own broken horns, winked, and took a long swig.

Jesse laid his head back. The world around him lost its edges and he felt he was floating, drifting away from all his worries and fears.

“What do you dream of?” Krampus asked.

“Dream?”

“Your passions? What dreams take you off to sleep each night?”

Jesse thought for a minute. “Playing my songs. Those are my best dreams. The music and me come together, the melody is so clear . . . the crowd digs me.” Jesse smiled. “They hold up their lighters and cell phones and sway to the tune. The encores go on all night long.”

“So that is what you most want from life? To play your music?”

Jesse thought for a minute and nodded. “That’d be enough. It’s the only time I truly feel connected . . . with myself, with people. When the music is good . . . it’s . . . it’s like I took a feeling right from my heart, took my deepest highs and lows, and shared ’em with folks. More like weaving a spell than playing. Don’t care if it’s just a bunch of drunks, neither. Don’t matter. What matters is to be able to touch someone that way.”

Krampus nodded. “Those dreams . . . they are your soul. You must live them to their fullest.”

“Yeah, but they’re just dreams, y’know. And the problem with dreams is you have to wake up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s time for me to grow up . . . I guess. To give it up. Time to leave the dreams behind . . . because there’s no room for dreams in the real world.”

“No.” Krampus’s voice grew stern. “That is not true. Your dreams are your spirit, your soul, and without them you are dead.” He made a fist. “You must guard your dreams. Always. Lest someone steal them from you. I know what it is to have your dreams stolen. I know what it is to be dead.” His voice was almost a growl. “Guard your dreams. Always guard your dreams.”

They were both silent for a long while.

“How is the hand?” Krampus asked.

Jesse looked at the wound, most of the redness was gone. He wiggled his fingers, there was almost no pain.

“It is better?”

“Yeah,” Jesse marveled. “It is.”

“Good.”

Vernon walked past, stooped, and peeked outside through the slats in the window next to them.

“Vernon,” Krampus called. “Stop your fretting. It is helping no one.”

Vernon threw up his hands. “How can you act so casual knowing those things are hunting us?”

“Vernon, come here.”

Vernon stayed at the window, nervously twisting the ends of his beard. “You know, it’s not like they were all that far back up the road.”

“Come, Vernon. I command it.”

Vernon came over.

Krampus held up the flask. “Drink.”

Vernon pushed a long strand of greasy hair from his face and eyed the flask suspiciously.

“Mead.”

Vernon’s face brightened. “Oh.” He took the flask, took a long sip, then another.

“Pass it around,” Krampus said. “Give some to Nipi . . . he is in need.”

Jesse noted that Nipi had removed the blood-soaked rag from his wound. The gunshot was red and swollen, but not raw, and actually appeared to be forming a scar already. Jesse might’ve been more amazed, but he’d seen enough wonders this day to understand some sort of magic was at play.

Vernon walked the flask over to Nipi. Nipi took a deep swig and passed it on. The bottle went round and round until all the Belsnickels were sitting or lying upon their makeshift beds, their faces mellow.

Jesse noticed Krampus staring out into space, gently caressing the velvet sack, a dreamy look upon his face. “So,” Jesse asked, “what does a Krampus dream of then?”

Krampus stopped stroking the sack, didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I dream of spreading the splendor of Yuletide once again across the land, of returning sweet Mother Earth to her glory. To see my temples and shrines all across the world. To have all the peoples pay me homage. That, Jesse, music-maker, that is my dream.”

“All across the world, huh? Nothing wrong with shooting high, I guess.”

Krampus nodded, his eyes still far away.

“Yuletide? Thought that was the same thing as Christmas.”

“Christmas,” Krampus spat. “No, Christmas is an abomination. A perversion! Yule is the true spirit of Mother Earth. Yule is the rebirth of the seasons. Without Yuletide, Mother Earth cannot heal herself . . . will wither and die. That is why it is so important that I reawaken the spirit within mankind. Help them to believe again. Because it is their power of belief, their love and devotion, that heals the land.”

“And let me get this straight, that Santa Claus fella, I take it he’s in your way somehow?”

“That name is a lie. A sham.” Krampus’s lip curled into a sneer. “His name is not Santa Claus. His name is . . . his true name is . . .” He hesitated, seemed incapable of saying more.

BALDR, KRAMPUS THOUGHT, then said it out loud. “Baldr. That is his true name.”

“Santa Claus?” Jesse asked.

“Yes. His true name is Baldr.” There, it is said. After five hundred years his name again touches my tongue. He scowled, hating the bitter taste of the word. “Vernon, bring me the mead.”

Vernon hopped up, brought over the flask. Krampus drank deep, trying to wash the bitterness away.

“My grandfather, Loki, killed him once, long ago. Now I shall do so again.” He clutched the velvet sack. “So tragic, Baldr’s death. Fair and beautiful Baldr, beloved by all.” Krampus sneered. “Or so it is told, as I knew him not before his death. I learned of those events from my mother, Hel, queen of the netherworld. She would tell this tale and so many others as I sat as a child upon the steps of her throne. Her sweet words, accompanied by the woeful singing of the dead.”

“What’s not to love about that?”

Krampus squinted at Jesse. “You are being sarcastic.”

“Naw.”

Krampus gave Jesse a disdainful look, but continued. “She spoke that all in Asgard loved Baldr, the second son of Odin. All praised Baldr, so fair of feature and so bright that light shone from him, fair-spoken and gracious. She told that they spoke of his charitable nature, his benevolence toward the downtrodden, going on and on about this gentle champion of the woeful and dispirited until one wished to hang oneself.

“But there was one not taken in by Baldr’s charm and beauty. Loki, being the king of all tricksters, was quick to recognize deceit no matter how fair the package. He saw Baldr for the fraud he was and took it as a challenge to expose him before all, especially Odin, as there was no love between the two. And the opportunity to bring disgrace and shame to the house of Odin was too great a temptation to resist.

“His chance came when Baldr schemed to become more than a deity, but to have life and beauty everlasting. And to this means he spun a tale to play on his parents’ great love. He told his father and his mother, Frigg, of his recurring nightmares, dreams that spoke of his impending death. His parents, not able to stand the thought of harm befalling their most beloved son, fell into Baldr’s design. They traveled the nine worlds, sought and received an oath from everything in Creation not to harm Baldr. All, that is, but from a young, distant plant called Mistletoe, as Odin felt this weed to be too lowly and feeble to matter. And thus, Baldr gained his immortality.”

Krampus snorted. “That is how the myths spin it, anyway. But myths are full of flowering fancy, and as much as I adore such tales, Hel told me the truth. Odin, being the great sorcerer that he was, concocted a spell and placed it upon Baldr. A spell that prevented any element of the nine worlds from ever harming him. Only the spell was contrived from the poison of Mistletoe, and thus, Mistletoe remained immune.

“Once Baldr had this wondrous gift, he did not wait to show it off, encouraging all comers to amuse themselves by trying to harm him with weapon of their choosing. Mother told that he made great sport of it, reveling in the attention, that the other gods loved the game, and as Baldr’s popularity grew so did Loki’s determination to expose him.

“Loki disguised himself as an old woman and tricked Frigg into revealing the secret of the Mistletoe. Armed with this knowledge, Loki sought out the plant and made from it an arrow, an alchemy of Mistletoe and ore. Loki took this arrow and the next time he found Baldr at play, he slipped in amongst the gathered crowd. There he found Baldr’s blind brother Hoor. He asked Hoor why he did not participate. Hoor replied that this was no game for a blind man. Loki presented Hoor with a bow and the charmed arrow, offered to guide his hand. Hoor was thrilled to have a chance to play and pulled the bow with great vigor. The arrow hit Baldr in the chest, drove deep into his heart, and Baldr fell down dead right there before Frigg, before Odin. It is said that the silence was deafening. Poor Hoor could not see their fearsome gazes and Loki could not bear it. Loki fled.

“Odin’s grief was bottomless and he had Hoor slain for the deed.” Krampus shook his head. “I have always felt for Hoor. A pawn in a game of jealousy and spite. He carried the torment of killing his own beloved brother, then to be slain by his own father. Tragic indeed. Odin laid Baldr’s body to rest upon the great ship Hringhorni and set it ablaze. It is said that Baldr’s wife, Nanna, in her grief, threw herself into the flame to follow him into death.”

Krampus took another swig. “But that was just the beginning, for Baldr’s spirit fell into Hel, into the realm of the dead where even the great Odin had no right of rule. Though Odin and Frigg sent another of their sons, Hermod, to offer ransom and beg Baldr’s release, my mother, Hel, would not give up Baldr’s spirit. And it is known but to a very few that Hel played games with Odin to distract him while Loki sought a confession from Baldr. Told Baldr he would be Hel’s slave, imprisoned until Ragnarok, unless he admitted of his scheme. Here is where Baldr surprised them, as he refused such bargain, chose to remain Hel’s prisoner, to spend an age amongst the dead before exposing his own deceit.

“And that is how I first came to see him, as a prisoner in Hel. He was most curious to me as a child, this beautiful deity, there in his chamber with his dead wife. He looked such a desolate soul, appeared almost as stone. He would stand for days on end without moving, staring down into the bottomless chasms of the nether regions, listening to the songs of the dead and waiting, waiting, ever waiting for the end of the gods, for Ragnarok and its promise of freedom.

“I questioned Mother, ‘How could one willing to make such sacrifice to keep his secrets truly be of low character?’ She laughed and said not to confuse pride with nobleness, and warned me not to pity him. But I felt this being had suffered his share. Even then, at that young age, I could see that Loki’s hatred and jealousy of Odin was at the heart of Baldr’s fate. And so I did come to pity him, and that, my friend, was the beginning of my undoing. For a bitter lesson lay ahead and it is that a serpent is always a serpent, no matter the guise. I had no way of knowing then that there would come a day when I would be unable to utter his name, that I would dream of his blood on my hands a hundred thousand times over.”

Krampus started to tell more, to tell the rest of the story. He glanced at Jesse, realized the music man was asleep.

Krampus let out a great sigh, tugged open the sack, peered into its murky depths. “Together we shall find Loki’s arrow. Together we shall kill Baldr no matter what guise he might wear.”