Krampus

Chapter Twelve Yule Cheer

Geri greeted them at the door. If a wolf could smile, Jesse felt sure this one was smiling now. Krampus hopped out of the sleigh, bounded over, and caught the wolf in a bear hug. “Happy Yuletide!” Krampus cried, and pranced into the church. He plucked up the sack, spun around in a circle. “We go! We go!”

“What? Where?” Vernon asked, setting down the two sacks of sleeping sand. “Tonight? You can’t possibly mean tonight. Besides, Christmas is over for this season.”

“We are not celebrating Christmas, you fool!” Krampus cried. “Christmas is dead! We are celebrating Yule. Yuletide runs for many weeks, and this year, it shall run as long as I deem necessary to spread my word.”

The Shawnee glanced excitedly at one another, but Vernon moaned, plopped down into one of the pews. “I’m tired and I’m hungry.”

Krampus made a sputtering, dismissive sound. “It is festive season, there will be food aplenty. Now, up with you. Take the sleeping sand and put a handful into pouches and bring them along.”

“Pouches?” Vernon whined. “Where am I supposed to find pouches?”

Wipi pulled out his knife and began hacking at one of the curtains. He cut out three pieces, folded them, and used part of the cords as ties. Within a few minutes, he’d made three pouches, handed them to Vernon.

“Oh, don’t look so damn smug,” Vernon said, taking the bags.

Isabel headed over to the injured wolf, Freki. A few well-gnawed cow bones lay near his bedding. Freki managed to get to his feet and greet her, standing unsteadily as Isabel ruffled his great mane. She appeared so tiny before the great beast that could so easily take off her head with one chomp. He nuzzled her hair as she poured more mead into his pie pan.

“All right, enough delay, let us go.” Krampus sounded like a child wanting to open his birthday presents. “Come now. Out . . . all of you!” They headed for the door. “Wait!” he looked them over, frowning. He snatched a spear from Makwa, the handgun from Chet, tossed them into the cardboard box with the cash. “Other than your knives, there shall be no weapons, not on a Yule run.” The Shawnee didn’t look pleased with this at all, but all the Belsnickels dropped their weapons into the box.

They followed Krampus outside, where the Yule Lord found a birch tree and commenced snapping off several long, thin branches until he had a handful. He pulled the satin ribbon from his hair and bound the twigs together. He swished them through the air, seemed pleased with the whistle, and gave Isabel a light swat on her rump. “Hey,” she yelled. “Cut it out!”

Krampus laughed. “This will do. Will do just fine.”

The Yule Lord took his place in the front of the sleigh, Isabel on the bench next to him, holding the sack and switches, Jesse beside her. Vernon, Chet, and the three Shawnee squeezed into the compartment in the back.

Krampus lifted the reins, hesitated, his eyes fixed on Santa’s bloody head atop the spear. “You were a very naughty boy. You do not get to come along.” He snatched it up by the hair and chucked it. It rolled across the snow and bumped up against the fallen downspout, lying there on its cheek, its dead eyes staring back at them.

“Away,” Krampus called and popped the reins. The goats leapt forward, climbing up over the treetops and into the clear night sky. They followed the valley north toward a cluster of lights, toward Goodhope.

Jesse could see the occasional home or trailer not too far below, the headlights of cars going about their way. He thought of Abigail and Linda somewhere down there. He’d lost all sense of time and wondered if they were still awake, if everything was okay. He wanted to go to them now, ached to see them again, but knew there’d be no chance of it, not tonight, not while Krampus was in such a state.

KRAMPUS DROPPED DOWN until they were skimming the tree line. He found a dead-end street on the edge of town with only a handful of homes, circled once, and landed, sliding to a stop beneath a leaning streetlight.

Krampus hopped from the sleigh, looked around at the homes, at the blinking Christmas lights. He took a deep breath, appeared to drink in the cold night air. “I am finally here.” He closed his eyes. “At last . . . it is over. Baldr is no more and I am free to return to spreading Yuletide blessings, to chasing dark spirits from the land.” He opened his eyes, wiped them. “My apologies, the moment overwhelms me.” He looked at them. “You each played your part and for that I thank you. In your honor I shall make this a night to remember, that I promise.”

Krampus held out his hand. “Vernon, the sleeping sand.” Vernon gave him the pouches. Krampus handed one to Isabel, one to Jesse, started to give one to Makwa, reconsidered and gave the last one back to Vernon. “In case we run into those that are not in a festive mood. A few grains dashed to the face will have them sleeping like babies. Now follow my lead, try not to bring harm upon any, ’less they threaten violence.”

Jesse slipped the pouch into his front breast pocket for easy access.

“Remember,” Krampus said. “We are here for the children, to teach them to honor the Yule Lord, to make them believe.” He started across the street toward the nearest house.

“Wait,” Isabel said, and grabbed his arm.

“What is it now?”

“Not that one.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t have kids.”

“How can you know that?”

“Look . . . no toys or bikes in the yard. No swing sets either. You want that one.” She pointed to the next house up, where a tricycle lay on its side next to a brightly colored plastic play gym.

Krampus gave her a nod and patted her on the head. “Isabel, my little lion. You are full of surprises.” He headed for the house, the Belsnickels falling in line behind him.

“Little lion,” Jesse snickered, and patted Isabel on the head. Isabel socked him.

Krampus spied a large plastic Santa on the porch as they headed up the walkway. He sneered. “This home looks like it needs reminding of what Yuletide is truly about.” Krampus stepped up onto the porch, picked up the plastic Santa and chucked it out into the yard.

“We’re gonna get shot,” Chet mumbled. And for once Jesse found himself in full agreement with the man. Jesse felt sure that before the night was over, one of them, or maybe all of them, would be lying on someone’s living-room floor full of buckshot. Jesse hardly knew a soul around this part of the county who didn’t own at least one gun—and three or four, more likely than not.

Krampus knocked on the door. They stood and waited, Krampus with the black sack over his shoulder and clutching a handful of switches, the Belsnickels standing around him like a confused band of trick-or-treaters. Jesse could hear a television blaring from somewhere in the house and exchanged a worried glance with Isabel. Krampus knocked again, louder.

A woman yelled from somewhere in the house, “The door, Joe. I think someone’s at the door!”

The volume of the TV dropped. “What’s that?”

“I thought I heard the door.”

“Well, for crying out loud, you done forgot how to answer a door?” There followed a long minute of silence. “Ah for fuck sakes,” the man cried. “All right, I guess I’ll get the goddamn door. Wouldn’t want you to ever have to get up off your fat ass.” They heard slippers clomping toward the door; a moment later, the porch light came on and the door popped open. A middle-aged man in a red flannel hunting shirt over a pair of gray sweatpants leaned against the door, holding a beer and a cigarette in one hand. The man was drunk, but not too drunk to see that Krampus wasn’t who he’d been expecting.

“Are there any good children in this dwelling?” Krampus asked.

The man’s eyes grew wide, he stumbled back several steps, losing both the beer and the cigarette. All at once he appeared to sober up and made to slam the door shut. Krampus extended his hand, knocked the door back and the man to the linoleum.

“Yule cheer to one and all!” Krampus called and pushed in, stepping over the man and heading down the hall.

The Shawnee pounced on the man, pinned him. The man started hollering and Makwa raised a fist. Isabel grabbed Makwa’s arm before he could land a blow. “No! Bad!” Isabel cried. “Stop it!” Jesse fumbled for his sleeping sand, but Vernon beat him to it, tossing a pinch of the sand into the man’s face. The man squinted, looked as though about to sneeze, then his head lolled over and he was out. The Shawnee appeared disappointed.

Jesse managed to let out half a breath before a woman’s scream came down the hallway. Isabel and Jesse shoved their way past the Shawnee, intent on beating them to whatever trouble Krampus had got into now.

It was a woman, about the same age as the man, wearing an almost identical outfit of a red flannel hunting shirt and sweatpants. Krampus had her trapped over in one corner of the room, behind the Christmas tree. The Yule Lord was plucking ornaments off the tree and smashing them into the fireplace. He held up a sparkling glass Santa. “No, no, no,” he scolded, and threw it at her. It smashed to pieces against the wall and she let out another cry. “No more Santa Claus. Ever! You want to know why?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Because he is dead!” he snarled. “I cut off his head and if you doubt me, why, I can show it to you. Would you like to see it?” The woman shook her head. Krampus spied the beautiful blown-glass cross sitting on the top of the tree and his face knotted up. “This will not do. You are not to put Christian totems on a Yule tree.” He plucked it off, shook it at her as though she might be a vampire. “No crosses! No Santas! Is that understood?” He raised his arm as though to throw it.

“No!” she screamed, actually coming forward and reaching for it. “Please, no. That was my mother’s!”

Krampus raised the ornament up beyond her reach.

“Please, please.”

“Only if you promise never to put it on my tree again.”

The woman nodded adamantly.

“Swear it.”

“I swear it!”

He held it out and she snatched it, clutched it to her breast, and began sobbing.

“Where are the remains of your feast?” Krampus asked.

She looked at him and blinked several times. “Feast?”

“Yes.”

“You mean . . . the leftovers? They’re in the fridge. Where else would they be?”

“And do you offer them in tribute?”

“Do I what?”

“Offer your fare to the Lord of Yule?”

“You want my leftovers?” She appeared unsure whether to laugh or cry, but undoubtedly wanted to say whatever might send this demented demon away from her. “Sure . . . you go right ahead. Kitchen’s that way.” She pointed. “Knock yourself out.”

“Good. Your Yuletide offerings will bring you many blessings for the coming year.” Krampus headed toward the kitchen, leaving the lady trembling in the corner, still clutching her mother’s ornament.

Isabel and Jesse scooted over to the woman. “Sit down,” Isabel said.

“What? Why? Are you gonna hurt me?”

“No,” Isabel said. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Now, just sit.”

The lady did and Isabel tossed a pinch of sleeping sand in her face. A few seconds later she was out. Isabel gingerly plucked the ornament from her arms and set it on the mantel.

Something crashed in the kitchen.

“What now?” Isabel asked.

“He did promise us a night to remember.”

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid he did at that.”

The two of them peered into the kitchen. The refrigerator stood wide-open, Wipi was pulling dishes from the fridge and handing them to Nipi. A large ceramic tray sat on the counter, the tin foil peeled back, exposing a half-carved turkey on a bed of cornbread dressing. Makwa, Chet, and Vernon were shoveling handfuls into their mouths, not even bothering with utensils. Vernon glanced up, a guilty look upon his face. “What? I’m starving. Christ, we haven’t eaten since . . . what . . . yesterday, or was it the day before?”

Jesse found a clock, it was ten till midnight. He tried to figure out how long they’d been up, but between the two continents he had no idea.

“Where’s Krampus?” Isabel asked.

“Went down the hall,” Chet said through a mouthful of dressing.

“Down the hall?” Isabel said. “You let him out of your sight?”

“Hey,” Chet said. “I sure as shit ain’t his babysitter.”

They heard a scream, a child’s scream.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Isabel said and darted down the hall. Jesse took off after her.

Krampus stood in the middle of the room between two beds. One bed was empty, two girls huddled together in the other. Jesse guessed one child to be nine or ten years old, the younger one about the same age as his Abigail. The girls were pressed into the corner, atop pillows and stuffed animals, as far from Krampus as they could get. Both were crying, clutching each other, trembling, their eyes full of terror.

Krampus took a step forward, and the girls let loose a shrill scream, kicking their legs as though something was biting them.

Jesse couldn’t stand it, could only think of his own daughter. “Krampus,” Jesse cried. “Stop, you can’t—”

“Silence,” Krampus snapped, holding up one finger. “Do not interfere, that is a command.”

Jesse quieted; found he could do little more than watch, no matter how much he ached to pull Krampus from the room.

Krampus returned to the girls, knelt down upon one knee, and put his finger to his lips. “Hush,” he whispered. “Hush, I am Krampus, the spirit of Yule. I come bearing gifts.” His words were kindly, hypnotic. The girls stopped screaming, calmed a degree. “Would you like to see your gifts?”

Neither of the girls answered, only stared at Krampus with wide, terrified eyes.

Krampus set down the birch switches, slid the sack off his shoulder, closed his eyes, and stuck his hand inside the sack. He brought out two triangular gold coins, held them for the girls to see, and curiosity slowly replaced their fear.

“Gold coin from the realm of Hel. These can buy you many pretty things.”

The coins mesmerized the girls.

“Would you like these?”

Both girls nodded.

Krampus held them out, but when the girls reached for them, Krampus pulled the coins back. “There is a condition. First you must speak my name. You can call me Krampus, the Yule Lord. Now, say my name.”

“Krampus, the Yule Lord,” the girls chorused.

Krampus smiled. “Good.” He handed them the coins.

The girls admired their newfound treasures, and Jesse wondered what spell Krampus had set upon them.

“There is more, for the world is a hard place and nothing comes without a price. You should know that each year upon Yuletide I will fly overhead. I might, or I might not return. But should I honor you with a visit, I do expect tribute to be waiting. I expect to find tokens of your devotion. Traditionally, this is done by placing your shoes upon the step and leaving me a treat or trinket within them. Do you think you can do that?”

The girls nodded.

“Good, for if I find a treat, you might get another gold coin or something even better. But if I do not . . .” Krampus picked up the sack and the switches, stood to his full height, his voice dropping downlow and menacing. “If I do not find tribute then I will put you in my sack and beat you bloody.” He smacked the sack once soundly with the switches.

The girls jumped back; Jesse thought they might start screaming again.

“Will I find shoes full of treats next winter?”

Both girls nodded adamantly.

“Good. And what is my name?”

“Krampus,” they said together.

“Good.” He patted them atop their heads. “Good night, my little sugar plums. Sleep tight.” Krampus left the room.

Isabel sprinkled them with sleeping sand and tucked them in. They looked like sleeping angels. Jesse wondered how much they would remember come morning. He hoped not much, hoped they wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.

THEY CAUGHT UP with Krampus at the sleigh; Chet, Vernon, and the Shawnee already aboard. Wipi held the turkey carcass in his lap, he and his brother, Nipi, were still eating, their fingers and faces smeared with dressing and grease.

“Onward to the next home,” Krampus said and climbed into the sleigh; Isabel and Jesse followed suit.

“There’s more?” Vernon asked dryly. “Oh, but will the fun never end?”

“Yes, more. Many, many more. Tanngnost and Tanngrisni shall take us from one neighborhood to the next, but it is not my goal to hit every dwelling. We need only visit the occasional home, as the children will do the rest. They shall spread the tale from there, will dazzle other children with their prizes and stories . . . will make them believe. And so long as they believe, so long as I have followers, Yule shall flourish, spread. My place will be affirmed and no god shall usurp my reign . . . not ever again.”

He popped the reins and they took off, gliding down the middle of the street just above the car roofs, heading across town. They passed over a man sitting in his truck at a stop sign. The man watched them fly over, nodded at them, grinning the whole time, then drove on as though nothing had happened. A block later, a man and a woman leaned against a car. The man was trying to unlock the door but seemed too intoxicated to get the key in the lock. They looked up as the sleigh flew past, hollered something unintelligible, and both of them promptly fell over. Jesse wondered how many of these late-night boozers would blame what they’d seen on the drink come morning. Not much further along, a woman in a car slammed on her brakes as they barreled past. She stuck her head out the window, eyes wide in wonderment. It was apparent from her shocked expression that she wasn’t drunk, but maybe she wished she were. About a mile later, they cruised by a dozen or so teenagers tailgating in the old water tower parking lot. “Yule cheer to one and all!” Krampus yelled, and waved. About half the kids managed a partial wave, mouths agape, the rest just stared, too stunned to do anything else. A flash went off and Jesse grinned, wondered if their picture would be pasted all over the Internet come morning.

They headed up Sipsey Ridge, along the edge of town, the houses were spread out, a bit more rural, small vegetable gardens and chicken pens popping up here and there. Krampus slowed down, peering up the long driveways.

“Hey,” Chet said. “It’s my place.” He pointed to a small cottage with pink asbestos siding. A wood cutout of a woman in bloomers bending over stood in the flower bed, and a white wicker rocker sat on the porch.

“You live in a pink house?” Jesse laughed. “Explains a lot. Guess that’s why you’re so partial to that fancy coat you’re wearing.”

“Hey, fuck you. It’s my aunt’s house.”

“You live with your aunt?” Jesse laughed harder.

“Kiss my ass,” Chet said and jabbed Jesse.

Jesse raised his hands in surrender, did his best to stop laughing.

“It’s temporary. She’s just helping out until I get things worked out with Trish. So fuck off.”

Jesse stopped laughing. “You and Trish split up?”

Chet nodded, couldn’t hide the hurt on his face. Jesse knew that look too well. “Yeah,” Jesse said. “I know a bit about how that goes.”

Krampus drifted a few more houses up and slid to a stop in front of a flat-roofed, ranch-style home with water-stained cedar siding. An older-model Chevy Malibu with its tail end jacked up, missing its hubcaps, and badly in need of new paint, sat in the carport. The yard strewn with a few toys, a broken swing set, rusting auto parts, and a good number of PBR empties.

“Hey, man,” Chet said. “That’s Wallace Dotson’s place. You sure as shit don’t wanna go messing around there. He ain’t right in the head, not since coming home from Iraq he ain’t.”

“How many children does your friend Wallace Dotson have?” Krampus asked.

“He ain’t my friend. And that man don’t know the meaning of the word ‘birth control.’ Got at least five or six brats running around, maybe more, and every one of ’em as mean and fucked in the head as their old man. Little shits will shoot you the bird just for looking at ’em.”

Krampus hopped out and the Shawnee followed. Jesse, Isabel, Vernon, and Chet sat tight. A dog barked somewhere up the drive.

“Man,” Chet said. “I’m telling you, you’re picking the wrong house. Old Wallace, that man, he likes his guns, likes shooting them, too. Just pick another house why don’t you?”

“Come,” Krampus said. “All of you, now.” They climbed out and followed Krampus up the drive.

Jesse nudged Isabel. “Look.” He pointed to a hand-painted sign stuck in the front lawn. It read, NO SOLICITING. THIS MEANS YOU ASSHOLE!

Isabel shook her head.

All the windows were dark. Jesse hoped the family was away for the holidays. Krampus stepped onto the porch and a dog barked twice from the other side of the door. It sounded like a big dog. They could hear its claws clacking as it paced back and forth.

Krampus raised his fist to knock, stopped. “Maybe a little prudence is in order,” he whispered. “A slightly different tack. Jesse, the key.” Jesse handed him the key ring. Three of the skeleton keys were of the old-fashioned variety, but the rest were smaller, more modern in design. Krampus picked one of these, tried to insert it into the lock—it wouldn’t fit. Jesse didn’t understand how these six keys were supposed to open every key lock in the world, but after all he’d seen recently, he felt relatively optimistic. Krampus didn’t disappoint; the second key slid in, he gave it a twist, and the bolt flopped over.

Jesse had no idea if the sleeping sand worked on dogs or not, but dug a pinch from his breast pocket and held it at the ready. Krampus twisted the knob and pushed the door inward. The dog jumped out at them and Jesse flicked the sand into its face. It was a basset hound—a really old basset hound. It looked at Jesse with big, sad eyes, wagged its tail, then collapsed.

Everyone gave Jesse a hard look.

“What?”

They stepped over the sleeping dog and entered the foyer. Voices and the cast of a flickering television came from the far end of the hall. Jesse smelled weed.

Krampus crept toward the light, avoiding the clumps of dirty clothes. They stopped in the doorway to the living room. A pudgy man with about a week’s worth of beard lay sprawled across a sofa, fast asleep, an ashtray full of butts balanced on his chest, an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor, and a large gray tabby resting in his lap. The cat opened its eyes and stared at them.

The children, all six of them, were sitting on the floor in front of the television, their backs to them. They ranged in age from about ten all the way down to a toddler in diapers, two girls and the rest boys. An enormous, economy-size bag of Cheetos sat between them, orange crumbs littering the grungy carpet. It’s a Wonderful Life was playing, and Jimmy Stewart was trying to convince the fine residents of Bedford Falls not to pull all their money from the Building and Loan, his disarming manner and warm sincere drawl holding the children spellbound.

There was no Christmas tree in this house, no Christmas lights, or any sort of decorations other than a lone group of pinecones hanging over the fireplace. Jesse found no new toys, or signs of any gifts. It appeared as though Christmas had pretty much passed these children by.

Isabel touched Krampus’s arm, pointed to the man. Krampus nodded and she tiptoed over. The cat stretched, yawned, began to purr. Isabel dropped a few sprinkles of sleeping sand onto the man’s face. His nose crinkled, but that was about it. Isabel shrugged. When she turned around, all the children were looking at her—six faces smeared with orange crumbs. Isabel raised her hand. “Hi.”

They watched her step back over to the hall. “We should go try and find their ma,” Isabel whispered.

“She ain’t here,” Chet said. “She run off about a year back.”

“Oh,” Isabel replied.

Krampus handed Isabel his switches. “I won’t be needing these.” He stepped into the room and every eye went to the towering Yule Lord, terror spreading across their faces.

“There is no need to fear,” Krampus said in the same soft, lulling voice he’d used on the little girls at the previous house. “I am a friend.”

Their terror appeared to lessen a degree, but one of the younger boys still began to cry.“Casey, you shush now,” a girl said and stood up. The little boy did his best to stifle his tears. The girl appeared to be the oldest of the bunch, maybe nine or ten years old. She took a step forward, putting herself between Krampus and the rest. “What’d you want?” she said, trying to sound tough, but Jesse could hear the fear in her voice. “If you’s looking to steal stuff, we ain’t got nothing.”

“We are not thieves,” Krampus said, his voice calm and hypnotic. “I am the Yule Lord and I come bearing gifts for all of you.”

Curiosity appeared on a few of the faces. They looked up at their big sister. She gave Krampus a hard, cynical look. “Folks never give you something, ’less they be wanting something. What’d you want?”

“You are wise beyond your years. What is your name, child?”

The girl hesitated. “Who’s asking?”

The Yule Lord grinned. “I am Krampus.”

“Well, Krampus, my name is Carolyn, and this here is Chris and Curtis, Casey, Clayton, and over there is Charlene.”

Krampus nodded to each of them. The baby looked at Krampus, began to whimper. A boy, couldn’t have been older than four, pulled the baby into his lap, found its pacifier, and patted it on the back, doing his best to reassure the child.

Krampus walked softly over to the children and unslung his sack.

The girl stood her ground. She looked terrified, but Jesse could see that she’d take a beating before she’d let anyone, even a horned demon, get their hands on any of these children.

Casey crawled behind his big sister and began to cry again. “Casey, I done told you to shush up, now. Y’know Pa don’t stand for no tears.”

“Please . . . do not be alarmed.” Krampus knelt down on one knee. He placed the sack between them, slipped in his hand, closed his eyes, and pulled out a handful of the triangular gold coins.

Their eyes let up, all of them bedazzled by the ancient coins. He handed one to each and went on to tell them all about Yule, about the old traditions, about shoes on doorsteps and rewards for those who believe. They listened, captivated and hanging on his every word. Soon all trace of their fear was gone.

When Krampus finished, he stood, bid them Happy Yule, and headed out. The children followed them to the door.

“Hey,” Jesse said to Carolyn. “Be sure not to let your daddy see them coins.”

The girl nodded as though she was way ahead of him.

“Take them down to Dicker and Pawn. Ask for Finn, he’s out to treat you better than most.”

“Yeah,” Chet put in. “You tell him Chet Boggs said he better treat you square. Got that?”

The girl nodded again.

Jesse and Chet caught up with the rest of the Belsnickels in the sleigh. Krampus popped the reins and the Yule goats leapt skyward. Jesse watched the children, their six small faces staring up at them in wonderment. Carolyn raised her arm and waved, all the children did. Jesse waved back.

CLOUDS OF BLACK smoke drifted across the gardens and through the topiary, shifting with the early-dawn wind. A few pockets of flame still crackled. The scorched beams and stones of the stable formed a stark skeleton against the morning sky.

Six women dug through the smoldering embers with pitchforks and rakes. Their dirty, soot-covered gowns clinging to the sweat of their bodies, ash smeared across their hands and tear-streaked faces.

“Here,” the woman with the long white hair called. “He is here.”

They all came, dropping rakes and forks in favor of their own hands, gently pulling the mutilated corpse from the ash. Some of the women turned away, could not bear to look upon the blackened, headless body.

“Help me,” the woman said, and together they lifted the body and carried it across the courtyard, down a narrow path outside the wall, to a small, single-room chapel overlooking the sea. There they lay it upon a stone slab, beneath a window of golden stained glass in the shape of a cross. One of the girls fetched towels and a pail of seawater. Together they washed the body, wiping away the dirt and soot. The fire had burned away all of his clothing, but left his body untouched. It gleamed porcelain-white, perfect except for the great injuries inflicted by the spear. They washed his hands, scrubbed beneath his fingernails, toenails, his genitals, his wounds, and the grisly flap of torn flesh at his neck. They bathed him until no trace of soiled flesh remained, then wrapped him in white linen.

“Now,” the woman said. “Stop your weeping. Grief is for the dead. Santa Claus can never die. For too many people believe in him. It is a time for prayers . . . time to call to the angels.”

She reached out her hands and the girls linked together, forming a circle around the slab. She sat cross-legged upon the marble floor and the girls followed her lead.

“We serve him vigil. None shall eat, sleep, nor drink until the angels come. If they do not come then it is God’s will that we perish at his side. Now close your eyes and call them down.”

As they prayed, the morning sun cleared the horizon, blazing through the stained glass, bathing the room in golden light. “God is in the house,” the white-haired woman said.

THE THIRD HOUSE that night sat near the river—stately new construction enclosed within a gate of red brick and elegant iron. Krampus dropped the sleigh down upon the wide circular driveway.

The Yule Lord found the front door unlocked and let himself in. The foyer led them into a dramatic living space open to the second floor. A wall of arched windows ran to the peak of the cathedral ceiling and faced out toward the river; at their center stood a towering Christmas tree dripping in ribbons and ornaments.

“Wow, that’s pretty,” Isabel said.

Krampus didn’t appear to share her sentiment. He made a face as though force-fed a spoonful of cough syrup, but refrained from smashing any of the ornaments, instead heading up the grand staircase.

Krampus entered the first room they came to; he strolled right in as though invited. The room was spacious, a large flat-screen television hung from the wall, a movie playing, the sound down low. A man and a woman, in their forties, were sitting up in their king-size four-poster bed—the man pecking away at his laptop, the woman watching the TV while texting on her phone. The man looked up when his wife let out a loud gasp.

Krampus paid them no heed, staring into the big screen on the wall, his head cocked to one side.

The woman looked as though she were choking on something, and finally a scream escaped her throat. Jesse and Isabel both started over with the sleeping sand, but Krampus held up his hand. “Wait.”

The woman screamed again, started to get up. The man yanked the earbuds from his ears and threw an arm across the woman. “Stay calm, Nancy. Just stay calm.” Nancy appeared about to hyperventilate, but somehow managed to sit tight, staring with absolute horror at the giant devil in her bedroom.

Krampus returned his attention to the screen, to the horses riding across a lush English landscape. He put his nose right in the screen, bumped his horns, grunted, and stepped back.

“It’s a high-definition LCD,” the man said, his voice shaky. “Sixty inches. It’s yours if you want it. Please . . . just take it and go.”

Krampus reached out, tapped the screen with his jagged fingernails, pressed his palm against it as though trying to push through it. There came a snap, the screen flickered, and a spiderweb of cracks spiraled out from beneath his hand. Krampus studied the fractured screen. “Hmm, it appears I have damaged it. I am sorry.” He sounded sincere.

“That’s okay,” the man put in quickly. “That’s fine. Not a problem. We have another one downstairs. You’re welcome to it. The jewelry . . . is over there.” He pointed to a mahogany box on top of the vanity. “I don’t have much cash,” his tone nervous, apologetic. “But you’re welcome to what I have.”

“We did not come to steal,” Krampus said, and this bit of news served only to make the man and the woman more anxious. The woman tugged the sheet up to her throat, covering herself, spilling the laptop. Krampus stepped closer, peering at the glowing laptop screen curiously. The women let out a high-pitched squeal like a weasel in a snare.

“You want it?” the man asked. “It’s yours.” He held the laptop out to Krampus. Krampus looked it over, but didn’t take it. “There’s a new, fully loaded Mustang down in the garage. The keys are right over there.” He pointed again to the vanity. No one looked. “I should make it clear,” the man said, his tone becoming a bit more desperate, “that I’m involved with state government at the highest levels. And as someone with a lot of experience within the legal system, I must advise you against any acts of violence. If anyone in this house is harmed, or even threatened . . . the State of West Virginia will not be lenient.”

“You a lawyer?” Chet asked. “You talk like a lawyer. I hate lawyers.”

The man shook his head. “Not exactly . . . I consider myself more of a mediator.”

“Well, I hate them, too.”

“Chet,” Jesse said. “You hate everybody. So why don’t you just shut up and leave the man be.”

Chet fastened his eyes on Jesse. “Don’t remember anyone telling me I gotta take orders from you. So why don’t you plug your whiney pie hole.”

“Why don’t you stop being retarded?” Jesse shot back. “Oh, I know, because you can’t.”

Chet’s face knotted up. “You’re a fucking dick.” He shoved Jesse. Jesse came back with a full roundhouse, catching Chet against the side of the head, knocking him into the wall. Chet rebounded in a charge, drove into Jesse’s waist with his shoulder. Both men flew onto the bed, rolled all the way across, and tumbled onto the floor on the far side, taking the lamp and nightstand over with them. The woman started screaming hysterically.

Krampus watched, obviously amused, and the Shawnee began laughing and hooting.

“Krampus!” Isabel yelled, and pushed him. “Krampus, make ’em stop before they kill each other.”

Krampus shrugged and shouted, “Enough! Cease fighting. It is a command.” And just like that, Jesse and Chet stopped, the two of them left sitting there on the carpet glaring at one another. “There is to be no more brawling between you.”

Isabel evidently had had enough. She hopped over and dashed a pinch of sleeping sand on the screaming woman as though she were salting a potato. The woman swooned and passed out. “What did you do to her?” the man demanded, and promptly received a dose of his own, slumping over onto his wife.

“Well, now,” Vernon said. “That was quite the show. Can’t wait to see what you fine gentlemen come up with next.”

Krampus laughed and headed out of the room.

Jesse passed two empty rooms and caught up with the Yule Lord peering into a dimly lit bedroom at the far end of the house. A teenage girl reclined in a beanbag chair, her face angled away from them. Like the man, she had a laptop, but she also had a flashy phone and was going back and forth between the two, madly tapping the keyboard and texting at the same time. She wore headphones, but Jesse could still hear her music all the way across the room and could only imagine the damage she must be doing to her ears.

Krampus watched her for at least five minutes, staring at the glowing screens, his brow furrowed, but she never looked up, lost in her own world, having no idea that a host of demons stood at her door. Krampus shook his head and kept going, following the hall round in a loop until they came to a closed door covered in video game-posters. Jesse heard muffled explosions and gunfire coming from within. Krampus opened the door and they found a boy, maybe eight or nine, sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed. The boy faced the big screen on the far wall, playing a video game, blasting away at an assortment of stumbling undead—explosions and body parts rocking the screen.

As with the girl, Krampus merely stood in the doorway and watched for several minutes. Other than his thumbs, the boy barely moved the whole time, staring glassy-eyed, his mouth half-open, looking like a lobotomy patient.

“He is bewitched.” Krampus strolled purposely across the room, right up to the screen, and smashed it in with his fist.

The boy clutched the game controller to his chest and froze, his eyes threatening to burst from his head. Krampus leaned over to the boy. “You are free. The world is now yours. Go take it.”

Krampus left the room, leaving the boy staring in perplexed horror. The Belsnickels looked from the boy to one another.

“Are we done then?” Vernon asked.

Isabel nodded and they followed Krampus from the house.

Stopping in the driveway, Krampus gave the home a deeply troubled look. “It seems there are other demons besides Santa’s ghost to contend with.”