《Krampus & Cocoa》


 Wine & Wool

    The snow fell softly as I weaved through the market stalls. The late afternoon sun keeps the snow from accumulating on the cobblestones but I intentionally feel for each step as my eyes keep on the group ahead of me. These teenagers are moving fast from their excitement with what the night is to behold which is completely opposite of the indifference they carry when in the classroom. And I, always the one to slip on ice when I am rushed, am just trying to keep up.


    We had spent the morning wandering the holiday markets admiring the handmade wooden decorations, glass baubles, and ornate nutcrackers while snacking on candied nuts. We had stopped to listen to musicians playing in the square, a few of the students getting into the mood and making up a dance. But like all teenagers, they finally gave into their stomachs which has led them to the savory aromas from the food vendors. As I catch up, I see Gabe.


    ¡°Mulled wine¡± he smiles and shoves a mug into my hand.


    ¡°While we have a moment¡­¡± I drag him over to a stall with handknit sweaters.


    ¡°Do you like this one?¡± I ask with a bit too much excitement as I hold up a green and white sweater with a snowflake pattern. I typically am not a holiday person but I can always find a reason to have another wintery sweater.


    ¡°Isa, you knitted a sweater just like that last year.¡±


    He is right. He is always right.


    ¡°But it''s pure Bavarian wool!¡±


    He rolls his eyes at me then scans the stall. ¡°Why don¡¯t you buy some yarn instead? It is more like you to make a sweater than buy one. Plus, it will give you an excuse for why you will unfortunately have to miss my holiday party.¡± He mocks my voice as he hands me some balls of yarn.


    They were so soft. I imagine the perfect sweater I''d knit in my apartment alone over the holidays. He knew me so well. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need an excuse to be a recluse but agreed this might seem more socially acceptable.¡±


    The only thing I ever question Gabe on is his insistence to lead the 8th grade class trips to Europe every year. He is the de facto trip leader since he is the school history teacher but he makes it into our personal bucket list trip that conveniently aligns with the 8th grade history curriculum. ¡®It¡¯s a free trip to Europe!¡¯ he exclaims every fall, badgering me to join. ¡®Haven¡¯t you always wanted to go to Paris/Rome/[insert European city here].¡¯ Since I have nothing else better to do in December and it is two weeks away from my responsibilities of teaching math to middle schoolers, I always agree.


    Every year we deal with whiny, spoiled teenagers and their overbearing parents who volunteer as chaperones as a consequence of leading this trip. This year¡¯s trip is especially painful as the fretful new English teacher, Oliver, has also joined. It seems he came with the personal mission to follow me around like a lovesick puppy. Somehow, he still has not figured out I am not into overly affectionate men.


    But earlier this morning¡­those worries drifted away as the sun twinkled in the soft snowfall. The small Bavarian town nestled in between snow capped mountains that glistened in the early light. The ambience captured the ire of most of the students.


    After I purchase enough yarn for a sweater and Gabe refills our mugs, we stroll back towards the student. We take our time to breath in the fresh mountain air mixed with sweet roasted nuts and savory meats. The sun is starting to drop low in the sky and throws shadows on the ornate wooden Christmas pyramids which are dramatically highlighted by the glow from the candles at their base. I can see the soft rising heat work to move the fans of the decorative pieces. I have never much enjoyed celebrating the holidays the way I was raised - flashy and overdone - but this I could celebrate.


    The town center is full of 200-year-old stone buildings of all colors, all capped in gabled wooden roofs, and all decorated for the holidays in a way that complimented the timeless town. At that moment I almost enjoyed the holiday decorations strung about town.


    We gather up the students and their parents to find a spot to watch the parade. As the villagers and tourists pack in tight, the energy grows from a calm pleasure to a vibrant excitement that matches the teenagers. Even Oliver seems to be free of the constant nervousness he wears and joins Gabe and I in conversation without making it awkward. The palpation of anticipation for the Krampusnacht parade has taken over the town.

 Holiday & Horns

    "Maybe a Krampus could whip the kids during this parade. Hopefully make them appreciate life and complain less.¡± I grumble to Gabe as we wait in the crowds. Supposedly, it is not uncommon for a decorative whip held by the costumed Krampus to accidentally branish the first row of onlookers.


    Far in the distance, the energy of the crowd lulls silent. I look towards that end of town where the sun is slowly setting over the mountain slopes. Everyone near us quiets as the approaching dusk covers us. There is a strained second of pure silence before screams and shouts start echoing off the mountains. Over the cries, I can hear an unrhythmic drumming. The parade has begun.


    The first Krampus all carry drums which they beat wildly with the singular goal of making noise and invoking terror.


    ¡°These costumes look like a bad mix of Bigfoot and a goat,¡± Gabe chuckles.


    The first few groups have very similar black and brown furry costumes but each Krampus wears different grotesque masks adorned with horns. The second wave of costumed men pause our chortles as they crack whips over their heads. They raise switches and run towards the lines of revelers watching them, screaming into their faces. Screams start overtaking the crowds. With each passing group the costumes became more ornate. The fur appears to have patterning that could be of real fur. The masks that seem to be carved from wood. Now that night has come over the town, the torches the Krampus carry cast twisted shadows and hide the imperfections of the costumes which makes each Krampus look more real. More like the legend they are trying to evoke.


    ¡°They are serious about this.¡± Gabe murmurs as we watch each group of Krampus becoming more and more grotesque. Some with whips, others with bells, all screaming and scaring the onlookers. There are cages pulled by horses, also wearing horns, of supposedly bad children. The sweet music the musicians played during the day has left the town and is now an electronic rock blasting from speakers on top of the cages. The watchers also are getting loud - laughing, smiling, screaming. The crowd pulses with delight that is slightly disturbed. As I finish off the last of my wine, I start to sway with the horrors of the parade. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    After a crew of Krampus with the longest of tongues, beards dragging to the ground, and largest of horns, I can see St Nicholas bringing up the rear of the parade.


    ¡°I suppose they need to soften all the nightmares they just gave us.¡± St Nicholas and his elves are handing out candies and smiles.


    As I admire the last of the Krampus passing us now, I notice a very tall unmasked man walking behind them. His long brown and black hair parts so perfectly around the horns he somehow has attached to his head, it almost appeared as if they were real. From light cast from torches, I can see his face is scarred and carries a scowl of perfect irrelevance. Though his eyes give away that he actually has an interest in being here - they dart around the crowds scanning for something. He wears a complete black outfit with a fur cloak dragging behind him, this one definitely made of real fur. I look around at the crowds as it does not appear anyone besides myself even notices him. His dark appearance camouflages him nicely into the night and the crowds, already over the gore show, already have their eyes on St. Nicholas.


    As I look back at this Krampus, probably the scariest one so far due to the fact he does not need a costume, he looks directly at me. I feel darkness in that stare of black eyes. My stomach sours and clenches. My throat is dry and my hands become wet with cool sweat. I feel like his stare lasts forever. Finally, he turns his gaze from me but not before a slight malicious grin comes to the corners of his mouth. As he passes me, I see starlight flash off his clawed hand, which he has held behind his back.

 Fire & Flirting

    We wander through the jovial groups of Krampus, masks now cocked back on foreheads or held in hands. Despite the turn in the mood, I still can¡¯t shake this chill off me. I can''t tell if I have had too much mulled wine or not enough.


    Gabe puts his arm around me, ¡°Are you ok? It looks like those Krampus really got to you. I thought you liked macabre men.¡± He snickers.


    ¡°I like men, not monsters, in my bed.¡± I try to joke.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go join the festivities. The parents are in charge of the kids tonight.¡± I appreciate all the detailed planning Gabe puts into this trip so we are not on supervision on nights like this. We wave to the parents as they head back to the hotel with the student while Gabe, Oliver, and I move towards the thrum at the center of town.


    We find a group of welcoming Krampus passing out shots. They had built a bonfire directly on the cobblestones of the town square. Townies who know what they can get away with since they know the town leaders I surmise. I grew up in a town like that. I lean close to the warmth in attempts to shake off this chill that lingers from that stare. I breathe in the smokiness of the fire and start to feel a little better.


    Oliver is already in conversation with the Krampus and learns half of them are teachers at the local high school. They all love volunteering as Krampus largely to scare their students, especially ones that annoy them the most. This fact alone makes me declare Krampusnacht is my favorite holiday. As the night gets colder and the bonfire dwindles, we follow them to their favorite bar.


    Oliver is already becoming a mess as he tries to speak in German to the Krampus once we get to the bar. We are in an old wooden building with decorative gables near the ceiling similar to what is on the exterior of buildings in town. The lightning is just enough to see your drink but not enough to see faces across the long wooden table we are sitting along. I decide to sit at the far end from Oliver, hoping to hide in the shadows, but he ends up finding Gabe and I after he has embarrassed himself thoroughly with his poor attempt at speaking German.


    ¡°Oliver, would you mind getting the first round of beers?¡± My request sends him sprinting to the bar.


    ¡°Gabe, we have got to drop him back off at the hotel. He¡¯s no better than the teenagers.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s have a little fun with him first. You should hit on one of the Krampus, make him jealous. Hopefully he will realize he''s not your type as you cozy up to a hairy monster." I laughed at the suggestion. Might be a fun game. There are a few cute ones from the group we are sitting with but they have started in on a drinking song. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°What about that one over there?¡± Gabe gestures to a dark figure sitting alone at the corner of the bar. I didn¡¯t even notice him earlier as he is hidden in the shadows of the room. ¡°He was just looking over here. Maybe he¡¯s interested.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I roll my eyes at his choice but I never say no to a challenge that Gabe poses. Especially when we are out at bars. His dares often lead to the best hookups. ¡°He was probably throwing daggers from his eyes at the chorus at the far end of our table.¡±


    So I saunter over and lean against the bar in a way that ensures my bosom leads my body as I feign an attempt to order a beer. The Krampus slowly turns his head towards me but I do not take my eyes off the bartender.


    ¡°Ein bier, bitte!¡± Butchering the few German words I know loud enough for the Krampus to hear but not enough to get the bartender¡¯s attention.


    I turned partially towards the Krampus with my breast leading the turn. Hoping he speaks English, I lament ¡°I don''t think he can see me, do you mind trying to get his attention?¡±.


    The Krampus does not respond to my request.


    The alcohol rising to my brain, I feel spicy. ¡°Krampus, I am such a naughty girl, aren¡¯t you supposed to do bad things to me?¡± The words come out in a sultry voice, in jest, to see if I could get a rise from him. I slowly looked up to see if he is even registering that I am talking to him when I end up looking into the deepest black eyes. That same coldness I felt earlier. He does not blink. Gone are the horns and the claws but otherwise it is the same maskless Krampus from the parade. The sassiness I was just feeling from the wine and the dare disappears.


    I take in his scarred face in the darkness of the bar, afraid to even breathe. He has a deep gash that travels through one eyebrow down along the curve of his cheekbones to his jaw. The scar shines white against his skin. His clenched jaw has a few day¡¯s worth of stubble. As a light from the bar flashed across his narrowed eyes, they seemed to shine specks of gold within the black.


    ¡°Sorry. That was a bad joke.¡± As I hurry to leave. But I am still transfixed on those cold eyes as he moves his head forward and takes a deep inhale through his nose. His eyes narrow even further at me as if trying to understand something deeper inside me. Was he just smelling me? He pauses then gives me a slight smile as he turns back to his beer, his face now expressionless.


    As I walk back to the table that holds the mess of singing Krampus and one very drunk American teacher, I can not get the look out of my mind. He was frightening but also there is a beauty to his features, almost unworldly. I sit down next to Gabe who I can tell is ready to leave. ¡°How did you fail to charm the dark broody Krampus?¡± I never fail.


    ¡°He didn''t say anything so I guess he doesn¡¯t understand English,¡± I shrug.


    ¡°Well you walking over there was enough for Oliver to decide to chug both the beer he got himself and you in the few minutes you were at the bar. That guy looks creepy. Like he dresses up like this every day not just for Krampusnacht. Also, did he smell you?¡± I couldn¡¯t even try to respond to this. ¡°I didn''t realize he was so morose-looking until he turned to look at you. I didn¡¯t mean to get you tangled up with anyone interested in bondage.¡±


    I chuckle at this. ¡°Seriously, stop. Yes, he looks like he should be in a biker bar but I can handle my own. You forget we live in the city and deal with scum at bars all the time. He¡¯s just a surly small town boy.¡±