《Krampus & Cocoa: A cozy Christmas romantasy novella》 1. 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. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°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. 2. 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. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. 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. 3. 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. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°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.¡± 4. Stars & Steel When Oliver fell backwards while overenthusiastically singing one of the drinking songs, Gabe and I decided to bid night to our new friends. We walk quietly through the dusting of snow under the starlight as we drag Oliver back to the hotel. ¡°I actually have been enjoying the holiday spirit of this town. I could live with this type of Christmas.¡± ¡°I''m not surprised. You would be the type to turn more festive when a holiday has wicked beasts involved in it.¡± ¡°Seriously. This type of holiday is beautiful, intentional, handmade. Not over-commercialized or overzealous like my family. Here it seems like you can enjoy the little things. The lights, the good humor, the being together.¡± I am such a Scrooge about the holidays. My family is over the top during the holidays in the worst way. They suddenly become fervent Catholics and at the same time max out their credit cards. When I was younger and my grandmother was still with us, it was different. There were handmade traditions she made us all do together. We all joined begrudgingly but I secretly loved it. With her passing, we lost this magic. My dad and I try to recreate her holiday picana but it is never the same. It also doesn¡¯t help that now I am the only single one in my extended family and most family gatherings consist of my aunties trying to hook me up with their friend¡¯s nephew or their neighbor¡¯s godson. I am glad to be living a few hours away from my family and only come to town for the day but that also makes the rest of the holiday season lonely. In the past, I would spend time with my friends but they have slowly coupled up and started their own families. For the past few years it was just Gabe and I. Though I wonder if that will happen this year. The relationship Gabe is in has gotten very serious recently despite him denying it. The holidays have become an expensive and stressful time I try to avoid. ¡°I¡¯m going to stay outside a bit longer. I just can¡¯t get over these stars.¡± They are pulsating over the mountains, brighter than I had ever seen. As if the stars knew the fate of the night. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°So I get to pour this sack of a human into bed by myself?¡± ¡°I talked to the creepy Krampus.¡± ¡°That was for your own good. But yes, maybe it¡¯s best you don¡¯t help this drowning fish get into bed as he might pull you in right after.¡± ¡°Thanks, bestie.¡± I walk back towards town and sit on a park bench. I drop my head back to take in the night sky. The twinkling of snow and stars fill my vision. I breathe deeply. I lost track of time when someone sits down at the other end of the bench. Another Krampus. He looks with intrigue at me. His hair is long and white, coming perfectly down around his horns to his broad shoulders. His almost perfect face smiles coyly at me. He also looks quite drunk. ¡°The stars are beautiful this time of year. But you are shining more brightly than any star in the sky.¡± he said in a thick accent. I roll my eyes loudly at this. As he inches closer, I decide his handsome features outweigh his horrible pick up line. The wine and the vibe of the town overtake my rational brain and I decide he might not be a bad one-nighter. ¡°Hello, I''m Aloysius. And you are?¡± Before I can decide if and how I want to respond, he continued ¡°A dream, I know. What would it take for a small town boy like me to share a drink with a beautiful American woman like you?¡± I snort. How many tourists did that line work on? ¡°What do you think of Krampusnacht? Did it leave you feeling a little bit, what do you call it, horny?¡± his eyes now were less playful. He moves closer. His eyes now move from my face down over my body. I didn''t like this look. The initial primitive interest in him due to alcohol and hormones evaporates. I start to feel on edge. There is something more than just his cheesy pickups and eerie smile. Something cold and unsettling about him. A metallic cold that I can smell. He had gotten that close to me. As he puts his hand on my leg, I stand up reflexively. I feel uncomfortable now and it only intensifies as I feel a dark cold come up behind me. Like the one I felt in the bar. The white haired man¡¯s face turns from desire to disgust as he is now looking over me. I slowly clench my hands into fists and turn my head, keeping an eye on the man on the bench while also looking at the figure behind me. Curses. 5. Ice & Innate A bolt of fear goes through me as I recognize the dark Krampus I flirted with in the bar. I am between two men that both feel wrong. I take a step back away from both of them. No one moves. On my second step back, I slip on ice I had not noticed before and fall forward into the dark Krampus. He grabs me ever so gently to break my fall and holds me upright. The coldness he exudes feels warmer in his arms. Like the warmth of freshly fallen snow. He smells like that too. Fresh snow and the spice of pine. ¡°I was wondering where you went. I am glad I found you.¡± I try to catch up with the words he is saying but am still caught on the rumble and sincerity of his voice. ¡°I wanted to apologize. I¡¯m sorry I upset you in the bar.¡± I look into those black eyes sparkling of gold. I can¡¯t tell if he is lying or telling the truth but I can see he is trying to help me. Help me with whatever is going on here. ¡°I¡­¡± Lost for words, I stammer. Unsure which of these two men I should trust. Or my gut instinct to trust neither of them. ¡°She¡¯s with you?¡± snarls the white haired Krampus. ¡°She just got into town. There is no way.¡± The gold twinkles in the eyes of the man still holding me. He puts an arm over my shoulder and pulls me close to him. I don''t know if it is the wine from earlier or his warmth on the cold winter night but I sink deeper into his arm. Completely ignoring the white haired one who introduced himself as Aloysius, he continues, ¡°Let''s walk somewhere more pleasant.¡± He directs me away from the bench. I let him. Once we are a few paces away from the bench, he whispers softly, ¡°I don''t know what kind of person you are, but I do know him and you don''t want to take him to bed.¡± His lips are so close to my ear I can feel his warm breath. As we walk away, I hear Aloysius shouting what sounds like a string of profanities in another language. I know enough curses in German to say this sounded different. More ancient. He walks me across the square to the main street in town where the parade came through earlier tonight. We wander through the closed market stalls, under the twinkling lights hanging overhead.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°I presume you are staying at Hotel Bavaria?¡± With his question I realize we are on the opposite side of town from the hotel. Seeing my surprise, he calmly continues, ¡°I took you on a little diversion so he couldn''t track you down. Until you leave, try to avoid going out so late alone.¡± I try to keep my thoughts focused on what he is saying but the fatigue and alcohol muddle my mind. Not to mention the lightheadedness I am feeling from being so close to his body as he holds me tight to his side. The lights, the stars, the warmth of another human¡¯s embrace. The small things I am enjoying in this moment. All I can do is nod in response. Time seems slow as we walk quietly through the quaint side streets, starlight overhead. My heart keeps hoping he will stop me outside one of the townhouses we are walking by and invite me inside. I wonder what he is thinking. Why spend his night walking a drunk stranger, a tourist nonetheless, back to their hotel with no ill intent. We turn a corner and I see the hotel ahead. As we get closer, I finally get the warm mess of my brain to string words together. ¡°Thank you for¡­ walking me back. I could have handled him myself though.¡± That''s not what I mean to say but my naturally defensive bite of course appears. It is the exterior I give everyone, so why not the random stranger that smells so beautifully like snow and pines? He smirks. Amused by my attempt to appear tough. I probably look like a mess at this hour. Obviously not convincing. ¡°I know. I can smell your abilities. Complex and strong. But like any of us, it''s hard to use them when you are drunk. As you exemplified by slipping on the ice you created.¡± I am not following what he is saying, not because of the alcohol but as I don¡¯t understand what he is talking about. ¡°Unless that was intentional, to slip into my arms.¡± His eyes twinkle with laughter at some joke that I am not in on. These guys and smelling. It must be a mountain man thing. Mountain men with horns thing. While I want to return that jest about me slipping into his arms with a sexy comeback, my mind can not get over the comment that I made the ice. ¡°I didn''t make that ice patch. And why are you so stuck on smelling me?¡± ¡°Are you not¡­¡± and he trails off, thinking better of whatever question he was about to say. He seems more perplexed by my statement than I of his. ¡°Seriously, everywhere I have been today, you just keep showing up.¡± Once again not what I want to say but my tough girl act just won¡¯t drop. ¡°If I remember correctly, you approached me at the bar.¡± ¡°And you smelled me!¡± His face reveals nothing. Like I was the one with wild accusations. I put my hands over my face and take a breath. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I do not mean to accuse you of anything. It''s been a long day. I think I should go. Once again thank you.¡± ¡°It was my honor, Queen of Ice.¡± 6. Coffee & Chronicles The next morning Gabe and I get up early to go to one of the cafes for breakfast. He noticed it yesterday and made me promise no matter how late we were out last night that I would join him. It is quite empty compared to the bustle of the town yesterday. As our waiter comes over, we ask him why the lack of customers this morning. ¡°The festivities of Krampusnacht often keep people in bed a little bit longer this morning.¡± He laughed. ¡°You really take this holiday quite seriously around here?¡±. ¡°It''s fun. But for some of the older generation, especially of those who grew up in these small mountain communities, they take it quite seriously. Krampus was a constant fear in their childhood. The story is that Krampus steals away bad children. Some people still believe Krampus live up in the mountains, hidden away by the snow-capped peaks of their mountain lairs.¡± ¡°Some of your townsfolk were pretty serious with their costumes. The ornate wooden masks.¡± ¡°And the ones that just wear horns without masks.What do they do - glue the horns on their scalp? I saw a few guys like that.¡± ¡°You did? Are you sure it wasn''t a true Krampus?¡± His voice joked but his eyes shone a more serious question. ¡°I wouldn''t know a true one from a fake one. They all were pretty scary to me, especially the ones with real whips.¡± We all laugh at that. He pours us coffee and unprompted continues, ¡°While the legend tells of a demon that punishes bad children, the opposite of St Nicholas, some believe that the Krampus are a gatekeeper to the magical realms. They are demons who turned good. Their old habits are the ones that persist in folklore but for some reason they have better intentions now. Or maybe their acts are hardly evil when compared to the other magical beings hidden in the shadows of the mountains. Some say they keep peace in the mountains - prevent avalanches and the evil of alps that live in the high mountains. Most agree they have magical abilities and can create snowstorms.¡± He is gazing wistfully towards the mountains as he speaks. In his pause he turns back to us. ¡°Or I suppose we are just storytellers and always love to add a twist to the classics.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°What are alps?¡± Gabe asks. His love of history is intertwined with his love of folklore. ¡°Ah yes. I believe the English term is elves. The ones that bloom the delicate spring alpine flowers. Most tales describe them as playful creatures full of magic. But when the flowers die in the fall, they become feral and bloodthirsty. They need human sacrifice so the tales say. Supposedly the Krampus keep them at bay and in turn get blamed for any evil. Or most of our generation blames wolves.¡± He smiles. ¡°Now, what can I bring you for breakfast?¡± Once the waiter is out of earshot, Gabe teases me. ¡°You think that creepy guy at the bar was a real Krampus?¡± ¡°No.¡± Gabe sees I hesitate in my response and lifts an eyebrow at me. ¡°Well¡­ last night after I left you at the hotel, I wandered around town. I met another guy that looked just as creepy as the one in the bar, no actually he was more sleazy than creepy. Anyways, he also wore horns, no mask. He was getting a little too close for comfort and at that exact moment the broody, dark Krampus from the bar showed up, acting like a complete gentleman and offered to walk me back to my hotel. Okay, I know that''s not too abnormal but aside from showing up on cue, he was also talking to me about¡­ well I don¡¯t even know what he was talking about. But something secret he thought I was in on. That I knew about. I know I sound out of my mind right now. So of course the fables the waiter just spun seem to align with the odd conversation I heard last night.¡± ¡°I think you need more caffeine. Need I remind you that you had plenty of wine by that time of night?¡± I laugh but know that part of the night was clear in my mind. Thankfully, our waiter arrives with our orders and I shove food in my mouth so I don¡¯t need to explain further. I sip on my coffee while running through everything from last night. Did I actually hear everything correctly? Or maybe it was a difference in language. ¡°What are you dreaming about, Isa?¡± ¡°Sorry. I didn''t hear - what did you say?¡± ¡°I was asking if you want another coffee. I¡¯ll take that to mean you need an espresso, probably a double shot.¡± 7. Trees & Taunts Obligated by the fact we are supposed to be teaching, Gabe leads a historical walking tour of town. How he knows all this - either he planned in advance or is making it up as he goes. I notice he seems to be particularly drawn to the historical markers affixed to most buildings. As Gabe is going on about some battle and the quasi significance to this town, I take in the scenery. Gabled roofs covered in lights, wooden balconies covered in pine boughs, shop fronts decorated with baubles and ribbons. The market, just a block away, is already bustling but calm. Music is drifting slowly from the distance. The serene town is completely different from the town of last night. As I trail behind the group, I try to find the small alpine lake we plan to walk to this afternoon. I scan the massive expanse of mountains surrounding the town. There are peaks as far as I can see. Since the lake is supposedly walkable from town, I shift my gaze more on the horizon between buildings. As the group ahead turns down a side street, I follow but I look the opposite direction in hopes to see the lake down the cross street. ¡°Oof.¡± I say as I walk into a wall. A soft wall. A person. Seriously Isa, wake up. ¡°I''m so sorry¡­.¡± ¡°Damn American tourists not watching where they go.¡± The person mutters in English, obviously for me to hear. I am about to apologize again but I suddenly recognize who I walked into. I chortle softly in disbelief. ¡°It seems you are watching a little too closely where I go. Or did you just happen to catch my scent coming from nearby?¡± He still didn¡¯t look at me, busying himself with the front page of a newspaper from the rack outside a kiosk. But I can tell he is doing a horrible job at hiding a grin. He gives no response but finally looks down at me. There is no recognition of me in his eyes. Curses. He looks exactly like the Krampus with dark hair from last night but obviously not the same person. He doesn¡¯t have his horns. Of course he doesn¡¯t have horns, I tell myself. Mercy, I need more caffeine. Or sleep. ¡°I''m so sorry, I thought you were someone else¡­ I¡¯m obviously a bit distracted today.¡± But as his face turns fully to me, I see his impressive silver scar that curls around his eyes. Those endless black eyes. ¡°Oh, good morning Ice Queen. I didn''t realize it was you. You look a little more¡­ put together.¡± Obviously I was a disaster last night. Though I feel no better this morning, I guess I had on clean clothes and combed my hair. I want to ask if he meant that I smell better than last night but decide better of it. He¡¯d probably use the quip against me. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°I should be saying the same to you. I see you put your horns and claws away.¡± I say as I casually take a long look down to his hands, pausing briefly on his chest and arms. He is wearing a plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, and top buttons undone. His scent of pine and snow tickles my nose. Curses. He¡¯s going to tell me he owns a christmas tree farm or something very hallmark-movie-esque. ¡°I do enjoy dressing up for Krampusnacht but it is not my everyday look.¡± I wonder if he heard Gabe¡¯s concerns in the bar. ¡°Try to look a little more put together when I''m working.¡± My eyes question him which he recognizes. And responds to. ¡°I have a tree farm. I just delivered a load of trees to my friend who has that stand over there.¡± He points to a Christmas tree stall at the end of the market a few blocks away. I see a man setting up trees that are in a pile behind the stall. He was not making this up. As I slowly turn back to him I see little pine needles sticking out of his flannel in places. I absentmindedly pick a clump of needles off his shoulder, as if I need palpable proof. He is really a walking holiday story. I need him to pull away from my touch, turn from my social awkwardness. Something to keep me from swooning over this tough-exterior but absolute gentleman of a Christmas tree farmer. Instead, he leans in and whispers to me. ¡°What about you, Ice Queen, in what occupation do you find yourself with those icy powers?¡± I melt on the inside. After a moment to clear my mind, I reflect on the question. Was he calling me an icy bitch or was he continuing down this weird obsession that I can make my own ice? I choose the former. ¡°My icy personality is well used as a middle school teacher.¡± He laughs but he narrows his eyes, searching me for more. He really means the latter. I keep my stare, curious about his institance I have the ability to create ice. ¡°Isa!¡± The moment is broken as I hear Oliver call my name and look up the street where Oliver is waiting for me, the group already moved on. ¡°Isa? It is a pleasure to meet you, Isa.¡± Oliver calls again. ¡°I think your friend is calling you.¡± This seems to irk him. ¡°He¡¯s not¡­ he¡¯s a coworker.¡± I fluster over my assumption of what he is implying. I am falling apart in front of him and I don¡¯t even know his name. My heart pounding, ¡°If I want to find you again, intentionally, can I call you?¡± His dark eyes soften and sparkle gold. I feel the warmth of last night, the warmth of after a fresh snow. He does not give me a phone number. ¡°You can ask anyone in town for me. Ask for Reinmar. But you can call me Remme.¡± I want to say something more. Something poetic. Something witty, or even cloy. But the silence seems stronger than anything I can say. I push away a stray strand of his brown-black marled hair that falls in front of his eye and my fingers burn with the touch. He tries to hide a soft guttural sigh. Oliver calls a third time. As I walk away, I glance back just to confirm that he is real. Remme. A name to the man who haunted my dreams last night. He walks into the shop, apparently to buy the paper he was reading and behind him leaves a trail of snow on the sidewalk. On a blue sky day. 8. Poems & A Pocket Knife ¡°I know at the end of the trip we are planning on staying in Munich for a few days after the students leave, but what if we came back here?¡± ¡°I''m not helping you snag a broody Bavarian Christmas tree farmer that enjoys dressing up in horns,¡± Gabe snorts. ¡°But I¡¯ll buy you a one-way bus ticket.¡± ¡°You can''t deny he''s dreamy.¡± ¡°It''s a bad mix of a sappy Christmas movie and your shadow daddy fetish.¡± ¡°I''m totally down for being a more festive person if I woke up with him for Christmas. And don''t deny your love for chintzy romance, Mr. I¡¯m-dating-an-indie-bookstore-owner.¡± Gabe rolls his eyes at me. We are at the back of the group, catching any stragglers, as we hike up to the alpine lake. I have been talking about the morning encounter with Remme the whole time. Oliver, thankfully, was leading the hike, stopping every so often to read a German poem or paragraph from a book related to the beautiful alpine environment. Often glancing at me, as if the words were for me not the group. I will give him credit for being persistent despite the amount of times I directly told him ¡®no¡¯. ¡°If you are really getting desperate, I''m sure Oliver would make himself available. Even dressing up - if that¡¯s how you like it.¡± I groan. I think about Gabe and our friendship. I liked him right from the start. He is always willing to be honest and we support each other¡¯s wild plans. He sees right through the tough girl persona I often put up and I see through his always-put-together exterior. Deep down inside he really is an ass. It has been a while since we''d actually been able to spend time together outside of work. His current relationship turned serious fast. I wonder if he will even be leading this trip next year. The path takes us into a pine forest near the far end of the lake. It narrows a bit from a ravine on the side opposite of the lake. Here, magic sits in the air. Snow is lightly covering branches and the ground next to the path. Sun filters in between the boughs and dances in the air. I dream about what a Bavarian Christmas tree farm would look like as we walk along a real life winter wonderland forest. The forest is hushed in silence, aside from the occasional songbird. A finch or a tit? My grandmother would have known. The sun reflects off the lake, a surface that is completely still. We come out of the forest and come to a small waterfall. Oliver is reciting a poem - a very sensual poem written about lakes, of course - without dropping his eyes from me. The teens take the time to eat a snack but are very much aware of the looks Oliver is giving to me. I am flushing from embarrassment which everyone, including Oliver, is misinterpreting as desire. I try to avoid his gaze by suddenly becoming very busy looking for something in my backpack. What did I even pack in here? I was in such a rush packing my bags this morning I hardly paid attention. An apple. All the yarn I bought along with the knitting needles I found unintentionally packed in my suitcase. A pocket knife I use more for cutting yarn than anything else. I shove that in my pants pocket to keep myself looking busy. I sort through the rest of the knicknacks in here as Gabe laughs at me, knowing my intentions.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°Just can¡¯t seem to find what you need? Looking for a shovel to dig yourself a hole to hide in?¡± I just grumble at him. I finally find what I need once Oliver is heading back down the trail. One of the parents tells him to pick up the pace as we are due back on the bus soon. Thankfully this means no more poems. The sun is dropping quickly in late afternoon. I am fuming in the rear with Gabe, he is keeping me back so the students can¡¯t hear me bitch. The group slows where the trail narrows in the forest but one of the girls in front of us does not seem to notice. She is too busy taking pictures and bumps into the boy in front of her. She tries to catch herself by stepping off the trail but misplaces her foot and slides down the sharp drop off. Thankfully she grabs the pines growing out of the side of the cliff and is only a few feet below us but it causes a commotion and she screams in fear. Gabe and I climb down to get her untangled from the tree. It appears she twisted her ankle in her fall so Gabe slowly climbs back up with her as I try to collect her belongings. Her backpack is halfway down the ravine but easy enough for me to get. I wave Gabe ahead as I know it will take him some time to walk her down to the bus. Her jacket, phone, water bottle and backpack are scattered over the cliff face. I scale down easily thanks to a sudden interest in rock climbing I developed a few years ago. A sudden interest spurred by a love interest. In the ravine, the afternoon light has already left. I am searching for her items in the increasing darkness. I collect her backpack and put all her loose items in as I feel a chill come across the ravine. Probably from the encroaching darkness I think to myself but the hairs stand up on my neck as if I sense something more. As I start the ascent, I look up towards the ridge where the trail should be. All the students must have stopped gawking and headed down the trail as I don¡¯t see anyone. I only make it a step further when a stone I was using for leverage gives out. I topple down further into the ravine, thankfully able to stop myself by grabbing on a tree. It is getting dark and cold fast. The snow is also deeper down here which means less traction. Nothing I have not scaled before so I find a foothold and push my weight up. It is eerily silent now. Something moves behind me and I whip my head around. Nothing. No paw prints or disturbed snow. Something darts between the trees in the shadows. I slowly put down the student¡¯s backpack and take out my pocket knife. I fumble open the blade so thankful but terrified that this likely is worthless if there is a wolf down here. Or an alp the back of my mind says. The forest is dark and dead silent. I hear Gabe calling my name from far off. I back up the cliff a little. I find no more obvious foot holds and glance back at my feet for a few seconds. I can¡¯t see anything in the darkness. Curses. I dig with my foot for something and this distraction is enough for whatever is pursuing me as I hear bodies rush towards me and pull me down into their grasp. I try to scream but already there is a hand over my mouth. Not beast, human. But not exactly human. I squirm but their hold on me gets harder so I start stabbing anything, everything with my pocket knife. There is blood all over my hands and dripping into the snow but they don¡¯t stop. One of them wrestles the knife out of my hand. I can¡¯t tell how many there are. All I can see is white hair. Dark clothes. As we get deeper into the ravine, the world goes black.