Becoming Krampus

“I’m cold,” the five year old girl shivered as he hoisted her onto his back in the backpack that he carried her up the snow drifted road in. The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping into single digits quickly. The wind chill was well below zero when you factored in the 35 mile per hour wind in their face. They had about two miles and 400 feet of elevation gain to get to the house, where hopefully they would find the morning fire had kept warm long enough to provide them some relief. 

“Where are your mittens?” He asked, noticing that her hands were bare while he grabbed the rope tied to the sled filled with a bail of hay for the goats, some groceries and five gallons of drinking water. 

“I don’t know,” she nearly cried. 

“Tuck your hands into your sleeves and press close against me to stay warm,” he instructed as he began to shuffle his snow shoes one in front of the other looking for their packed snow path that was obscured by the new drifts of snow. The effort brought remnants of his after work beer up with a loud burp. 

“What was that?” the little girl’s voice asked. 

“It’s the burps in the trees,” he said, seizing the opportunity to distract her from the cold. 

“Trees don’t burp,” she said with all the incredulity that a kindergarten can muster. 

“Maybe it was Krampus then?” he pivoted. 

“Who’s Krampus?” she asked. 

“You don’t know Krampus?” he responded with excitement. “Krampus is the goat that comes to take away the children on Santa’s naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa,” she chirped back. 

“Who told you that?” he said. 

“The brothers. And Parker from school,” she replied smartly. 

“Where do all those presents come from then?” he snipped back. 

“There’s no goat that comes,” she parried the questions about presents. “Santa has reindeer, not goats.” 

“Brothers,” she shouted into the wind at the two figures breaking trail under the weight of their school bags a little further up the hill. “There’s a goat that is going to get you if Santa says you’re bad.” 

“What?” came the response from the closest, smaller figure. The boys used the distraction to take advantage of a spot on the climb that was sheltered from the wind. The man, child and sled caught up to them quickly. 

“There’s a goat that comes if you’ve been bad,” the little girl repeated as the group came together. The boys, ages nine and 11, looked at her with a hint of disdain. 

“What are you talking about?” queried the nine year old impatiently. 

“He’s Krampus,” the little girl explained. 

“There’s no such thing,” said the nine-year-old dismissively. 

“How do you know?” asked the man. 

“Cause there’s no,” The child caught himself, aware of the potential implications about what he was about to say. 

“No what?” questioned the man. 

“Nothing,” the nine year old conceded. His older brother entered the verbal fray. 

“People would know if there was a goat that came for bad children,” the oldest boy posted. 

“Perhaps,” said the man. “But in other parts of the world, for centuries the people have been telling stories of the Krampus on the coldest, darkest nights of the year.” 

The boys tried to read the situation, not sure where the man was going with this. 

“I even read a book that said Santa is Odin and Krampus is Loki and they are the old Viking gods having some Christmas fun.”

“Let’s get up the hill before we freeze,” the man continued. “After we feed the animals and ourselves I’ll tell you more about Krampus by the fire.” 

The fire roared in the stove later that evening. Noses had thawed, snowshoeing gear was hung up to dry for the 5:30 a.m. trek back down the hill to work and school. 

“So, what about this Krampus?” the nine year old queried in his awkward way. 

“Fill your water glass and brush your teeth so I can give the rest of the water to the dogs and then come over and we’ll talk about it,” the man responded. 

“And boys, please help me remember to ask your mom for some extra gloves for all of you so we can keep a spare set in the truck,” he continued. A few minutes later, the three kids cuddled up around him by the fire. 

“I thought Jesus was the reason for the season,” began the oldest boy. 

“I’ve heard that too,” nodded the man. 

“Then why is there even Santa? Much less a goat thing,” the boy asked. 

“That’s a legit question,” said the man. “Santa Claus is a part of Yule, which historically was a Viking celebration.” 

“We’re Vikings,” beamed the nine year old. “Our dad even says that our family is Viking royalty,” he glowed. 

“All the more reason for you to know about Yule I suppose,” admitted the man. “Some say that Santa Claus is actually Odin and that his ride across the sky is inspired by the stories of Odin leading The Wild Hunt across the Winter sky.”

“Christians don’t believe in Odin,” interrupted the 11-year-old. “Why do they celebrate Santa then?”

“That’s true,” admitted the man. “When the Christians began to convert people from the pagan traditions to Christianity, it is said that they incorporated many of the people’s traditions into their Christian celebrations to make people feel more comfortable with their new religion. That’s why in the winter we have tales of Saint Nicholas."

“So Santa is St. Nicholas? I thought he was Odin,” the 11-year-old was exasperated. 

“Combining cultures can be tricky I suppose,” said the man. “I imagine that it’s not a perfect art.” 

“That’s Santa though,” said the little girl. “What about the Krampus?”

“Odin isn’t the only figure that people told stories about on the cold Winter nights. All across Europe, the old traditions had ghost stories that they told during the cold dark of Winter.” 

“There are all kinds of stories that were told. In Scandinavia the Nisse is a little gnome that would cause all sorts of trouble if it came to a house and there wasn’t a bowl of porridge topped with butter waiting for it. Frau Perchta was a gross old witch in Germany that would slit naughty people open and fill their belly with straw. In Iceland there’s a Yule Cat that will eat you if you don’t get new socks by Christmas. Mari Lwyd is a horse that would have rhyming battles with the owners of homes so it could come inside.” 

“A rapping horse,” the 11-year-old rolled with laughter. “Who believes in a rapping horse?”

“Who believes in Santa?” the man shot back with a knowing look. “They’re stories. Some are fun and some are scary. Some are about good people and some are about bad. Just like any story.” 

“Some are about Krampus,” the little girl chimed in again. 

“Indeed they are,” agreed the man. “When the Christians incorporated Austrian and German folklore into their traditions they made Krampus into the opposite of Saint Nicholas. The night before Saint Nicholas comes, the Krampus arrives to wreak havoc on all of the naughty boys and girls. He hits them with a birch stick and if they have been really bad he puts them into his magic sack and takes them away.”

“It’s time for you little ones to get to bed. Make sure to leave your doors open so the heat from the fire keeps your room warm,” the man instructed. 

“What if Krampus comes?” the little girl paused. 

“He won’t come tonight,” assured the man. “He doesn’t come until Krampusnaucht.” 

“When’s Krampusnaucht?” The nine year old stumbled over the pronunciation. 

“Not until Dec. 5. That’s when they have the huge Krampus parades all over Bavaria and people dress up like Krampus and march through the streets. In the mean-time, the only goat demon we have to deal with is our Billy. Remember to give him a wide berth while he’s rutting. I ran across him tonight and he’s a bit crazy. Goodnight you two, I’ll be in in a little while to tuck you in.” 

The man filled the fireplace with logs to ensure it would burn through the night. The oldest boy regarded him thoughtfully. 

“Do you believe in Odin?” The boy queried. 

“As much as I believe in any god,” the man responded. 

“You believe in Jesus?” the boy asked. 

“Of course I do,” said the man. “I have learned much about how to treat people from the stories of Jesus. He’s my primary inspiration for how to be compassionate, caring and kind.”

“Why don’t we go to church then?” The boy probed. “Why do people who go to church still celebrate Santa Claus and Yule if they are pagan traditions?”

“Legit questions,” the man thought out loud. “I don’t have answers for those. For me though, anything that can inspire a person to live a bit better is worth believing in. Whether it is the traditions of Yule or the teachings of Jesus or anything else that inspires people to treat each other with love, kindness and respect.” 

“You don’t really like Santa do you?” asked the boy. 

“What makes you say that?” asked the man, surprised. 

“I can tell. It’s not your thing,” the boy replied. 

“That’s true,” the man admitted. “My parents abused Santa,” he continued. “They spent all kinds of money they couldn’t afford to give everyone gifts they didn’t need under the guise of Santa. Everyone knew it, but no one would stop them and it had a bad impact on our family financially. I guess for that reason, Santa and I don’t really get along.” 

“What about Krampus?” The boy asked. 

“What about him?” responded the man. 

“Do you get along with him?” the boy 

“What are you getting at?” the man responded. 

“What if instead of celebrating Santa, we celebrated Krampus? We could be Krampus for the Christmas Stroll through town and maybe even raise some money to help with our goat rescue,” the boy laid out the beginnings of his plan with excitement in his voice. 

“That could be fun,” admitted the man. “In the mean-time, we should get to bed. Five thirty is going to get here fast and we’re going to have to break through the drifts on our way to the truck in the morning.” 

A little over a week later, a mischievous goat demon and his minions made their first appearance at the Ennis Christmas Stroll and raised about $50 to help feed the nine goats the man and the children had rescued and nursed back to health.