Krampusnacht, or Krampus Night, is a celebration that dates back hundreds of years to Europe, where it was popular in Germany. It was suppressed for years, being forbidden at times by the Catholic Church, as well as by fascists in Europe during World War II.
The day is based on Krampus, a mythical beast that is half-demon and half-goat. Characteristically similar to some creatures in Greek mythology, it has fangs, horns, cowbells on its waist, and a switch made of birch sticks meant for whipping or swatting naughty children. On December 5th, Krampusnacht, Krampus descends with his beating switches and sack for all the naughty children. Krampus comes but once each year to each family.
"You girls need to clean up after yourselves, you are supposed to be grownups but the second you are in my house you are nothing but NAUGHTY CHILDREN!"
I was surveying the wreckage of my living room, and the pile of laundry from the dryer spilled casually onto the utility room floor because my daughter wanted a specific sweatshirt for her walk with her older sister, and the rest of the clean laundry is now scattered across the floor, some in the cat box.
My two daughters snickered and smirked, immune in the way of teenagers to cleaning related stresses.
Kate the elder taunted "What are you going to do, tell Santa on us?"
Alice smirked "You know you can't return anything you bought during Covid anyway, so we are still getting our presents."
Sometimes her practicality irritated me as much as her older sisters sass.
Today was December 5th, and I was planning on giving them their chocolate letters (a Deutsch custom to give chocolates to the children the Krampus didn't come for) but now I was mad.
"Tonight is Krampusnacht, and it won't be Santa I tell about your wickedness. It will be Krampus." I said "Mark my words, when he comes for you with his hooves and horns, with his birch switches and sack for naughty girls, you won't be laughing"
They had been raised on the old stories and for a second they felt fear, but then modern sensibilities let them scoff it off. Yet, as they withdrew, they cast furtive glances at the straw Yule goat on the TV, imagining now the horns on something more fierce and less safe.
I got over my anger at them about as swiftly as it arose. Being a redhead from birth I learned of my capacity for lightning mood swings and drama, the same that made Kate so much of a pain in my ass and constant source of strife between us. I learned to let go and admit my over reactions. I had put it behind me and when the girls had finally exhausted themselves playing some online game involving imposters or murder or something, I changed into my Mrs Klaus outfit.
I wasn't going out in public, so it was the cooler version (what Alice called my Slutty Santa costume, but the one for Girl Guide events was for outdoor winter activities and super sweaty around the house).
There was a fire in the fireplace, I had poured a generous brandy for myself as a reward for remembering the girls Chocolate letters. I was happy and smiling when I heard the sound.
Hooves. Stomping hooves, like great horses coming up the lane. There was a fog, terrible and cold, so thick and white I could scarce make out my neighbor's step across the lane. Inside the fog moved shadows flickering beneath torches.
There was another sound. Bells. Great cow bells sounded, with some sort of roaring, not like men. Deeper. Like a mix between bull and bear. The shadows stomped closer and fear filled me.
It was the Krampus. They marched in column of two down the lane, roaring as they came. How can I describe the atavistic terror and something else they inspire? Taller than men, yet strangely hunched on their goat legs. A great pack for wicked children was on their back, and great cow bells swung at their neck and from their wrists.
The wrists were thick, bound by cold iron bands from which dangled slave chains with dragging collars for the ones they will lead away. In the right hand were bundles of birch switches for the beating of naughty children.
The great goat horned head made the Christian Satan look like a much safer bet. Goat faced, with a long serpent tongue lolling and whipping in the air, its teeth flashed and snapped angrily, below burning, almost blazing eyes that showed all the hunger in the world, and no scrap of mercy. Their chests were soft furred like rabbits, over muscles hard and sculpted like a woman's wet dream of men, yet between their legs swung the cock of some beast. Like a bull or stallion, it hung in ridiculous potency like a threat and a promise combined. There was little doubt the punishment for wickedness could indeed be more than simple switching.
I watched as they came, stopping at my neighbors. One Krampus stalked in, the door slamming open at the touch of his hoof. From inside, not one parent awakened, but both boys screamed their lungs out as I heard the sound of switches. The little one went into to the sack, Timmy, and I saw the look of despair as his face alone stood out of the sack in tear filled misery. Tommy, the elder brother was collared on the lead chain of the Krampus, who yanked him forward, and lashed him mercilessly to keep the pace.
One stopped and turned at my door. I slammed it shut, and pressed myself against it. I screamed out.
"There are no wicked children here!" Regretting my words, I loved my daughters and would do anything to protect them.
The clanging of goat bells and stomping of hooves sounded the death knell of my hopes as they clopped up my steps.
