When I was young, my family would always gather together at the ancestral manor home for Christmas. My family is and has always been a part of the upper crust of society, as a few of my more…let’s say spoiled aunts would like to say.
Where was I? Oh, Christmas. We would gather together and spend the last two weeks of the year together. Celebrating Christmas and the new year, before we would go our separate ways and I would not see a majority of them again until Thanksgiving.
Unless some great emergency pulled all of us together, the last one of those was the death of great-grandmother. The tradition was older than I was, and I always looked forward to Christmas when I was a child. The manor was always so breathtakingly beautiful at Christmas, decorated from one end to the other.
The smell of cookies and cakes seemed to always waft throughout the house, the clinking of dishes and boisterous laughter from the kitchen while Christmas dinner was being cooked. The snow sparkled inches and feet deep in spots just begging to be played in, woods to explore and play in.
My cousins and I would often slide down the manors’ long hallways in our socks falling, slipping, and laughing all the way. That usually ended up with one of us either crashing into something or getting hurt. Or breaking something and getting scolded by an adult for at least fifteen minutes. I think the worst that ever happened was one of us broke an arm and he had to go to the hospital and he spent Christmas in a cast.
Those memories are so precious, and I treasure them deeply. However, I cannot say I miss the manor, not now. Now that it is the place I lost my innocence. The tale I am about to weave may sound like pure fiction to any who hears or read this, but believe me nothing else but this, it is the truth.
Keep yourself in your cocoon of false safety, if it pleases you. Keep your ignorance, but this is the truth. Two decades of growth, the pains of puberty, and a King’s ransom spent on therapy, hypnosis, Shamans, and every spiritual remedy on the planet.
And not one of them has brought me any semblance of peace.
My journey began on a snowy December eve, 4 days from that most magical of nights. That year my best friend Caroline and her mother had come along with my family for Christmas. The day had been filled with joy and laughter, we’d played in the hills of snow all day and long into the evening.
We meaning Caroline and me, along with my horde of cousins, and some kid we found in the street (my brother) played in the woods bordering the back end of the property. We played games in the woods not minding the danger of being in the forest so near dusk.
We played there until my Great - Grandfather who’d been born in Germany and only came to the states when he was Four, he was now pushing ninety-one. But, he was still, to quote my Grandmother, ‘spry as a banny roster.’ He called us away from the woods, telling us it was getting too late and the woods were too thick and it was getting too dark to explore them today.
Hearing our groans of disappointment and the general sounds of a group of young, curious children being denied an adventure. Great-Grandfather smiled and with the patience of a saint, he reminded us we would be there for two solid weeks and we would have plenty of time to go exploring when there was more light.
He shooed us back into the snow where we continued to play under his watchful eyes.
We were called into the house late into the evening, the sun was finishing its descent below the skyline. The adults rushed all the children into separate bathrooms in the expansive manor home. When we were washed and dressed in a new pair of warm footie Christmas pajamas (another tradition).
We were fed a dinner of chicken soup from scratch to chase away any lingering chills. Once we finished eating we were quickly herded into the large living area, where hot chocolate waited and platefuls of Christmas cookies waited.
We settled in for a round of Christmas movies, it was the adults’ way of trying to get the kids to calm down and unwind before bed. I hardly paid attention to the film, my attention was on Caroline. She’d been more reserved than usual, so I waited till everyone was absorbed in the movie to ask her what was wrong.
I suspected it had to do with the fact her parents were getting a divorce, Caroline had told me about it at school. Her face was wet with tears, crying about how it wasn’t fair. I knew them telling her about it so close to Christmas didn’t help.
When I suggested she write to Santa to ask him if he’d make her parents happy again, she said four words I’ll never forget. The four words that in hindsight? They changed everything.
“Santa Clause isn’t real.”
After she made that statement, I called my best friend in the entire world a liar. She shrugged and said her dad had told her after she’d handed her mother her letter to Santa. He’d Said:
“Don’t be stupid girl. There’s no Santa Clause it’s about time I told you the truth. You’re too old to believe in all that childish nonsense anyway.”
She told me about how our parents buy gifts all year round and hid them, then on Christmas morning they’ll give them to us and claim Santa brought them. I told her she was wrong and that her dad was probably highly intoxicated when he’d said that and he hadn’t meant it.
Caroline’s dad had always drunk more than he probably should, but in those last few years he had ramped it up. He’d come home to his loving wife and Daughter completely trashed.
Caroline shook her head no, shoulders slumping, even more, making her look smaller than she was. Our rather one-sided conversation dissipated from there and grew into a heated shouting match. The adults pulled us apart when Caroline lunged for me, they separated us to keep further blows from being traded.
Caroline screamed at me that I wasn’t her friend anymore, that real friends trusted each other. She screamed out her voice becoming shriller and more uncontrolled with each syllable she spat.
“I hate you! I hate you, I HATE YOUR STUPID PERFECT FAMILY! BUT MOST OF ALL I HATE CHRISTMAS!!!”
I gasped, hurt. Caroline knew how much Christmas meant to me, it was the only time of year, besides Thanksgiving I got to see my whole family. She knew this year was hard on me, she knew I was going to be missing my Great- Grandma, my nanna. This was the first Christmas without her here.
I remembered laying in my uncle’s arms near tears. He deposited me in my Great-Grandfathers lap, Papa let me bury my head into his cashmere sweater. He rubbed my back while he murmured words of comfort in German.
My Mother had discovered I was more comforted by German when I was just a baby. Papa could settle me just by talking to me, whenever I was stressed, hurt, or panicking I was quickly handed off to Papa and he was in charge of soothing me before my anxiety swallowed me.
Papa’s voice was just as strong as it had always been, and it quickly relaxed me. But there was a hint, an edge to his voice that was highly unusual. I remember looking up into his aged face, concern was etched across where his almost permanent smile should have been.
And I swore I saw a flash of terror in his weathered cerulean eyes. A family trait, everyone in the family had blue eyes, the shade and tone changed from one person to the next, but it was always blue.
“What’s wrong Great-Grandfather?”
I asked using my still-developing German, but whatever I saw fled as quickly as I’d seen it. He patted my head, smiling brightly he replied in German.
“You are improving quickly, and nothing is wrong child.”
Great-Grandfather looked over to where Caroline’s Mother was comforting her and his eyes went very distant. As if he was no longer seeing the family but something only he could. When he spoke again his voice was barely a whisper, and it came from a place very very far away.
“Nothing at all.”
*************************
That night Caroline and I stayed in the same room, as my very extensive family and the two guests filled all the rest. We slept in separate queen beds, usually, when we had sleepovers in the past we would chat quietly as we lay in bed waiting to fall asleep.
I, however, wanted to avoid any awkwardness and placed my headphones over my ears. Soft classical Christmas music played while I read my book, studiously ignoring Caroline. I usually read until it was time for bed, and right on cue I pulled my headphones off marked my place in my book, and flipped the light off.
Caroline flipped over in bed where her back was facing me, without even a goodnight. I rolled my eyes and flipped over to face the window, staring out at the pitch black. Soon after Caroline and I had our spat the wind picked up considerably and a massive blizzard descended on the house. It raged outside the manor.
My cousins were excited about the new snowfall and the prospect of exploring the woods tomorrow. The Manor’s old walls creaked and groaned against the on slot of wind and snow. The sound may have scared anyone else, but not me.
The walls and roof of the old manor had held for long before my birth, and somehow I knew they weren’t ready to give up the ghost just yet.
Feeling secure, safe, and warm I drifted off to sleep.
****************************
I don’t remember why I woke or what woke me but I blearily opened my eyes and saw complete black. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I looked to my left out of the window to see if the blizzard had subsided yet. Nope.
It wasn’t just dark outside, it was as if I were looking straight into the depths of oblivion itself. I looked around the room, the only source of light was two strands of fairy lights draped around Caroline and I’s headboards.
My eyes soon adjusted to the lack of light, looking to my right I saw Caroline was still asleep. So she hadn’t woken me, and by that age, storms didn’t bother me anymore. I quickly noticed something else, it was bitterly cold in the room.
No. Not just cold, it was bone-shattering cold. So cold I could see my breath in front of my face. I shivered and pulled my blankets tighter around me, why was it so cold? Had the heater gone off? I burrowed further under the covers, searching for warmth.
I curled in on myself, wrapped myself in a cocoon, and did anything to get warm. Finally, I found some relief, and I began to fall back asleep. I heard the wind increase in severity, and I shivered. A sound caught my attention, it was quiet.
Just above the wind, barely decipherable, almost lost in the roar of the wind. It was a quiet sound of ….bells? It sounded like a hundred bells, all tinkling together in harmony. In my half-awake state, I briefly thought of Santa.
But, Santa was not the one coming that year.
I sat up in bed again, I was shivering again. I couldn’t sleep, it was too cold. I wrapped myself in my blankets and I hopped out of bed, the floor felt like a block of fridged ice. I shivered again, and I made my way to the door to go to my parent’s room.
I wanted to get warm. I gripped the doorknob which was so cold it almost burned. Just before I opened the door, I heard a sound on the roof. I raised my eyes to the ceiling and raised an eyebrow, what was that? Did a tree limb fall on the roof?
There it was again, it sounded like….footsteps. Somebody was on the roof. My breathing grew heavier and quickened, my heart beat against my ribs, and blood rushed in my ears. Danger, my mind whispered, every survival instinct inside of me screamed all at once. Run, run, escape.
Now, more than ever, I wanted to be with my parents, I was eleven years old and I was terrified. Despite all of that though, escaping to my parent’s room wasn’t just for the safety of Mommy and Daddy. That’s where Dad kept his guns.
One thing kept me from bolting from the room, I heard them again. The bells. Only they were louder this time as if they were coming from inside the room. I turned around, meaning to go wake Caroline and see if she could hear these things too.
Only I froze when I turned, my whole body locked up. I was so still I don’t think I even breathed, and for once in my life, my mind stopped working. All the human instincts I had screamed at me about how wrong this was. About how wrong everything I was seeing was.
I was always a bright child, put in advanced classes, moved up grades, music lessons, reading books that should have been far beyond my comprehensive levels. I was more rational and more reasonable and more sensible than many children my age.
I often think about how it must have amused my parents to no end that, even at eleven years of age. The age when many children began to question things such as Santa Clause. And as bright as I was, I still held such a steadfast belief in Santa.
Now though all of the science and facts in the world couldn’t help me. All the reason and rational thought, all of it vanished as I stared unblinking at what was in front of me. It was… What I can only describe as a monster. It was enormous, I could tell, even though it was hunched.
I could tell, it neared and more than likely surpassed Seven feet in height. The twisted spiraled ram-like horns it wore gave it an extra foot to foot and a half. So it was closer to eight and a half feet, and the fur that covered the entirety of its body was black as a moonless night.
It was coarse, thick fur, like a boar, it stretched across its hulking, massive frame. It stood on two strong legs that ended in cloven hooves, that were deadly shape points at the ends. A filthy, ragged cloak covered its broad shoulders, underneath it a long heavy tail dragged along the floor behind it.
A hood hid its head, but I could see its profile. I could see an elongated muzzle like a dog, it stretched into a sick smile. A smile that promised bloodshed and sickly evil deeds done over an eternity. While it smiled I could see every single one of its razor-sharp teeth that lead to two impossibly long, impossibly sharp canines.
They were made to rip and tear and shred, they were so long I don’t think it could close it’s mouth entirely. A long, slimy, forked tongue slithered and hung out of its mouth, spittle ran down in globs and dripped down onto a dingy tangled beard.
Its eyes were yellow and the iris red, the color, and shade of blood. Wrapped around its body and clasped at its wrists were thick chains, every ragged breath the monster took caused them to tinkle…like…bells. Oh. Oh, God. The bells.
The ones I’d heard earlier, they weren’t from Santa. They were a warning. They were a warning this thing was coming. The sound was melodic, beautiful, juxtaposed to what it heralded. Much like a battle horn, they were the herald of death.
The realization slapped me hard, along with the epiphany that I could die. So many thoughts raced through my mind at warp speed, I’d never get to apologize to Britney accidentally implying she was fat. I’d never see my dogs again, I’d miss Christmas with my family.
My family.
The thought of my family caused panic that had been bubbling in my gut to spread to my chest cavity where it pressed on my lungs, making it nearly impossible to breathe. I was on the verge of a meltdown that would have made Chernobyl seem tame.
My family, if this thing got out and it went after my family, what would it do? Why was it here? What did it want? Why-
My attention was drawn back to the beast when it shifted, chains tinkling like Christmas bells. Terror shut my mind and body down once more as the creature’s hands were visible, and I could see what it was doing. It loomed over Caroline’s bed, holding her neck in a vice grip.
The skin of its hands resembled the skin of a buzzards head after it had been exposed to too much rotting flesh. Bare, black skin sagged and wrinkled, its twisted knarled fingers ended in sharp, serrated nails.
My knees gave out and I fell to the floor causing a soft thud. The creature turned in my direction and cocked its head to the side like a dog studying a curiosity. Whimpering I scooted back till my back hit the door trying to put some distance between myself and this thing.
It slowly made its way toward me studying me, I pressed myself harder against the door. Hoping if I pressed myself hard enough I would fuse with the wood. I saw my friend’s face, screwed into a silent scream of terror, her eyes were bugged out and her skin was ashen grey.
As the beast drew closer, the temperature in the room plummeted. I felt myself getting frostbite, my teeth chattered. I screwed my eyes closed and I prayed to any God that would listen.
“Please, please let it be a dream. Please go away, please.”
I covered my eyes with my hands and curled up in the fetal position, as the beast came closer. I heard it growl, I peeked through my fingers, it held out Caroline to me as if offering me her corpse. It held her in one hand, with the other it drove a massive meat hook into her body.
It took the chain and wrapped it around her, once, twice, three times. Before it used it to strap her lifeless body to its back. Like she was a human accessory, a sick version of a backpack. It leaned down and heaved a breath of disgusting hot breath in my face.
It smelled like a rancid mixture of rotting meat, feces, and vomit. It gave a wave with its hand, still smiling that sick, grotesque smile. In an amazing burst of agility, it hauled itself up onto the thin window sill where it balanced for a quick moment before bounding out into the darkness.
When it was gone my body began to unlock, beginning with my mind. Why? Why didn’t it kill me too? Why did it leave me alive? I can Identi- I came to a hard realization, it wanted me alive. It came here specifically for Caroline, it wanted her for some reason.
Caroline
Oh God! My mind began to try and process what had happened in what turned out to be fifteen minutes, but to me, it felt like an eternity. The cold was retreating leaving the room feeling warmer and my limbs began to come back to life.
With the retreat of the cold, came the breaking of my mind. Processing all that had just happened proved to be too much for my small young mind to handle. So my mind fractured and I began to scream.
****************************
My family burst into the room, my mother picked me up off the floor and held me close as I continued to scream. She began asking why I was so cold and trying her best to comfort me. My Father held both of us, he tried as well to comfort me, failing to do so.
I kept screaming.
My family demanded to know what was wrong, Caroline’s Mother Screaming demands to know where her daughter was. I pointed to the open window, still screaming. The first rays of dawn illuminated the sky, creating a masterpiece as colors danced across the sky.
In the lighting, you could see on the window sill two perfect hoofprints sitting in the snow gathered on the sill. My Great - Grandfather ran to the window and began to yell out curses in German. He slammed the window closed and turned to face his family.
He marched across the room and took me from my parents, he began to quiet me. Slowly I fell into a catatonic state, My family gathered around him. Demanding to know just what had happened, he looked around the room.
His gaze touched each one of his descendants and he only said one word.
“Krampus”
At the sound of its name, I began to scream again.
******************************************
There was an investigation, and a manhunt, search parties scoured the property for days trying to find a trace of Caroline. They found nothing. Not that I expected them to. They found Caroline’s body abandoned, she’d been left by a sewer grate in the nearby town.
Discarded like a piece of feated waste, she was miles from the manor. She was nude and… This I only learned years later but, she was missing her eyes. No arrests were ever made, not surprising. I was questioned by several officers, detectives, child psychologists, and everything in between.
I never said a word, in fact, I didn’t talk for years after the incident. Even after I began to talk again I never spoke about that night, not to anyone save for my therapist.
Now I’m married, with a Son and Daughter of my own, my family still comes together on the holidays. Only never at that manor again, after Caroline’s murder, we sold the manor and it was left to rot. I’m writing this as a warning, if you hear the bells it is already too late.
I think Krampus has kept around me, every so often I will hear the bells. Sometimes they are barely discernible, others? They’re deafening. Just a little reminder he’s always there, always watching. He is sporadic with his visits, it’s like he’s blown in by the wild winter winds.
I have never heard the bells on Christmas again though, but I am worried.
This year is an important year my son is eleven this year, the exact age I was when I met Krampus. I am worried this year my son’s friend Gavin will be joining us for Christmas along with his Father who is my husband’s best friend.
Gavin is much like Caroline, his parents are divorcing, his Mother is a severe Achohlic, and his outlook on Christmas was very pessimistic. I tried to refuse but my husband went ahead and invited them without consulting me. By the time I was told, it was too late.
So here in my office, I sit, on the month of Christmas, here in the dark worrying. While my family sleeps, safely tucked away for the night. I can vaguely hear the blizzard raging outside, it’s gaining strength every hour. The wind roars blowing the snow against the house.
My husband comes to get me for bed, I kiss him goodnight, knowing it would bring up unanswerable questions I hide how angry I am at him. For forcing me to relive this all again. For the trauma our son is about to face.
I sit here, in the dark, nursing a bottle of whiskey, staring up at the ceiling I listen intently. Dreading to hear anything other than the wind, as time passes I slowly lose the battle with sleep.
Just before I slip down into sleep I hear the faintest sound of bells…