Tommy and the Krampus
By David McAllister
Christmas was Tommy’s favourite time of year. Bedtime was Tommy’s favourite time of day. It was the one time that he had his father’s full, undivided attention. His father was a natural storyteller. Tommy would sit,covers pulled up to his chin, rapt with attention as his father created worlds that Tommy could get lost in. He would never fall asleep when his Father was telling stories. He would need to know how they ended. In the run up to Christmas, the stories became festive and for Tommy, the excitement was just too much to bear. It was one week before the big day and Tommy jumped into bed as his Father pulled up a chair. His Father was a mountain of a man with hands like shovels and broad muscular shoulders. His Father told him that he’d be like that when he grew up, especially if he assumed his role and worked in the forest that surrounded the town. You see, his Father worked long hours felling trees and shovelling snow when the weather demanded it. He told Tommy that he made up stories when he was out in the woods working and that some of the stories had been passed on from his Father who had also worked in the woods when he was a little boy. Some of the stories Tommy’s Father told him had been passed down through generations over hundreds of years. Tommy supposed that right back at the beginning some of the stories were true. He thought that if you strip away the exaggeration there would be a magical truth to the adventures that his Father told him. For Tommy this just added to the excitement.
As Tommy snuggled into his covers, the wind and snow battered his bedroom window. Tommy smelt the familiar smell of honey malt whiskey on his father’s breath. He always found that comforting. His Father had told him that now he was a little older he would tell him a story that he had been told when he was first a teenager. A story that until now he did not think Tommy was old enough to hear. The story of the Krampus.
The Krampus was a half goat, half demon who would punish children who misbehave during the holiday season. The cloven-hoofed beast would be heard in the twilight hours jangling his chains, which the children would mistake for sleigh bells. When they went to investigate, the Krampus would bundle them into a sack and if they were lucky, he would drown them in a nearby river. Tommy asked why that would be lucky and his Father told him that the alternative was that the Krampus would drag them down into the depths of the earth and into the bowels of Hell itself. Tommy did not like the sound of the Krampus and told his Father so. He said he didn’t want to hear any more about the Krampus. His Father clearly wanted to tell him more and Tommy caught a glimpse of something in his Father’s face that he had never noticed before. To Tommy, it looked like complete and all-consuming fear. It left Tommy in no doubt that the Krampus was real. Somewhere back at the beginning before the embellishments that are added to all good stories, the Krampus stalked the Earth and took children from their beds. Tommy had never been so afraid in his whole life. He wanted to shout after his Father as he left the room but was afraid that his Father would think he was weak. He had been told he needed to start acting older and helping out around the cottage and so Tommy stayed silent.
He barely slept that night. Not through excitement for the fast approaching Christmas day but out of sheer terror that at any moment he would been pulled from his bed by the Krampus. It was three days before Christmas. Tommy missed his Mother more at this time of year. It was a time for family, and for love and celebration. Tommy was lonely when he was in the cottage alone and his Father was out working in the woods. A part of him couldn’t wait to get out and work alongside his Father for this very reason. He was nearly old enough to do this. He wanted to make his Mother proud; especially as it was his fault she was dead. Tommy would sit and look at pictures of his Mother when his Father was out working.Before Tommy had come along, they looked happy and content. He would trace their story through the photographs and make up what they might be saying to each other or thinking in the pictures. He imagined his Mother to be a funny and loving person who would do anything for her family and friends. He felt like he knew this because she was always smiling in the pictures. As he got towards the last pictures in the album, as his Mother’s belly started to swell with another life growing inside, Tommy always felt sad because she was no longer smiling. She looked older, world weary and full of worry. He normally closed the album before he got the end; it made him feel too sad and too guilty.
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It was two days before Christmas and the day before Tommy’s thirteenth birthday. He liked having his Birthday at this time of year. He did after all; get double presents and his Father always made him feel special. His Father had normally finished working by this time and they would spend the day playing games together or preparing things for Christmas day. Plucking the turkey was usually Tommy’s job. He loved it, he felt like a proper hunter-gatherer from one of his Father’s stories, and it was always a good way to impress his Father and make him proud. That was all Tommy ever wanted. To make his Father proud and maybe one day he would forgive Tommy.
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In the early hours of the morning of Tommy’s Birthday, he awoke with a start. By candlelight, he could see the snowflakes building up outside his window. He could just about hear the crackling of the fire in the hearth in the living room. At first, he was confused as to what had woken him up. Then he heard a jangling sound. His heart skipped a beat when he thought of Santa’s sleigh bells and reindeers and all the toys in his sack. It was only then that he remembered the story about the Krampus. He felt sick and wanted to cry out for his Father. His Father would say he was too old to be waking him in the night and would be disappointed in him, so Tommy kept quiet. He listened carefully and heard the jangling sound again. The more he heard it the more he convinced himself that it was the sound of Krampus’ chains. Tommy felt like crying but tried his best to stop himself.
As Tommy tried to compose himself, he felt a coldness creeping around him. He knew that this meant the door to the cottage was open. Maybe his Father was up early working on a Birthday surprise. Or maybe the Krampus was in the cottage to bundle Tommy into his sack and teach him a lesson. As Tommy envisaged the hooved feet of the Krampus walking towards his bedroom door he could swear he heard the sound of hooves on floorboards getting closer. ‘Too many stories’ Tommy thought. He needed to grow up.Tommy decided to investigate and crept out of his bed to peek through the crack of his open door. As he got closer to the door, he could feel a presence on the other side of the door. The Krampus had come for him. As he looked through the slightly open door, he came face to face with the beast from hell that had come to take him. He tried to scream for his Father but no sound came out. He tried to scramble backwards as the door flung open but a clawed hand seized him by his arm, turned him upside down, and thrust him into a large sack, which was strapped to the beasts back. Tommy was upside down and in complete darkness. He screamed and screamed but his Father did not come. Tommy could feel the biting cold and hear the rush of the river getting closer. He was tipped out of the bag and must have hit his head on a rock. The world was spinning and he couldn’t move. The massive hands of the Krampus picked him up and thrust him into the freezing river. Why wasn’t his Father coming? The Krampus dunked Tommy in and out of the water repeatedly. Tommy screamed for his Father each time he came out of the water and tried to hold his breath when he was pushed back under. He couldn’t keep it up any longer and he breathed in a lung full of the freezing water. As Tommy’s life ebbed away, he looked into the eyes of the Krampus. He remembered what his Father had told him about the lucky children being drowned in the river. Tommy supposed that not going to hell meant that he was one of the lucky ones. His last thoughts were of the pictures of a mother he had never known, a Mother who had died bringing him into the world and a Father who Tommy always felt blamed him for her death. Strangest of all was the familiar smell of honey malt whiskey on the breath of the beast dunking him in and out of the ice-cold water. Tommy’s life drifted away with the ripples of the water as the clock ticked over to Christmas day and his thirteenth birthday.
The End
Gallifreyan Buccaneer 