PIP/Krampus/It Begins

James sat sullenly at the filthy kitchen table. The small cramped kitchen in the small cramped trailer seemed to close in on him. He had hardly touched the microwave meal that sat in front of him; but the bottle of whiskey in his hand was nearly empty. He stared at the .357 revolver that was almost obscured by the discarded alcohol and food containers that made up the majority of the table's surface. He had, like most days, contemplated having a bullet for dinner. Like most days he settled for picking at a microwave dinner instead . . . maybe he'd have a bullet for Christmas dinner. He thought that he should be sufficiently depressed by that time to find the courage to pull the trigger.

He had been at his dream job . . . high school principal. He knew it was a strange dream job; but it was his dream job. He had always liked helping to guide children to become their best selves. Without a firm guiding hand, they might grow up to be whores, thugs, murderers, and who knows what else. Discipline . . . that was the key. Unfortunately the school board did not see it that way. In the early days of the last century his methods would have been understood. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child,' goes the saying. When had society forgotten that. Everyone complains that each generation gets more selfish and entitled; but no one can seem to connect that to the reduction in discipline that is permitted in the child's life.

Now James' teaching degree was worth less than toilet paper. Not only could he never teach again, but he wasn't allowed within fifty feet of any school, playground, or daycare facility . . . as if he were a child molester! It was ludicrous. It's not that he didn't find the sexy little things appealing . . . He simply respected rules. Rules exist for a purpose. Children are not to be used sexually. That is a rule as old as time. The limitations on punishments were rules too he supposed . . . but they were inane. The other rule was old. James respected old.

So he became a little overzealous punishing a couple of hoods that had assaulted a girl in the bathrooms? So what? The punks would have probably raped her if her hadn't stepped in! He should have been given a medal; not fired. At least the girl's parents felt he was a hero. Their outcry was the only reason he wasn't in jail. Maybe he had gone a little overboard. Maybe he should have used a little restraint. But it's not as if he had killed either of them. He didn't have it in him to do something like that. So he tied them to the radiator? So he stripped off their pants? So he gagged their annoying babbling? So he drew a little blood when he beat them with his belt? So what! Bad children need to be set right!

He looked at the gun, once again thinking about the bullet within. Suddenly he heard a sound on his roof . . . it was ridiculous . . . sleigh bells? There was a stamping sound, then a solid thud. He had to be imagining it. The sound of footsteps added to the clamor as dust fell from the ceiling of the trailer, following the sound of the steps. Maybe he was going mad? He picked up the gun and followed the sounds. They made their way to the living room. They stopped above his wood stove. Suddenly sparks and ash belched from his stove to slowly twirl around in a mini-vortex; then finally consolidate into the form of a man.

The man was dressed, of all things, like Santa Claus. The full red getup. But there was a lot about this picture that didn't fit that description. The man was huge. He stood at least six and a half foot tall. He was also not the least bit fat. He had the white beard and hair; but the scar across his left eye seemed to be out of place on Saint Nicholas. He was an imposing man in all, and even with a gun in his hand, James was afraid.

The huge man, that absolutely HAD to be Santa Claus, looked James up and down, making him feel as insignificant as a bug. He finally rested his gaze on James' hand.

"Are you going to shoot me, Jimmy?" he asked with a casual tone that let James know that Santa had no concern whatsoever about his gun.

"No," said James hastily. He quickly cleared off an end table of the trash thereon, and carefully deposited the .357 on the table. "Of course not," he continued. "Are you - I mean - I didn't think - um - "

"Calm down, Jimmy," said Santa. "I am Santa Claus. I'm not here to cause you any harm." James allowed himself to relax a bit. In relaxing, he started to get annoyed that Father Christmas was calling him Jimmy however.

"Um, could you call me James, Santa?" he asked. "I haven't been called Jimmy since I was a kid."

"Ho ho ho," laughed Santa, a thunderous resounding laugh that lifted the spirit. "Of course James, my apologies. I only really knew you as a child until this very day."

"You knew me as a kid?" asked James hesitantly. He had been a poor child, and Christmas never brought many gifts. This lead James to the early realization that there was no Santa Claus . . . which he was now reconsidering.

"Yes indeed," said Santa. "You were on the Nice List until you turned twelve and left the purview of my calling. I gave you a gift every year."

"Now I know you're lying," said James nervously. "There were years that we were so poor I didn't get anything for Christmas."

Santa scoffed lightly. "I said I gave you gifts, James; not presents. Presents are material objects that last a handful of years if you're lucky. The gifts that Santa brings lasts forever. Do you remember when you were eight and found that you had a talent for drawing?"

"Um . . . yeah."

"That was my gift to you that year."

It suddenly dawned on James just how wrong society had Santa Claus. If Santa's gifts weren't of a material nature . . . the logic that denied his existence became . . . less certain. But if Santa gave existential gifts to children, why was he here at James' place. He wasn't a child any more . . . and he certainly doubted that he would be on the Nice List if he were.

"You're wondering why I'm here?" asked Santa, preempting his own question.

"Yes."

"Do you know who Krampus is?"

James thought he remembered an old legend. "Isn't that some kind of punishing spirit that deals with the naughty children at Christmas?"

"Yes," said Santa simply. James looked into his eyes, but had to look away. There was a long silence. James was finding it hard to think. The awe and majesty of everything that was going on was overwhelming. Santa waited patiently in silence. It finally dawned on James what was actually going on here.

"You mean you want me . . . to be Krampus? You want me to . . . punish the naughty children?"

"Perhaps," said Santa. "I need a new Krampus. You are the most promising candidate, but you are not the only one. I'll have to see if you're worthy . . . that is if you are interested?"

"Yes," exclaimed James, "absolutely! Do I - I mean what do I need to do?"

"Just take my hand," said Santa with a smile.

James took his hand, and found himself on the roof in an instant. Disoriented, he looked around. For a moment he wondered how the roof of the run-down trailer was supporting the weight of two grown men, a huge sleigh and eight fully grown reindeer. He cast the thought aside to take in what was going on. He looked more closely at the sleigh. It was of exquisite construction, red and gold. On the side of the sleigh was the image of an eight-legged horse and the name Slepnir below it. James knew that name from Germanic Mythology . . . the eight-legged steed of the god Odin, birthed by the god Loki . . . but how did that relate to Santa Claus? Santa motioned for him to get in the sleigh; and no sooner was he seated than they were traveling at impossible speed above the small town of Rattler Springs. Before he knew it they were north of California, then north of everything. The sleigh started plunging toward the ocean and James threw up his arm to shield himself as they met it . . . but there was no crash.

He righted himself, and noticed that a bubble of air had formed around the sleigh, and the reindeer swam the ocean like they were hopping across a meadow. James saw a dome below the icecap. It looked like nothing more than an oversized snowglobe from this distance, but he knew that it was more. Passing through the barrier, James saw a quaint town below, reminiscent of a medieval Bavarian village. It was elegant and pretty with tasteful Christmas decorations that, while traditional, were quite dated. James found himself awestruck once more as the sleigh was landed.

Santa lead him through the village to an as-yet unknown destination. James looked about in amazement at all the wonders around him. What had to be Christmas elves seemed to be everywhere in the town. They looked like sexy little children with pointy ears, dressed in festive colors. None of them wore tights, however. The weather wasn't right for tights anyway. The things that Hollywood got wrong.

As they made their way through the Christmas Village, it soon became easy to see Santa's workshop in the distance. The huge building stood above all of the others in the quaint town. When they started to get close, one could finally see Krampus' workshop. It stood literally in the shadow of Santa's massive workshop. It was a short, but wide, one story building of dark stone. While it was only one story, the height of that story made it seem like two. It was the only building in the village with a flat roof; and the only building without Christmas decorations. The door was a massive square of thick oak with iron bolsters, hinges, and latch that sported a great deal of wear and tear. On the center of the door, there was a weathered rough carving of the name "Krampus" that appeared to have been gouged out with claws centuries ago. James hesitated at the door. Was this to be his home?

"Let us go in," said Santa.

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