Page 28 of Scary & Bright

“Nice window,” I said, hoping that was enough to let the creature know that I knew what its presence represented.

Krampus’s posture shrank the moment I mentioned it, as if he were embarrassed.

Then, I opened the door for him to tell me his story both to satisfy my own curiosity and to turn over a new leaf.

“Anyway, I’m listening.”

Krampus’s shoulders slumped with relief, like he’d been holding his breath, and then he sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from me.

“I didn’t expect you to say that.” He sighed. “So, pardon me if it takes me a while to gather my thoughts. Honestly, I’m unsure where to begin.”

“Well…” I said, trying to keep things light while also remembering that I wasn’t entirely out of danger. While the creature before me seemed much more than a heinous, destructive brute, he was also the only thing in the castle that I could imagine was capable of spraying blood on the basement wall. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“The beginning?” He scoffed. “Don’t ask me to start at the beginning unless you’re willing to listen for… a while.”

“As it turns out,” I started, unable to hide a hint of a smile at the nonsensical nature of it all, “I have nowhere else to go. I tried, remember?”

I wasn’t sure what kind of sense of humor Krampus had, but if I wasn’t able to poke fun at my own expense, this was going to be more painful than I anticipated. But much to my relief, the creature’s nostrils flared as he held back a laugh, probably sitting with the same worry about how his reaction might be perceived.

“So, feel free to start from whichever point you’d like,” I concluded, pulling a nearby knit blanket up to my lap from the basket beside the fireplace. As much as I hated to admit it, the prospect of hearing the backstory behind all of this—the castle, the toys, the magic, even the darker parts—was vaguely exciting. It felt like I was experiencing something so unique, so entirely unknown to the outside world that I may as well be making it up.

Krampus looked over his shoulder at me, and I was struck with a sense of kinship that I never expected. I saw in his eyes the same deep-seated pain that I had seen in my own every time I looked in the mirror. There was no explaining it, and it vanished as soon as it appeared, but the lingering sense of understanding sat warm in my stomach, like I had downed a shot of whiskey. Whether he felt it too, I couldn’t tell, but that was the first moment I truly recognized him as something more than a monster.

“Um, thank you,” he said as he rotated himself to face me. “For giving me the chance to explain myself. It’s an opportunity I never thought I would get.”

“You’re… welcome?” I responded, already taken aback by his manners.

“Actually, do you mind if I…” He looked at me and then at the chair across from mine, clearly wanting to close the gap between us for what I had to assume was purely storytelling purposes.

“Not at all,” I lied.

Truthfully, as polite as I was trying to be and as invested as I was in this conversation, I was still feeling on edge about sitting in Krampus’s room after waking up in Krampus’s bed. But still, this was the new Holly, and the new Holly was someone who gave people—-or monsters, in this case—a chance.

I watched as the beast rose to his cloven feet, his height feeling even taller with the extension of his horns. In the natural light and the flickering warmth of the fire, he really wasn’t as intimidating as I remembered him being in the basement. Sure, he was tall, and the coarse black fur that covered his goat-like lower half and the tops of his arms was jarring to behold, but from where I sat, I couldn’t help but focus on the parts of him that were undeniably human.

His eyes, while yellow and serpentine, still appeared wide and hopeful. His chin and jawline were sharp, chiseled, and symmetrical, while his aquiline nose sat centered on his face, bold and intimidating. Dark hair hung lazily over his head, and I had to force myself not to gawk at the state of his chest and torso. The juxtaposition of this creature was growing more and more interesting as time went on. There was such a stark duality between the terrifying, demonic creature, described as the anti-Santa Claus, and the man who just asked permission to sit closer to me.

As he walked across the room, visibly trying to keep his spine straight and his head high, it was like we were challenging one another to look away. Not wanting to appear weak, I kept my gaze locked onto him, letting him know that I wasn’t afraid of him, while the rapid beating of my heart told me that wasn’t the case in the slightest.

“All right then,” he groaned as he lowered himself in the other armchair. “The beginning…”

His fingers began to drum nervously on his leg, and I could have sworn I saw a bounce in his knee. It appeared Krampus had similar anxious habits to myself.

“Centuries ago, more than I can reasonably account, I wasn’t like this.” He sighed, officially being the first to avert his gaze. He stared at the floor as he spoke, like it was easier to come up with the words if he pretended I wasn’t there. “I was a boy like any other. Stupid, reckless. My brother and I would constantly dare each other to walk further and further onto the ice or torment our poor mother with ice in the laundry.”

As he described his brother, I remembered the images of the family scattered about the castle, each featuring two boys at the feet of their father and mother. Already, the pieces were starting to come together.

“My father was a man of the church and a toy-maker. He was a regular figure of goodness, strength of heart, and character,” Krampus continued, getting a touch more comfortable and beginning to speak with his hands. “Now, I’ll never know the entire truth surrounding what happened next—nobody will—but it happened, and there’s no use agonizing over the possibilities. Believe me, because I’ve already done plenty of that.”

“What’s that? What happened next?” I asked, half because I was growing more and more anxious waiting for him to get to the good part but also because I wanted him to know I was actively listening.

Krampus shrugged and continued, his voice both remorseful and frustrated.

“Some people wrote that there’s a possibility my father prayed for his success and made vague promises that my brother and I were bound to see through for eternity,” he went on. “Some believe that he potentially made a bad deal with the fae folk, or a demon, or Gods, or any sort of whosit or whatsit. The retelling always depends on the culture, of course. Some people said my father had nothing to do with it, and it was a pure freak accident that my brother and I were chosen.”

“But no matter how you slice it, we’re here now. All of us are. You, me, and… and my brother.” Krampus leaned back in the chair. I wanted to ask more questions, pry for information, but I didn’t want to push for more. There was something about his expression and the flaring of his nostrils that told me this was a more sensitive conversation than I had anticipated.

“You most definitely know him. Or know of him. My brother, that is,” Krampus continued, a sliver of venom on the edge of his tone. “Everyone does. Everyone just loves Nikolaus. Can’t get enough of him, actually! Lucky bastard.”