Krampus Nacht by Meighan Williams, Glühwein and Apfelkuchen

 The wicker poked and scratched at his flesh and all around him he could hear the cries of the other kids as they jostled and clambered in their vain attempts to break free. Despite the snow outside, it was impossibly hot in the basket, and sticky with the breath of a thousand screaming children desperate to avoid the fires of hell.

Dieter hadn’t believed in the superstition before tonight, but that clearly hadn’t spared him. If anything, it had helped to damn him. He had not only ignored the warnings and pleas of his younger brother Gustav, his parents, and teachers, but he had gone out of his way to be as wicked as possible, to push the very boundaries of human decency. He had feared no consequence, his father having always been far too soft on him and his mother, afraid of him. She had seen his true potential for cruelty when she had caught him taking his knife to the family cat, Tinkerbell. How do you punish something that vile? She had been frightened he would retaliate had she attempted to.

Dieter had assumed, if there was to be any punishment whatsoever, that it would likely be something superficial, such as one less present than last year, or having to go without Kinderpunsch and Stollen for the night. These things didn’t bother him for he would simply steal Gustav's.

Contrarily, Gustav was what one might call a goody-two-shoes. His brown-nosing sickened Dieter, who would regularly bully his younger sibling as a result. Yet even so, Gustav had done his best to encourage Dieter towards the path of kindness and had regaled him with cautionary tales of the Krampus in hopes he would take heed. These events had usually culminated in a beating. On one occasion, Dieter had even broken Gustav’s little finger.

Earlier that night, the men of the village had donned their scariest costumes, his father included, and taken to the streets for the annual Krampusnacht tradition. They were supposed to just scare the children, but one or two had taken the opportunity of anonymity to wallop Dieter with their birch rods on the way past, such was his legacy in the town.

Dieter had been nursing such a whipping when one of the men, who had been lurking at the rear of the pack, stopped just behind him and stretched a clawed hand toward him. He was menacingly tall. Dieter had assumed he was on stilts. He scoffed and punched the man in the midsection, hoping he would lose his balance. The suit felt like it was made of real goat hair. The creature didn’t so much as flinch, but Dieter’s fist stung from the impact. He glanced down at the caprine hooves, too realistic for any store-bought affair. Tension bristled in the air and Dieter had sensed the danger far too late as the chains snapped closed around his feet. The next thing he knew, he went hurtling through the air and landed within the infinite basket of Krampus, the Christmas Devil, who had disguised himself amongst the sea of imposters. Most of the naughty children would receive a mere lashing, but he reserved a special place in hell for little psychopaths like Dieter.

Later that night, the family continued with their annual Yule traditions as though nothing was amiss. Gustav received double the number of gifts, and his brother’s absence was never discussed. Gustav’s mother had found the letter to St Nicholas.

Dear Mr Klaus, I have taken great pains to be extra good this year and tried my best to help Dieter see the light. You will no doubt be aware that I failed miserably at this task. Therefore, I would like to request that in lieu of any material gift this year, you send Mr Krampus to teach my older brother a lesson. Kind regards, Gustav.

She had been impressed by her young son’s vocabulary, and far from becoming upset, she had stamped and mailed it for him.

 

About the author 

Meighan writes to escape the monotony of small-town life. She is an old soul/new writer. Her stories appear in Snakes for Breakfast and Friday Flash Fiction. In the absence of ideas, she’s likely fronting her rock band or bothering her cats. She resides with her partner in the Australian tropics. 

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The Trip to The Lake

 

by Mari Phillips

Glühwein

 

I don't know why Jean invited me; she had plenty of company for the trip. Her three older brothers and two sisters. Maybe that was the problem. Too many of them, with their sibling hierarchy and rivalry. As her friend, we talked every day. Often about nothing, but everything in general. Or was it the other way around? Anyway, I remembered that one evening. We changed into something a little smarter for the last dinner. Glad rags with thermals for the sub-zero walk to the restaurant. The lights glittered like iced stars lining the noisy streets, clouds of breath suspended in the frosty air, with runny noses in need of handkerchiefs. People strolled arm in arm, huddled for warmth. Brave street musicians with fleecy ear flaps and fingerless gloves lifted voices and spirits. We walked ahead of the group. I was fed up with them, alternately bickering and bellowing about this and that, and probably me.

The restaurant buzzed, and tables filled fast, especially those clustered around the fire, its glowing logs and licking flames darting up the soot-streaked chimney breast. The service was slow, but we weren’t in a rush. We sipped tumblers of Glühwein while we studied the menu. I translated for them as they had a poor grasp of the language and conveyed their orders to the server, who stood with a fixed smile but wandering eyes. I relaxed momentarily and realised that the others had disappeared, leaving Jean and me alone. How rude.

‘They wanted to go for a walk… see the lake again.’ Jean apologised on their behalf.

‘Mm… we could have all gone together, afterwards,’ I said.

Jean didn't answer.

‘They don't like me, do they?’ A brave question to ask.

‘I’m sure that’s not…’

‘Don’t kid yourself, Jean. I can sense the tension. They barely speak to me. I shouldn't have come.’

‘But I couldn’t have done this trip without you. It wouldn't have been the same. Mum liked you - no, Mum loved you and this place, and that’s what matters. This trip is for her. The others didn’t give a shit about her; they just wanted a free trip.’

I pondered her statement. She was right. Jean’s mum had loved this place as much as I did. She’d asked us to scatter her ashes on the lake, and we fulfilled that last wish. Bugger the rest of them.

Plates of food appeared. Sauerbraten, Kartoffelklöße and Sauerkraut. We tucked into the steaming meat and potatoes. It was only as we spooned the last of the gravy that the errant siblings returned. No apologies or excuses, just a round of complaints about the service and the cold food. Jean threw me a glance, and we both stood.

‘We’ll see you in the morning,’ she said to them.

‘And hopefully never again’ I muttered under my breath.

‘The flight is 11am and pick up at 8.15am. Please try not to be late.’

 

We headed for the lake ourselves. To say our last goodbyes.

‘I just need to stop off at the hotel,’ Jean said. ‘One last thing, you wait here.’

She reappeared with a rucksack.

‘This is for us. I wasn't letting them have it all their own way.’

At the water’s edge, she opened the bag and produced a smaller urn.

‘Mum, this is just the two of us saying farewell, Jean and me. We love you. Bugger the rest of them!’

About the author 

Mari lives in Leeds, writes mostly flash fiction, with several published in Café Lit, and is working on a couple of ‘longer’ short stories. She also occasionally dabbles in poetry. She is a keen singer and traveller, both activities severely curtailed under lockdown.