When I was a kid, I was a typical older brother who enjoyed teasing and scaring the bejesus out of my two younger brothers. It was the springboard for the development of my adult powers of persuasion. By age six I knew there was no Santa Claus which of course justified my search for presents hidden in closets and cubbies by my very real ‘human’ parents. They had lied to me about that fat lard ass dressed in a red suit who brought whatever you asked for “if you were good”, therefore, gift reconnaissance was mine!

By the time I was ten, our family had grown to two more additions via the way of two little brothers. I always thought of ways how to tease them and getting them to behave especially when at age 17 I was stuck babysitting them when I had better things to do. Looking back it was good practice for learning about sacrifice in order to contribute to the family unit but I was young in my sense of spirituality and of course very teenage selfish.

When I was 17, it was the year of Christmas Armageddon.

My two younger brothers, then ages seven and five were full of spit and vinegar which was typical of males in our family. My dad called it fortitude and my mom called it obstinacy. This particular year in question, about two weeks before Christmas, was the time I went rather medieval on them. I had to give up a date with the hottest chick in school to babysit their sorry butts. If that wasn’t bad enough, they had completely ruined a key phone to said chickie where I almost had her convinced to come out to the house in my parent’s absence.

Revenge was mine.

As soon as the parents had left and were well on their way, I settled down with a few of my books while the rugrats played and watched TV. This was all pretty normal as I was always an avid reader and this was the general routine when I babysat. I read and they played until it was their bedtime when they would get a bedtime story which was usually oral and spontaneous.

This time I played it a little differently.

I had found an old book in my dad’s library that had an antique-like and distasteful cover. I sat on the couch and put on my best ‘concerned’ look while pretending to be intently reading. The older rugrat picked up on this and started asking questions. The bait was taken! He wanted to know why I looked so worried and what was that I was reading. I said it was a very old book about Christmas that I probably should not have taken from dad’s office and it might be better if they went to bed. The younger rugrat was stared blankly waiting for his sibling’s lead. I could see the older rugrat drop into negotiation mode … then came the declaration that they would go to bed and not bother me for the rest of the night if I told them what I had read. I acted very reluctant – an acting job worthy of an academy award but off to bed they went with me silently snickering following them to the bedroom.

Once tucked in, I told them that I should really not be telling them about this horrible truth I had just learned about Christmas but, following true to the set up, they begged and pleaded to be told. So I began my contrived tale …

… there was no Santa Claus. The Santa Claus that all adults told children about was a mere attempt to hide the ghastly truth about an evil being who once lived across the pond, in a place of extreme isolation and cold, and who would, once a year,  sneak into people’s homes smelling for bad children. Once he had been very human and very nasty and cruel so when he died he became a spirit who the townsfolk banned to the most frozen part of the world via a magic spell. He had a supernatural nose and could smell children who misbehaved and were mean. If he smelled you and you smelled good to him, he would cut off a limb and eat it because it was oh so delicious. He would slither down a house chimney late at night and all were asleep and cast magic on any adults so they could not wake up and he could get at the children. This always happened around Christmas time and it was not a good idea to attract his attention. If he came into your house, he would always stop in the kitchen – not for cookies and milk but for a nice sharp knife to use.

The younger rugrat was clearly worried but the older rugrat remained a but skeptical telling me I was full of sh*t. I warned him not to say swear words as it might attract attention but he poo-pooed me away and said he was going to stay up in is room and play and not go to sleep and that he would also ruin any phone calls to “girls” if I tried them. I just shrugged my shoulders and gave one last warning and left.

About an hour later, it was getting late for them to be up, but true to form they were having a grand old time. I had been busy setting up the finality of the scenario and waiting. I had the TV turned down low and pretended to be sleeping on the couch. The rugrats, again true to form, began to wonder why I was not yelling at them. They ventured out of their bedroom to find me asleep on the couch – with one difference. They just could not seem to wake me up. This took control as I had to not flinch or speak under any circumstances. Finally the older rugrat ordered the younger one into the kitchen to get a glass of ice water to dump on my head. The younger obeyed and made a merry jaunt out into the kitchen laughing away.

10-9-8-7-6-5----

A SCREAM!!!

The older rugrat ran into the kitchen to see what was the matter and found the younger staring and pointing at the kitchen table where my mom’s favorite set of cutting knives had been laid out in a neat pattern on the kitchen table. Then with timing which could not have been more perfect our parents burst through the door scaring the rugrats into more screaming. I, of course had sat up a split second before they opened the door and was looking totally innocent reading a book whilst the rugrats stood screaming in the kitchen.

Our father, quite perturbed, demanded to know what was going on. I said they were out of control despite my best efforts and that he needed to look into it. The rugrats ran to my dad exclaiming I had tricked them and scared them. I figured I would be grounded for the rest of my natural life but then a true Christmas miracle happened. My dad pretended not to believe them and sent them to bed telling them to stop making up such an outrageous story. I was met with a side glance and a nod. Our mother of course, went to cater to the youngins. I was told to pack the craving knives back up and go off to bed. That was it – my life had been miraculously sparred although any other opposite parental verdict would have been totally worth it.

Yeah, fortitude …

Little did I know at the time that the story I was made up about an evil Santa actually had fact in a legend.

Enter Krampus:

(some background)

As a tool to encourage good behavior in children, Santa serves as the carrot, and Krampus is the stick. Krampus is the evil demon anti-Santa, or maybe his evil twin evil twin. Krampus Night is celebrated on December 5th, the eve of St. Nicholas Day in Austria and other parts of Europe. Public celebrations that night have many Krampuses walking the streets, looking for people to beat. Alcohol is also involved. Injuries in recent years have led to some reforms, such as requiring all Krampuses to wear numbers so they may identified in case of overly violent behavior.

The history of the Krampus figure has been theorized as stretching back to pre-Christian traditions. In a brief article discussing the figure, published in 1958, Maurice Bruce wrote:

There seems to be little doubt as to his true identity for, in no other form is the full regalia of the Horned God of the Witches so well preserved. The birch—apart from its phallic significance—may have a connection with the initiation rights of certain witch-covens; rights which entailed binding and scourging as a form of mock-death. The chains could have been introduced in a Christian attempt to 'bind the Devil' but again they could be a remnant of pagan initiation rights.

Although Krampus appears in many variations, most share some common physical characteristics. He is hairy, usually brown or black, and has the cloven and horns of a goat. His long pointed tongue lolls out. Krampus carries chains, thought to symbolize the binding of the Devilby the Christian Church. He thrashes the chains for dramatic effect. The chains are sometimes accompanied with bells of various sizes. Of more pagan origins are the ruten, bundles of birch branches that Krampus carries and occasionally swats children with. The ruten have significance in pre-Christian pagan initiation rites. The birch branches are replaced with a whip in some representations. Sometimes Krampus appears with a sack or a washtub strapped to his back; this is to cart off evil children for drowning, eating, or transport to Hell.

Outside of Krampus, which comes from the German word krampen, the being has many other names. Klaubauf is used throughout Austria, while Bartl or Bartel, Niglobartl, and Wubartl are used in the southern part of the country. Outside Austria, Krampus and related creatures go by Pelzebock or Pelznickel in southern Germany, and Gumphinckel in Silesia. In Hungary, he is Krampusz (often used to refer to the entire race of these creatures), and in Switzerland, Schmutzli.

These days, bad old Krampus is becoming a hit in pop culture.

“On the surface, Krampus is a great antidote to the Rockettes and Black Friday. But beneath the surface, it is an even stronger one. Repressing our instincts doesn’t lead to wisdom, just as wisely expressing them doesn’t lead to chaos. Here’s an idea. As the nights grow longer and the days grow cold, let’s ditch the stocking stuffers, and express our inner Krampus.” – Jay Michaelson

Bad, Bad Santa …

MOST EXCELLENT!

Have a good one!

Holmes