You better not cry

[Doctor Amos]

“So, what do you miss most about home? …Aside from your wife and family, of course.” The young private asked. He was a Frenchman by birth, but he spoke enough passable German to allow him into the korp. He also spoke French and English, which made him quite useful in negotiating.

“Bah.” The older lieutenant rumbled. “Those swine are why I left to come here. They can rot.” He spat vehemently. “What I do miss, though. You can’t get a good fish anywhere this side of the Breech. I miss the kippers, the mackerel. I’d kill a man for some decent lutefisk.” Many of the assembled men nodded silent agreement at this statement. The private assumed from the general tone that this was not a hyperbole.

“What about the season?” The private decided to change subjects quickly. “How do you celebrate the Christ Mass?”

“In der Fatherland, it is the Candlemas, the celebration of lights. Our little girls dress in their white dresses with a crown of candles. So beautiful. And we set out our…. Shoes…”

The lieutenant trailed off, his attention caught by something moving in the distance. The wind began to howl, and a few flakes of snow darted about. A few of the other men caught it to, and quickly drew their weapons. The lieutenant squinted, trying to make out something. Then suddenly it was not what he saw, but rather what he heard that froze him in fear. A heavy jingle carried on the wind, the sound of solid chains.

“What day is it?” He asked no one in particular. The private answered, “The fifth of December, I think.”

“Dear lord, no.”

With that, the thing came into view, distant at first but approaching quickly. It was huge and hairy, like an ape or giant. It had a head crowned with massive horns, and even at this distance it was obvious that its pelt was stained with dried blood. However, the creature carried objects in its hands with intent, denoting an intelligence within its animalistic visage. In one hand, a mass of writhing rusted chains. In the other, a large tree branch, a cudgel nearly the size of a small sapling. The thing bellowed, its cruel yellow fangs glinting in the moonlight.

“What it is?” The private asked sheepishly.

“The Krumpus.” Was the matter-of-fact respose.

“So… fight or run?” The private readied his sidearm, but took a runner’s stance.

“You don’t understand. If he is here, it is already too late.”

[Nathan Caroland]

Tons of fun.

[Chucklemonkey]

A very nice, well-paced story.

[JMGraham]

This sent me on a google adventure wherein I acquired a new holiday tradition. Wow! Happy Krampus Day, all!