It was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, no one stirred… because Eira had hog-tied them in the basement. It had been a challenge. The four men squatting in this house were massive, but she liked a challenge. The adrenaline rush. The fear. The chaos. Eira lived for the fight. She craved the punishment. She was a Krampus, after all.
She wasn’t completely heartless, though. Her kind operated under a code of ethics, even if mythology painted them in a poor light. In the days of old, Santa blessed the good with fruits and sweets, but the wicked? Krampus was your gift. Mankind reaped what they sowed, and the two races worked together to bring peace on earth… and screams in the night. Humans learned tobe kind, fearing the dark creatures hovering in Santa’s shadows, but soon Krampuses were bound to the darkness. People were too afraid to stoop to their baser instincts, and punishment was no longer needed. Santas started the tradition of coal in unruly children's stockings, for there was no need for the horned nightmares.
That’s when the wars began. The Santas lashed out against the Krampus race, and Eira was one of the few left alive. They scattered to the ends of the earth, hiding their true form, and before long history claimed they were vile beasts covered in fur and horns, ruthlessly torturing people until Santa came to save the day. Eira touched her head, gently brushing back her dark locks. How far that was from the truth. Look at the evil their centuries of absence had birthed. Joy was leaking from this world. The wicked were left unpunished. It was time for Krampus to return, and for Santa to die.
Eira twirled her knives over her knuckles and dragged a chair before the fireplace. It was why she chose this house. The family was vacationing—due back in the morning—leaving their expensive home blessedly empty. Eira knew she should feel guilty for her part in luring those men here, but she needed wickedness to enter a home, just as Santa required the goodness of an excited child. The little boys who normally lived here were charming children, undoubtedly at the top of Santa’s nice list, so the old, fat man would tumble down that chimney any minute to leave them gifts. The four she lured here had just robbed a bank, squatting in the vacant residence to avoid the police. Too bad they couldn’t avoid her. She had swept in on the shadows and unleashed a century’s worth of rage and punishment, and now they lay downstairs, tape over their mouths, wrists and ankles bound. She wouldn’t kill them. Despite the stories, Krampuses didn’t murder humans. They only showed them the error of their ways, but Eira would make an exception for the man in red. Sheinched the chair closer to the fireplace. Yes, she would make an exception for her enemy. His race had attempted to eradicate hers. Time to return the favor. Holiday spirit and all.
Snow fell gently outside, and if her nerves weren’t so on edge, Eira might have enjoyed the peace. An elegantly decorated tree stood in the corner of the room. Tomorrow was Christmas. This house was extravagant, the weather gorgeous, and her adrenaline pumped from capturing those men downstairs. It should’ve been a glorious evening, but her anxiety hung thick in the air like a blanket of snow.
After she dealt with Santa, the police would receive an anonymous tip, leading them here to find the gift-wrapped thieves, complete with a bright red bow. Eira realized it was excessive, but she couldn’t stop herself from slapping giant bows on the men’s heads and their bags of stolen cash, minus her cut, of course. A girl had to make a living, and life on the run was expensive and stressful. There’d been only one year during her exile when she felt safe, wanting for nothing, but she refused to think about that time. It hurt worse than the bruises on her ribs from the one thief’s well-aimed kick.
Eira rubbed her side, the black skin-tight fabric of her suit hugging her every curve as if to hold her together. She had to wait but a little while longer. Midnight was fast approaching. Christmas was coming, bringing her enemy along with it. In minutes, she would avenge her kind. They would reclaim their rightful place in tradition, and Santa would be dead. Merry Christmas to all, and to all, an unholy night.
The seconds ticked by too slow, the minutes too fast, but then she heard it. Hooves on the roof. He was here. He’d fallen for her trap. Eira tensed, leaning forward with her blades at the ready. Awareness pricked her skin. Just a few more seconds, and she would end the war. She would end the self-righteous men who had exiled and murdered her people.
The chimney shook, and soot bloomed in puffy smoke around her. She breathed deep, loving the smell, loving the exhilaration igniting her veins. Her scalp stung, desperate to reveal her true form, but she held back. The trap would work better if he thought her a human woman.
The chimney shuddered, and in a cloud of ash, a giant man dressed in red burst from the fireplace. Eira never understood how men so large could fit into such small places, but then again, she moved in the shadows, slipping inside locked doors to punish the wicked.
The Santa didn’t notice her at first, her dark clothes and hair blending in with the midnight blackness, but as if sensing he wasn’t alone, his eyes fell on her seated form, and he jerked in surprise. He studied her for a second, and then a strange expression passed over his face.
“Shit.”
Eira launched herself at him, knives poised for the kill, but the Santa swung his pack faster than a man that size should be able to. Her blades sliced through the velvet bag and embedded in a gift box with a thud. She tried to yank the knives free, but the Santa drove his significant weight against her smaller form. The force flung her across the room and into the tree, its needles biting into her back with sharp stings as they crashed to the ground. Ornaments popped as she rolled over their delicate glass. Branches cracked, their sharpened ends piercing her shirt to scrape her skin, and a few of the colorful lights shattered. She smelled her own blood among the bruised pine needles, and she snarled as the Santa strode for her. From the new angle on the floor, she realized just how big he was. Atleast six foot seven inches, the man’s biceps and waistline were every bit as massive, and fear flickered through her. Eira was strong, taller than most human women, but she hadn’t expected a man of this magnitude. She’d only known one other person that tall, but he was?—
She shut the thought down, fingers searching the damaged tree as the Santa loomed above her, and they brushed a glass ornament shaped like an elongated icicle. The tip had shattered upon impact, jagged and sharp, and while it wasn’t nearly as strong as her blades with handles carved of her ancestors’ horns, it would certainly cut that self-righteous look off his face. Coiling her legs beneath her, Eira waited for the giant man to step close to the fallen tree, and with battle-trained muscles, she leaped for him.
The Santa grunted in surprise as she flew for him with alarming speed. He threw out his arms to catch her, and her already bruised ribs burned in agony as his fists closed around her ribcage. With a roar of vengeance, Eira leaned into the pain and slashed at the man’s bearded face. Blood the color of his garish suit exploded as the jagged tip sliced through his cheek, and she smirked in amusement. How long had she dreamed of this moment? She wanted to revel in this fight, to enjoy the fruits of her labor.
The Santa tried to throw her off, but her legs wrapped around his thick waist. Her fingers coiled in his white hair, and she yanked his head back so hard she heard his bones pop in their sockets.
“This is for my family,” she growled as she pressed the sharp ornament against his throat. “This is for my people.” She increased the pressure until a trickle of blood dripped down his neck. “For your crimes against my race, I punish you, Santa Claus.”
The man grunted at the pain, but before she could slice him open, he lunged forward and slammed her against the wall. Her back hit so hard that a family photo fell off its nail to shatter on the floor. Her vision blurred as her head bounced off the wall, and the Santa seized her wrist, pinning it above her. Her teeth bared in a snarl as he bent her wrist backward, and the broken ornament slipped from her fingers and smashed to shards at his feet.
Eira braced for death, for pain, but instead of killing her, the Santa slid her down the wall. His size loomed large, engulfing her in its shadow, and for a second, her spirit longed for the comfort it brought. That was how they were supposed to be, a Krampus and a Santa. The bearer of gifts leading the way, and the punisher hovering in his shadow as they graced each home on December 24th.
The man growled as if he read her thoughts and stepped away, letting the damaged light from the Christmas tree steal his shadow from her. All her rage and despair and hatred came flooding back, and she tensed as he reached for his pack… and her knives.
“If you don’t kill me, I’ll keep coming for you,” she screamed at his broad back. “I will hunt the earth until I find another home containing good and evil. A house where we’re both welcomed, and I will kill you.”
The Santa silently pulled her blades from the bag and threw them with deadly precision against the far wall. She wouldn’t be able to retrieve them before he disappeared up the chimney, and her weight shifted as she considered her options. She needed those knives to defeat him. This Santa was the largest reincarnation she’d ever seen, and he’d already proved how much stronger than her he was.
“That’s it?” she taunted as she stepped sideways, hoping to distract him long enough to get to the blades. If he escaped herclutches, who knew when she would next be able to trap him? “You’re not going to say anything? You won’t fight back?”
The Santa turned, meeting her gaze in the darkness, and she read a strange sorrow in his eyes. It froze her in place, her boots growing roots to anchor her to the expensive floor, and an eerie sense of déjà vu washed over her. Those eyes? Had she seen them before? She couldn’t have. She’d never seen this reincarnation of Santa before, but something in his sorrow spoke of regret and apology.
Without a word, he turned, righted the tree as best he could, and unloaded the gifts. He tucked them under snapped branches and broken ornaments, and Eira stared at him in a captivated trance. She grew up with stories about the Santas of old. Of the men who hunted down the Krampuses, but not one tale spoke of kindness in their eyes. Only murder. Only rage. Was this a trap? Or was this mountain of a man genuinely kind?
Slipping the last gift under the tree, the Santa hoisted the pack over his shoulder, and Eira snapped out of her trance. No, she wouldn’t feel sympathy for him. He was the enemy, the reason she lived in the shadows without a place to call home. As he made his way toward the fireplace, she launched into a run, boots pounding against the hardwood floor, and she ripped the knives from the wall. Spinning on her heels, she hurled one at his skull. The whistle of wind was all the warning the Santa had, but it was enough, and he sidestepped the knife with agile ease. Eira smirked, letting the second blade fly. She knew he would escape the first throw, and anticipating his movements, the second knife found its target.
The giant man grunted in pain as the weapon sliced through his arm, and as she stalked for him, she wondered if the Santas wore red to hide the blood. Krampuses bled black, and with her clothing as dark as midnight, no one ever saw her bleed.
She was on him in an instant, jumping onto his back and wrapping her powerful arms around his neck. She squeezed as he clawed at her wrists, his choking a beautiful melody in the night, but when he couldn’t pry her from his throat, he flung his weight backward. The two of them crashed to the hard floor, Eira crushed beneath his mass, and she roared as her bones threatened to crack. His size was too heavy for her protesting ribs, and instinct forced her to release his neck. The Santa rolled off her coughing chest and to his feet in one graceful move. He stepped for his pack, but the wheezing Eira was already on her hands and knees, scrambling for the knives.
The second her fingers gripped the horned handle, a foot kicked her fist, sending the blade skittering across the floor. She screamed as her knuckles instantly bruised, and with an unholy rage, Eira stood to her full height before the fireplace. Her skull burned with an urgent purpose. It was time. She would never win this fight in her human form.
Shadows swarmed the room. They weaved toward her from every corner, dancing and pulsating as the air vibrated with power. For a moment, neither of them moved, and then her hands brushed over her black hair. As her palms left her scalp, two dark and gently twisted horns surged from her head. Delicate and almost beautiful, they rose a foot tall to deadly points, their subtle twists angled backward. Unlike the stories, her body was not that of an animal. She wore no fur, no bestial deformities, for she wasn’t a monster. Not in the way history painted her kind, but she was a Krampus all the same, and how glorious was in her darkness.
