A Krampus Country Christmas: Day 13

 

Chapter 13: Krampus’s Confession (Almost)

(Personal Journal – Krampus, Vice Director of Naughty List Enforcement, Northern Hemisphere Division)

The technical term for what happened between me and Holly is “a no-no.”

There are sections in my Krampus manual on moral ambiguity, clauses about sin distribution, appendices for seasonal logistics. There’s even an entire subsection titled “Proper Handling of Unwrapped Gifts Given to Naughty Children.”

But nowhere—nowhere—does it mention what to do when you start having feelings for a mortal.

And yet, here I am.

I told myself it was data collection. Observation. Long-term study of emotional phenomena in small towns with excessive mistletoe density. But I know better. Something is happening.

It started with the cookies. (Powerful things, those cookies.) Then came the laughter, the snow, and, most recently, a kiss that has lodged itself in my mind like a one of those earworms from Deck the Halls & Oates. Only the kiss is much more memorable.

And now I can’t stop thinking about Holly Winters.

Her laugh. Her defiance. Even the way she says “Nick” sets my heart aflutter. I don’t like any part of my anatomy being aflutter. I’m anti-fluttering. I’ve judged countless mortals, weighed their deeds, sentenced them to flaming consequences. But none of them ever made me forget my own purpose.

Until now.

I resolved the morning after our dalliance to confess everything. Transparency is, after all, one of our department’s core values (alongside Results, Accountability, Punishment, and Integrity).

I rehearsed it in my head as I walked to the tree lot:

“Holly Winters, I am not who you think I am. My real name is Krampus, which is derived from the German word for ‘claw.’ I am the Dark Counterpart to St. Nicholas. Punisher of naughty children. I was sent here to observe your son Max. Please don’t scream.”

Simple. Clear. Honest.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

The moment I arrived chaos was already in progress.

A rogue reindeer borrowed from Mayor Garland’s petting zoo had broken free and was sprinting across the lot like a furry missile of anarchy. A group of children cheered. The reindeer caromed off giant decorative packages, oversized candy canes, and plowed through the nativity scene. Screams echoed throughout the square. Holly was right in the middle of it, trying to corral the animal with her trademark pluck and determination.

I rushed forward. “Step aside, Holly!”

She glanced up, exasperated. “Nick! Not now!”

“Actually, now seems precisely the time!”

I lunged for the reins, muttered a containment charm under my breath—nothing too dramatic, just a mild sub-clause invocation—and the reindeer stopped dead in its tracks, blinking as if it had just reconsidered its life choices.

The crowd gasped. Someone shouted, “He’s magical!”

Holly glared. “You are unnervingly good at everything, you know that?”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s a burden.”

Once the animal was secured and the crowd dispersed, she turned to me, cheeks flushed from cold and adrenaline. “Max strikes again! That kid! He said he wanted to free Blitzen to get back to Santa.”

“Your son is an agent of chaos, Holly,” I said. In my mind, I was making an objective statement based on the factual evidence presented since my arrival in Tinsel Bluff. Holly’s expression told me I was probably crossing a line.

“Not you, too, Nick,” she said, exasperation overtaking her.

“But he has admirable qualities, too.” This, too, was an objective statement based on observations.

“I’m not the one you have to convince of that,” she said and it was true. The townspeople were ready to hunt Max with pitchforks. “I guess it’s a good thing you showed up.”

“Just doing my job.”

 “So, what was that? Luck? Reflexes? Voodoo?”

This was it. My moment.

I took a breath. “Holly, I need to tell you something important. I haven’t been entirely truthful about who I am.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you married?”

“What? No!”

“Because that’s what men always say before the confession part.”

“I am not married,” I said firmly. “I’ve never been married. Lifelong bachelor.”

“Are you gay?”

“No, of course not. I mean, I admit one wonders, right? That’s natural.” I collected myself before I started veering too far off the subject. “I’m a career man. I guess you might say I’m married to my work. More of a calling.”

She blinked. “You’re into that multi-level marketing, are you?”

“No,” I sighed. “This is a cosmic calling.”

She tilted her head. “Are you in a cult?”

I groaned inwardly. “Please. Let me explain—”

But before I could, the PA system crackled to life with the mayor’s voice:

“Attention, citizens! The Tinsel Jubilee Talent Showcase begins in ten minutes! Don’t miss Deck the Halls & Oates performing their new single, ‘She’s Gone Shopping Without Me.’”

The crowd erupted in cheers. Holly laughed, shaking her head. “You’re off the hook for now, Mr. Cosmic Consultant. Come on. Help me with the cocoa booth.” She slides her arm into mine and all the fluttering commenced once more. The last thing I needed was more fluttering. And just like that, the moment was gone.

I spent the rest of the afternoon ladling cocoa, listening to her laugh with customers, pretending not to be painfully aware of the distance between us—half an arm’s length, one enormous lie. Every time she smiled at me, I wanted to tell her everything. Every time she brushed my hand by accident, I nearly did. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not until I found the right words. Something honest, dignified… maybe even human.

For now, I’ll simply write it here, in this log, where no mortal eyes can see it: Her name is Holly Winters, and she makes me question every rule I’ve ever enforced.

 

My new comedic sci-fi novel, Someone Else's Book Club, is available on my website or through Amazon!