A Krampus Country Christmas: Day 3

 

Chapter 3: The Rumor of Krampusnacht

Morning arrived late, gray, and uncertain, as if even the sun wasn’t sure it wanted to visit Tinsel Bluff that day. Snow blanketed everything—the trees, the fence posts, the sagging “Save the Farm” banner—leaving the world looking clean and quiet and thoroughly untrustworthy.

Holly Winters stood on her porch, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, watching her breath cloud the air. Out beyond the tree lot, she could still see them: the hoofprints. They trailed from the barn to the fence line, then disappeared into the woods like a dotted line to somewhere she didn’t want to imagine.

Probably deer, she told herself again. Maybe a moose. Or the world’s angriest goat.

Behind her, Max burst through the front door wearing a T-shirt that read "SCIENCE NEVER SLEEPS" and mismatched boots. “Mom! Look at the snow! It’s perfect! Can I make a Krampus trap 2.0?”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “And put on a coat before you summon pneumonia.”

Max groaned but obeyed, tromping off toward the barn with his shovel and a packet of marshmallows “for research.”

Holly sipped her coffee and tried to shake off the chill of the previous night. But it clung to her—the sound in the barn, the eyes she might have imagined, the laugh she definitely hadn’t. She wasn’t the kind to believe in monsters. Not since she stopped believing in magic, anyway.

By the time she reached town, the rumor mill was already running on high.

The Jolly Bean Coffeehouse was packed, its chalkboard reading TODAY’S SPECIAL: Krampusnacht Latte (It’ll Whip You into Shape!)

“Morning, Holly!” called Mrs. Pringle, waving from her usual table like the captain of the gossip fleet. “You heard the news?”

“I’m guessing I’m about to,” Holly said.

“They found hoofprints!” Mrs. Pringle whispered dramatically as if telling a ghost tale around a campfire. “All over by your farm! And old man Klepper swears he saw something skulking around the ridge last night. Tall. Dark. Horns! He’s calling it a ‘Yuletide visitation.’”

“Klepper also called the Easter Bunny a socialist,” Holly said, stirring sugar into her coffee. “Let’s not canonize him just yet.”

Mrs. Pringle leaned forward, lowering her voice but not her volume. “I’m telling you, dear, Krampus walks! It’s a sign!”

“It’s a sign,” Holly said, “that someone needs a hobby.”

Across the room, Mayor Candy Garland was giving a pep talk to the committee in charge of the upcoming Tinsel Jubilee, her trademark peppermint blazer flashing like a warning light.

“Remember,” the mayor was saying, “Krampusnacht may be pagan, but here in Tinsel Bluff, we turn everything into an opportunity for family fun! We’ll have crafts for the kids, cocoa for the adults, and a photo booth for consensual horn selfies!”

Holly buried her laugh in her mug.

She stopped at the grocery store afterward for some necessities: milk, flour, and a reluctant attempt at optimism. At the end of the aisle, she ran into Greg North, her lump of coal of an ex-husband, who managed to make pushing a cart look smug.

“Well, if it isn’t the most famous woman in town,” Greg said, flashing his smarmy, too-white smile. “I hear your place is crawling with Christmas demons. Nice publicity stunt, Hol.”

What did she ever see in this man? 

“Yeah,” she said dryly, “because nothing sells trees like the threat of beating children with a stick, stuffing them in a basket and dragging them to the underworld. Ho, ho, frickety ho!"

He chuckled. “You could lean into it. ‘Get your tree where Krampus shops!’ It’s catchy.”

Holly reached for a bag of sugar with unnecessary force. “Goodbye, Greg.”

As she turned to leave, he called after her, “If you’re thinking of selling the farm, I’ve still got that offer on the table. Before, you know, bad press hits the property value.”

She didn’t even dignify that with an answer.

By the time she drove back up the ridge, the snow had stopped, leaving a silence so complete it felt heavy. Max was in the yard, proudly brandishing a shovel to fight the army of snowmen he had created.

Mrs. Pringle’s words echoed in her head. Krampus walks.

“Mom!” Max shouted, waving her over. “I think I figured out what happened! The footprints—maybe Krampus came for me, but then saw how good my trap was and backed off. Tactical retreat. Anyway, I'm training for self-defense. That demon doesn't stand a chance."

Holly smiled, forcing lightness into her voice. “Or maybe it was one of Mrs. Pringle’s deer looking for revenge.”

Max nodded thoughtfully. “That tracks.”

He scampered, wildly brandishing the shovel at his snowmen attackers, while Holly stood by the fence, looking out toward the trees.

The hoofprints were still there.

The snow hadn’t covered them.

She heard what she could've sworn was a low, deep, guttural chuckle. Instantly, she sensed something—or someone—was watching. 

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