The Truth of the Krampus

I don’t like children. I’m sure you think you know that, given what I am and what you’ve heard about me. But I really, really don’t like children. The depth of my hatred for children can barely be contained by words. Oh sure, it sounds like fun to chase them around and scare them, and in a way it does give me a weird sense of power. But it didn’t have to be like this. 

I just wanted to belong. 

Look, I didn’t ask to be made the way I am. For example, do you know how hard it is to find shoes when you have one foot and one hoof? Try it, I dare you! So you can see why I’m cranky all the time. You would be too if you were slipping through mud or running over rocks in bare feet. I’ll bet a pair of nice comfy slippers would improve my disposition considerably. But the closest I’ve ever come is thick woolly socks; those last about an hour before my hoof cuts a hole right through it. And boots? Forget it! That same pesky hoof slips right out the second I try to walk, no matter how tightly I tie on the boot. 

And that’s just the start of my problems. Nobody else in my neighborhood has a tail. So nobody makes clothing for people with tails. Is that my fault? No! You find me a pair of pants that I can comfortably put my tail through, and I will wear them. Believe it or not, I have actually asked tailors to alter clothes for me. They just laughed…well, okay, screamed. You get the point. I’ve tried cutting holes in pants myself, but I can’t seem to do it right. Same thing with skirts. It’s all just a mess. So what the heck? As long as I’m not wearing shoes, I may as well not wear pants, either. And wearing a shirt with no pants just looks stupid, no matter how many cartoon characters do it. So yeah, I just walk around naked. It’s my only option, isn’t it?

Have I mentioned that kids can be real jerks? They’re always pointing at me and laughing, sticking their fingers up along the sides of their heads—um, I think my horns are actually badass, thank you—trying to grab my tail, you name it. Sometimes they actually try to ride on my back like I’m some kind of farm animal or something! I mean, can you believe the nerve? Honestly, you kick one kid in the head with your hoof and suddenly you have this reputation. I wouldn’t have been a problem to anybody if those rotten kids would have just left me alone. 

I honestly tried to make the best of a bad situation. Like I said, I didn’t ask to be like this. I originally wanted to be a magician, believe it or not. I saw how kids looked up to Santa, with the whole North Pole and the flying reindeer and the magic bag full of neverending presents. I mean, I didn’t have any of that. But I was learning! I could make silk scarves appear out of nowhere and make coins disappear in my hand and I almost figured out how to make an entire person disappear! (Well, okay, it was the bringing-them-back part I actually struggled with. But still!) I wanted to be able to give kids that sense of wonder, to make them believe in miracles. Instead, they just pointed at me and laughed. I ended up chasing them away instead because I got so tired. Haven’t you ever been tired?

So here we are. Do I want those miserable little jerks to have a good Christmas? Heck, no! They don’t deserve that after the way they treated me! And I’ll tell you another thing: this is how you end up on Santa’s patented Naughty List. Oh yeah, he and I actually know each other very well. Didn’t mention that earlier, did I? He can’t exactly admit that we work together—bad optics and all that—but he knows that he can rely on me to tell the truth about little Susie Sunshine who claims to have been “oh so good all year, Santa!” I’ll bet you didn’t even look under that big old chair Santa sits in when those little buggers go sit in his lap. I know you don’t look under there, because that’s where I am. 

Now, the scary stuff? The rumors you’ve heard about naughty children being dragged out of their homes by a hairy beast? Those are most certainly true. I’ve learned that I do my best work at night, mostly because I’ve gotten very good at slipping in and out of the shadows without being seen. I wasted too much time trying to fit in, to be given a place in the sun. I take my own place now, and it’s in the dark where I can do exactly as I please and nobody can stop me. 

What’s not exactly accurate about a krampus is the idea that I scare those stupid brats into being “good”, whatever that means. How should I know what good behavior looks like? I was never shown kindness; I have no idea what it looks like or what it feels like. No, time has taught me to hate, and I have learned well. The terrible, awful truth is this: once a bully, always a bully. There’s only one thing a bratty child is good for, and that’s a delicious meal. They’re a little chewy going down, but nothing fills my belly like a bully. 

So, let this be a warning to those who never learned how to be kind: if I find you, it’s already too late. You made me the way I am, and this is the thanks you get. I’m always hungry. And nobody gets by me. If I don’t get to have a happy Christmas, neither do those little snots who make every single day a living nightmare for me. 

I’m just returning the favor.