Red Eye

I shoved my overlarge black purse under the seat in front of me, hoping that its level of stowage was enough to satisfy the air hosts on the New York to London flight. I had the aisle seat; there was a young woman in the window seat, with short blue hair and ear buds, and the seat between us remained empty. I checked my phone; they’d close boarding soon, regardless. Theoretically it was a full flight, but the early December weather was stormy, and heavy traffic on the roads might leave the center seat unoccupied. I took the in-flight magazine out of the pocket in front of me, and leafed through it, seeking the movie selections for later.

There was a commotion in the front of the plane. My spider sense told me that this intrusion, this noisemaker, was destined for the empty seat between me and the woman with blue hair. I heard a deep male voice, countered by a woman’s, her voice strained. He was audibly frustrated, panting, his unseen carryon bumping its way down the aisle, closer and closer. A large man with shaggy, graying hair and a beard to match was scanning the aisle numbers above the seats, his lips silently counting down. He was in a black trenchcoat, and appeared windswept, as if he’d run across the tarmac to make the flight in time. The sleeves of the coat were just a little too long, and a dark suit was visible beneath the rainproof fabric. He found space in an overhead compartment above our immediate area, hoisted his wheeled black carryon, and shoved it in. He wore a black leather backpack over one shoulder, which he plopped noisily into the seat between the woman and me. She shifted slightly, adjusted her gray hoodie, and turned her face to the window.

“Excuse me,” he smiled broadly, dark eyes dancing. “May I get in?”

I undid my seat belt and moved into the aisle. He bumped his way over (much to the chagrin of the people in the preceding row, one of whom had already reclined). He forced the backpack under the seat in front of him, but it didn’t quite fit, leaving him to splay his large feet around it as he sat. He took up a tremendous amount of air, space, and both armrests. I sat down, and refastened my seat belt.

“Better late than never, right?”

He was aglow with the fact that he had made the flight before its departure. He had an accent that I couldn’t immediately identify; was it German? Russian?

I forced a chuckle, and reopened the magazine. He sighed deeply and leaned back in his seat, fiddled with his seatbelt, lengthened it, decided that was too much, pulled it back, fastened it, untucked the coat, then looked woefully down at his lap.

“I am sorry.”

I looked up. He was flushed, frowning.

“Seven hours in this coat will not work. Do you mind?” He raised his unkempt eyebrows imploringly.

I fought back a sigh. The plane had already begun to roll toward the runway. I placed the magazine on my seat, and moved into the aisle so that he could remove the massive coat. He balled it up and forced it beside the backpack, shoving everything in with his foot. I waited for a moment before sitting back down, making sure he’d finished his maneuvers. The blue haired woman shot him a death glare before returning to feigned sleep. I flipped back to the movie listings, and was about to peruse the cocktail selection until I noticed that the man was actively studying me.

“Can I help you?” I turned the page with a noisy flourish. The “fasten your seat belts” sign dinged on. I didn’t look up.

“I wanted to apologize in advance, in case I fall asleep. I do snore, a bit.”

Oh joy.

“I’m sure it’s fine. I don’t usually sleep on long flights, myself.”

He leaned forward, shaking a large hand free of the suit jacket sleeve, and extending it unavoidably before me.

“Pieter.”

I paused before taking it.

“Catherine.”

His skin was damp and sweaty from his rush to catch the flight. I released it quickly.

“Are you a nervous flier, Catherine?”

I shook my head.

“I like to fly. To me, it always feels like an adventure.”

The shaggy head bobbed.

“I wish I could feel the same. But on a night such as tonight, well, running late, bad weather…” He gestured toward the window with his other hand.

I turned to look at him. He did have merry dark eyes, and was grinning above the graying beard, in spite of his stated anxiety.

“But you made it. And a plane is safer than driving.”

“Particularly to London.”

Another forced smile on my part. Apparently Pieter was a nervous chatter.

“So I am guessing,” he fiddled with the clips that held his tray table up in front of him, “that you are not nervous about tonight?”

“The flight…?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Krampusnacht. The night when the Krampus collects the wicked children of the world, and takes them away.” He pulled away, tilting his head, seeking a reaction.

“Should I be?”

Here, he frowned.

“You’re American.” Click, click, click with the tray clips. “Americans do not believe in the Krampus. He does not come here.”

“I haven’t seen Santa in quite a few years, either. If anyone is going to creep in at night and shove me in a bag for my bad behavior, it’s probably a little late in coming.”

He slammed down a hand, making both me and blue haired woman jump.

“Ah, so you do know about the Krampus!”

I could feel the heat of his body as he leaned toward me again. I pulled away a little, turning.

 “Of course I do. The internet exists; I don’t think there are many people left who don’t know who the Krampus is.” It was clear that reading the magazine was a farce at this point, so I tucked it away. “I’m guessing you grew up in a town that had big parades, people dressed as the Krampus going from house to house?”

He nodded, his face animated.

“Oh yes. The men of the town would dress up as monsters, wearing horns, holding torches, lumbering about, terrifying children.” He was gesturing as he described the scene, as if illustrating it with his hands. “But it was all play. Later that night,” he leaned forward, “the Krampus, the real Krampus, would come.”

The plane began to speed up slightly, engines reaching a higher pitch.

 “Did you ever see Krampus?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then deflated slightly.

“You won’t believe me…”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the blue haired woman perk up slightly. The plane began to gather speed, devouring the runway.

“Yes.” It was a whisper.

“So he came to your house.”

“Yes.”

“Were you…” I searched for a word that didn’t seem belittling, “…naughty?”

He gave his head a small shake.

“My sister. She was never seen again.”

My mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. So I waited.

 “She was seven years old. I was five.” His eyes fogged over, far away.

My stomach dropped as we ascended.

“I’m so sorry.”

“We searched for her everywhere. But it was the Krampus. I saw him. I remember the moonlight shining on the curve of his horns…”

His hands traced the imaginary horns, above his head.

Suddenly, the plane jostled, lights flickering. I grabbed the headrest of the seat in front of me. Pieter froze, the surging lights transforming him into an intermittent gargoyle of panic.

“What is happening?”

“We’re probably moving above this front that’s coming in,” I answered, a bit too loud.  “It’s supposed to snow here later.”

The plane dropped, leaving my stomach somewhere above my head.

I swallowed hard.

“That must have been awful for you, to have your sister vanish like that.”

“Terrifying.”

I could see the veins in the backs of his hands, he had such a death grip on the arms of the seat.

“Do you have anything you can take, for fear of flying? Valium…?”

“Possibly a drink.”

“That may not happen for a while, at this rate.”

The plane seemed to even out just then. I held my breath a little, honestly more for him than myself. Panic is definitely contagious; I wondered if alcohol would relax him, or make him worse. Distraction was definitely in order.

“So why are you heading to London?”

 “Business.”

He seemed unsure as to whether he should relax. I prompted further.

“What kind of business are you in?”

“Imports. Antiquities.”

“Sounds interesting.”

He made a noncommittal noise.

“And you?”

“I’m visiting friends.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher.”

“Ahh.” The smile was back. “So you, too, know about naughty children.”

“Well, 90% of all behaviors are attention seeking.”

“Really?”

“So I’m told.”

“So…” I made an attempt to sit back in my seat. “Describe the Krampus to me, the one you saw.”

“The Krampus…” He moved his hands along the length of the armrests, “was tall, broad, thick with coarse hair, long shining horns like a goat. I remember the sharp, yellow teeth, the flaring nostrils. My sister, Gerte, slept. He grabbed her so quickly, she only made the smallest sound, and he shoved her into his bag. It was large and black; it had a life of its own, and swallowed her whole.” He shuddered, his eyes distant. “I was frozen in my bed. He turned to me, and I saw the blood red eyes, straight from the depths of Hell itself. He began to move toward me; as the bag opened to drag me down, there was a loud noise outside, and he disappeared into thin air with a loud bang!”

Naturally, he had to emphasize the bang, making everyone around us jump.

I considered this.

“And it wasn’t a dream, or you possibly…making something up in your mind, to mask a real person taking her, maybe someone you knew?”

He shook his head.

“The Krampus. I will never forget, as long as I have breath in my body.”

“I would think that part is true, if what you say happened, did happen.” I toyed with my seat belt. “And the Krampus never came back for you, after that?”

“No. No, when my sister could not be found, we moved to the United States. There is no Krampus there. Only in Europe.”

“But you’ve been back to Germany since then, surely?”

“Never around Krampusnacht. This is the closest I’ve come, in all these years. And the first time I’ve told someone, in almost as many. My family would not speak of it.” He smiled gravely. “And I thank you for listening to me.”

Xxx

Boy, did he snore. The blue haired woman gave up trying to sleep, and took out a book. I watched “Elf” on the seat back video screen, with the sound all the way up, masking Pieter’s snoring with some success. Cabin lights were dimmed. He reeked of Scotch, which was unsurprising, as he’d had 4. I’d offered him a Valium. He’d taken it.

“The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear…”

I looked up from the movie, having seen it enough times not to lose the thread of the story. The majority of the people in the cabin were in some form of repose or slumber, blankets tucked, pillows doubled under heads. I watched them sleep, for a while, very peaceful. The blue haired woman eventually nodded off, the hair over her face rhythmically stirring as she breathed, her book resting in her lap.

Pieter woke with a start, a snore catching him mid-breath.

“Were you dreaming?” I whispered, removing one of my ear buds and lowering the volume on the movie.

“What…was I…?” He looked around. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“You did, yes.”

“What…” he brushed his unkempt hair out of his face. “What time is…?”

I peeked at my phone.

“Depending on whether you’re on New York or London time, it’s about midnight.”

“So it’s still…”

“Krampusnacht, yes. Although technically, being in the air, we are in between time, which is a human construct, anyway.” I slid my phone back into the seat pocket.

He rubbed his eyes.

“So it’s Krampusnacht, and yet not. All things at the same time.”

“Kind of.” I paused the movie. “I do understand that it’s still a traumatic date for you, even after all these years.”

“Always.” He looked over at me, bleary eyed. “I’m sure you can understand.”

“Of course.” I smiled indulgently. “Now, is it that you think maybe he is coming back for you, or that you wonder why he didn’t take you instead of her in the first place?”

“There is some of that.”

“And you’re still wondering how a child so young could have done something deserving of such a severe punishment?”

“Yes. So much so.” He shuddered, stifling a yawn with one hand.

“You were dreaming, just then. Of the Krampus.”

He froze, his hand still over his mouth.

“Yes. How did you know?” The unkempt eyebrows met.

I shrugged.

“We’ve spoken of little else since you boarded the plane.”

I pulled out a bottle of water, uncapped it, and took a sip.

“Did you try and tell your parents?”

“I tried. They wouldn’t believe me.”

He was then transformed, in a way, to the very small blond boy he’d been, attempting to describe what he’d seen with no hope that anyone old enough to do anything at all would listen, knowing it would be impossible to do anything even if they did believe him. It was, after all, the Krampus.

“Who decides whether a child is bad enough to warrant being taken? Isn’t it Santa, I’m guessing?”

He shrugged, still under the throes of Valium and Scotch.

“I do not know. The Krampus…he took several children in the town, back then.”

I screwed the cap back on to my water.

“Well, I suppose if Santa can decide who is good enough to get gifts on Christmas, maybe he has some theory on who is taken, and why? I mean, maybe it’s not a question of who is behaving properly at the time, but if Santa is, in fact, immortal, perhaps he can see through to future character? Not to cast aspersions on your poor, ill fated sister.” I tucked the water bottle away.  “And yet, today, you’re headed to London. On Krampusnacht.”

“Yes.”

“And planning this trip,” I shifted in my seat, studying him for confirmation, “you made sure you weren’t going to actually be in Germany on Krampusnacht. To avoid the Krampus, just in case.”

“Possibly.”

“But right now,” I leaned away from him, “you’re in the air, traveling between time zones, although time is relative, depending on how quickly we travel, and in what direction, and thus we are, as discussed, ‘out of time’, as well as out of place. I mean, technically, we are on a British flight, and arguably, on British property.”

He shifted, stretching. He did not resist this next yawn, loud and long, with absolutely no consideration for his fellow passengers. Not that he needed it; not a soul stirred.

 I studied him, unblinking.

“Do you think that if you ever saw this Krampus again, you’d know it was the same one? Or is there more than one? How does that work, exactly?”

He shook his head.

“There is only one Krampus, the way there is only one Santa. I realize there are variations on the description of the Krampus, but Santa is no different.”

“I see.”

I leaned over in my seat, and pulled my purse into my lap. Pieter’s gaze followed my actions, his large head blocking the small amount of light allowed in the cabin in order for people to move around, if needed.

I tilted my head up at him, staring straight into his dark eyes.

“The Krampus is male, right?”

My hand rested lightly on the zipper of my purse.

“Of course.”

“Are you…certain of this?” I tapped my fingers on the wooden handle.

“Absolutely.” He began to draw out his hands. “Big, wide shoulders, so tall…”

I unzipped my purse, and sighed.

“I suppose that, in moments of terror, you can’t always trust even your own memory.” I pulled the purse open wide.  “Gruß vom Krampus, Pieter. Better late than never.” I smiled, feeling my horns release at last, my parting lips revealing long yellow teeth, seeing the dim overhead lights reflecting in my ink black skin as my purse reached over the armrest and swallowed him down. He disappeared with a pop. I looked furtively to the left and right, and slid my purse back under the seat.

The woman with the blue hair rolled over, eyed me gravely, and went back to sleep.