A Discordant Carol

“Who's ridiculous idea was this?” the woman asked bitterly as she pulled her furs higher under her chin. She seemed not to notice her flaking makeup dusting her collar in a sad mimicry of the snow falling outside.

“Come now, Marcia,” her companion droned in a nasal monotone. “You know full well that Randell likes to play his silly games. The more uncomfortable we are, the more he delights.”

Marcia’s nose crinkled as her lip curled. “Couldn't he play them somewhere warmer? It's the coldest night in ten years and he decides to host his party in the garden under a tacky wedding marquee. Some sort of heat source would be nice.”

“But he has one.”

“Of course he does. He's such a bastard.”

“Perhaps he wishes for you to go sit on his lap. You could ask Uncle Santa for all the presents.” The comment may have been a tease but there was a bite of derision. Marcia's pretty face had always earned her higher attentions.

“Shut your mouth, Walter. I’m not some cheap escort…”

“No,” piped up an older woman as she moved into the conversation. Her mouth tight with judgement. The lines of her lips were deep, a pucker of perpetual disapproval. “Just a gold digger.”

“Mother,” Marcia acknowledged her matriarch though did not deign to look at her.

Walter coughed, a failed attempt to hide his amusement. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get myself some eggnog. If I’m lucky, it will be liberally dosed.”

“There he goes again, always running away,” the mother said before he was out of earshot. “Why can’t he be more like your father? He was such a strong, confident man.”

“Well, I’d bring up the nature versus nurture argument but that would imply there was any nurturing involved.”

“Such a sharp tongue you have, Marcia.”

Marcia turned her head to look at her mother, a cold cruel smile pulling tightly at her lips. “That’s something we can chalk up to nature.”

The mother’s response caught in her throat as she noticed me, her face puckering further in a whole new level of disdain. “Who’s that? Are they letting the riffraff in now?”

“He probably came with Janette. Her companions have rarely looked better than vagrants. Just looking at him makes me want to take a shower.”

I remained passive as these harpies talked about me. They made no attempt to lower their voices despite my proximity to them. It was intended that I hear them. A way of driving me out without direct confrontation but it was nothing I hadn't heard before. Besides, why should I be immune to their sharp tongues when they readily used them on each other. 

The women's sudden solidarity in their revulsion of me, brought a smile to my lips but I left them behind as I spotted a young woman whom I assumed was Janette. She sat by herself against the edge of the marquee, wrapped up in layers of coats, her mittened hands held to her mouth as she puffed warm breath through the fabric. She seemed as out of place as I.

“Hello, you must be Janette,” I said as I settled into the chair next to her.

She looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and surprise with a dash of suspicion. She quickly scanned the room to see if she was being watched, anticipation of a prank being played.

“Just call me Janey.”

“Well, Janey, I noticed you seemed like the only person here without the proverbial head, stick or bug up their butts, so I thought I’d come talk to you.”

“You don’t exactly blend.”

My head bobbed in agreement. “Then you can call me Pot, my little Kettle.”

She grinned at me, radiating a warmth that the host had been too stingy to provide.

“So tell me, Janey, why are you here?”

“Family,” she replied, her smile falling, her face turning away from me.

“You don't like them?”

“I…”

I tilted my head trying to get a glimpse of her face but she remained downcast. “Do you wish them ill?”

Janette spun, a horrified look on her face. “Absolutely not. I'd never wish harm on anyone but would it hurt them to be a little nicer?”

“From what I've heard tonight, they could be a whole lot nicer.”

A smile warmed her again. She was a sweet girl, radiating a gentle innocence. I was right. She did not belong with these people, even less so then I did. At least I had a purpose here.

“It's good, you know,” I said, as I watched the sordid gathering before me. I could practically see the deceit, the thinly veiled enmity, the malicious gossip that floated about them like a noxious cloud. “Not wishing ill, no matter how well deserved, is a sign of great character. As we all know, be careful what you wish for.”

Janey blushed, her hands once more seeking the warmth of her breath.

“Did you come with anyone tonight, Janey?”

Her flush deepened as she misconstrued my meaning. “A few times I've asked a friend to accompany me but it takes a thick skin to bear this lot. I won't subject them to it again.”

I stood, offering my hand to Janette. Her mittened hand felt tiny in mine, almost child-like.

“You should go home, my little Kettle. This is no place for you tonight.”

“But the party,” she protested.

“Are you enjoying yourself? They will not miss you and you will be happier without them. Go home, Janey. Make yourself a nice cup of cocoa, lay out some milk and cookies for Santa, and wish for tomorrow.”

I could see the confusion at my words but something in them rang true for her. With a joyless smile, she stood on her toes and kissed my cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Pot. I hope to see you again someday.”

I seriously hoped I would never see her again. She was too good for the likes of me. 

I waited until she was gone and waited a little more just to be sure but midnight was approaching. It was time to go to work.

The click of my fingers echoed through the marquee and every fur-clad body twisted to see what interrupted their festivities. Right on cue, a cart pushed through the doorway laiden with little red boxes. They were not the cherry red of Santa, more the red of split blood and, judging by the greedy look in their eyes, blood would be spilled if they didn't get them soon.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” My voice rang out over their curious rumblings. “Given my lack of familial bond to you all I understand you've been discussing my presence tonight. It is time for me to sooth your curiosities. I am a gift giver and tonight you will receive something none of you dream of but very much deserve.”

I took two boxes from the cart, pressing them into the eager hands of Marcia and her mother. Within the space of a breath, they were clawing at the black silk ribbon that bound the boxes. I laid a hand over each of theirs.

“I simply ask that you wait until everyone gathered has their own before opening them.”

Marcia smiled sweetly at my request. Her attitude has fallen away at the possibility that I might actually be a man of means. Having seen her venom, this mask was far more frightening.

I could feel the time ticking away as my man handed out the presents. That moment between one day and the next where veils between the worlds blurred and power surged was calling. My mouth watered in anticipation.

The last box landed in the hands of the host, his befuddlement at not knowing what was happening at his own party was clear but he did not reject the gift.

“And open.” 

I released them like greyhounds from the traps and they leapt to the task with fervour. Not a word was uttered as the room pulled the silken ribbons in unison. Not a peep to compete with that soft hiss. Lids popped and the murmuring began.

“What the hell is this?” Randell held out his hand for everyone to see and others did the same.

The coal sat dirty and dark in their palms. I could feel their anger rising at receiving nothing of worth, of not realising what it meant. Their vexations were so strong that I wanted to give them more but one was enough. They were all marked.

A box dropped to the floor, the coal tumbling away from its elderly recipient. He moved towards the door as fast as his aged body would allow. I grabbed him by the arm to stop him, knowing that beneath my palm rested an SS tattoo. It sung to me, calling me to its bearer.

“Krampus.” His eyes bulged with terror. He was the only one that understood the gift.

“So, you remember the old tales.”

“But I'm not a child,” he wept, weakening under my grip. His fellow revellers were still too indignant to see the danger.

“Sorry I'm late.”

I let my glamour drop. The image of a man falling away like smoke to be replaced with my true form. Horns sprouted from my head, my face shifting into a bestial visage that would frighten the most stoic.

With a collective gasp, they saw the danger now and that was when the screaming began.