Page 5 of Christmas Eve with Krampus

They don’t listen to me. I’m starting to lean, these little assholes trying to knock me off my feet, but no matter how I yell, they ignore me.

But when a throaty roar erupts through the shadows, they don’t ignore that.

“Him,” yips one of the elves.

“Him,” echoes another.

“Master,” cries a third, and just when I think that this might be the Toymaker they mentioned, they all scamper down the length of my body, backing up behind me as if I’ll protect them from the source of the roar.

Or, I think, as a large, black silhouette appears in the not-too-far distance, they’ll sacrifice me to the beast so they can escape.

Because that? That’s totally a beast—and when it… he… steps out from the shadows and into my sight, my knees quiver and quake.

He’s huge. I’m a respectable 5’8”, on the taller side for a woman even when I’m stooped because my hip is giving me trouble, but this… whatever… he dwarfs me. A good six-and-a-half, maybe even seven feet tall, though the fact that he has honest-to-God horns is probably throwing me off.

And then there are his eyes. Blazing in fury, their bright red color glimmers and gleams through the shadows that surround us.

They flash angrily.

“What are you doing in my corner of the forest?” he demands

He has an accent. German, maybe, or Austrian. I get hits of Arnold Schwarzenegger in his tone, though maybe it’s his broad chest and sculpted muscles that make me think of the old action movie star from my mother’s time.

My mouth goes dry. I swallow, and when I finally find my voice, it’s more shrill than usual as I say, “Me?”

“No. His elves.”

I knew!

Wait—

His elves… so I’m guessing this guy isn’t the Toymaker?

“Causing mischief. Misbehaving… and with Christmas so near?” He stamps a foot—holy shit, is that a hoof—against the ground with enough force that it shakes even where I am. Something long, skinny, and black is in his hand. He slams that to the ground, too, and the elves must be shaking in their silly shoes because a cacophony of bells ring out behind me.

“Be gone or…” His eyes light up so brightly, I can make out his features. Apart from the pointed ears-similar to the elves—and the horns, he has a pretty human-ish appearance. I mean, red eyes, too, but his nose is strong and slopes, his jaw chiseled, and his lush lips purse for a moment before he rattles something off in a harsh language that I have no hope of understanding.

I don’t.

The elves do.

With another yip, a few yelps, and some dangerous mutterings, they scamper off, the echoes of the tinkling bells the only clue they were hear.

Well, that, plus the way my head aches from the hair-pulling, my knees stings from being targeted, and my hip… that always hurts, but it’s especially stiff right now.

Or maybe that’s the way my body goes ramrod straight, suddenly paralyzed as the giant turns his attention on me solely.

“I—” Do I thank him? Do I acknowledge that those elves were attacking me before he arrived, or do I just hope that he slinks into the shadows as quickly as he appeared out of them?

I never get the chance to do any of that because, after taking a few purposely steps closer to me—and, yup, beneath his dark brown linen pants, those definitely are cloven hooves instead of feet—he points at my middle with a claw.

“What do you have there?”

What do I have?—

The orange. He’s pointing at the orange.

His red eyes gleam as he stares at the piece of fruit I’m still holding onto tightly. Even as the violent little fuckers were tugging on my dress, yanking on my hair, trying to knock me on the ground… I didn’t drop the damn thing at all.

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