Defy the Dark

Myra McEntire Naughty or Nice

When I was seven and he was eight, I broke all of the crayons in Henry Bishop’s supply box. He didn’t tell on me.

When I was eleven and he was twelve, he tried to give me my first kiss. I laughed so hard I peed in my pants, which would’ve killed the moment had it not already been really, really dead.

When I was seventeen and he was eighteen, we went on a school trip to Bavaria. I learned to believe in monsters, and in Henry.

After thirty hours of traveling and a scant amount of sleep, we finally circle W. A. Mozart airport.

“Get off me.” I push Henry’s head off my shoulder. “You’re drooling.”

Semi–sleep state or not, my best friend is ready with a comeback. As always. “No, honey, that’s you. Tell me what did it. Was it the smell of my shampoo or my close proximity?”

I groan and return my seat to its upright position. Ignoring Henry, I lean my forehead against the cold window and look down.

Nature has spilled a sugar bowl over a gathering of Baroque gingerbread castles, the snow so white it’s blue. Purple mountaintops are haloed by clouds, and the hills that remain green year-round seem too lush for the cold temperatures.

I’ve waited for this since I was a freshman—the annual and legendary senior winter trip our private school takes. It was also known as everyone’s early Christmas present, like when Lucy Price got knocked up, or when Jerry Maner got suspended for skiing naked.

After the chaos of claiming our baggage, an hour-long train ride, and twenty minutes in a van that smells like diesel fuel and dead fish, we pull up to the hotel.

Six buildings make up the Edelweiss. The wood juts out at odd but pleasing angles, complemented by curves. When I look up, snow-covered mountains fill most of the sky. I have to lean my head all the way back to see the sun or a tiny slice of blue, and my eyes are watering from the cold. I’m grateful for my faux fur–lined boots, coat and matching gloves, and the resulting toasty toes and fingers, even if it does scream tourist. Still, I head inside before my eyeballs freeze.

The lobby is warm and cheery, and now crowded to all four walls with tired, stinky students. Our teachers corral us into lines so we can check in.

“Willkommen!” The girl behind the desk offers us a bright smile. Her dress—dirndl—is a Swiss Miss fantasy come true, pushing her boobs so high I half expect them to fall out and land on the desk. The bodice is tight, the skirt is short, and the apron seems like an afterthought. Her name tag reads ELKE.

I check in first, and the smile never leaves her face. I think it’s just excellent customer service until Henry steps up to the counter beside me, and I figure out she hasn’t been smiling at me. She’s been smiling past me.

“Welcome.” She takes his parents’ credit card and enters the information into the computer. It takes twice as long as it should because she keeps stopping to look at him.

My chest tightens, a relatively new but altogether stressful response to the way girls react to Henry. It’s not his fault he’s grown five inches taller and his skin cleared up and he finally got his braces off. He’s still my Henry.

Just . . . hotter.

When she hands the card back, she sounds decidedly less local. “My friends and I are having drinks later at Sterndlbar. It’s down in the market. You should come.”

“Are both of us invited?” he asks.

Oh yay. He remembers I’m here.

“You want to bring your sister?” Such a subtle insult. The girl’s a pro.

“Oh, no,” he says, winking at her. “She’s not my sister.”

Elke’s face falls a country mile. “Well then. You’re both welcome. I guess.”

Henry leans closer to the counter. “She’s just like a sister.”

Her smile is big again, and I swear she pushes her boobs together with her arms, creating an endless chasm of cleavage. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Our concierge is just over there.” Back to business, and the accent, Elke points to a man in lederhosen that were probably too short when he was twelve. “He’ll assign a bellboy to help you with your bags.”

“Thanks.” Henry hooks his arm around my neck and pulls me away from the desk.

I jerk free the second we’re out of Elke’s range of vision. We’ve always horsed around, but his touch feels different now, and not just because I stopped winning the fights.

“You’re such a douche.” I busy myself by straightening my scarf with my free hand. Henry takes my bag from my other.

“Proven, scientific fact. Women find men they believe to be attached more attractive.”

I take my bag back. “Are you using your mom’s Cosmos for bathroom reading again?”

“It has really good articles.” He shrugs. “Lobby in an hour?”

I stare.

“Come on, Bex, you have to go with me. You were invited. You can’t be rude. International relations and whatnot.” He shakes his hair out of his eyes, and I can’t help thinking of how soft it felt when he was asleep on my shoulder.

“Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”

The walk to the market takes forever. I have my faux-fur ensemble, and Henry wears one of those ridiculous fleece hats with the wool-lined side flaps. For some reason, on him, it works. His dark hair is contained, and I can actually see his eyes. I forgot how green they are.

The amber circles of the town market lights shine on the snow as we reach the pub. The bar sign swings merrily above the door, inviting us to come into the warmth and cast off our worries.

Or our inhibitions, as the case may be.

Henry scans the room, and his focus lands on Elke in a booth in the back corner. She has on a berry-red scarf and a matching beret.

“She’s got on so much lip gloss that if you try to kiss her, you’ll slide off her face like a penguin off an ice cap.”

Henry grins, like he could be down for that.

“She’s so obvious.” I scoff, removing my coat and hanging it on a moose-antler rack by the door.

“I’m on vacation. Who needs complications?”

“Right.”

I take off my hat and he reaches out to smooth down my hair after a stealth attack of static electricity. “Your hairdo looks as uptight as you are.”

“I’m not uptight. I’m just . . . selective.” I smack his hand away with more force than necessary.

“It’s a joke.” He waves his fingers in mock pain and then holds them close to his chest, like I’ve injured him. “You can laugh.”

“Oh, I am. On the inside.”

Henry tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. It’s a sweet gesture, but his words don’t go with it. “Come be my wingman?”

I sigh. “You can get off the ground all by yourself.”

“Bex—”

“I’m tired of being a means to an end for you.” I pull away from him. “How come you aren’t ever my wingman?”

“Do you need one?” He honestly looks confused.

This is part of the problem of having a dude for a best friend. They get so used to looking at you, they never see you.

“I’m not asexual, Henry, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He frowns and takes a step back to check me out, starting at my feet and making his way to my face. His gaze stops a couple of times before ending at my lips.

“Henry?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Definitely not asexual.”

He sees me now.

A movement in the corner of the pub catches his eye. I don’t bother looking over my shoulder. Elke and her friend. “Go. No complications, remember?”

I walk away first.

The pub smells like beer and Christmas. Voices are cheery. Holiday music plays in the background, and a fire burns in the hearth. Kids of all ages sit with their parents, and a few even have glasses of cider. European sensibilities.

A guy slings drinks behind the counter. Young, with wild hair and fast hands. Cute. Smiling at me.

No complications.

Sadly, mine will be going home with me, assuming Henry doesn’t get lost in Elke’s cleavage.

I hide behind a gaggle of French tourists for a while to work up my nerve, then make my way to the bar to order a Coke. “And can you put some ice in that?”

The bartender grins. In spite of the goatee, he’s even better looking up close. “Not enough of the cold stuff outside for you?”

“I’d rather have it in my soda.” I watch him for a minute while trying to pragmatically figure out how to do this. Henry’s the flirt. I’m the sarcastic sidekick. How would he handle the situation if he were in my shoes?

He’d start by hitting on a girl.

“You’re Australian?” I ask after I clear my throat.

“British. But I’ll forgive you.”

I know Henry’s staring at me from the way the bartender keeps looking toward the corner. I’m guessing it’s an evil death glare. I have no idea if it’s protective or jealous.

Not my problem.

I screw up my courage and take another stab at it. “So, where are the best places to ski?”

“Do you really want to know, or are you trying to flirt with me?”

I am so not cut out for this. “I’m trying, and failing, to flirt with you.”

“Give me ten seconds so I can bribe a replacement.” The grin becomes a full-blown smile. “I’ll flirt back.”

I blush, regretting that I’m too far away from the fire to blame it on the heat. I didn’t expect success. Not so quickly.

The bartender’s smile is still in place as he comes out from behind the bar and hands me a glass of Coke. “I’m Kit.”

“Bex.” I take the glass and we do an awkward sort of handshake thing. “Short for Rebecca.”

“I like it.”

“Thanks.” I sip my drink. It’s full to the brim, and loaded with ice.

“Come sit with my friends,” Kit says. “They’re with that guy you walked in with.”

I can’t respond. I’m too stuck between having to sit with Henry and Elke and some random girl, and Kit noticing I came into the pub with Henry. Maybe it’s a bartender thing. Totaling numbers in their head to make sure they’re within fire code or something.

We jostle our way through the crowd. Languages twist together in an exotic chorus, and the sound is pleasant, if surreal.

“Kit!” Elke’s smile flashes a lot of white, but she doesn’t have a good teeth-to-gums ratio, and for some reason this boosts my confidence.

Neither of them introduces their friend.

“Thought we’d join you.” Kit pulls up a wide stool and nods like I’m supposed to sit down. When I do, he bumps my hip with his and then crowds in to share. We’re close. Really close.

I stare at the floor, hoping he won’t notice my grin. When I look up, I see that Henry did. His eyes are narrowed. I stick out my tongue at him and they go wide.

“Are you here from the States, then?” Kit asks, pouring beer from a pitcher into an empty glass on the table. He offers it to me, but I hold up my Coke.

Henry answers in some kind of weird, deep Man Voice. “Virginia, near Charlottesville.” The voice gives out on the last syllable and he coughs.

“We’re here on a school trip,” I add over Henry’s coughing. Elke hands him her glass of beer. He takes several deep swigs and slumps back in his seat, staring at Kit’s hand, which has landed on my knee.

“A school trip?” The other girl has an expensive button nose with nostrils so tiny that snot blockage from a simple cold could suffocate her. I think her accent is British, too, but it’s a little too nasally to be certain. “You mean you’re not here for the Krampus walk?”

“What’s that?” Henry’s back to his normal voice, and he’s eyeing the beer pitcher.

A look passes between Kit and the two girls. I speak before they can.

“The Krampus walk,” I say, happy to have a chance to show off my geek research side, “is a tourist thing, a festival to get people to come into town and spend money. I read it in my brochures.”

Henry laughs. “Brochure my ass. You have a stack of travel books bigger than you are.”

“Some people read other things besides Cosmo and X-Men comics.”

A shout goes up from the game of darts being played beside us. A guy takes a wide step back and bumps into me. Kit’s fingers slide up, gripping my thigh to keep me steady. It has the opposite effect.

My voice is a little wobbly. “People dress up, buy masks to hide behind so they can run wild, get drunk in the street, hook up with strangers.”

“Sounds like a good time to me,” Henry says, his arm lowering from the back of the booth to Elke’s shoulders.

“Sounds stupid to me,” I return. But I put my hand on top of Kit’s.

No one at the table knows where to look, and the room goes quiet, like the universe put Henry and me in time-out.

“Anyway,” I continue when the bar noise returns to its previous volume, “it sounds like the Krampus is a cheap knockoff of Santa.”

Henry is the only one at the table who doesn’t look at me like I’ve slapped his grandma.

“What did I say?”

“Krampus isn’t anything like Santa. He’s the anti-Santa,” Elke says, her local accent completely gone. Definitely British. “Santa gives out toys, but Krampus gives out punishment.”

“For being naughty?” Henry asks, his fingertips sliding down over Elke’s collarbone. Lower.

She laughs. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want to end up on his list.”

Henry picks up Elke’s beer glass and takes a long drink. “Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Depending on what got me on it.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone hear you say that.” Button Nose tilts her chin up. I’m momentarily entranced by her perfectly symmetrical nose holes. “It could be bad news.”

“Um . . . why?” Derision saturates my voice. “I’ve seen his picture in the freaking travel brochures. A cute comic of a red, furry monster with horns, shaming the naughty kids. Like Elmo on speed.”

“The Krampus isn’t for kids.” Kit sounds more like a nanny than a bartender.

“Grown-ups only, huh?” Henry’s grin goes wicked, and his fingertips go lower over Elke’s sweater.

“If he comes looking for you, you might end up stuffed in his sack,” Button Nose says. “So he can take you home and have you for dinner.”

“Unless you grab his sack,” I say.

Henry grins. “That’s what she said.”

Henry is three shades of buzzed, and these people are either total nutters or they’ve breathed the mountain air too long.

Or they’re messing with us.

I try to meet Henry’s eyes for affirmation, but he’s busy staring into the bottom of his empty beer glass. He’s drinking like a dehydrated fish.

Elke takes Henry’s glass and refills it. “The tourist industry plays it off as fun in those brochures on purpose. They want to encourage people to show up and participate.”

“It’s better for the locals if tourists are available. Better chance for survival.” Kit’s voice is exaggerated and dramatic, and the tense moment passes as we all laugh.

Definitely messing with us.

A murmur starts at the front of the bar.

It’s minimal at first, just voices, but it grows louder and louder, morphing into screaming laughter and drunken shouting. Kit stands and grabs my hand.

“What are you doing?” I clamber off the stool.

“Krampus is walking. Come on!”

Henry and the girls follow us out of the bar. Henry’s unsteady—he’s not a drinker at all—and he puts his arms around the necks of both girls to stand up straight.

The cold air stings as Kit pulls me into the crowd. I follow him, crunching through the snow, laughing at the prospect of adventure. We make our way to the front. Monsters are everywhere.

Kind of like Sesame Street Gone Wild.

There are red fluffy ones, blue scraggly ones. There are some who remind me of the beasts from Where the Wild Things Are, and others that look like something my cat might throw up.

None of them are scary, and none of them are carrying sacks.

They mostly just dance around and play hide-and-seek and chase with the children on the street.

“Perfectly harmless, right?” Kit asks, pulling me against his chest. He leans down, and I’m certain he’s going to kiss me.

Henry shouts my name from across the street. I smile regretfully and pull away from Kit. He looks disappointed.

I make my way through the crowd to Henry and the girls. Kit is behind me, his hands on my waist, like we’re doing the bunny hop. He’s been touching me since he came from behind the bar. I thought the British were supposed to be standoffish.

Henry’s mouth is set in a thin line of determination, and he has beads of sweat over his upper lip.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Sick?”

“Drunk. And real sad about it.” I look in the direction he’s pointing.

It’s Ms. Belcher, our toughest chaperone, and she’s fifteen feet away. “We need to get back to the hotel,” I say.

Kit overhears. “You can’t leave. We barely got to talk at all.”

The way he’s staring at my lips suggests that wasn’t all we didn’t get to do.

“We’re here for a week.” Henry is green. Lost opportunity or not, if Henry blows groceries in front of Belcher, we’ll be on the first plane back home.

“Promise you’ll come back tomorrow night.” Kit won’t let my hand go. The touching thing feels weird all of a sudden. “You’ll have to get masks so you can run with us.”

“We’ll be back. We’ll find masks.” Desperation makes me blurt out the promise. Belcher is getting closer and closer, and now Coach Smith is with her. I pull away from Kit and push past Elke and Button Nose. “We have to go.”

We dodge in and out of the crowd, me pulling Henry along, and he groans. The smell of alcohol on everyone’s breath is enough to make me nauseated. I almost feel sorry for him.

I barely get Henry behind the back wall of the pub before he loses it.

“Wow,” I say. “This is almost as gross as the Sixth Grade Plague of Puke. Remember? I had to go to the hospital to get intravenous fluids.”

“I gave you a stuffed bear.” Henry leans against the building and swipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

I push his sweaty hair into his stupid hat so it’s out of his face. “Come to think of it, its fur looked a lot like one of the Krampus impersonators.”

I hear a noise and look over my shoulder. What if Belcher followed us?

If so, she is about to get eyeful or a shoe full.

Henry heaves again, and I pat his back in the dark while saying a silent prayer of thanks for a quick escape and my cast-iron stomach. Because no matter how you feel about someone, puking is gross.

“Thanks, Bex.”

“Anytime, Henry.”

We stay behind the building until Henry is empty and the teachers are on their way back to the Edelweiss.

The whole time, my skin tingles with the sense that someone, somewhere, is watching us.

The next afternoon, Henry shovels in potatoes and sausage like last night was nothing but a nightmare. “We have to go buy masks.”

“Why?”

“For tonight.” He picks up his milk and chugs.

So gross.

We’re the last people at the lunch buffet. Everyone else has already hit the slopes. Twice. “After last night, I’m perfectly happy to spend the afternoon in the lobby and drink hot chocolate.”

“Fine.” Henry leans back, rubbing his stomach. Frustratingly enough, after everything he’s put away, it’s still flat—even slightly rippled—under his shirt. “You drink hot chocolate; I’ll hang out with the staff. I bet there’s a storeroom around here that’s empty for most of the day.”

I stare at him. “Elke?”

“Do you have another suggestion?” He stares back.

“What’s going on here?” I feel the need to clear the air. “Seems like last night, you were touching her just to piss me off.”

“And you were doing the same thing with Kit.” Henry bats his eyelashes and picks up another doughnut.

I wait until he takes a bite to answer. “Maybe we should touch each other instead of strangers.”

He chokes. It’s what I was aiming for, but I didn’t expect him to turn blue. Once I’m sure his windpipe is clear, I sit back down.

“I tried touching you once, Bex. You remember how that turned out.”

“So? You know I laugh when I’m nervous.” I want to giggle now.

“I thought you were laughing at me.”

“Maybe you thought wrong.”

“Well”—Henry’s tone reminds me of the one he used to use when I took the last red ice pop or piece of bubble gum—“you never asked me to try again.”

I deadpan: “Oh, please, Henry. Lean over here and lay one on me. Wait, let me grab a change of unders first.”

He blinks.

“Anyway, it’s not like Cindy Evans wasn’t ready to step in and play peekaboo with you once I was out of the romantic picture.”

“Ahhh. Good old Cindy Evans.”

I throw down my napkin, stand up, and push in my chair. Broaching the subject is obviously a bad idea or at least one we’re not ready for yet. “Are you going with me?”

“Where?”

“To buy a mask.” I turn on my heel. “I’ll ask the concierge where we can find them.”

Because whether I want to go back to the pub tonight or not, no way in hell am I leaving him alone with Elke.

The faint scent of gasoline and oil slips from between the door and the threshold of the woodworking shop. Through the window I see chain saws lined up carefully on a table, three rows of three across.

“That’s a lot of chain saws.”

“That’s a pretty impressive display of knives, too.” Henry nods to several on a table beside a half-carved mask.

“Don’t worry,” a deep voice says from behind us. The man it belongs to has a scruffy red beard and splinters of wood caught in the waffle weave of his thermal shirt. “I only use them to carve masks. Not to disassemble innocent American tourists.”

“That’s . . . reassuring.” Henry’s statement is more like a question.

“Can I help you?” The man has the definite accent of someone who’s used to speaking English to tourists. Formal and precise.

“We were looking for masks. For the Krampus walk.” Henry hitches his thumb in the direction of the main road. “The concierge at the Edelweiss told us to ask for Wilhelm.”

“That’s me, and I have plenty.”

We step inside. Masks cover every wall.

Some have horns that extend three feet on each side. Others have teeth like industrial-sized needles, and long, curving tongues. Painted blood, so glossy it looks wet, drips from upturned lips.

Where did Elmo go?

There isn’t one wall space in the entire room absent of a mask, and there isn’t one mask that features anything resembling a smile.

“I wouldn’t want to come in here at night,” I say, breathing through the words. “This is enough to fuel a lifetime of bad dreams.”

“Krampus masks,” Wilhelm says, smiling, “are a specialty of our village.”

“I thought Krampus was cute.” I shiver, and try to avoid looking at the masks with the longest bloody tongues and biggest oversized horns. “These don’t look anything like what we saw last night.”

“Krampus is whatever you make him.” Wilhelm picks up a finished mask. “This is carved from windbuchen beech from the Black Forest. Ram horns from one of the most fertile flocks our valley has known, and stained with his blood. Special order.”

He puts it down when I shudder.

“What were you told about the Krampus?” he asks.

We give him the rundown of our convo and personal experience last night.

“No one mentioned that Krampus predates Christianity?” Wilhelm picks up a knife and a sharpening stone. “That some believe he’s a demon who feeds on human souls?”

“Nope,” Henry says, staring at the knife. I feel him tense beside me. “They left that part out.”

“Good then.” Wilhelm laughs. “It’s not anything to worry about. Some people go too far. And it’s bad for my business.”

“Right.” Henry nods. “Business.”

“It’s almost dark.” Wilhelm looks through the open door in the direction of the market and begins running the edge of the knife against the stone. “The Krampus walk will begin soon. Last night’s walk was mother’s milk, for children. Tonight will be made of mead and meat.”

“We’re supposed to meet some people,” Henry says, taking a step toward the door. “In the village. So. We should go.”

“If you’re going to play, did you want a mask?” Wilhelm asks, gesturing toward his morbid collection with the point of his newly sharpened knife.

“Thanks for the offer, sir,” Henry says. “But I don’t think so. Not one of these.”

“Creepy mask seller is creepy.” Henry’s walking too fast for me to keep up.

“Your legs are longer than mine. Slow down.” I catch him and tuck my hand in the crook of his arm.

“Did the concierge send us there as a joke? I feel like I’m in a horror movie.” He tightens his arm around mine and imitates a movie trailer voice-over. “Innocent tourists led to the slaughter in a snowbound paradise. The demon must be fed! Rated R for sexual situations and nudity.”

“You wish.”

“Yes, I do.”

I let go of his arm, and we crest the hill that leads to the pub just as the sun sinks behind the mountains.

We step into the warmth to find it more crowded than the night before. Several people have masks, but nothing like what we saw at the shop today. Less demon from hell, more Oscar the Grouch.

There’s a girl behind the bar instead of Kit. I think he’s bailed on me until he and Elke walk through the front door. Button Nose is missing.

“Hey! Where’s your friend?” I ask.

“Hi.” Kit slides his arm around my waist and pulls me close to his side. “She didn’t want to be a tagalong.”

I nod and put a half inch of space between us. Fifth wheel is always a bummer, but her absence has left us in the most awkward situation: an unintended double date.

We head toward the same table as the night before. Elke must be a regular, because even though the place is packed, the booth is empty. We’re getting ready to sit when the murmur starts at the front of the pub.

The sounds are more menacing tonight. The crowd is a little slower to move toward the door, and some don’t get up at all. Kit and Elke have an easy task as they lead us outside.

The masks we saw at Wilhelm’s shop are baby toys compared to what we see now.

There are at least twenty Krampus trolling the crowd, wielding whips as well as switches. They have heavy chains, too, and they slam them repeatedly against the cobblestone streets.

A lone, piercing howl, full of malice, bounces off the sides of the dark stone exteriors of the buildings in the town center. I move closer to Kit. I really want to be close to Henry.

The crowd dances around the monsters in spite of the terrifying masks, laughing, flirting, even bending over to receive spankings from switches. I don’t understand the lack of terror. The people in the street must be loaded.

“This looks nothing like the brochure,” I yell to Kit over the crowd. “Nothing like last night at all.”

“No,” Kit yells back, holding on to my arm tightly as we move toward the street. “And this isn’t even the real thing. Krampus uses the walk as a distraction to pick off one or two victims for his dinner.”

“Stop messing around.” I fight a full-body shiver. “It’s not funny anymore.”

He smiles.

As we get closer to the action, I see that the monster’s skin colors range from moonlight to crimson to ebony. They all have glowing yellow eyes. They’re adorned in clothing made of animal pelts, and claws extend from their fingers and toes.

Kit lets me go and I’m sucked into the center of the action. Their furs stink of death and rot. Most all of the figures have thick limbs and yellow nails in the beginning stages of curling into claws. If these are the fakes, I don’t want to get anywhere near the real thing.

I’m losing my mind. Monsters aren’t real.

They form a ring around me, and I lose track of Kit.

The slamming of the chains against the cobblestones becomes a song, and their movements become a dance. I can hear low grunts issuing from their throats. I am jostled and shaken and almost knocked down, and my heart beats with desperation. I want out. And I can’t get out.

I’m halfway to a panic attack when I bounce off Henry’s shoulder.

I grab the front of his coat. “Henry! What the hell is going on?”

Around us, the Krampus continue their dance. The circle closes, tighter and tighter.

“Elke disappeared.” He takes my hand and holds it tightly, as if he’s making sure he won’t lose me. “I think they’re playing a joke on the gullible tourists.”

I take stock of our surroundings. The crowd has surged away from the pub, and I’ve been too busy looking for rescue to notice which direction. “Where are we?”

“Look!” Henry waves his free arm. “Over there.”

Relief is sweet. Kit and Elke.

As we push through the crowd of monsters, I realize how incredibly fast they move. Their horns are razor sharp, and every beast holds a wicked-looking stick in addition to the rusty chains.

I look toward Kit again and see that he and Elke have their arms wrapped around each other. And not in a friendly way.

“Henry.”

We’ve fallen into a ridiculous trap. Whether the monsters we see are real or the plot of ill-intentioned humans, we’re in trouble.

“I see them.” He grunts in frustration. “We can switch dates and kick ass when we get out of here. But let’s just concentrate on actually getting out.”

Miraculously, he finds a way through the chaos.

We run hand in hand, and Henry jerks me into an alley. I try to catch my breath and figure out where we are. I don’t think we’re in the town center anymore.

“Why would they do that to us?” Henry looks up and down the street while I lean over to relace my boots. “Just for a sick joke? Is this how they treat tourists? Henry?”

I turn around.

Krampus.

What I would’ve thought was a mask five seconds ago has become skin. Strings of saliva pool around teeth attached to red gums. A long tongue leads to a wide-open mouth and gullet.

The smell is like being locked in a hot car with pounds of rotted meat packed around you. And he’s holding an empty sack.

“We’re going to die,” I say, grabbing Henry’s arm and backing up. The monster does nothing. Just stares.

“Don’t say that.” I’ve never heard Henry so scared.

“You’re my best friend.”

“Don’t do the whole last-words thing, Bex.” Henry pulls me behind him, putting himself between the monster and me. “We could be hallucinating.”

The monster roars so loud, it blows our hair back.

“Listen to me.” Tears form, but I swipe them away before they roll down my cheeks. “I have to say this. I’ve played so many stupid games.”

“We both have.”

The monster is starting toward us now.

“I love you, Henry. I’m in love with you.”

“I love you back. Even after you peed in your pants.” He stumbles over a piece of trash. Krampus stills and tilts his head to the side.

I steady Henry. The end of the alley is so dark. Stacks of wooden crates lean perilously against the wall. No one can see us from the street. Krampus just has to knock us out, stuff us in his sack, and then blend in with the crowd until it’s time to go home.

If a lair is considered a home, rather than a place to cook people for Christmas dinner.

“The next time we want to fight our feelings for each other, let’s do it in our own backyard instead of crossing several time zones and into the Twilight Zone?” Henry sounds hopeful.

“The next time?” I bark a harsh laugh. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re about to be dinner.”

Krampus takes two huge steps forward.

“Bex.” Henry grabs my wrist so hard my fingers go numb. “Look.”

There’s a door in the building to our left, and a thin slit of light shines through. A tiny prickle of a memory of something I’ve read pulls at the corner of my brain.

“Get his sack,” I say between my teeth.

Henry does a double take. “Say what?”

“Just do it.”

Moving in tandem as only two people who’ve known each other for a lifetime can do, Henry jerks the sack out of the monster’s hand. I jump behind the crates and push them over on Krampus just as Henry clears the space. Henry slams his hand against the door to open it, and we run inside the building.

The smell of rot is replaced by the smell of baked goods.

“Yes!” I slam the door behind us and fist pump. “Geek research for the win! If Krampus loses his sack, he loses his power. We did—”

Before I get the words out, Henry takes my face in his hands. His kiss is serious, scared, and full of all kinds of promises. When he pulls away, I’m dizzy.

There’s a roar and a crash, and claws begin to scratch relentlessly at the closed door.

“If you want to do that again—”

“I do,” I interrupt. “Many, many times.”

“Then run.”

When I was seventeen and he was eighteen, Henry Bishop and I went to Bavaria, stole a sack, escaped a monster, and fell in love.