Krampus

Chapter Five Monsters

They’d lost sight of the wolves at least ten miles back, yet all the devil men kept their eyes fixed on the road behind them, no one speaking as they headed south on Route 3, following the Coal River through the isolated hill country.

No one had killed him yet, so Jesse felt he just might have a chance of getting out of this scrape alive. “So,” Jesse said. “Where can I drop you and your friends off at?”

The she-devil studied him. The fire in her eyes had diminished, still holding their unnerving orange tint but not glowing as before. She pushed back the hood of her jacket, gave him a wry grin, and shook her head. Her hair was dark, matted, and greasy, cropped short, as if hacked away with a knife. Her gray skin with blotchy black patches made it difficult to gauge her age, but if Jesse had to guess he would’ve said somewhere in her late teens.

The window between the cab and the camper shell slid open and one of the devil men poked his head into the cab. He appeared to be older, his face heavily lined, late fifties perhaps, long, greasy hair and bristly, black beard. “We’ve lost them!”

“No,” corrected the devil man seated next to him. It was the tall one, one of the ones with horns and draped in bear hides. His skin, like that of the two horned monsters next to him, appeared to be covered in black paint or tar perhaps, as though he’d purposely tried to darken it. The tall devil man crouched over, trying not to bump his horns on the camper roof. “You will never lose them. Not so long as the ravens follow.” His speech was paced, a bit stilted; he sounded to Jesse like a Native American.

The woman rolled down her window; the cold wind buffeted the cab as she leaned her head out and scanned the night sky. She withdrew back in. “No sign of ’em. None that I could see no ways.”

“They are there,” the tall one said. “I feel them.”

“I don’t feel anything,” the bearded man said. “How can you be so sure?”

The tall man gave him a pitying look.

“Don’t give me that look. I hate that look.” The bearded man was silent a minute. “Well . . . what’re we going to do about them?”

“Do?” the woman said. “We got the sack. There’s only one thing we can do.”

“What?” the bearded man cried. “We’re just going to go back to the cave? But that’ll lead the monsters right to him. Not to mention right to us. Why, we’ll be trapped!”

“We got no choice,” she insisted. “That was his command.”

“Well, then we better hope Old Tall and Ugly can get unhooked before they catch up with us, or we’re all going to die horribly.”

The creatures all fell quiet, the lone wiper beating out a squeaky rhythm as they watched the slushy road slipping away behind them in the glow of the taillights. Jesse noted the one that had been shot holding his face, blood spilling out between his fingers. He didn’t think that one would be around for much longer. After seeing those wolves, he didn’t think any of them would. “So,” Jesse put in. “Given any thought as to where I should let you guys off?”

They ignored him.

“Are we even going the right way?” the woman asked.

“How the heck should I know,” the bearded devil replied.

“Well, how about you ask Makwa.”

The man’s face wrinkled up in distaste, but he did just that and a heated discussion broke out accompanied by an arsenal of animated hand-gestures. He leaned back through the window. “Yes, we seem to be going the right way.”

“You sure?” the woman asked.

“No, I’m not sure. But Big Chief Know-It-All sure seems to think so. And when was the last time he was wrong?”

The woman shrugged.

Makwa jabbed a finger into the cab, pointed ahead to a ridgeline barely visible in the night sky.

“Yeah, we got it,” the bearded man said.

“Hey, I know where we’re at,” the woman said. “We should be coming up on the road in about a mile then.” She looked at Jesse. “You got that? Turn up the next dirt road.”

“Okay, that’ll work. I’ll just drop you off there.”

“No, you’ll do no such a thing.” She looked at him sadly, her tone softening. “I’m mighty sorry, but you’re tied up in this now. We’re gonna need you to take us up the mountain as far as you can.”

“Well, sweetheart,” Jesse said. “I’m not really in the mood to go and get myself stuck up in them woods . . . not tonight. I’m gonna drop you guys off right here.”

She poked the pistol against his ribs. “I’m not really in the mood to shoot you either, but I will.”

Jesse gave her a quick, spiteful look.

“And my name’s not Sweetheart. It’s Isabel.” After a long moment, she asked, “And you, you got a name?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. It’s Jesse.”

“Well, Jesse, this here’s Vernon.”

The bearded devil smiled and stuck out his hand. “Good to make your acquaintance.” From the way he spoke, Jesse knew he wasn’t from around here, from somewhere up north maybe. Jesse looked at Vernon’s extended hand as though it were covered in spit.

Vernon’s smile withered and he withdrew his hand. “Yes, well . . . and this remarkably unrefined specimen here,” he gestured to the tall devil in the bear hide, “is Makwa. Beside him is Wipi, and the unfortunate gentleman with the bullet hole in his face is his brother, Nipi.”

Despite their appearance Jesse got the feeling that these creatures, or people, or whatever they might be, were more scared and desperate than menacing. On any account, they didn’t seem to harbor him any ill will. Still he knew what they were capable of, couldn’t get the image of Lynyrd’s slit throat out of his mind, but decided maybe they weren’t the murdering monsters he’d first thought. Either way, desperate people did dangerous things, and Jesse figured the sooner he got away, the better his chances of seeing another day.

“Just what are you guys supposed to be anyhow?”

“What’d you mean?” the girl asked.

“What’d you mean, what’d I mean? Are you werewolves, boogeymen, or just been out trick-or-treating?”

“Well,” she replied, irritated. “I ain’t any of those, thank you. I’m a person just like you.”

Jesse laughed and not very kindly. “No. No, you most certainly are not.”

“Krampus calls us Belsnickels,” Vernon put in. “You’ll have to ask him exactly what that means.” His tone turned bitter. “But any way you want to put it, it means we’re his servants . . . his slaves.”

“I got another idea,” Jesse said. “How about you let me out then? I’ll just hitch a ride out of here. Take my chances.”

Isabel shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jesse. But we can’t do that.”

“Why the hell not? I’m giving you my damn truck! What else do you need me for?”

No one answered.

“Well?”

“Can’t none of us drive very well.”

“What?” Jesse stared at her, then burst out laughing. “You gotta be shitting me.”

Isabel frowned. “I wasn’t but sixteen when I left home. And Mama didn’t own a car no how.”

“What about good old Vernon here, or them Injuns?”

Isabel smiled at that. “I’d like to see one of them Shawnee trying to drive. So long as I wasn’t riding with ’em that is. And I’m guessing the last thing Vernon drove was hitched up to a horse.”

Vernon sighed. “There weren’t very many automobiles about when I was still human.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well,” Vernon said. “We’re a bit older than we might seem. I was forty-nine when I started surveying this part of the country. Was working for the Fairmont Coal Company at that time. That was about 1910. And Isabel, we found her around—”

“It was the winter of seventy-one. That’ll put me somewhere in my fifties, I guess.” Jesse caught a note of sadness in her voice. He glanced over. She was staring out the window into the darkness. She certainly didn’t look in her fifties.

“That don’t add up,” Jesse said.

“I know it don’t,” Isabel said. “Not one bit. But that’s the truth of it. It’s Krampus . . . his magic that does it. And them Indians, hell, they been with Krampus nearly as long as he’s been stuck in the cave. Going on near five hundred years I’d say.”

Jesse noticed his fuel light was still on, wondered if he might be able to use that to his advantage. He thumped the fuel light. “ ’Bout out of fuel. Might should get some gas before we try and head up in the mountains.”

“We’ll make it,” Isabel said.

“You sound rather sure.”

“Just in my nature to be optimistic, I guess.”

“Yes,” Vernon said. “It’s very annoying. Me, I say too much optimism will get you killed.”

Makwa shoved his long arm into the cab. “There.”

Jesse slowed down, caught sight of a reflector, then found the mouth of a small dirt road. The turnoff was overgrown with brambles and looked like it hadn’t been used in ages. Jesse sat in the middle of the highway with the engine idling. “You got to be kidding?”

“Just turn.”

Jesse contemplated opening the door and running for it, then remembered how quick these creatures were. “Dammit,” Jesse said and pulled off the highway. The truck bottomed out in the ditch, the tail end making a terrible racket as it ground against the rocky grade. Branches scraped alongside the truck, the sound making Jesse’s teeth hurt. The road followed a steep ledge upward—hard, tense going with just the one headlight. The truck bounded along the icy, washed-out ruts, and Jesse took a certain pleasure in hearing the devil men’s heads hitting the roof of the camper. The trail—Jesse wouldn’t call it a road at this point—zigzagged up the incline, fording the same creek at least a dozen times. After about half an hour the road abruptly ended in a wall of fallen rocks.

“Pull over there,” Isabel said. “Beneath the trees.”

“What for?”

“Just do it.”

Jesse did, and the Belsnickels all scrambled out of the camper, Makwa carrying the Santa sack over his shoulder. Nipi, the one shot in the face, had tied a strip of cloth around his face, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

“Shut it off,” Isabel said to Jesse.

“What?”

“You’re coming with us.”

“Like hell I am!”

She reached over, shut the truck off, and took the keys.

“Hey!”

She put the keys in her jacket pocket along with his pistol, got out, and came round to his door. “You don’t want to be staying out here by yourself. Trust me.”

“No, that ain’t fair. We had a deal.”

“You’re right, it ain’t fair. Not any of it. No one knows that better than we do. But we need that truck. And if we leave you here you’ll get eaten. Then who’s gonna drive us back down this mountain?”

Jesse wasn’t big on the being eaten part at all.

She opened his door. “Don’t make me drag you.”

A distant caw came from somewhere far away. They all looked up.

“We need to hurry,” Vernon urged.

“Fuck!” Jesse said, but shut off the light and got out of the truck.

The Belsnickels headed up the heavily wooded slope at a fast jog. Isabel pushed Jesse along after them. “You know what’s after us, Jesse. Do your best to keep up. You hear?”

Jesse heard the cawing from somewhere far above them, heard the drumming in his chest, and wondered if he’d ever see Abigail again.

JESSE STUMBLED ALONG, clutching his side. The cold air seared his throat, his thighs burned, yet his fingers were numb from the cold. The hole in his hand throbbed. They’d been marching, climbing, and running up the mountainside for what Jesse guessed to be over half an hour. Isabel waited for him at the top of the trail. The rest of the Belsnickels were no longer in sight, had darted off as though unbothered by the cold and icy ground, three of them not even wearing shoes.

Jesse caught up with Isabel and stopped. He leaned heavily against a tree, gasping for air.

“Jesse,” Isabel said. “We gotta keep moving.”

Jesse shook his head, spat repeatedly, trying to clear the burn out of his throat. “I can’t.”

“Just a bit farther.”

“Tell you what,” he gasped. “Just leave me here for the wolves. I’d actually prefer to be eaten at this point.”

She shook her head and managed a half smile. “Don’t make me carry you.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him along. She might be small but he could feel her strength, felt she really could carry him if she had to.

A lone caw echoed through the trees. It sounded far away, farther down the hill perhaps. Jesse glanced up, but couldn’t see anything through the dense spruce limbs.

“I think maybe we’ve lost ’em,” Isabel said.

“You already told me you were an optimist. I don’t trust optimists.”

They slid down a slight incline into a ravine. She pointed ahead. “There.”

Jesse could just make out a cluster of boulders at the base of a cliff.

“Just where are you taking me?”

“You should be fine.”

“Should be? What does that mean?”

“Just be careful what you say. Don’t upset him.”

“You mean the Grumpus guy?”

“It’s Krampus.”

“Just who’s this—”

Isabel put a finger up. “Enough.” She gave him a tug, led him into a recess between the boulders. They stooped down and entered a narrow cave. She guided him toward a faint flicker of light near the rear of the cavern. They stopped before a shaft. Jesse peered down, wrinkled his nose—it smelled of something dead, of decay, of a caged beast living in its own filth. A howl echoed up the shaft. It didn’t sound like man or beast. Jesse took a step back, shaking his head. “No way.”

Isabel grabbed his arm. “Jesse, there’s no choice here.” All the lightness had left her voice, what remained was cold and stern. Her eyes glowed, she looked wicked—like a devil—and Jesse knew now that she was leading him into a den of devils.

Jesse shook his arm loose, gave her a damning look, and started down. The flickering light below illuminated the shaft just enough that he could pick his way down the stones without falling to his death. A moment later, his foot hit the black sooty dirt. He turned and froze.

It was a cavern, not much larger than a standard living room, the floor littered with liquor bottles, bones, animal hides, and charred wood. Wads of blankets and hay nestled in the back recesses. Piles of newspapers and books were stacked nearly to the ceiling. Candles and oil lamps perched on every ledge and nook. There hung a large, yellowing map of the earth with what looked to Jesse like astrological symbols, charts, and lines plotted out in charcoal across the continents. Pictures of Santa Claus covered the soot-stained walls: newspaper clippings, magazine ads, children’s books . . . and every single one had Santa’s eyes poked out.

Jesse searched for the great Krampus, for the monster that held the Belsnickels in such dread, and almost overlooked the thing sitting cross-legged on the floor. It sat shivering in the ash and dirt, rocking back and forth, clutching the Santa sack. The stumps of two broken horns twisted out from its forehead and strings of matted hair curled down its gaunt, haggard face. It grinned, then snickered, revealing stained teeth and jagged canines. The creature appeared to be starved, so shriveled and frail, like a corpse, like death itself. Jesse could see every vein and tendon beneath its thin, liver-spotted skin. Something twitched behind it; for a second, Jesse thought it was a snake, a hairy snake, but then realized the thing actually had a tail.

It cradled the Santa sack to its bosom like a long-lost child, caressed it with quivering, arthritic fingers. It let out a laugh, then sobbed, then laughed some more, tears rolling from its slanted, filmy eyes. It lolled back its head and cackled wildly and Jesse noticed the thick manacle clamped around its neck. A chain ran from the manacle to the wall; the smooth metal glistening like no ore Jesse had ever seen. Jesse didn’t know whether to be terrified or just feel pity for the wretched creature before him.

Isabel dropped down behind Jesse, strolled quickly over to the creature. “Krampus?”

The creature didn’t look up.

The Belsnickels stood well away as though afraid to get too close, glancing nervously at one another and back up the shaft as though the wolves might come sliding down the shaft at any second.

“Krampus,” Isabel said. “Santa Claus and his beasts . . . they found us. Can’t be far behind.”

Still the creature ignored her.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, gently shook him. “Krampus,” she said softly. “The monsters, they’ll be on us soon.”

The creature didn’t respond, only shivered, rocking back and forth with its sack.

KRAMPUS CLOSED HIS eyes and pressed his face against the sack, inhaled deeply. Yes, I can still smell it, the fires of Hel, after all these centuries. The smell reminded him of his mother, of blissful days when the dead danced around her throne and all things were right in the world. I have suffered long, Mother. He could see her face, a shimmering mirage floating in Hel’s blue flames. The vision slowly evaporated. No. Mother, don’t leave me. Not now. He shoved his nose deeper into the velvet, sniffed again. He jerked his face away as though bitten. What is this? He glared at the sack, his face a knot of hate and confusion. His foulness. The sack came into focus and he truly saw it, realized that it wasn’t black as it should’ve been, but a deep dark crimson. The color of blood.

Krampus peeled back his lips. “You pervert all you touch,” he growled in a deep, rumbling voice and then the horror of it struck him. How? How had Santa mastered Loki’s sack? Such a feat should never have been possible, as the sack only answered to those of Loki’s blood— line. “Such sorcery does not come without a price.” His voice rose. “How many did it take? How much blood did you spill for such a prize?” Krampus shoved the sack away, stared at it as though it were evil itself. How powerful he must be to do this. How his sorcery has grown. And for the first time Krampus felt doubts. While I rot and wither, he has grown ever so mighty. Krampus pulled his knees to his chest, clutched his arms around his legs, and pressed his forehead against his knees. There is much here to overcome.

“Krampus?” The voice sounded far away.

“Krampus, they’re coming. The monsters are coming. Krampus, please?”

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

Krampus looked up. It is her. My Isabel of course. The girl with the heart of a lion. “The monsters?” he said, more to himself.

She nodded.

“What form do they take?”

“We saw at least two creatures, wolves we think. Giant creatures as big as horses. The ravens are leading them to us. We should—”

“So Odin’s great beasts live on. Then all of the old gods are not lost.” This brought on a smile. “The ravens are Huginn and Muninn, and the wolves, Geri and Freki, mates for life . . . magnificent beasts.” He grimaced. “How is it they came to serve Santa’s hand?”

“Krampus, we should—”

“Hurry. Yes, I am only too aware. If he finds me, this time he will not leave me for the elements to erase. He will have me torn limb from limb and devoured by his monsters.”

She looked anxiously at the sack. “Well?”

“You mean what am I waiting for?”

She picked up the sack and set it down before him. “The key. How long now have you been talking about that key? C’mon . . . grab it and let’s get the heck out of here.”

It should be just that easy. He should only have to envision the key while holding the sack, command it to seek it out, and the sack would open a doorway—a threshold between the here and the there—and the key would be waiting for him to reach in and take. For it was Loki’s sack, after all, a trickster’s sack, a sack created for the sole purpose of stealing. The very one Loki used to snatch what he pleased from the other gods. It was certainly never meant to be something as trivial as a gifting sack, to deliver toys to good little boys and girls. Only Santa Claus could have so twisted its purpose.

“What is the matter?” Isabel said. “Where is your fire?”

He looked at her, at the Belsnickels against the wall, could feel their mounting distress. And why doI dally when all is so dire? Am I afraid? What if after all this the sack does not hear me? What if I cannot break Santa’s spell? Then I will be left here to await my death with Loki’s sack to mock me. The final proof that Santa bested me . . . and as such it would be this sack, this steward of my very salvation that would drive me into madness.

Krampus pulled the sack to himself, opened it, and peered into its smoky depths. He didn’t dare insert his hand, aware that the sack would still be open to the last place Santa had used it. Probably his castle, a storehouse, someplace where he stored the toys he gave out at Christmas. Someplace where his magic would be strong, where my hand might be caught and I might become trapped. This door must be shut.

He set both hands on the sack, took in a deep breath. “Loki, aid me.” He closed his eyes and reached out, tried to find the sack’s spirit, to touch it with his own. “See me. Hear your master’s voice.”

He felt nothing, nothing at all.

Again he searched for its spirit, focused all his will. The cavern and all his surroundings faded from awareness until it was only him and the sack. “It is Krampus, Lord of Yule, bloodline of the great Loki. Recognize your lord.”

Nothing.

Krampus gasped and leaned heavily on his hands, breathing deeply and slowly, trying not to succumb to the exertion. He regarded the sack, contemplated its crimson sheen. “Blood,” he said, and then laughed. “His spell is bound in blood, and so only blood can break it. Such should be obvious, but alas, I fear my mind is clouded.”

He stuck his finger between his teeth and nipped the tip, watched a droplet of blood form. He pulled the sack into his lap and held his finger above it. One single drop fell onto the sack, beaded upon the plush velvet like a red pearl. “Honor my blood,” he whispered and slowly rubbed the drop into the fabric.

Nothing happened.

“Loki, hear me.” He waited and still nothing, nothing but the sound of his own labored breathing. And when he could stand it no longer, when he felt sure he would indeed go mad, the sack billowed ever so slightly, like a light breeze was blowing from the inside. A faint draft drifted from the opening, smelling of the wilds of Asgard. And he heard his name—faint and faraway.

“Loki?” Krampus asked in a hushed voice. “Loki . . . are you there?” The sack fell silent and stilled. Tears welled in Krampus’s eyes. “Loki?” Krampus watched the dark stain of his blood bloom across the fabric, tendrils of swirling blackness swimming and intertwining like a nest of eels until at last the sack changed from crimson to black.

He wiped his eyes and smiled. “One drop. But one drop of my blood is all it took. How many casks of blood did it cost you, Santa Claus?” He laughed. The sack remembered, because the sack wanted to remember. And the first wrong has been put right, the first of many. And the first drop of blood has been spilled, the first of many . . . the prelude to a flood.

He swayed, noticed his hands were shaking, and his smile turned into a grimace. He clasped them together, tried to steady himself. He felt strong hands on him, propping him up. Isabel. “Will it work?” she asked. “Will the sack find the key?”

“I am the master of the sack. Let us just hope I have strength enough to command it.”

He needed the sack to shift, to seek, to find the key, then open a new door. All of this had been so easy before, when he was a virile, robust spirit, but now, now the sack would exact a heavy toll, as such magic did not come without a price. He looked at his quivering hands, his frail, feeble arms and legs. I have nothing left to give. He realized the effort could very well end him. A wry smile crept across his face. And if you do not retrieve the key? What then?

He clasped the sack. “I am used up, my old friend. I need your help.” He closed his eyes and envisioned the key, held it clearly in his mind. If he had known the location, then he could’ve steered the sack, made the finding easier, the cost less severe. But he only knew the key, and so the sack would have to search, and it would use his spirit, his energy, to do so.

He felt a charge and the sack pulsed faintly in his hand. He saw the cosmos, then clouds, then forest—shooting over them at the speed of a meteor—then trees, a vast lake, then its depths, finally the muddy lake bottom.

“The key . . . I see it!” Krampus cried, and opened his eyes. He swooned and slumped in Isabel’s arms. The cave slipped in and out of focus as he fought to hold on to consciousness. He knew if he passed out now he wouldn’t come back, not in time.

He reached for the sack, got his fingers around the mouth, and shoved in his hand. His hand entered water, cold water. He pushed deeper until his whole arm was in the bag. His fingers found the lake bed, clawed the mud and clay, pawing, digging, trying to locate the key. His hand bumped something rigid. He clutched the object and slid his arm from the sack.

His arm and hand were soaking wet. He opened his palm and there, among the mud and pebbles . . . a key. Krampus wiped away the clay, revealing the same ancient Dwarven symbols as those on the manacle. The key wasn’t even tarnished; it, like the hated chain about his neck, was cast from healing ores, lost smithing arts of the Dwarven kingdom, metals that mended themselves. No matter how long one tried to cut through them, or grind them away, they always stayed whole. And none could attest to their powers more than he.

He kissed the key. “My freedom.”

He clasped the manacle in one hand, found the lock, and tried to insert the key. His hand shook so badly that he fumbled and the key fell from his fingers.

“Here,” Isabel said, and picked up the key. “Let me.”

“No!” he cried, then softer. “I have waited five hundred years for this. Have dreamed of this moment ten thousand times. I must be the one.”

He took the key from her, hesitated, trying to steady himself as his vision blurred. He found the lock, inserted the key, and turned it. There came a simple, unremarkable click and the manacle popped open. Five hundred years of imprisonment ended with a simple click. He pulled it from around his neck, gave it a final, spiteful look, and chucked it to the dirt.

He looked around the cave, his prison, at the blackened walls that held him, at the maps he’d used to track Santa, at the thousand pictures of Santa Claus, at the filth, the bones, until his eyes fell on the Belsnickels. He smiled at them. “I am free,” he said hoarsely. “I am free.” Then his eyes rolled up in his head and darkness took him.

“IS HE DEAD?” Vernon asked, sounding hopeful.

“I don’t think so,” Isabel said.

“No,” Makwa added with absolute conviction.

“No?” Vernon’s shoulders slumped. “No, of course not. Couldn’t be that easy.”

Krampus crumpled into a lifeless ball. Isabel shook him gently. He didn’t respond. The creature looked dead to Jesse, more than dead, like something that had been in the ground a couple of months.

Isabel hopped to her feet, jumped over to a pile of tattered blankets, yanked one out, and brought it over to where Krampus lay. “What are you guys waiting for? Let’s get him out of here.” The three Shawnee leapt into action, wrapping Krampus in the blanket. Makwa hefted the creature up onto his shoulder and headed for the shaft.

Vernon shifted through a pile of tools, dug out two shotgun shells. “Is this all we have left?” No one seemed to have an answer. “Damn, I told all of you we needed something around here besides bows and arrows. Does anyone ever listen to me? Wait, I’ll answer that. No, no they don’t.”

Isabel grabbed the velvet sack, pushed Jesse toward the shaft. “Time to skedaddle.”

“Any idea what we’re doing?” Vernon asked. “I mean, is there any sort of plan here?”

No one answered him.

“Didn’t think so,” Vernon sighed, pocketed the shells, and clambered up after them.

THE STARS GREETED Jesse as he crawled out from the boulders. The night had cleared and the moon cast shadows across the snow.

“I’m afraid those birds will have no problem spotting us now,” Vernon said.

They skirted the edge of a large clearing and a wide expanse of sky opened up above them. “Stop,” called a weak, raspy voice. Krampus opened his eyes; they were glassy like those of a man after a two-day drunk. “Mani.” He sucked in a deep breath, lifted a shaky hand toward the moon as though he might be able to reach it, to caress it. “So sweet. So . . . sweet.”

“Let’s go,” Isabel hissed.

“No . . . a moment. I need her magic.” He lifted his chin, bathing in the moonbeam.

The Belsnickels shifted uneasily and searched the forest in every direction.

A cawing came from far overhead and Vernon started.

“We have been found,” Makwa said.

“Yes.” Krampus nodded.

Vernon pointed the shotgun skyward.

“Save the shells,” Isabel said. “That gun don’t have that kinda range.”

Another caw and a howl came in answer, echoed up from the valley below, a long, deep howl, followed by another. Jesse couldn’t gauge the distance.

“Freki and his mate, Geri,” Krampus said with obvious affection. He smiled. “Sounds like they are on the hunt.”

Vernon gave him a severe look. “They are on the hunt . . . they are hunting us, you idjit.”

“Krampus,” Isabel said. “We must—”

“Go,” Krampus finished. “Yes.” His eyes never left the moon. He smiled as tears slid down his cheeks. He reached for it one more time, then his arm dropped and his eyes again fell shut.

“Go!” Isabel said, and pushed the big Shawnee forward, and they sprinted away.

JESSE CAUGHT A glint of moonlight off chrome ahead; found the Belsnickels waiting for him and Isabel near the rear of his truck, alert and scanning the rocks and trees. The Shawnee all had their spears and knives at the ready.

Jesse had kept up better this time, the burden of Krampus slowing them all down. He fell against the side of his truck, gasping, trying to suck in enough oxygen to keep from fainting. He was spent, exhausted, covered in mud from a nasty fall, and desperately wanting a smoke. Jesse saw Krampus in the back of the camper. He lay wrapped in the blanket, curled up around the velvet sack, huddled in the fetal position, once again looking dead to the world.

Vernon came around the truck, carrying the old shotgun. “Hurry,” he said, pointing upward. “They’re leading them right to us.”

Jesse searched the night sky, saw no sign of the ravens, but heard them cawing from somewhere high above.

Isabel tossed Jesse the keys and they climbed into the cab while the rest of them piled into the camper. The truck started on the second try and they were on their way, bouncing back down the mountain.

Jesse rode the gears to avoid burning out his brakes. The gas gauge flickered on and off and he bit his lip, trying not to think about what would happen if they ran out of gas now. He kept his eyes on the ruts, straining to see by the remaining headlight what lay ahead, expecting to find the huge beasts awaiting them around each and every turn. None of them spoke, all searching the surrounding trees, all too aware that they’d taken too long, that there was no way they’d reach the highway before the wolves caught up with them.

As they neared the bottom of the mountain, the road began to level out, to widen a bit, and the going became smoother, faster. It was here that Jesse allowed himself to hope that maybe, just this once, God would cut him a break, allow them to reach the highway before the wolves found them. And, of course, as the joke always seemed to be on him, this was exactly when the wolves appeared.

“They’re here. I feel them,” Isabel said, her eyes wide. A second later they cleared a bend and there they stood, blocking the road not a hundred yards down the trail, big as horses, heads hung low, eyes glinting in the glow of the headlight. Jesse hit the brakes and slid to a stop.

“Turn around!” Vernon cried. “Go back!”

There is no going back, Jesse thought. No other way out. Even if there was, there’d be no turning around, not on this narrow lane.

The two wolves started forward at a stiff-legged trot.

“Oh, dear God,” Vernon said. “We’re going to be eaten alive.”

“No,” Jesse said under his breath. “Not me. Got too much business needing taking care of.” He snatched the seat belt, drew it across his chest, and clicked it into place.

Isabel glanced at him. “What’re you doing?”

“Going to go see Abigail.” He stomped on the gas, the truck jumped forward.

Isabel braced herself against the dashboard as the truck picked up speed. “You’re gonna get us killed!”

“Most likely.”

The speedometer climbed from ten to twenty, then thirty, but that was all Jesse could handle on the narrow, rocky road without careening into a tree or down the steep ravine on their right. The wolves broke into a run, coming at them head-on. Jesse knew the chances of walking away from a head-on collision with such beasts were slim to none, hoped these monsters understood that as well. In the camper, Vernon and the Shawnee did their best to hang on, to keep Krampus from injury as the truck jostled them about. Vernon screamed at Jesse to stop, but Jesse didn’t, he drove headlong toward the wolves, fighting to keep the truck on the path.

At the last possible instant, the wolves leapt from the road and up onto the embankment. Jesse lost sight of them as he struggled to make the curve, his right-side tires jouncing along the crumbling lip of the ravine. The truck tilted dangerously toward the ledge. Jesse thought they were goners, when the old Ford managed to regain traction and hold the road.

He no sooner had all four wheels onto level ground when a crash and a tremendous jolt rocked the truck. The back roof of the camper caved in as one of the wolves tore through the thin aluminum with its front paws. The weight of the beast bottomed out the rear shocks and the tail end thumped against the deep ruts, slowing the pickup considerably. The wolf hung on, snarling and snapping with its enormous jaws, trying to get to Krampus and the sack. Makwa kicked one of the garbage bags of video games into its face. It chomped into the bag, slinging it back and forth, tearing it apart, sending game consoles bouncing down the trail. Vernon swung the shotgun around at the beast, the truck hit a rut, and the gun bounced upward, going off with a loud blast, completely missing the wolf and blowing a hole through the top of the camper. The tailgate snapped beneath the weight of the wolf and the beast fell away, tumbling down the road.

The second wolf, the larger one, leapt over its mate and charged after them, quickly overtaking them. “Oh, Christ!” Jesse cried. There was no place to go, it had them. But the Shawnee were prepared this time. All three held their spears at ready and when the wolf leapt for the truck, they threw their weight behind their weapons, driving the spearheads deep into the wolf’s chest. There came a horrible yowl, followed by a jolt as the wolf hit the truck. The wolf made a vain effort to scramble up into the truck bed, then collapsed, fell back onto the road, tumbled toward the ravine and disappeared over the ledge. Jesse heard splintering branches, another yowl, and that was all.

The pickup hit a steep grade. Jesse tapped the brakes, trying to keep control as the truck fishtailed back and forth. The left-side tires caught the ditch, causing the side of the truck to rake along the embankment; the truck came to a grinding halt and stalled.

The smaller wolf trotted into view about fifty yards back up the bend, but it wasn’t looking at them, it peered over the ledge where its mate had fallen. It took one glance at them, then left the road, heading down into the ravine.

“What’s it doing?” Isabel asked.

Jesse had no idea, but so long as it wasn’t coming after them he didn’t care.

“Whatever are you waiting for?” Vernon cried. “Go!”

Jesse twisted the key, the engine turned over, and the truck started up. Jesse eased on the gas, and the pickup slowly pulled out of the ditch and back onto the road.

They reached the highway about ten minutes later and heard a long howl coming from the hills behind them. Jesse pulled out onto the asphalt and sped away, heading south, heading away from the Santa man and his monsters.