Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
The krampus stalked forward, careful to crouch, slink, and move silently through the shadows. His hooves pressed into the snow without making a noise as he followed Jasper and the little fox.
Jasper pushed past branches, trudging loudly. He swivelled his head from side to side, searching the forest as he walked.
He is looking for me. He wants me.
The krampus swallowed. He wished he could step forward and show himself. He wanted to introduce himself to his half-mate. He longed to claim Jasper.
For a moment, he imagined stepping forward. Jasper’s eyes would meet his. A smile would stretch his cheeks. Then Jasper would dash forward and throw himself into Kraghol’s arms. Jasper would hold Kraghol close, in a way Kraghol had never been held before.
The krampus closed his eyes, and for a second, he could almost feel the gentle touch of his almost mate’s hands.
He didn’t remember ever being hugged before, not even by his family. Krampuses were not affectionate. They did not casually hug or touch one another. Only mates did that. And only in private.
What would it be like to be hugged by Jasper? What would it like to be loved by him?
He opened his eyes.
But that would never happen. I am a monster. Those sort of things are not for me and my kind.
He looked down at his furry hands. He stretched his fingers, claws extending. He let out a breath. How could he ever touch someone as beautiful as Jasper with such hideous hands?
If he stepped forward, Jasper’s eyes would widen in terror. His mouth would gape. He’d take in Kraghol’s horns, tail, hoofed feet, and fangs. Jasper would scream and run, fleeing from the krampus.
As he should. After all, that was the correct response to sighting someone like Kraghol.
It was the response Kraghol knew well. Most of the time, he and his kind kept to themselves in the forest. They were nocturnal and skilled at creeping and hiding. They lived in caves, hidden away from the light of day. Those who wandered the forests rarely spotted a krampus.
But there was one night every year, where those in Anorra saw krampuses.
Krampus Night. Ten days before Christmas, the krampuses left the forest and descended on the city.
The streets of Anorra mostly emptied before the krampuses emerged.
Then they would chase any foolish enough to still be outside.
Kraghol remembered his first Krampus Night. He’d been ten. He’d run through the streets, trailing after his grandmother, parents, and older sister. They’d screamed and yelled and given chase at any opportunity. Bells had jangled from their belts. Their whips and switches swung, slicing the air.
Kraghol had clutched a switch in his hand until it hurt. But the idea of using it on anyone had made him want to vomit. He’d hung back. He’d not chased a soul. Still, he’d seen and heard the cries of those hounded by the krampuses.
And he’d seen the terror in the eyes of those peeking through the windows, looking at him. When his gaze met theirs, the city folk would shudder, gasp, or duck away, as if the mere sight of Kraghol was too much to bear.
He’d seen a child, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared at Kraghol. He’d wanted to apologise for scaring her. He’d been but a child himself that first night.
He’d hunched his shoulders, blinking rapidly, wishing he could cry too for being so ugly, scary, and horrific. But of course, his grandmother would not have tolerated his tears. So he’d bitten his bottom lip hard to stop himself from crying.
That first Krampus Night, Kraghol had truly understood what he was. A krampus. A monster. A creature that caused only terror.
He’d known it beforehand, of course. His family and the other krampuses relished being feared. He’d grown up on stories of Krampus Night and how the city folk would flee before them.
Kraghol could not stand the idea of Jasper looking at him as those in the city had. No. Better to stay hidden from his half-mate and watch from a distance instead.
Jasper stopped at the edge of the lake, staring out over the flat surface. He squatted and patted the little fox. He spoke, but he was too far away for Kraghol to hear. But one time, Kraghol had heard Jasper call the fox Kali. Such a pretty name.
Strange. Kraghol had never thought to name the fox despite raising it. He’d found the poor, starving creature in his cave the winter before, taking shelter from the snow. He’d searched nearby but found no parents or other kits from the litter.
The krampus had taken the fox in and raised it by hand. But he’d not thought to name it. That hadn’t even crossed his mind. He’d just called her little fox.
Now she belonged to Jasper. Kraghol was glad of that. She would have a better life with Jasper than with him.
Kraghol knew there were other races like his, monsters with terrifying visages.
Orcs, ogres, trolls, minotaurs, and the like.
But despite their appearances, for some reason they could live in Anorra.
They could build a life amongst the city folk.
They could be civilised and accepted in a way he could not.
He did not fully understand how they managed that.
But he knew from personal experience that was not possible for krampuses.
Maybe because he and his kind were monsters to the core.
They fed off striking dread into the hearts of others.
They delighted in it. Their purpose in life was to remind people to avoid the darkness.
To behave and be good or face the krampuses that lurked in the shadows.
Kraghol despised all of it. Still, he didn’t have a choice. This was who he was. He was a krampus. That could not be changed.
He’d tried to enter Anorra though. When he was about sixteen, he’d wandered to the edge of the city, looking up at the buildings. He’d wanted a new life, away from the krampuses. He’d thought that if other monstrous beings could make lives for themselves in Anorra, then maybe he could too.
He’d hesitated before walking down a cobblestone lane. His whole body had trembled.
He thought if he came to Anorra nowhere near Krampus Night, they would not fear him. They might instead accept him or at the very least tolerate him. He didn’t know how he’d try to make a life in the city. But he just knew he was sick of the life of a krampus. He had to at least try to get away.
Then a lady spotted him. She pointed, eyes widening. Her scream echoed around the street, piercing Kraghol’s soul. He flinched. Several children spotted him. Crying out in fear, they ran away.
A man grabbed a rock and hurled it at Kraghol. It hit his shoulder. Kraghol groaned in pain.
“Leave us be, krampus!” the man yelled. He threw another rock.
Others followed suit, throwing bottles, rubbish, and more rocks at him. Others spat and shouted.
“We have enough of your kind on Krampus Night!” a dwarf bellowed. “Just fuck off!”
Kraghol had stumbled away, fleeing to the forest, back to his dank cave.
Now he only ever returned to Anorra on Krampus Night. He’d not considered leaving the krampuses since. After all, he had nowhere else to go. No one else would accept him.
Kraghol was a krampus. He would always be a krampus.
And even if he could, he would not bring anyone else into this wretched life he lived. So Kraghol would always remain in the dark. Alone. Never knowing a gentle touch. He would definitely never be known by his half-mate.
The sky started to darken. As usual, Jasper and Kali began to head back in the direction of the city. Jasper’s shoulders drooped with every step.
Kraghol’s chest ached with the need to go forward and try to soothe his almost mate. But he knew he could not. So he just watched them safely enter Anorra.
After several moments, Kraghol turned. He walked reluctantly deeper and deeper into the forest, further from the city. The snow continued to fall. Wind whisked through the branches.
After walking a while, he heard screams and cries in the distance. They grew louder and louder.
The muscles in his neck tensed. He walked slower. He wished he could return to his cave. That would be preferrable to where he was heading. But he had to be at this gathering tonight. His absence would not be tolerated.
The shrieks and screeches grew louder still. He saw the glowing light of a fire. With each step, it grew bigger and brighter. The jangle of bells echoed in the air.
The trees grew sparser. He approached a clearing with a towering bonfire in the middle. Orange-and-red flames licked at the night sky. The blazing heat from the fire cast the cold from his bones. Soon sweat would dampen his fur. Fire crackled.
And surrounding the golden fire, about a hundred krampuses danced. They threw back their heads, extending their long, lashing tongues. They bellowed. They howled.
Bonfire Night. Kraghol hated Bonfire Night.