Krampus

Chapter Two The Santa Sack

Where are my Belsnickels?”

Krampus strained against his chains, the ancient collar biting into his throat. He craned his neck upward, and there, far up the shaft, he caught a faint glow reflecting off the cavern roof. Moonlight, or the first traces of dawn?

He scratched at the lice plaguing his filthy hide, studied the bits of crusty flesh and scabby hair clinging to the tips of his broken fingernails. I am rotting away. While he indulges in life’s pleasures, I die a little more each day. He noticed the tremor in his fingers. Am I shaking? Do I stand here and quiver like a child? He clutched his hands together.

And what if they should never return? What then? What chance do I have without my children? There would be no hope, no chance to once again spread my name across the land, and without hope, even I, the great Yule Lord, would eventually succumb to madness. Would wither and fade and he would win after all.

“No!” he snarled. “Never! I shall never let him win. If I lie here nothing but a shriveled carcass then so be it, for my spirit shall never rest. I will become a plague upon his house. I will vex him. I will . . . I will . . .” His voice drifted off. He shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cold cavern wall. He pressed his palms against the moist stone and listened, hoping to sense the vibrations of their running feet through the layers of earth.

“The Belsnickels will return,” he said. “They must return. Must bring Loki’s sack home to me.”

The light above flickered and his heart sped up. He waited, watched, but knew it was his wishful fancy and nothing more. A draft of cool air drifted down the shaft. Krampus inhaled deeply, catching the faintest hint of pine needles and damp rotting leaves. He closed his eyes, tried to remember what winter dawn in the forest looked like, what it felt like to run and dance among the trees with the crisp cold air biting at his throat.

“Soon,” he whispered. “I shall walk sweet Mother Earth once more and they will celebrate my return. There will be festivals and celebrations, like before, and so much more.”

Memories unfolded, a kaleidoscope of images piling atop one another, a thousand Yuletides past: the drums calling him from the forest; the horns heralding his arrival; the boys and girls, their eyes full of fear and fascination as they adorned him with circlets of feathers and mistletoe and crowned him with holly leaves; twirling maidens that strew his path with fresh pine needles, perfumed him with crushed spruce, and led him through the maze of huts, the parade of boisterous men clanging sword and shield and yodeling women following in his wake. The doors of the lord’s house opening to him, the smell of roasting boar inviting him in. They would seat him upon a giant wicker throne at the head of the long table and there lavish him with feast and drink—all the honey mead one could hold. Then they would parade their plumpest young women before him, and to the cheers and laughter of all he would mount them, one after another, rutting with them like the beasts in the woods, blessing them with fertile, healthy wombs.

And with the people’s devotion and fervor pulsing in his heart, he would herald in Yuletide, usher in the rebirth of the land, and chase away the spirits of famine and pestilence. And the cycle of life would continue ever onward.

And soon, he thought, I will be blessing mankind again. But this time it will be these lost peoples of the Virginias. For this new land of America has dire need of me, need for me to be great and terrible, to chase away their dark spirits, to beat the wicked amongst them. And I shall, for the Yule Lord knows how to be terrible, and I shall be terrible, and they will come to worship me, lavish me with celebration and feast and . . . and again line up their young women for me to glorify. He nodded and smiled, his eyes focused on something far away. They will love me. They will all come to love me.

“WELL, I’LL BE damned,” Jesse said again, then once more for good measure.

He could see the corner of a box just inside the Santa sack. He stuck his gun in his jacket pocket and pulled out the box. He grinned. It was a brand-new Teen Tiger doll.

“Yes, Abigail, dear, there is indeed a Santa Claus.”

He examined the doll. A seductive pair of blue cat eyes surrounded by heavy eyeliner looked back at him from beneath an explosion of glittery hair. He was contemplating the appropriateness of the doll’s pouty, cherry-red lips, tiger-striped miniskirt, and exposed midriff, when it struck him how very odd that the doll should be there in the first place. This being Santa’s sack, he’d hoped there’d be toys inside, sure, and he’d also hoped there’d be a Teen Tiger doll, too, hadn’t he? And which one had he been thinking of? He looked at the doll again. “Tina Tiger,” the one his daughter wanted. And there she was, sitting right on top, as though the sack were handing her to him. It’s like the thing read my mind. The hair on his arms prickled and he gave the bag a suspicious look. Okay, settle down. You’re already weirded out enough. He took in a deep breath.

He lifted the sack, surprised at how light it was; he could hold it at arm’s length with just one hand. It was about the size of one of those Hefty lawn bags. He shook the snow off and carried it and the doll into his dining room, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him to keep the cold and snow out.

Outside, the EMT had arrived, bathing the room in flashing lights. Jesse tossed the bag on the floor, stared at it until he’d finished his cigarette, then pulled over a kitchen chair and sat down. He hooked a thumb into the lip of the sack and held it open, peering cautiously in, as though expecting something to spring out at him. The inside of the sack was dark, the black velvet lining quickly disappearing into shadows, allowing him to see no farther than three or four inches within. There was something unnatural about those shadows and the more he studied the dimness the more convinced he became that he wasn’t seeing shadows at all, but a sort of smoke, a dense, swirling vapor. The smoke ebbed and flowed, yet didn’t leave the sack.

He prodded the outside of the bag. It felt substantial, similar to the lumpy beanbag chair he’d had as a kid. He could push it this way and that, but it always regained its form. He really wanted to know what else was in there, but felt in no hurry to go sticking his arm into that smoky goo to find out.

He peered back inside, thought about how delighted Abigail would be if he brought her not one but maybe a couple of those little slutty dolls. He swallowed and eased his hand into the mouth of the bag. His fingers disappeared into the smoke, then his hand, then his forearm. He noticed a change in temperature, the inside of the bag being much warmer, and all at once he had an overwhelming notion that the bag itself was alive, that he had his hand in the thing’s mouth, and that the thing might chomp down on his arm like a bear trap. Something bumped his wrist and he cried out, yanking his hand from the bag. He examined his hand and arm like they might be covered in leeches, but they were fine.

“Damn it. Stop being such a pussy.”

He thought of another one of the dolls—the Asian one with the dragon tattoo—bit his lip and slid his hand back in, pushed inward until his arm disappeared up to the elbow, praying his fingers would still be attached when he pulled them back out. He fished about until he found the object again. It felt like a box. He pulled it from the sack and wasn’t the least surprised to find himself looking into Ting Tiger’s exotic purple eyes.

Jesse grunted. Okay, I get it. He thought of the Goth one, then the redhead, retrieving both of them. He didn’t stop there. Just the week before, Abigail had sat in his lap with the Toys “R” Us circular, naming all six of the Teen Tigers, had explained all their superpowers, had told him which ones she liked best and which accessories were must-haves. She went on to clarify just how hard it was for a girl her age to eat, sleep, or even breathe without having at least one of these awesome dolls in her possession.

A minute later, Jesse had the full gang of Tiger girls lined up across the table, as well as a tiger-striped, red Corvette and two accessory blister packs. And it didn’t take any great shakes to see that all those toys couldn’t have possibly fit in that bag together. The sack’s making ’em somehow. Then it struck him. The bag is making whatever I wish for! His eyes grew wide and he stopped breathing for a moment. Really? Had the heavens really just dropped a magic sack into his lap? He leapt to his feet, jumped over, and bolted the door, then peeked out the front window. The ambulance and patrol car were still out there, but the neighbors had all gone home, well, all except for Phyllis, who was gabbing on a mile a minute to the EMT driver.

Jesse pulled the shades shut and dropped down in front of the sack, his hand hovering over the opening. He closed his eyes, pictured a diamond ring, and slipped in his hand. There! He clasped a small velvet case, holding his breath as he slowly withdrew it from the bag. His fingers shook so bad it took three tries to pry it open. “Oh, fuck yeah!” he said, holding the ring up to the light.

His smile fell.

It was a toy—nothing but plastic and painted aluminum. “Dang it!” He shook his head. “Must’ve done something wrong?” He tossed the ring over his shoulder, closed his eyes again, concentrating this time on a watch. He specifically thought of the gold Rolex he’d recently seen down at the pawn shop. The watch he pulled out did indeed say Rolex on its face, but it was still a toy. “Aw, c’mon! C’mon!” Three tin rings, four plastic watches, and a tall stack of play money later, he got the message: the sack only made toys.

He slid back against the wall. “Well, crap.” He leaned his head against the paneling and stared up at the water stains on the ceiling. “Shit never seems to wanna go my way.” All at once everything that had happened this long, strange evening caught up with him and he just wanted to crawl in bed and stay there. He glanced toward the bedroom. “Probably build a snowman in there by now.” He sighed, plucked the seat cushion from the chair, propped it behind his head, and lay down right there on the floor. He watched the emergency lights flicking through the shades. His eyes wandered over to the dolls. He managed a smile. “I got every one of those little super-tramps . . . every single one.” He thought of Abigail’s face and his smile turned into a grin. “For once, baby doll, your daddy’s not gonna be a loser. For once your daddy’s gonna be a hero.” He closed his eyes. “Abigail, darling . . . just you hold on to your britches, ’cause Santa Claus is coming to town.”

“THERE. AT LAST, my Belsnickels . . . they return!” Krampus lifted his ear from the stone and stared up the shaft, pulling against his chain like a hound awaiting a feeding. The light above now bright enough that he knew it to be dawn. He could see their shadows approaching.

It was nearly fifty feet to the top of the narrow shaft; he wrung his hands together as they clambered down. Where is it? He searched their silhouettes for some sign of the sack.

Makwa, the big Shawnee, dropped down first, landing on all fours, his bear fur and buckskin garb torn and soiled, his flesh scraped and bloody. He stood and Krampus clutched his shoulders. “Do you have it?”

Makwa pushed back his hood, shook his head. “No.”

Three more Belsnickels slipped down: the brothers, Wipi and Nipi, also of the Shawnee people, and the little man, Vernon, his long, bristly beard full of pine needles. They, too, appeared to have suffered dearly. They’d obviously been in a desperate battle with someone or something. Krampus looked from one to the next; none would meet his eye. “You do not have it? None of you have it?”

“No.”

“No?”

They shook their heads, continued to stare at the ground.

No. The word cut through him like a shard of ice. No. His knees threatened to buckle. He grabbed the wall to steady himself. “Was it him? Was it Santa Claus?”

“Yes,” Vernon answered and the three Shawnee nodded.

“Where is he? Where is the sack?”

“We did our very best,” Vernon said. “He was terribly strong and crazed . . . it was unexpected.”

Krampus slid to the ground, cradling his head in his large hands. “There will never be another chance.”

The girl, Isabel, dropped down. She flipped back the hood of her jacket, looked from Krampus to the four men. “You didn’t tell him?”

No one answered her.

“Krampus, the sack might still be out there.”

Krampus looked at her, confused. “The sack?”

“Yes, the sack. It’s out there somewhere.”

Krampus found his feet and grasped her arm. “What do you mean, child?”

“We had it. I mean almost. We were in the sleigh, fighting the old man for it, and— Ow! Dammit, Krampus. You’re hurting my arm.”

Krampus realized he was pinching her in his distress and let loose.

“It was crazy. Santa Claus went berserk. Biting and clawing and . . . and . . .” She trailed off, a look of intense sorrow fell across her face. “He kicked Peskwa out of the sleigh. We were so high . . . I don’t know it he made it or—” She hesitated, glancing at the others.

“Oh, he’s most certainly a dead little Indian,” Vernon put in.

“We don’t know that,” Isabel shot back.

“Unless he sprouted wings, he’s dead. I see no reason—”

“Enough!” Krampus cried. “Isabel. What happened to the sack?”

“Well, when Peskwa fell, he took the sack with him and—”

“So, the sack . . . it is still out there?”

“Yes. Well, maybe? I mean when—”

“Maybe?”

“You see, after the sack fell, the sleigh went spinning out of control. It was all we could do to just hang on. A few seconds later we slammed into some trees. We were all—”

“And Santa Claus? What happened to him?”

“Well, I’m trying to get to that.”

“Well, get to it.”

“I’m trying. You keep interrupting me.”

Krampus threw his hands up in frustration.

“Okay, see . . . hell, where was I? Oh, yeah, when we hit that first clump of trees, we were slung out, but not Santa, he clung on. You should’ve seen him, completely out of his gourd . . . ranting and raving at us and at them deer. Them reindeer were all tangled and spooked, and off they shot. Up, up and away. Went spinning across the hollow, into the part of the hill where there’s nothing but boulders and drops. Slammed into them rocks so damn hard the sound echoed all up and down the valley. None of us seen exactly where old Santa ended up. But I can tell you sure as shit he didn’t walk off from that. Ain’t no way. He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Krampus snorted, then laughed. “Santa Claus dead. No. As sweet as such tidings would be, it takes much more than a hard slap to kill such vileness.” Krampus tugged the stringy hair sprouting from his chin. “But it is encouraging that his sleigh and the reindeer are lost.” He began to pace. “Means there might still be some chance to get to the sack . . . to find it first.” Krampus’s heart began to race. “Yes, certainly there is! You say the sack fell with Peskwa, did you not?”

Isabel nodded.

“Do you remember where he fell?”

“Yes. No.”

“Which is it, child?”

“Hard to say. I mean there’s no telling. The sleigh was spinning and—” Isabel glanced at the others. They shrugged.

“The sack will be somewhere near the body.” Krampus’s voice rose with excitement. “You need to find the body, or where it landed. Should not be that hard to do. Begin your search there. Split up and spread out, and—” He stopped pacing, stared at each of the Belsnickels. “We must beat Santa to it. He now knows I live . . . knows about you. He will be sending his monsters. The sack is the prize. It is everything . . . if he should find it first then . . . well, then we are all as good as dead.”

He snatched up one of the Shawnees’ spears, handed it to Makwa. “You still have your knives? Good. Take the rifle and pistol as well. You will need them should his monsters find you.”

“We lost the pistol,” Isabel said.

“Wipi shot him,” Vernon added. “At least three times at close range. I was right beside him. He hit him every time, right in the chest . . . didn’t so much as slow him down.”

“No,” Krampus said. “No, I wouldn’t think it would. Now hurry, make haste. Every second counts.”

The Belsnickels snatched up a couple of spears and an old shotgun with a broken stock from a pile of tools. They scrambled away up the shaft, one after another. Krampus shouted up after them, “Keep a sharp eye out for his monsters. You will know them when you see them. You will feel them.” Then, under his breath. “As they will feel you.”

JESSE PULLED INTO the drive of a small old house with peeling white paint. Linda and Abigail had been staying with Linda’s mother since the breakup. He glanced at his watch. He’d overslept and it was going on noon.

He peered into the camper where two garbage bags full of toys sat waiting for Abigail. He grinned, couldn’t help himself. Santa’s crimson sack sat on the floorboard next to him. He stroked the thick, rich velvet. He had a good feeling about that sack and didn’t intend to let it out of his sight. It was magic, and he felt sure that somehow or another it was going to bring him good fortune. He just hadn’t quite figured out the somehow yet, but at the very least he figured he could always sell it, had to be someone out there who needed a toy-making sack. He started out of the truck when something in his jacket clunked against the door. He pulled the pistol out of his pocket. “Shouldn’t need this,” he said, then snorted. “Of course, there’s no telling with Linda.” He stuck the gun back in the glove compartment.

Jesse knocked on the front door and waited. When no one came, he knocked again, louder.

“Hold your beans,” someone yelled. “Be right there.”

He heard shuffling feet, then Polly opened the door and stared at him through the screen. She gave him a pitying look.

“Are they here?” Jesse asked.

He thought she wasn’t going to answer him at all, when finally she sighed. “Why you wanna go and do this to yourself?”

He tried to peek past her into the living room.

She looked back over her shoulder. “I ain’t hiding ’em under my couch. They ain’t here, Jesse. Not one of ’em.”

“Over at Dillard’s,” Jesse said. It wasn’t a question.

Polly said nothing.

“Damn it!” Jesse stomped his boot on the doormat. “Tell me something, Mrs. Collins. Just what the hell does she see in that son’bitch?”

“I done asked her the same thing about you once.”

“The man’s pushing sixty. You think that’s right? For Linda to be going out with a man near about your age?”

“Linda’s never been real good at picking men. At least Dillard’s taking care of her. That’s more than some folks can claim.”

Jesse cut her a hard look.

“Comes home after work like he should. Has a nice truck. Nice house.”

Jesse turned his head and spat loudly. “That house was bought with dirty money.”

Polly shrugged. “Better than no money.”

“I gotta go.” Jesse turned and started down the steps.

“If you’re wise, you’ll steer well clear of that man.”

Jesse stopped, turned around, and looked Polly straight in the eye. “Linda’s still my wife, y’know. A little fact that everyone seems to have forgot but me.”

“I’m just saying don’t go stirring him up. You don’t need that kind of trouble. No one needs that kind of trouble.”

“Well, if he thinks he can just take another man’s wife, then it’s my job to set him straight.”

She laughed, a mocking sound that set Jesse’s teeth on edge. “Jesse, you wanna think you’re mean, but you just ain’t. That much I do know about you. Now Dillard, on the other hand, now there’s a man cut from mean stock. His daddy was shot six times in his life and is still here to tell about it, while them men who done went and shot him—every one of them’s lying beneath the stone-cold ground. And his granddaddy, well, that man was so mean they had to hang him before he was twenty-two. Dillard’s got deep roots in this county, got the law on his side. Can send you away, one way or another. So you need to dial it down a notch while you still can.”

Jesse’s face flushed. He didn’t need Mrs. Collins to lecture him about Dillard Deaton, or Police Chief Dillard Deaton, which sounded much more important than it really was, as there were only two full-time police officers in Goodhope. It wasn’t the badge that troubled Jesse but the fact that the man was ear-deep with Sampson Boggs, better known around town as the General. Boggs and his clan ran every sort of racket: gambling, dog fighting, prostitution, welfare fraud, and could sell you any drug you could name. Chief Deaton’s sworn civil duty seemed to include keeping the law off the General’s back in return for a cut on the take—been that way as long as Jesse could remember.

Dillard’s ties ran deeper still: the Boggs clan and Dillard’s kin had a long, crooked history together. Dillard’s old man had taken those bullets Mrs. Collins had spoken of running moonshine for the Boggses back in the day. Blood ties meant something in Boone County, and feuds and disputes were more often than not settled outside the law. And a man needed to be careful who he messed with, because blood always came first. Jesse, on the other hand, didn’t have much kin left to speak of, and the few he had were of no account. Without kin to back you up you didn’t matter much; that was just the way things worked around here.

“What’s going on between me and Dillard,” Jesse said. “Well, that’s a different sort of thing. When a man messes around with another man’s wife, it’s personal. It’s understood he’s crossing a line and what happens after that is between them and no one else. You won’t find anyone gonna argue me on that.”

The stubborn left Polly’s face, leaving her looking old and sad. “Jess, Linda’s finally got something. Don’t you go spoiling it for her. Just you leave her be. You hear me?”

“Mrs. Collins, you have yourself a Merry Christmas.” Without another look back, Jesse got in his truck and drove away.

JESSE SAW NO sign of Dillard’s patrol car and let out a breath. He pulled into the police chief’s driveway, parked behind Linda’s beat-up Ford Escort, and cut the engine. The house sat on a couple of nicely secluded acres backing up against the river, just on the outskirts of town. Everything had been recently renovated: new bricks and wraparound porch. A late-model white Chevy Suburban sat in front of the three-car garage. “Nice house. Nice car. Amazing what a man can afford on a townie’s police salary these days.”

Jesse opened his door, started to get out, then hesitated. What the hell am I doing? He realized it was easy to talk big in front of Mrs. Collins, but now that he was here he didn’t feel so cocky. He glanced up the road keeping an eye out for the patrol car. Abi’s gifts could wait. Always another day. He shook his head. “I don’t think so. She’s my daughter and this is Christmas. I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna be cowed by some old limp dick.”

He got out and felt naked, exposed. He glanced at the glove compartment, but something in his gut told him bringing the gun would be a bad idea. Instead he walked around, lifted the gate on the camper, pushed his guitar aside, and pulled out the two sacks of toys. He walked up the pathway, stashing the two bags behind the hedge, then mounted the porch. He pushed his hair back out of his face, straightened up his shirt, and pressed the doorbell. Deep chimes echoed from inside.

A minute later, Linda opened the door with a big smile; the second she saw Jesse, her smile fell. She wore a plush lavender robe. Jesse noticed right away the frilly lingerie peeking out from beneath the robe.

“Santa bring you that?”

Linda shot him a cold look and tugged her robe closed. “What’re you doing here?”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, honey.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” She glanced behind Jesse, her eyes anxious. “He’s gonna be back anytime.”

“I’m here to see my daughter.”

“Jesse, you can’t be making trouble.” Linda lowered her voice. “He’s just looking for an excuse. He’ll take you in this time. You know what that’ll mean.”

He did. There were times, when the gigs were slow, that Jesse picked up odd jobs to fill in. On more than one occasion he’d run contraband for the General. The Boone County sheriff was an honest man, wasn’t on the General’s payroll, didn’t care much for Chief Dillard Deaton either. One night, the sheriff pulled Jesse over during a run and that contraband turned out to be three kilos of weed. Jesse ended up in jail. Since it was Jesse’s first offense, the judge let him off with probation and a stern warning that any more trouble and he’d serve hard time. Chief Deaton liked to remind Jesse about his probation, about what would happen if Jesse were to get out of line.

“Last I checked,” Jesse said, “it wasn’t against the law for a man to visit his little girl on Christmas.”

“Jess, please go. I’m begging you. If he finds you here it’ll be bad.” And Jesse caught a note of panic, understood that she didn’t mean bad just for him.

“Linda, you’re twenty-six. What are you doing with that old creep?”

“Don’t you do this. Not here. Not now.”

“Well, okay, fine. But I’m still Abigail’s father and as such I got some say on her welfare, and it don’t set well with me one bit that she’s living under the roof of a man in cahoots with the General.”

Linda looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Really? Are you kidding? I can’t believe you even said that.” She laughed. “Weren’t you the one sitting in county jail a couple months back? And for what? What was it, Jesse? Running drugs I believe. Who exactly were you in cahoots with?”

Jesse flushed. “That ain’t the same and you know it.”

She just stared at him.

“Besides, I didn’t know it was drugs.”

Linda rolled her eyes and let out a snort. “Jesse, I happen to know you aren’t that stupid. Well, okay, I tell you what. I could move her into that little trailer of yours. That’d be a wonderful place to raise her. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t the fact that Dillard murdered his wife bother you at all?”

“He did not,” she shot back, a noticeable edge in her voice. “That’s just talk. Dillard told me what really happened. She emptied his bank account, took his car, and run off. That’s all there is to that. He was shattered by what that crazy woman did to him.”

“That’s one side of it. Too bad Mrs. Deaton ain’t around to give her side. Too bad no one ever found hide not hair of her after all these years.”

“Jesse, what are you trying to do?”

“Linda, don’t move in with this guy. Please don’t. Go back to your mama’s. Let’s give this one more chance. Please.”

“Jesse, I’m done waiting for you to grow up. There’s gotta be more to my life than watching you pick at that damn guitar of yours. I don’t want to be raising a child by myself while you’re off playing at some scuzzy honky-tonk. That ain’t no kind a life.”

“What happened to you, Linda? You used to believe in me . . . believe in my songs.”

“How’s that demo coming along, Jess?”

“It’s coming.”

“Have you sent off any of your songs? Did you ever follow up with that DJ from Memphis, that Mr. Rand, or Reed, or whatever his name was? As I recall he was real keen on your sound.”

“I’m still working on it.”

“Still working on it? Jesse, that was over two years ago. What’s the excuse now?”

“Ain’t no excuse. Songs just aren’t quite ready yet. That’s all.”

“How many years have I been hearing that? What you mean to say is you aren’t quite ready yet. Because them songs . . . they’re good songs. But nobody’s ever gonna know it if you don’t let them hear ’em.”

Jesse stared at his boots.

“Jesse, we been over this until I’m sick of hearing myself say it. You aren’t going nowhere so long as all you do is keep playing to a bunch of drunks in those two-bit bars. You want it, baby, you’re gonna have to make it happen. Gonna have to put yourself on the line.

“Look, Jess, some folks is gonna like what you do and some folks aren’t, that’s just the way it is. You can’t go through life worrying about the ones that aren’t.”

Jesse felt that was easy for Linda to say, she’d never cared a lick for what other folks thought. It was why she was such a good dancer, because she could just lose herself in the beat, just kick up her heels not caring who was watching or what they might be thinking. She’d never been able to understand that it might be different for him, at least while he was performing. He couldn’t get past all those eyes on him, watching his every move, couldn’t get into the zone, into that magic place where the music and him were one and the same. So yes, perhaps she was right, maybe he was afraid to put himself on the line, but maybe he’d learned that it was better to play good to a bunch of drunks instead of screwing up in front of people who gave a damn.

She let out a long sigh. “You won’t send your songs off to no one because you don’t ever feel they’re quite good enough and you won’t play in front of nobody that amounts to a hill of beans because they might look at you funny. Jesse, how can you expect me to believe in you if you won’t believe in yourself?”

Jesse just stared at her, tried to come up with a reply, something he hadn’t said a hundred times before. “All I know is that I love you, Linda. Love you as hard as I can. Now, you go ahead and look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me. Do it right now. If you can do that then I’ll leave you be.”

She met his eyes, opened her mouth, then closed it, her lips set tight. Tears began to brim in her eyes. “There’s a little girl in there that needs some sort of stability in her life. She don’t need a mom pulling double shifts at the Laundromat, don’t need a daddy dragging in at four A.M. every morning. Can you understand that? Can you not see that there’s more to consider here than just you and me?” A tear fell down her face and she wiped it angrily away. “I gave you every chance. Every . . . damn . . . chance. So don’t you come up here telling me you love me and acting like you’re all concerned about Abigail’s welfare.”

“I’ll find a job. A real job. Just tell me you’re willing to give it a shot and I promise . . . promise I’ll quit with the music . . . quit it straight away.”

She looked at him like he’d stabbed her. “Quit your music? Nobody wants you to quit. You just need to get a plan and a little faith in yourself. Grow some goddamn balls, Jesse, and go after it.”

“Okay, I’ll get a plan . . . and . . . um . . . grow some goddamn balls. Hell, I’ll do whatever it takes to—”

“Stop it, Jesse. Stop it. It’s too late. I’ve heard it all before. We both know nothing’s gonna change. Just can’t count on you, Jesse. No one can. You can’t even count on yourself. Now you need to leave. Right now, before Dillard gets back. Before you screw this up, too. Don’t make—”

“Daddy?” a timid voice called from behind Linda. “Mommy, is that Daddy?”

Linda gave Jesse a pained look then opened the door wider. A little girl with long, curly hair, wearing faded flannel PJs, stood peeking into the foyer. The girl saw Jesse and let out a squeal. “Daddy!” she cried and came rushing to him. Jesse scooped her up, spun her around then just hugged her, enjoying the crush of her little arms about his neck. She hugged him like she never wanted to let him go. He pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. She smelled of soggy Froot Loops and baby shampoo and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever smelled.

“Daddy,” she whispered in his ear. “Did you bring me something?”

He opened his eyes and found Linda staring at him. She didn’t need to say a word; he knew her “you’re gonna let her down again” look too well.

Jesse set Abigail to the floor. “Was there something you wanted? I couldn’t remember if there was or not. Last thing I recall you saying was to donate all your presents to charity.”

Abigail planted her hands on her hips and screwed up her face like she wanted to sock him. Then her eyes lit up as though just remembering something amazing. “Oh, Daddy, I gotta show you something.” She started away then slid to a stop. She held up one tiny finger. “I’ll be right back. So don’t go nowhere. Okay? Okay?”

“Promise,” he said and smiled, but her sincerity pained him. He could see that she was truly afraid he might not be here when she returned. And why not? It’s not like it hadn’t happened before?

Linda looked at his empty hands. “Don’t have nothing do you? Put it all toward booze didn’t you?”

Jesse tried to look offended. “You’ll just have to see. Won’t you?”

Abigail came running back, clutching a doll. “Look Daddy! I got one! I got a Teen Tiger doll!”

“Now where’d that come from? Did Santa bring you that?”

“No, Dillard did.”

Jesse felt as though he’d been punched. He did his best to smile while he looked the doll over. “Which one’s this?”

“It’s Teresa Tiger. Ain’t she cool?”

“Hmm, I thought you want Tina Tiger?”

“I did, but they was all out down at the drugstore.”

“Well, I guess she’s pretty a-okay. I mean, if that’s the best the old man could do. I can see how it might be that an old fart like Dillard wouldn’t want to go driving all over Creation to get the one you really wanted. Elderly men like that . . . it’s hard for them to sit for real long on account that they got hemorrhoids.” He cupped his hand and whispered loudly. “Itchy buttholes.”

Abigail giggled. Linda shot him a sour look and said, “Why don’t you ask your daddy what he got you?”

Abigail set her big eyes on him.

“Well, Abi, sugar blossom. Did you know that your daddy and Santa Claus just so happen to be real good buddies?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yup, it’s God’s honest truth. Why, we go fishing together every now and again. As a matter of fact we’re such good buddies that he lent me his magic sack. Told me if I knew any good little girls I could give them whatever toys they wanted. Do you know any good little girls?”

Abigail beamed, and pointed at herself.

“Now, I want you to close your eyes and wish for any toy you want.”

Abigail shut her eyes tight.

“No peeking,” Jesse called as he stepped back to the bush and retrieved the two garbage bags. Linda eyed the bags suspiciously as he sat them down in front of Abigail.

“Okay.”

Abigail opened her eyes, saw the two bags, and gave her parents a questioning look.

“Go on,” Jesse said. “Open them.”

Abigail laid down her doll and pulled open the top of one of the bags. Her eyes grew wide. “Daddy?” she whispered, then opened the bag wider. She just stared, like she was afraid to move or even breathe. She slowly pulled out a Teen Tiger doll, then another, then another, then let out an ear-piercing squeal. She clapped her hands, laughed, jumped up and down, and squealed some more as she emptied all the toys out onto the porch.

“Daddy!” Abigail flung herself around his neck. Jesse hugged her back and stuck his tongue out at Linda. Linda was not smiling, she didn’t look happy in the least; she looked like she wanted to jab her finger in his eye.

“Abigail, dear,” Linda said, her voice terse. “Could you do me a favor and take all these inside? We don’t want ’em to get messed up.” Linda knelt down and started putting the dolls back in the sack. “Here, just take ’em in. You can open them inside. That way you won’t lose nothing.” Abigail, practically dancing with excitement, dragged one of the sacks inside and down the hall. “I’ll be there in a sec,” Linda called. “Just need to have a word with your daddy.”

Jesse didn’t like the way she said “word.”

Linda sat the other bag inside the door and pulled it shut. She glared at him.

“What’d I do now?”

“You know exactly what you did,” she snapped. “Where’d all them toys come from? Are they stolen?” She jabbed a finger at him. “Tell me Jess, what kind of a father gives his daughter stolen toys for Christmas?”

Jesse held her eye. “They’re not stolen.”

Linda didn’t look convinced.

“They’re not stolen,” Jesse repeated. “And that’s all you need to know. How come you always gotta think the worst of me?”

“Are you telling me you bought these?” This seemed to make her even angrier. “You had cash and this is what you went and spent it on? All the things your daughter needs and you buy her toys? Jesse—” She didn’t finish, she looked past him, her face stricken.

Jesse turned and saw Chief Deaton’s patrol car coming down the road.

SANTA CLAUS STOOD upon the boulder, staring across the snow-covered wilderness, searching the tall cliffs for the easiest means out. His crimson suit was torn, covered in drying blood, but the blood wasn’t his own. A mewling sound came from behind him, from among the pile of mangled beasts. One of the reindeer still lived, its legs broken, its gut busted open, a string of entrails and blood splattered atop the boulders. It began to bleat and bawl, sounding almost human in its suffering. Santa ground his teeth together.

“The house of Loki brings nothing but ruin,” Santa Claus hissed. “Krampus, I gave you every chance. Tried to show you charity, show you the path to redemption, but I was a fool to let you live, for once more you have proven there is no grace amongst serpents.”

He hopped down from the boulder, walked to the splintered remains of the sleigh. He shoved a few slats aside until he found a bound burlap bundle. He untied the cord, unwrapped the burlap, revealing a sword and a ram’s horn.

“For the death of my brother, my wife, the destruction of the house of Odin, for my imprisonment in Hel, for all the thievery and deceit, all the woe your line has wrought, the last of Loki’s blood shall be stamped from this earth.”

He put the horn to his lips and blew; a single, long, powerful note. The deep bass sound traveled through the earth and air, carried up the valley and out across the world. Santa knew his children would hear, wherever they were, even if they were halfway around the world, they would hear. “Come Huginn and Muninn, come Geri and Freki, come you great beasts of ancient glory. Come help me find this devil. It is time to finish what should have been finished five hundred years ago. It is time to bury Krampus for good.”

The dying reindeer kicked and pawed at the rocks with its hooves, trying to sit up. Santa grimaced, picked up the sword, pulled it from its scabbard. It was not a thing of beauty but a stout broadsword, a blade meant for killing. He walked over to the reindeer. It stopped struggling, looked up at him with dark, wet eyes, and let out a long bleat. Santa raised the sword and brought it down hard, chopping the deer’s head from its neck with one clean stroke.

Santa Claus wiped the blade clean of blood, replaced it into its sheath. He tied the horn to his belt, strapped the sword across his back, and started away, heading south, toward the little town where he’d been ambushed. He knew the sack had landed somewhere in that trailer park and he intended to find it. “Krampus, my dear old friend, you will pay. Your death is mine and I intend to make it a terrible one.”

THE CRUISER PULLED in beside Jesse’s truck. Dillard opened the car door and got out. The police chief was a big man, over six feet tall, and while he might’ve been pushing sixty he still looked like he could knock over a tree. He was in his civilian clothes, a pair of jeans and a tan hunting jacket, and while you could never have made Jesse admit it, he could see how a woman might find Dillard’s strong jaw and ruggedness attractive. Like a rock, Jesse thought. He looks like the kind of man you can count on.

“Jesse,” Linda whispered, her voice urgent. “Please don’t make no trouble. Just go. Please.” Jesse didn’t like it. Linda didn’t seem merely put out, she seemed nervous, anxious. He’d never seen her act like this.

Dillard locked steely gray eyes on Jesse, pushed his jacket open just far enough to reveal his service pistol. “Just the man I’ve been looking for.”

“He was just leaving,” Linda called, then, softly, to Jesse. “Now go. Please. For me.” She pushed him along. Jesse walked down the steps, across the driveway, and over to his truck. Dillard’s cold eyes followed him the whole way. “Mind holding up there a sec, Jesse? Need a word with you. Linda, do me a favor would you . . . head on in and give us men a bit of space.”

Linda hesitated.

“Go on now, be a good gal.”

“Dillard, I was just hoping that maybe—”

“Linda,” Dillard said, a strain edging into his voice. “You need to go on inside right now.”

Linda bit her lip, gave Jesse one more pleading look, then hurried inside. Jesse wondered what was going on. The Linda he knew would never let a man cow her like that. Was that the same Linda he’d torn up the honky-tonks with? The same woman he’d seen slug a man for grabbing her ass?

Dillard strolled around the cruiser, right up to Jesse, looked him up and down. “Hear there was a spot of trouble out at your place last night.”

Jesse said nothing.

“You know anything about that? Maybe hear something? See something?”

“I did. Saw everything. Santa and his reindeer landed and were attacked by six devil men. They flew up into the sky and Santa tossed one of ’em overboard.” Jesse said all this without breaking a smile. “I think the man you’re looking for has a long white beard.”

Dillard frowned, rubbed at a spot on his forehead like he was getting a headache, then just stared at Jesse for a long moment as though trying to figure out what he was. “Jesse, I knew your mother and father pretty well, and neither one of them was stupid. How come you turn out that way?”

Jesse crossed his arms and spat on Dillard’s driveway.

“You just asking me to do this the hard way?” Dillard’s tone made it clear he was done dicking around.

“The only thing I’m asking you to do is stay the hell away from my wife and daughter.”

Dillard let out a long sigh, like a man dealing with a child. “I think me and you need to have a talk. Y’know, a man-to-man sort of thing, because there ain’t no need for this to go down the path it’s headed.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, placed one in his mouth and offered one to Jesse.

Jesse looked at the cigarette as though it were poison.

Dillard lit the cigarette, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled. “I understand that this ain’t easy for you, son. I wouldn’t like it if I were in your shoes. Not one bit. So I’m just gonna say it, because someone needs to. It’s over between you and Linda. Linda knows it and I think you know it, too. All you’re doing now is making things hard on everyone, especially that little girl of yours.”

Jesse bristled.

“You two need to get a divorce. Make it official. I’ll even help you out with the paperwork if need be. I’m tired of you making her feel bad. You need to man up and cut it off clean so everyone can move on with their lives.”

“That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Yes, it is gonna happen. And it’s gonna happen soon, because Linda and me is planning on getting married.”

Jesse fell back a step. “What?”

“Sorry, son. I didn’t want it to go down like this.”

“No!” Jesse shook his head. “I don’t think so. There ain’t no way I’m gonna let that happen. Ever!”

“Let me make this plainer. I’m not asking. You understand? We are gonna get married. Just as soon as we get you taken care of, that is. Now there’s a couple of ways of taking care of you, and it’s pretty much up to you to choose.”

Jesse held up a shaky finger. “Don’t back me into a corner, Dillard. You don’t wanna do that.”

Dillard laughed, shook his head. “Jesse, if you had even a tenth of the balls you think you do, you just might be worth a good goddamn. Son, the only reason I haven’t already taken you out of the picture is because you do a little business for the General. You know full well that it won’t take much of anything to put you away. Why, I could slap the cuffs on you right now for whatever reason I fancy and you’d be on your way to prison. Is that what you want?”

“You do that and I won’t be the only one on my way to prison.”

Dillard’s eyes squeezed to mere slits. “What did you just say?”

“I think you know just what I said. You take away the only thing that matters to a man and you got a man with nothing left to lose. A man like that just might start talking.”

The side of Dillard’s face twitched. He took a step toward Jesse. “You need to dig the catshit out of your ears, boy, and listen up. There’s more than one way to make you disappear. And no one’s gonna even notice one way or another either, because there ain’t a soul around gonna miss a piece of trash like you.”

Jesse gritted his teeth, forced himself to hold his ground, to hold Dillard’s eyes. But he found himself fighting back tears. Had Linda really agreed to marry this old bastard? He glared at Dillard. “I don’t believe it. Don’t believe she’d ever agree to marry an old fuck like you.”

Dillard let out another one of his long sighs, then shook his head and chuckled. “Jesse, Jesse, Jesse. Can’t believe I’m letting myself get all worked up over a numbskull like you. I just keep forgetting how thickheaded you are.” He took another long drag off his cigarette. “Let me tell you something about yourself, make it as plain and as simple as possible—you’re a loser, Jesse. A no-account loser. That’s why you live in that tiny rat-trap, that’s why you still drive your daddy’s old rust heap, and, most of all . . . that’s why Linda is done with you.

“Now I could tell you this all fucking day, till I’m blue in the face. But it won’t mean beans, because nothing’s gonna sink into that thick skull of yours unless it’s hammered in. So I’m gonna show you. Gonna prove it to you in a way that even you can understand.” Dillard walked back to the front of his cruiser and pulled his pistol from its holster. Jesse tensed, sure the man was about to shoot him dead right there in the drive, but he just clicked off the safety and sat the gun on the hood. Dillard then proceeded to walk down the drive, leaving the gun sitting there. He leaned up against the garage door, took a deep drag off his cigarette and looked up at the trees as though he was out enjoying the day and nothing more.

Jesse glanced back and forth between the gun and Dillard—he didn’t get it.

“Jesse, you know what I’m about to do? Huh?” Dillard chuckled. “I’ll tell you. Right after I finish this smoke. I’m gonna go inside this nice big house of mine, gonna take that pretty wife of yours upstairs and then, and then . . . well, I’m gonna shove my big hard prick right in her sweet little mouth.”

“What?” Jesse gasped.

“That’s right. Gonna make her slobber all over my knob. Smack her ass and make her bark and whine. Now, if you’re inclined to stop me, all you got to do is pick up that gun right there and shoot me. It’s that simple.”

Jesse squinted at him, his hands clenched into fists. “What? What the fuck is wrong with you? Fuck you!”

“Is that all you got? Son, I’m about to go in there and make your wife choke on my broom handle. Gonna blow my load all over her face. And all you can do is cuss me? If a man done that to my wife . . . said it right to my face like that . . . I’d shoot him dead regardless. Because that’s what a real man does.”

Jesse looked at the gun.

Dillard grinned. “You won’t do it, Jesse. I know this for a fact. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s taking the measure of a man. Thirty years on the force will do that. And I could tell from the very first time I set eyes on you that you were one of the nobodies that don’t matter squat. A loser. And now Jesse . . . you know it, too.”

Jesse glared at Dillard, then at the gun, back and forth, his heart drumming. He took a step forward, then another, until he stood right beside the gun. All he had to do was pick it up and shoot. There was nothing Dillard could do to stop him.

“C’mon, Jesse. Ain’t got all day.” And the worst of it was Dillard looked so confident, so completely at ease, this was not a man wagering his life, this was one who was absolutely sure of himself.

Jesse’s breath sped up, his hand began to tremble. Do it. Shoot him. But he didn’t and right there, right then, he saw exactly what Dillard was showing him. I am a loser. Don’t have the guts to shoot myself. Don’t have the guts to shoot the man screwing my wife. Don’t even have the guts to send my music off to some jackass DJ.

Jesse let out a long breath, fell back a step, and just stood there staring at that gun.

Dillard flicked his cigarette butt into the snow, walked up to the hood of the cruiser, and retrieved his gun. He shoved it back into its holster. “Believe it or not, son, I ain’t trying to be a dick. I’m trying to do you a favor, trying to save you years of heartbreak. A man needs to know himself. And now that you can see just the sort of man you truly are, maybe you’ll quit trying so hard to be something you ain’t. Go home, Jesse. Go home to that piece-of-shit trailer of yours and get drunk . . . then do us all a favor and just disappear.”

Jesse barely heard him; he just kept staring at the spot where the gun had been.

“Okay, Jesse. I’m done with you. Done talking, done wasting my time. I’m going in, and when I look out that window in a few, you and that rig of yours best be gone. And just so we’re clear, just so there ain’t a lick of confusion between us: if you ever set foot on my property again, ever . . . I’ll break every one of your fingers. I mean that. You won’t be playing that guitar of yours ever again.”

Dillard turned and walked away, leaving Jesse staring at the car hood.