Krampus: The Yule Lord (42 page)

Nelly, who’d been nursing the same beer all night, gave Horton a sheepish smile. “Why, I’ll take a shot of bourbon, Bob, straight up. And, hey, make it the good stuff, will ya?”

“Yeah, me too,” Lucy said. “Make mine a double.” She looked the lean man up and down. “Hey, just who the fuck are you guys?”

The man smiled. “You’ll see. Just keep your eye on the tall ugly one over there.”

J
ESSE NODDED TO
Krampus and gave him the thumbs-up. Krampus nodded back and proceeded across the dance floor, headed toward the stage. The two dancing women stopped and stared at him. Jesse pulled up a stool, having no idea what Krampus was up to, not sure he wanted to find out.

Chet, Vernon, and Isabel wandered over, pulled up stools next to Jesse. The two Shawnee stayed in the shadows, keeping a close eye on the Yule Lord, looking uncomfortable and out of place in the bar.

Krampus stopped in front of the chicken wire, turned, and surveyed the crowd. Now, with the stage light on him, people were starting to notice that there was a seven-foot-tall devil in their midst. But they didn’t react the way Jesse would’ve expected, especially after what had happened at the church. No hysterical shouting and screaming; instead, plenty of confused double takes, pointing, and drunken laughter, but mostly curiosity, folks trying to make sense of what they were seeing.

Krampus said something to the band, a three-piece, and they stopped playing. Instead of angry protest, a few folks actually clapped.

The stage—or platform, rather, as it wasn’t more than a foot high—was draped in Christmas lights, two slow-spinning spotlights of yellow, red, and green, shown from either side, adding a festive, dramatic touch to Krampus’s presence.

“Hey, asshole,” someone shouted. “This ain’t Halloween.”

Jesse realized that no one understood that a true monster stood among them. They obviously thought Krampus was in costume. Jesse hoped it stayed that way so they could soon be on their way without anyone getting stabbed or shot.

Krampus raised a hand. “Please, hear me . . . for I would speak.” It was his tone that captured their attention, powerful and resonating—the voice of a god. Krampus waited as the snickers died down and the hall slowly fell quiet.

“Well, get on with it then,” a stout woman called from the bar. “Ain’t got all night.”

Krampus grinned, and there was something beguiling in that grin, like an invitation to play, and, to Jesse’s surprise, he found plenty around the bar smiling back.

A brash young man over by the pool table took a couple of steps forward and shouted, “Hey, just who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

Krampus set eyes on him, intense, piercing eyes, eyes that made it clear they’d hold one accountable for what was said. “I am Krampus, the Yule Lord,” he boomed. “I come to celebrate the splendors of life and seek worthy souls to join me. People who wish to make merry . . . to shout, dance, love, brawl, and sing. Souls willing to turn their backs on the angels and share in a little debauchery. To be alive
now
. . . this very night. To shake their fist in the face of death, knowing whatever ills tomorrow may harbor nothing can steal this moment if you live it with all your vigor. What say you? Will you drink with me this night and chase the Draugr from the shadows? Will you sing with me to Mother Earth, to all the ghosts of Asgard? Will you herald in Yuletide with me?”

People were nodding, were eating it up. Jesse saw the same fervor on their faces as those of the Shawnee. There was no denying that there was something infectious about the Yule Lord’s spirit; Jesse could feel it in the air.

An old man, bent and rail-thin, wearing a sweat-stained cap atop long, silver hair, squinted at Krampus and called out, “Who’s buying?”

The crowd laughed and the Yule Lord laughed with them. “I am,” Krampus exclaimed, his eyes gleaming. “Tonight is a night of excess. All the mead one can hold and all on me.”

Almost every head swiveled to the barman, hopeful faces searching for confirmation. The barman nodded. “Open bar all night!” he called. With that, a great cheer rang out and most everyone in the tavern headed for the bar.

The band started back up, a spirited rendition of Willie Nelson’s “Whiskey River.” Krampus waded into the crowd. One of the bikers handed him a beer and cried,
“To Krampus!”
Mugs were raised all around, accompanied by shouts of
“Krampus! Krampus!”
The Yule Lord drank down the beer, took another, then another.

“Well,” Chet said. “I ain’t gonna sit here and let them drink this place dry on their own.” He grabbed a pitcher of beer, rounded up a few glasses, and filled them up, handing one to Isabel, Jesse, and to Vernon. Isabel dragged Wipi and Nipi over, shoved a beer into each of their hands. “Come on, time to enjoy yourselves a little.”

The Yule Lord grabbed two women from the bar, hooked his arms into theirs, and began to dance. Both of the women squealed, and a loud hoot went up from the crowd and soon more women joined in. Krampus swung from arm to arm, a sort of square-dance jig. The tavern erupted in howls. The band broke into “Muleskinner Blues,” kicking up the tempo and really belting it out. More and more folks joined in until the entire dance floor was full of men and women hooting, hollering, clogging, and acting like fools.

Drinks were spilled, tables and chairs knocked over, but Krampus’s spirited laughter could be heard above all the ruckus, a booming sound that warmed the heart. Jesse had never seen this side of the Yule Lord, and it occurred to him that he was seeing the real Krampus, the Krampus of ancient times, the great and wild Yule spirit that galvanized mankind to brave the darkest primeval nights, kindled their will to survive the trials of the harshest winters. He could almost see the horned beast dancing this very jig within the communal houses of primitive man. Jesse saw the way the people fed on Krampus’s spirit, and how, in turn, Krampus fed on theirs. And understood now just why those shoes, with their small tribute of candies, meant so much to the Yule Lord. That what Krampus needed more than anything was a flock to shepherd, to protect and inspire. Jesse found he was tapping his toes and smiling, that he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t help but get caught up in the fervor.

“Well, I’ll be damn,” Chet grumbled. “Everyone’s sure in a good goddamn mood. I was hoping to see the old goat take a few in the stomach, not prance around like a mountain troll.”

“I commiserate with you wholeheartedly, chum,” Vernon said. “Who would’ve guessed a bit of candy was all it would take to turn Old Tall and Ugly around.”

“That was a whole hell of a lot more than a piece of candy to Krampus,” Isabel said. “I think that was his validation, proof that his spirit has truly returned to this here world.”

“Hey look.” Vernon pointed and let out a laugh. Wipi and Nipi were out on the dance floor, stomping their feet with the best of them.

“Sure look to be having a blast,” Isabel said.

Vernon stood, extended his arm to Isabel. “Shall we?”

Isabel lit up with a big smile. “Heck yeah!” She hooked her arm in his and the two sauntered out onto the floor.

Jesse glanced at Chet. “You see that?”

“See what?”

“Over there. That guy, the one with the red bandanna.” Jesse nodded to a bearded biker with an impressive paunch, kicking up his heels on the floor. “He’s had his eye on you since you walked in.”

“What? So?”

“So? So? Are you blind? I believe he wants to dance with you.”

“Fuck you, Jesse. Why’d you always gotta be such a dickhole?”

Jesse laughed, and it felt good to laugh. He leaned back against the bar and watched Isabel dance. She danced really nice, a lot like Linda used to. Jesse thought of all the nights Linda and him had danced together and slowly his smile faded. He ached to hear her laugh again like in the old days, to feel her close to him as they slow-danced, and there, surrounded in a sea of smiles, laughter, and cheer, Jesse felt completely alone.

“I miss Trish,” Chet said, looking fairly miserable. “Sure wish she were here to dance with.” Hearing Chet voice his same sentiment startled Jesse, then he noticed the way Chet watched the couples, the longing in his eye—wasn’t too hard to understand.

“Fuck,” Chet said. “Swear to God, if I ever get out of this mess, gonna do right by her. Sure as hell I am.”

Jesse nodded, took a long swig, and lost himself in thoughts of what he’d do if he ever got free.

Krampus appeared in front of him, holding a guitar. Jesse blinked as though awakened from a snooze. Krampus held the guitar out to him. “Come, music man. Play me a song.”

Jesse stared at the guitar as though it might bite him. “No, that ain’t happening.”

Krampus took a seat next to him. “I would like to hear you sing.”

“No, I told you I was done with that.”

“Jesse, what do you believe in?”

“Krampus, we’ve already been over this. I told you I don’t believe in nothing.”

“No, that wasn’t what you said. You said you didn’t know.”

Jesse shrugged.

“Well, I do know,” Krampus said. “You believe in music. It is at the heart of you.”

“No, I’m done with music.”

“You can never be done with music. No more than you can be done with breathing. The day you quit is the day you die.”

“Krampus, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t seem to understand . . . I got other things on my mind and—”

“I know, the Dillard. We will go and take care of him.”

“You done said that before.”

“Jesse, if you will get up there and play me a couple of songs, then I give you my solemn word that we will leave this place and go kill that bad man.”

Jesse stared at Krampus. “Is that the drink talking or do you mean it?”

He met Jesse’s eyes, held them. “You have my oath as Yule Lord.”

Jesse scrutinized his face a moment longer, saw that the creature indeed meant it, at least at this moment he did, and Jesse decided that was the best he was going to get. Jesse stood and took the guitar. He skirted the dance floor and waited on the side of the stage for the band to finish up their song. When they did, he asked if they’d like to take a break and get a beer, then stepped up onto the stage.

All eyes fell on him and he felt sure they could see right through him, could see that he just didn’t add up. Jesse slipped the guitar strap over his shoulder, strummed the strings, twisting the keys, pretending to tune the guitar while trying to get a handle on his nerves. He adjusted the mic and looked out over the crowd, unable to shake the feeling he had no business on stage. He swallowed, started to say something, then forgot what it was.

“You gonna sing or just gawk at us like a chicken?” a woman shouted and everyone laughed.

“Like to . . . share a little number . . . with you,” he stammered. “Something I came up with a while back. It’s called . . . ‘Night Train.’ ”

He hit the strings, caught a few sour notes. Stopped.

“Next!”
someone cried, followed by a few boos.

“Sorry about that . . . been a little while.”

People began turning away, laughing and cutting up, drifting back toward the bar for more drinks.

Jesse’s chest tightened.
Who am I fooling?
He made himself start up again, hit a few more sour notes, but this time kept going. His fingers were still a bit stiff, but he knew that wasn’t the problem. He began to sing, his voice stale, he could hear it, could see it on their faces.

People shook their heads, a few put their hands over their ears, laughing, laughing at his singing. Jesse caught Krampus watching him from the bar, the Yule Lord’s eyes steady and intense. Krampus spoke, and even though there was no way Jesse could’ve heard him across the crowd, he did, actually feeling it more than hearing it, deep down inside of him. “Free your spirit.”

It was silly nonsense, but Jesse closed his eyes, tried to forget the crowd, concentrated on his music. Slowly the din of the crowd faded and it was just him and his guitar, alone, just like in his room. The tension melted away, the stiffness left his hands, his fingers found the right chords, and he began to sing, to really sing.

It was an up tempo number, a song about a man running away from his mean, mean woman. About a minute into the song the music came alive, the melody and notes became so clear he could almost see them. The music flowed through him, felt more like he was weaving a spell than performing a song, and he strummed the guitar hard and fast as though meaning to tear loose the strings. He finished the first song and went right into the next, and then another. And it was as though someone had pulled cotton from his ears and he was hearing his own music, his own voice, for the first time. He wasn’t sure if it had something to do with the spell Krampus had woven about the tavern or his heightened senses as a Belsnickel, or maybe a little of both, but what mattered was that he liked what he was hearing just fine. Decided his songs weren’t half bad after all, were quite good, actually.

Jesse opened his eyes and found the crowd thought so as well, folks no longer cutting up but watching him, marking the beat, and moving to the rhythm. He’d never felt such a connection with an audience, it was as though he was touching their souls. He saw Krampus grinning at him and knew then that the Yule Lord was right, he could no more quit music than breathing, and while he needed air to live, he needed music to truly be alive. He stamped his boot with the beat, shouted and yowled with the best of them, sang on and on, his voice clear and strong, the music lifting him higher and higher.

Krampus moved among them, bopping and clapping in time. A deep hum arose from the crowd, a warm sound, almost a purr. The music took on a life of its own, the melody of his song fading as he strummed the guitar to some distant, primitive beat. Krampus began to chant and the crowd joined in. Jesse found himself chanting along, his song forgotten, babbling without meaning, only feelings. At some point the band had joined in and the pounding of drums and deep pluck of the standup bass swelled, setting the pulse. Every person in the hall moved out onto the floor romping, dancing, and stomping to the beat. They nodded and swayed, eyes half closed as though in a trance.