[Story] Krampus Gets a Cola!

((The following story, “Krampus Gets a Cola!” was written on 2014 April 25 for MarcianTobay’s writing contest: The Secret World Fan Fiction Contest! Chapter 1: Kingsmouth. Witness the story as it was when it was originally submitted!))


Krampus gets a Cola!


It took one man, just one.

And quite possibly a television too.

So very few to let them through.

The Gate was open! Their day wasn’t through!

The Krampusse came en masse. There were children to punish! Naughty little cretins romping through the night – was it the Krampusse or the children? Always the children called for the rustling of the ruten; the cling-clanging of the chains.

From whence they came in the frigid cold, they brought gifts and toys of majesty to behold. The bad ones needed only the best of the worst.

Corpses laced in bows and lovingly wrapped in asbestos-paper held by many as they were released upon the world. There was no Saint to stop them.

Oh what fun it is to ride through a one Krampus-Gate!

Through Niflheim we go, laughing all the way! Hra-hra-hra!

The throngs of Krampusse dashed off into the snowy veil. Krampus everywhere, ready to punish the wicked with a good slap.

It had been heard that there was quite the penchant for flares up there, too!

Some of the Krampusse went to the Dim-Dark Woods, others to the Mountains that Bite; they went everywhere.

Some, however, took a shining to the land that reminded them much of Mother, sweet Mother, which nephews rumbling deep beneath.

In picturesque wilted autumnal woods sat a quaint little town far too quiet for its own good.

Reality tore as a slit in the fabric of time and space began to grow. It widened and widened, gorging itself on the connection between realms until its tall figure became full. With a waver of its boundaries, a sharp oscillation, and a sudden influx of delightfully sickening snow, the tear stabilized.

A crack in reality that shone with the dimmer of Christmas cheer as snow frothed around it, yet what it held was but a mere facsimile. It was a far cry from Old Saint Nicholas’ workshop with is ancient wooden halls filled with tables of cluttered, dirty gifts that strange beasts manically tinkered on.

In the blink of an eye, something stepped through. Cloven hooves and gnarled horns peeked through the anomaly. These appendages were followed by a furred, humanoid beast whose lolling tongue ran over its fanged face in anticipation. Chains dragged along the beast as it stepped out of the dimensional aberration while clawed fists began to swat a birch bundle into its opposing hand.

Once the final step was made, the atrocity to the universe blinked out in an instant as if it were never there.

The beast remained, a faint dusting of snow speckling its ragged, mangy pelt as it surveyed the land.

A small town, a small church right around the corner, and rotting bags of flesh as far as the eye could see.

But where were the children? The tiny pests to punish?

This was not how it should be! The packs on his back rustled, the justice he delivered left wanting for hands to hold it. Small, grubby worm-baby hands.

Thus the search began, first toward the Church that hummed with life and had not a ghoul in sight.

What a disaster it was!

Intense pain jolted through his vile being, coursing amidst his blackened sugarplum veins.

All it took was a step, a single step on his way in. No! No! Momma, no!

The juicy goodies huddled inside were left alone. They would have to wait. There was a weight around this place that didn’t agree with his face.

There it was! A ward!

With a mighty, petulant stomp, the Krampus crept in search of greener pastures.

Houses were torn through with fervor, yet not a single living thing could be found. Every building had more undead or more forms of fortification he didn’t fancy facing. A snarl escaped him.

Worst of all, none of them had left him any schnapps! Where were their manners? Pesky things needed to be taught lessons, oh yes.

But first he had to find one.

The mismatched yuletide devil began his search anew, and no matter which house, which building, or which stone was explored, not a single thing could be found. Worst of all, he was beginning to feel a great thirst – one that would never have been an issue had people paid proper tribute.

In the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse.

A gas station, to be precise, but it wasn’t the gas station and its dirtied white paint and Sycoil sign that interested him. What was underneath had far more value.

Bingo!

With great haste, a galloping pace took him straight to the case.

A gritty surface barely flickering illuminated a bright can of soda plastered against the black backdrop of the typical vending machine. The appearance mattered little, for Bingo began to sound a delight.

There was one tiny problem with his plan: he had nothing to insert for a quick fix. Krampus needs no change! Krampus needs no pockets for filthy coin!

With frustration rising leaps and bounds, he did the next best thing: he rammed it, mighty horns slamming into the LED screen.

Not a scratch! Not a dent! How dare the machine deny him refreshment!

He kicked, he shook, he fought and yet it was still for naught.

A mighty rage and bellowing roar, a whip of the ruten began to pour.

While the beast rampaged against the machine, another creature was stirring. It looked human, it walked human, it would have been human if not for the stench of the bees permeating it. The stench, however, was unknown to the newcomer, who cautiously approached the crazed Krampus from behind.

A snap of a twig, a move gone wrong, it was all that had happened when the Krampus stalled hard. The Christmas devil began to spin, a snarl unleashed as he intended to win. “Hra-hra-ha, pests coming for their just desserts?” the Germanic figure gave in gloat, but what he had not seen, what he could not know, was that this pest was better than the rest of the scum.

The Krampus’ crumpled claws clutched a flare for fight, oh how he had seen the bees detest these lights.

Not a second was spared as the anonymous apis acted, buzzing bright.

Anima – it hit, it hurt and it burned.

Krampus thought little of his soda, lying on the ground as he was, for he was in pieces and bits of fuzz. Blood stained the ruten and the toys were charred. Little remained, not even a gift card.

All that went through the Krampus’ skull before he was splintered so thoroughly was woe.

I just wanted some Bingo.

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