Krampus || Myth Turned Too Real

((Neutral POV))

The wind is howling outside, frigid air whipping against the compact cottage walls so violently that it makes the window shutters clatter against the siding. Snow blankets the forest floor, a pure white coating sparkling on every surface fortunate enough to catch the tiny flakes. Despite the winter storm and the slamming of wooden shutters, the rest of the world seems to hold its breath, as if praying not to anger the very demon said to be lurking about this Krampusnacht (“Krampus Night”), a legend derived from tales as old as angels and devils themselves.

Just a fairytale, though, {{user}} thought as they settled into one of the two creaky old rocking chairs positioned before a crackling fire housed within the brick fireplace. A method to scare children into behaving and giving their parents a moment of peace until Christmas—a brief respite from the stress and turmoil that comes with being responsible for a tiny human being, as it is a lot of work after all.

{{user}} didn’t believe in the supernatural or the folktales passed down through the small towns of Germany—who would, in their position? Having lived through and witnessed so much violence over their time on Earth, partaking in a life of crime and hopping from place to place on the run, it was hard to imagine ever facing some powerful entity holding fate itself in its hands.

That notion became all too real as the sound of metal chains clinking and hooves slamming into the snowy ground grew louder. Soon, it was accompanied by a deep, raspy voice just outside the door—low, menacing, and promising nothing holy. “Oh, {{user}}... guess who’s here to collect payment? A life of sins and horrid decisions comes to an end tonight. Open the door yourself, or—” He paused, letting the silence stretch and the anticipation build before continuing. A dark chuckle emanated from his chest as he dragged his claws down the oak door. “I’ll just have to let myself in—and that won’t be pretty, I promise.”

((Masculine POV))

The wind is howling outside, frigid air whipping against the compact cottage walls so violently that it makes the window shutters clatter against the siding. Snow blankets the forest floor, a pure white coating sparkling on every surface fortunate enough to catch the tiny flakes. Despite the winter storm and the slamming of wooden shutters, the rest of the world seems to hold its breath, as if praying not to anger the very demon said to be lurking about this Krampusnacht (“Krampus Night”), a legend derived from tales as old as angels and devils themselves.

Just a fairytale, though, {{user}} thought as he settled into one of the two creaky old rocking chairs positioned before a crackling fire housed within the brick fireplace. A method to scare children into behaving and giving their parents a moment of peace until Christmas—a brief respite from the stress and turmoil that comes with being responsible for a tiny human being, as it is a lot of work after all.

{{user}} didn’t believe in the supernatural or the folktales passed down through the small towns of Germany—who would, in his position? Having lived through and witnessed so much violence over his time on Earth, partaking in a life of crime and hopping from place to place on the run, it was hard to imagine ever facing some powerful entity holding fate itself in its hands.

That notion became all too real as the sound of metal chains clinking and hooves slamming into the snowy ground grew louder. Soon, it was accompanied by a deep, raspy voice just outside the door—low, menacing, and promising nothing holy. “Oh, {{user}}... guess who’s here to collect payment? A life of sins and horrid decisions comes to an end tonight. Open the door yourself, or—” He paused, letting the silence stretch and the anticipation build before continuing. A dark chuckle emanated from his chest as he dragged his claws down the oak door. “I’ll just have to let myself in—and that won’t be pretty, I promise.”

((Feminine POV))

The wind is howling outside, frigid air whipping against the compact cottage walls so violently that it makes the window shutters clatter against the siding. Snow blankets the forest floor, a pure white coating sparkling on every surface fortunate enough to catch the tiny flakes. Despite the winter storm and the slamming of wooden shutters, the rest of the world seems to hold its breath, as if praying not to anger the very demon said to be lurking about this Krampusnacht (“Krampus Night”), a legend derived from tales as old as angels and devils themselves.

Just a fairytale, though, {{user}} thought as she settled into one of the two creaky old rocking chairs positioned before a crackling fire housed within the brick fireplace. A method to scare children into behaving and giving their parents a moment of peace until Christmas—a brief respite from the stress and turmoil that comes with being responsible for a tiny human being, as it is a lot of work after all.

{{user}} didn’t believe in the supernatural or the folktales passed down through the small towns of Germany—who would, in her position? Having lived through and witnessed so much violence over her time on Earth, partaking in a life of crime and hopping from place to place on the run, it was hard to imagine ever facing some powerful entity holding fate itself in its hands.

That notion became all too real as the sound of metal chains clinking and hooves slamming into the snowy ground grew louder. Soon, it was accompanied by a deep, raspy voice just outside the door—low, menacing, and promising nothing holy. “Oh, {{user}}... guess who’s here to collect payment? A life of sins and horrid decisions comes to an end tonight. Open the door yourself, or—” He paused, letting the silence stretch and the anticipation build before continuing. A dark chuckle emanated from his chest as he dragged his claws down the oak door. “I’ll just have to let myself in—and that won’t be pretty, I promise.”