Krampus: The Yule Lord

by Brom

You have sung your last ho, ho, ho, for I am coming for your head. For Odin, Loki, and all the fallen gods, for your treachery, for chaining me in this pit for five hundred years. But most of all I am coming to take back what is mine, to take back Yuletide.

I, Krampus, Lord of Yule, son of Hel, bloodline of the great Loki, swear to cut your lying tongue from your mouth, your thieving hands from your wrists, and your jolly head from your neck.

“I’m done with feeling bad all the time.” The words came out flat, dead, final.

“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.”

Your dreams are your spirit, your soul, and without them you are dead.” He made a fist. “You must guard your dreams. Always. Lest someone steal them from you. I know what it is to have your dreams stolen. I know what it is to be dead.” His voice was almost a growl. “Guard your dreams. Always guard your dreams.”

“Christmas,” Krampus spat. “No, Christmas is an abomination. A perversion! Yule is the true spirit of Mother Earth. Yule is the rebirth of the seasons. Without Yuletide, Mother Earth cannot heal herself . . . will wither and die. That is why it is so important that I reawaken the spirit within mankind. Help them to believe again. Because it is their power of belief, their love and devotion, that heals the land.”

“You worship death. You and all the One Gods. They seduce mankind with their promises of glory attained in the hereafter, thus blinding men to the splendor before them here on earth. One can never expect to achieve enlightenment if one does not first live life to its fullest.”

“Now,” the woman said. “Stop your weeping. Grief is for the dead. Santa Claus can never die. For too many people believe in him. It is a time for prayers . . . time to call to the angels.”

So I must ask myself, what role can I play in a world where men worship the moving-picture box, where they make and consume potions that eat away their own brains, where they ravage and pillage entire mountains, kill the very earth itself?

“Mankind has lost its connection to the land, to the earth, to the beasts and spirits. They gather their food not from the forest and fields, but from plastic bins and ice boxes. Their lives are no longer tied to the cycles of the seasons and the harvest, no longer do they need the Yule Lord to chase away the winter darkness and usher in the light of spring. Man has only himself to fear now . . . he has become his own worst devil.”

He gave them what they wanted, a pretty lie, and they believed, because a pretty lie is easier to believe than an ugly truth.”

So that was death. No thoughts. No memories. No regrets. Nothing. So very sweet.

“They see devils everywhere when the only devils left are themselves. Why must they twist Yule tradition into something wicked? Why must they pervert all that is mine. Like that tree. That is a Yule tree, not a Christmas tree. Bringing evergreens into the home to celebrate the Goddess that never dies, the return of the sun’s warmth, is a tradition dating back before even the ancient druids—and long, long, long before the Christ child was spewed forth in that filthy little manger. Who are they to plunder my traditions, to desecrate and profane? It is time I showed them the Yule Lord will not stand for such mockery.”

Do you ever wonder why you seek the Devil with such vigor? I shall tell you. Because you cannot face your own wickedness. The truth is there is no Devil making you torture, rape, murder, and sodomize one another, or making you destroy the very land that feeds you. There is only you. So look at yourself, for you are the only devil in this room.”

The dead. Do not fear, they cannot hurt you. They are only ghosts . . . lost souls, the ones that could not find their way home.”

and while he needed air to live, he needed music to truly be alive.

Winter solstice and its associated celebrations date back long before the birth of Christ. Yule sprang from pagan winter festivals in Germanic regions, celebrating the rebirth of the land with feast and sacrifice, and tied into Odin’s Wild Hunt and other Norse myths and legends.